Chapter Forty-Six: An Encounter at the Edge of the Realm

Dusky red skin, a blue-faced mask with fangs. The young woman gazed into the mirror, staring at the ferocious visage of a demon, at those crimson eyes that seemed to drip blood, and let out a low sigh.

She had never imagined that one day she would walk the world in the guise of a monster.

Yet she still wanted to see—wanted to see the world outside, no matter how filthy, no matter how impure, for it was a true part of reality, the thorns she must tread upon in her journey forward.

If she lacked even the courage to face this, how could she hope to walk the path of her faith, to carry forth the radiance of the divine?

To wield the sword is to uphold discipline. Mia Windwhisper’s faith had never wavered, not for a single moment. Yet last night, the instant she locked eyes with the young demon desecrating the corpse, a seed of emotion had sprouted quietly within her—a feeling that should never have taken root.

It was pity.

Pity for a demon?

Though she loathed to admit it, at that moment she had indeed felt compassion—a compassion absolutely forbidden towards those she must purify.

Because of this, she spent the entire night in repentance.

The lodging provided by the Dice House was humble, but it offered each of the three their own small room. Within the cramped space, Mia fashioned a simple altar, knelt upon the floor, pressed her hands together, calmed her thoughts and emptied her mind, beginning her prayers.

To the Supreme Light, to the all-knowing, all-powerful Lord—

The divine never gives direct answers; the answers are embedded in the daily readings of the doctrine.

She recited the scripture.

It was both repentance and guidance.

"With love and mercy as Your crown."

The swordbearer of the Order read the psalm extolling the Lord, and though the words were plain, at this moment they shone like lanterns in endless darkness, a brilliant light guiding the lost lamb.

Yes, the Supreme Light was never a cold or harsh god.

He loved humanity, and He pitied humanity.

Demons are demons—but before they become such, they live as humans.

Her pity for them was merely pity for what they once were, for those awakened from eternal slumber by the corruption of chaos.

They lost their human minds.

They lost their human forms.

Existing in the world as impure beings, neither living nor dead.

How twisted, how unclean, how… abhorrent.

Therefore—

The minions of chaos have no place in the world; their very existence is an insult to humanity, a desecration of order.

To wield the sword is to uphold discipline, to use her own body to cleanse sin.

This is the meaning of the swordbearer's existence.

With clarity restored, the shadows in her heart dissipated, and guided by the Lord, she found her path once more.

She would bear witness—witness the evil wrought by chaos, witness the suffering endured by humanity, witness all that could be seen, and thus become the blade of the Lord, destroying the endless darkness and chaos beyond order before the chain of misfortune could take hold.

But she could not venture out in her true form.

Before leaving, she had been warned: in Ore Town, nearly everyone bore visible signs of demonic transformation. If someone like her, an ordinary human without any signs of mutation, walked the streets, she would immediately become the focus of every gaze, and within ten minutes word of a stranger in town would spread, drawing the attention of spies planted here by the Dark Guild.

Therefore, she needed a disguise.

She donned crimson false eyes, wrapped herself in dusky red skin, and wore a blue-faced, fanged mask.

She… became a monster.

And thus arrived in a town full of monsters.

The borderland lies at the edge between the lower district and the fog zone. Even though the eternal night symbolizing darkness had ended, light and warmth still shunned this pain-soaked land. Thick fog blocked the sun’s rays, and the gray sky draped the world in a shroud of despair.

The swordbearer of the Order walked through a desolate world.

Here, the distance between people was unprecedented. Every passerby kept careful space from others, wrapped head to toe in heavy cotton, each a lone island on the road. No voices could be heard, only the thud of heavy footsteps echoing.

No sign of vitality, no hint of life.

It was less that people were living than that they had not yet died.

This was a dying town.

Even the young woman, who knew almost nothing about this place, could sense the aura of death that permeated it.

Numbness, sorrow, and despair.

The townsfolk were little more than walking corpses. Though their bodies remained human, their noble souls had already fallen into darkness, leaving behind only the embers of humanity.

Mia’s heart grew heavy.

