Chapter Forty-Three: A World Gradually Falling Apart

Chapter Forty-One

“Fire and thunder—such noble words.” Yet the golden-haired, blue-eyed youth merely scoffed at the girl’s assertion. Despite being at a relative disadvantage, he made no effort to hide his distaste for the Order. “In truth, it’s nothing more than wielding the blade against the weak in the name of justice.”

“If your aim is to anger me,” the Order’s sword-bearer regarded him coldly, her gaze devoid of both indignation and murderous intent, as icy as the snow that never melts atop Mount Orbes, “then you have succeeded.”

“I’m simply stating facts.” Dirk shook his head, utterly unfazed, as if oblivious to the emotionless chill in the swordswoman’s eyes. “All who are impure shall be judged by thunder and fire—what nonsense. You have no idea what the borderlands truly mean.”

“Is there something special about them?”

Amy seized the opportunity to intervene in the quarrel. No matter how poor their relationship, these two would be his companions for this journey; he had no wish for irreparable fissures to form in their newly assembled team over trivialities—especially when each of them represented, respectively, the foremost superpower of Hemetica and the undisputed kingpin of the lower districts. He was caught awkwardly in the middle.

“Very special, indeed. In fact, the reason the upper district’s elites disdain the people of the lower districts can largely be traced back to them.” The Apostle of the Dice House sighed. “Ulysses, you must be familiar with demonization. Humans are as fragile as soap bubbles in the face of the blind madness of chaos; not to mention confronting chaos itself—even the mere erosion of the Nameless Mist can turn a person into something monstrous. And in the borderlands, which suffer the constant assault of the mist, demonization is everywhere.”

A barely perceptible tremor passed through the girl’s sword hand.

“Is it because living near the mist caused demonization, or did people who became demonized get forced to move to the borderlands?” Amy arched an eyebrow. He was not unfamiliar with demonization—not only had he studied it at the Academy, but he had once visited Ignati, the dark wanderer, who himself was a victim of this corruption.

“Both,” the golden-haired, blue-eyed youth blinked. “The fireseed’s barrier of order isn’t as sturdy as many suppose. Driven by necessity, the poor are forced to eat crops grown on the polluted lands of the mist zone, so demonization has become increasingly common in the lower districts—on average, one in ten people exhibits some sign of the curse. Only the most severe and obvious cases are banished to the borderlands.”

“That sounds terrifying,” the Glorifier nodded.

“The mining town we’re heading to is one such settlement on the border,” Dirk glanced at the sword-bearer, who had maintained her silence throughout, and let out a soft chuckle. “They trade their labor to the overseers of the Ildan mines for the necessities of life; by borderland standards, their existence is almost comfortable. Yet nearly all of them bear the marks of demonization—so, Miss of the Order, do you plan to slaughter them all? Even the old and the children, who have no means to fight back?”

Mia was silent.

It was a harsh question—perhaps too harsh for a girl who may not even be twenty.

“So—don’t just spout pretty words, Miss from the Order,” seeing he had gained the advantage, the Dice House youth grew smug. “Compared to the outside world, you really are better suited for the cloistered life of a decorative nun in your cathedral.”

“If necessary,” the sword-bearer replied frostily, casting him a sidelong glance, “I’ll start with you.”

“You won’t solve anything with violence alone. This world is rotten at the core.” Ignoring her threat, the youth spoke with a flippant air, his words shocking in their candor. “Though many refuse to admit it, without demonized humans—without this ready supply of labor—the thousand-year-old order of Hemetica is nothing but a castle in the air.”

He paused, then continued, “After the mist zone fell, nearly every human mine became inaccessible. The farmlands in the lower districts could no longer feed the swelling population. So the authorities turned their eyes to those poor souls whose homes had fallen, whose bodies had been tainted by darkness. Exploiting humanity’s instinctive fear of outsiders, they drove these wretches into the mist zone to toil in the harshest, most dangerous labor. By squeezing them—this class of workers unprotected by law and denied basic rights—they maintain the city’s prosperity and stability.”

“Scum,” the swordswoman spat through clenched teeth.

“You’re mistaken again, unworldly nun,” Dirk laughed once more. “From a ruler’s perspective, the Glorifiers of Hemetica have done nothing wrong. They are merely fulfilling their duty—ensuring the majority can live in peace. To sacrifice a few, to offer up those you deem in need of ‘purification’—it’s a perfectly reasonable bargain.”

