Chapter Forty-Five: The Boundary Between Humans and Demons

Amy was no stranger to fiends.

Despite the authorities in City Hall always proclaiming that under the glory of Hemtica no sin could exist, such high-sounding words could only fool the idle fools who spent their days amid dazzling lights and wine. To anyone with a shred of sense, they were nothing but a joke.

Every inch of land in the Upper District bred corruption.

Every coin in the Lower District was stained with blood.

And in the fog where order had long since fallen, hysterical fiends were stirring restlessly.

Yes, there were fiends in the Mist District.

This was not some alarmist's fabrication, but the unvarnished truth—those who had ventured deep into the Mist District, peered through the thick haze into the profound darkness beyond, could attest to it.

For as long as he could remember, the boy had harbored an unusual fascination with the vast world beyond the borders of order. Though his frail body prevented him from treading into the depths of the night, he had nonetheless conducted a thorough investigation into the taxonomy of fiends in the Mist District—while the strength of the Sacred Flame waned and the advance of darkness drew ever closer, even the common fiends lacked the power to invade this land, rotting and fallen beneath the Nameless Mist, yet the strange and elusive force of chaos had already profoundly altered its very ecology.

The land had decayed, with strange substances oozing everywhere like pus.

The rivers had turned foul, their waters thick as mud, flowing sluggishly.

Mountains had collapsed, and twisted, aberrant forests seethed within the mist.

And this... was but a trivial surface.

More horrifying changes had taken place on a deeper level, in realms invisible to the human eye—in the very laws of existence. The boundary between life and death had become blurred; the undying, long bereft of breath and flesh, crawled from crumbling graves to drift among the living.

Ghouls.

Returning from death, they could no longer be called human, but were mere walking corpses, driven by the scent of living flesh and blood. No, often they were not even that—some, the lucky few, retained the vitality of their bodies and staggered through the mists, dragging their decaying forms, but more were nothing but ashen skeletons, or wandering shadows—a portion, utterly consumed by the Nameless Mist, had lost all trace of human shape, their flesh proliferating grotesquely until they became monstrous beings with not a hint of their former humanity.

How pitiable.

The Glorified One lowered his gaze, his dark pupils touched with compassion.

The creature before him was a typical ghoul; its body was severely dehydrated, its limbs so atrophied it could no longer walk upright. This physical deformity sharply contrasted with its grotesquely deformed head—its features still barely suggested a once-human origin, but the sunken cheekbones, the bulging, deep-sea-fish-like eyes, and the jagged teeth clotted with rotten flesh—one glance was enough to reveal the world's naked malice toward mankind.

It was not the ugliness, nor the revulsion, but rather... the humanity that shocked.

Yes, humanity.

The boy sighed inwardly—this was the first fiend in whose eyes he could still perceive a faint glimmer of human nature. From its tiny body and innocent gaze, it was easy to surmise that it had once been a child—a happy child with a loving family, free to play as it wished.

And now.

It had become a fiend.

All traces of its human birth had nearly faded, its hideous form clashing starkly with the sincerity in its eyes, so much so that for a moment, Amy even imagined that it was studying him with genuine curiosity.

“Did you find anything?” Dick approached, his gaze lingering briefly on the fiend. “Looks like it’s been following us all the way. A little mist can’t obscure their sight.”

“It doesn't seem dangerous,” the Glorified One said, frowning slightly and changing the subject. “But things have deteriorated this far? Even the Lower District now sees fiends.”

“Fiends?” The swordbearer of the Order arrived a step later, her eyes questioning.

“It's just a fluke,” the Apostle from the House of Dice replied with a cryptic smile, his intelligence network unparalleled. “The Lower District is still an absolute no-go zone for fiends—this one is a rare exception, and there are legends about it dating back a hundred years at least.”

“I'd like to hear them.”

“Legend has it, she was once an ordinary girl in town, until one fateful day.” The handsome, golden-haired youth paused here. “Gruesome chewing and inhuman howls were heard from her house—people instinctively avoided the place, and long after, someone stumbled upon the girl, long dead from starvation, hiding in the cupboard.”

“That’s not exactly a heartwarming tale,” Amy shook his head.

“Yet the girl, who by any account could not have survived, did not truly die. After losing her human form, she lived on in another guise—as a fiend, as a ghoul,” Dick said softly, glancing at the creature. “But she’s not a true, complete fiend, as you can see—her soul, her will, are not wholly twisted. To some extent, there’s still humanity left in her.”

What a tragic existence.

The swordbearer fixed her gaze on its seemingly expressive eyes, silent.