More terrifying than bodily transformation was the corruption of the spirit—the people here seemed to have utterly abandoned hope and light, lost themselves under the fog of the Nameless Ones.

Beyond saving.

The girl clenched her fists, ceaselessly turning her pain into fuel, stoking the fire within her heart.

But—

Suddenly, someone grabbed her hand.

Instinctively, she turned. What she saw was a figure swathed completely in bandages.

She did not know him at all…

Inexperienced in the ways of the world, the swordbearer did not immediately react, simply remaining silent and tilting her head slightly.

"My name is Willy," said the bandaged man, voice low, soft but full of strength, his features obscured as he leaned in, "one of Amy Ulysses’s few friends."

The girl blinked, offering no reply.

"Listen," he leaned even closer, from a distance appearing almost indecent, "Amy is in danger, grave danger—"

After a brief pause, the informant continued, "The Dice House has set their sights on him."

"Understood…" The swordbearer, ignorant of the power struggles in the lower district, furrowed her brow. "But not really."

"I’ll keep it brief." After carefully scanning the surroundings, the self-proclaimed Willy exhaled in relief. "The Dice House is dangerous. Dick can’t be trusted—they are web-weavers. Once their prey is marked, they become more and more entangled, ending up as the spider’s treat."

"Oh." The girl replied coolly.

"Ulysses has been marked," the informant repeated. "He’s in real danger. The Dice House and the Dark Guild have been colluding for some time—this is a trap."

"A trap?" For the first time, the swordbearer revealed her icy sharpness. Her pure eyes, clear as emeralds, suddenly glinted like razors, and with a single look seemed to pierce through the man entirely. "Are you certain?"

"Absolutely." Willy affirmed. "I am the best informant."

"Mhm." She gave a quiet reply, casting her gaze downward.

—Who could be trusted?

She did not know, but could leave it to that man to judge. She hoped… hoped he was trustworthy.

"Give this message to Ulysses," said the informant, still swaddled in bandages, his tone abruptly brisk. "Then, kick me away with all your strength."

"Are you sure?" The swordbearer looked at him, asking.

Willy nodded, but immediately his unseen face twisted with pain. His body curled like a shrimp, stumbling backward step by step, nearly ten paces. He reached out, trying to grasp something, but caught only the thick fog. Losing his balance, his body collapsed to the ground and curled into a ball.

What a strange creature…

As consciousness faded, the informant’s mind emptied of all thoughts.

Elsewhere, the swordbearer, no longer inclined to wander, returned to the remote cottage at the edge of town. Unexpectedly, she once again encountered the Dice House boy.

"Well?" Leaning against the door, he smiled cheerfully at her. "Enjoying your adventure?"

"Not in the least." Mia made no effort to conceal her feelings. "This place is already dead."

"That’s a classic Order response." The Dice House’s apostle shifted, making room for her to enter. "But I beg to differ—this town on the border isn't merely alive; it embodies the greatness of life."

"Oh." Knowing he was at odds with her, the girl only replied quietly.

"The borderlands are forsaken," Dick continued, "the townsfolk here are exiles, castaways. Abandoned by all, they still manage to carve out their own existence on this corrupted land. Isn’t that the greatness of life?"

"Living in muddled misery," the young swordbearer paused at the threshold, her cold words full of resolute will, "is worse than dying."

"As expected—" The golden-haired, blue-eyed youth’s gaze sharpened instantly. "We really don’t get along."

"Mutual," the girl replied, making no attempt to mask her dislike.

"We are remarkably candid, it seems." Watching her pass by, the Dice House boy straightened, "I hope we keep this honesty, especially about the bandaged man shadowing you."

"A rude fellow." Without pausing, the swordbearer vanished into the distance.

"The House of the Lost… a crowd of fools," he muttered, raising his gaze to the thick fog blanketing the street, to the gloomy sky shrouded by mist. "But there’s no need to pay much mind to the antics of clowns. After all, I have stood in the position of strength from the very beginning."

"Because…" With a smile at his lips, his sharp eyes seemed to pierce the fog, to glimpse the not-so-distant future. He spoke with quiet certainty, "The victor has always stood by my side."