“So,” whether with a sigh or a sneer, “the world itself is at fault, not them.”

Yes, there is something fundamentally wrong with this world.

Though rebellious, Dirk’s words struck a chord with the Glorifier. By birth, Amy belonged to the ruling class and was no less aware—perhaps more so—of Hemetica’s dire predicament than anyone else. Since the fall of the Eternal Night Wall, no matter how hard the city’s people struggled, the world had grown steadily more despairing.

The fireseed that sustained humanity weakened by the day, the realm of order shrank under the encroachment of chaos. Over the past thousand years, heroes had risen and fallen, the brave had emerged, but in the endless, unfathomable night, not a single ripple had been made. Humanity could only gasp on the shore like fish cast up by a storm, slowly losing vitality, slowly dying.

It was as if fate itself decreed it.

If gods truly existed in this world, then such a god must harbor nothing but malice toward humankind.

The Glorifier could not help but think so. For a moment, a half-recalled memory flickered at the edge of his mind, but when he tried to grasp it, nothing remained. He was long accustomed to this feeling of chasing the moon’s reflection upon water; after shaking his head to dispel the distraction, he refocused on his two companions.

Their relationship seemed somewhat less strained now.

Of course, only by comparison. Even now, Amy had no doubt that, were it not for the constraints of their mission, the sword-bearer would already have cut down the Apostle of the Dice House without hesitation. But since she had no ground to stand on in words, and their goals aligned for the moment, their cooperation could continue for now. Genuine camaraderie was out of the question—he’d be grateful enough if they could keep from hindering each other.

“Listen,” the Glorifier decided not to let irreparable cracks form in their small group, and sought to draw a line under their quarrel for now. “Let’s end the bickering here. Wasting precious time on arguments is hardly wise.”

“If this young lady can assure us she won’t act rashly or attack people at random during the mission,” the golden-haired youth spread his hands, his innocence almost comical, “then I have no objections.”

“That’s not the Dice House’s style,” Amy arched an eyebrow, not believing for a second that this fellow was speaking up for the demonized townsfolk out of sympathy or pity. “What’s gotten into you?”

“We’re always eager to help,” the Dice House youth replied with a sheepish smile, though it made him look more like a fox than anything else. “We hold shares in the Ildan mining operation. If this young lady acts recklessly, our cash flow could suffer considerably.”

“You people have your hands in everything, don’t you?” The young Glorifier only offered a faint sigh, then turned his gaze to the Order’s sword-bearer. “Mia, you heard what Dirk said. I hope we can all show some understanding during this mission.”

“No problem,” the girl replied softly, her eyes lowered.

“In that case, I have nothing more to say,” the golden-haired youth smiled faintly, resuming his stride. But after only a few steps, he paused again, turning back to look at the boy who had yet to move. “What’s wrong, Ulysses?”

“Didn’t you feel it?” Amy frowned, his dark eyes fixed on the palpable gray-white mist behind them. “Someone was watching us just now, from within that fog.”

Even if only for a fleeting instant, the chill of murderous intent was unmistakable—a sense honed at great cost, awakened through repeated brushes with death and the favor of the god who brandishes the scythe.

“You’re too sensitive,” Dirk shrugged. “After dark, the mist is so thick you can barely see your own feet. Even someone just a dozen paces away could pass you by without notice. Maybe it was nothing. I, for one, sense no one in the vicinity.”

The sword-bearing girl shook her head as well.

“I hope it’s just my imagination.” Though he said this, the Glorifier did not truly believe it was a mere illusion. It was just that whoever hid within the mist seemed to realize their earlier mistake; the biting murderous intent dissolved into the fog, and even if he wanted to investigate, it would take time. “Well, never mind for now. If they are our enemy, we’re bound to meet again.”

With that, Amy set off.

Though he hadn’t said it aloud, he was far from ignorant regarding the enemy lurking in the mist. He had made few enemies in the lower districts; apart from the Mask of the Shadow King, who hunted for Paul the Giant, and the Mist Night Killer who had once failed to kill him, he could not think of anyone else capable of evading the senses of all three of them.

So—

Could it be you?

The image of that enigmatic, ever-smiling mask flashed through his mind, and his grip on his sword tightened.

—I look forward to meeting you again.