“Once, hunters, intrigued by her existence, organized massive hunts, but they found nothing.” The Apostle of the Dice House spread his hands. “She’s sensitive, clever, but perhaps not fiendish enough, or maybe still under the influence of the Sacred Flame. Her existence is unstable—she needs long periods of sleep, and often there are years, even decades, with no sightings.”

He pressed his hands together in mock prayer. “We're lucky—at the Hunters’ Guild, her bounty is worth several hundred gold Thors—dead or alive... uh—”

His words broke off, for a glinting blade had appeared at his throat.

“Silence,” the golden-haired, blue-eyed girl commanded, her tone brooking no argument. Her cold gaze swept his face, then settled on the huddled little fiend; for a fleeting moment her expression softened, but in the blink of an eye it was steeled again. “In the name of Mia Windwhisper, I grant you eternal rest.”

—She raised her sword.

The puppy-like fiend, startled as a rabbit, leapt up before the danger struck.

But it did not escape.

The Apostle from the Dice House was quick, seizing it by the hind leg and hoisting it upside down.

Meanwhile, the blow that should have fallen was halted in mid-air—a dark red short sword had precisely blocked the cross-shaped greatsword, almost equal in height to the girl.

The two did not struggle, but simply held their silent standoff.

After twelve breaths had passed.

“Do you remember what you promised me?” The young Glorified One exhaled deeply, breaking the tense balance. After a brief exchange of glances with those emerald eyes, he sheathed his short sword again. “No trouble in town until our mission is complete—as it’s not a true, complete fiend, it should be counted among the townsfolk.”

“A miserable life?” Millie did not press her attack or sheath her sword, only tilted her head and spoke in a flat tone. “I cannot agree.”

“A promise is a promise,” Amy pronounced each word slowly, then looked away. “To me, she is human—still someone who yearns for a better future.”

“Moreover... she wants to live.”

“I understand.” One second... or two? After a subtle pause, the girl finally sheathed her blade. “When the Dark Guild is purged, I’ll grant her eternal sleep—all sin, all impurity, will be cleansed in the fire.”

“Thank you for understanding.”

The Glorified One lifted his brow; though he disliked it, he knew the Order was always thus—relentless toward evil and heresy. Frankly, he was surprised to have won such a concession from the swordbearer; after all, those stubborn heads from the Order were not known for being reasonable.

The girl did not reply, only turned away.

“She’s not beyond hope,” the golden-haired, blue-eyed youth said, watching the swordbearer depart and shrugging as he cradled the little fiend. “I thought everyone from the Order was a hopeless stick-in-the-mud.”

“Sounds like you don’t think much of the Order?” Amy mused. In this world, there is no love or hatred without cause. He could hardly imagine an information syndicate like the Dice House, always profit-driven, bearing such innate hostility toward an Order so exalted above the mundane. “If it’s convenient, you could tell me why.”

“It’s nothing major,” the Apostle glanced aside. “I just can’t stand them.”

“Is that all?” The Glorified One arched his brow.

“That’s all,” the youth nodded.

“Well, I’ll take your word for it,” Amy said, shaking his head. He didn’t believe a single word, but given their current alliance, he had neither right nor reason to press further; he simply let the matter drop. “Your disputes with the Order don’t concern me.”

“You can rest assured of that.” Dick patted his chest. “At least until the Dark Guild is eradicated, we’ll be on the same side.”

“Feels like you’re hinting at something,” the Glorified One said coolly, narrowing his eyes. “Am I to be the next target once the Dark Guild is gone?”

“You overthink,” the golden-haired youth answered with a courteous smile. “The Murderer is my sworn enemy, and you’re helping rid me of these maniacs. I could hardly be more grateful—why would I turn on you?”

“True enough.”

Despite this, Amy’s doubts remained. The Dice House’s reputation was notorious; betraying gratitude for profit was hardly beneath them. Of course, suspicion was one thing—the boy’s face showed none of it, as tranquil as a bottomless well.

“Well—” The Apostle from the Dice House scratched his head. “Anyway, you can trust me.”

“I hope so.”

The Glorified One replied meaningfully, then turned and disappeared into the thick fog.

“What a perceptive fellow,” Dick murmured in genuine admiration, though his gaze did not linger on the boy’s fading silhouette. In fact, quite the opposite—his eyes shifted back, passed over the deformed fiend in his arms, and looked toward the dense, impenetrable mist not far ahead. “We were nearly discovered again, wouldn’t you say—”

He ran his hand down the fiend’s spine, uttering a name that should not have been spoken.

“—Murderer.”

A malicious smile curled at the corner of his lips.