Chapter Seventy-One: Quietly Awaiting Tomorrow (Part One)

The Dice House.

Silently, he chewed over the name of this organization—one that was at once familiar and strange. In the darkness, the Murderer narrowed his eyes. In his previous incarnation, the true Murderer who bore the name Mist Night had been defeated by a Glory-bearer from the Upper District; before that, the Dice House’s name had never circulated in the Lower District. Yet after he was split into thirteen parts and those fragments carried into thirteen distinct lives, the Dice House had already entwined its roots through every corner of the Lower District.

What was even more astonishing was their ability to uncover his true identity. The name Jack was ordinary enough, whether in the Upper or Lower District, but for the Murderer, it carried a special significance. Before he was captured by the Dark Guild and implanted with a high demon's chakra to become a Transcendent, the pitiful test subject had once possessed this unremarkable name. Even though the current Murderer, in both flesh and consciousness, was now entirely divorced from that person, the name still represented a chapter of his past he wished no one to know.

As the undisputed highest combatant in the Lower District, a terror who once ravaged an entire era, the Murderer possessed the privilege of caprice. Matters he wished to keep hidden would never be discovered by any living soul—or so he believed. Apart from the “Serpent” that had lurked above the Dark Guild for centuries, none knew his secret—if the Serpent could even be considered human.

So… from where had the Dice House learned his secret?

His understanding of the Dice House was limited; he knew only that it had risen a century ago as an intelligence organization, and thirty years prior, during Emperor Michelangelo's ascent to the throne, it had played a crucial role. It was the strongest power outside the Three Pillars, perhaps even the hidden hand behind the Lower District.

After all, the possibilities wielded by an Apostle—he had just witnessed them.

Probing is never one-sided. Perhaps the earlier exchange was mainly the Dice House’s Apostle testing his strength, but it also allowed him to glean some insight into their capabilities—both the mysterious figure imperceptible to his senses and the young Apostle possessed powers no less mysterious than those of the Glory-bearers.

What could they be?

There was no inherent antagonism born of the Order’s blood, nor did they bear the markings of the Church, nor did they resonate with demon flesh. In other words…

Their true nature remained unknown.

The Murderer shook his head. Based on the intelligence he possessed, the Dice House had no ambition to rule the Lower District. Despite their pathological hunger for profit, the reason behind it remained unclear. It seemed as if they pursued gain purely for its own sake. If one did not scrutinize carefully, one might be deceived by appearances, but with a skeptical gaze, the discord becomes evident.

“Perhaps… the paltry Lower District is far from enough to sate their appetite.”

A smile curved beneath the mask. If all seven Apostles of the Dice House possessed power equal to Dick’s, they would not content themselves with ruling the Lower District; they would inevitably harbor designs upon the Upper District, governed by the Glory-bearers. Even if they did not intend to overthrow the Glory-bearers’ rule, they would surely seek status and power commensurate with their strength.

Yet what did any of that matter to him?

What he needed to guard against was betrayal after the task was done.

To kill Amy Ulysses.

The request seemed simple, but its hidden depths were anything but. With the Dice House’s intelligence-gathering capabilities, and after their contact with the Glory-bearers, there was no way they did not know how bitterly antagonistic their relationship was, nor could they be unaware that she was already on his kill list.

Yet they still made this demand.

Why?

Was it a gesture of goodwill, or something more sinister?

That answer mattered little, for from the very beginning, the task of killing Amy Ulysses came with no set deadline.

Before he moved against the sensitive Glory-bearer, he had all the time he needed to pursue his own goals.

For example… annihilating the Home of the Lost.

In the Murderer’s register of hatred, the undisputed first place was held by the Serpent who once toyed with his fate, followed immediately by the Home of the Lost, which had once killed him. As for Amy Ulysses? She was nothing more than prey.

A negligible creature, offering him a little amusement.

Though her strength was decent for her age and she qualified as an opponent before her completion, now, at best, she might provide a bit of surprise. What drew more attention was the sword-wielding girl who had accompanied her.

That one was not simple.

Undoubtedly a veteran of the Shura battlefield, incomparable to hothouse flowers like Ulysses. It was fascinating to ponder what methods the Church employed in the darkness to train its sword-bearers.

But the gulf in rank could not be bridged. Even if the Glory-bearer and the sword-bearer joined forces, they posed no real threat. What truly gave him pause was the founder of the Home of the Lost—the Lower District's other Glory-bearer, the dark traveler who had crossed the Deep Night and survived the Fog of the Nameless, the old man who called himself Ignati.

If the Home of the Lost became his adversary, a confrontation would be inevitable.

And the Murderer had to admit, his chances of victory were slim.

Perhaps pitifully slim.

Mist Night’s Murderer? The name was renowned in the Lower District, but it meant nothing in the perilous Deep Night. Anyone daring to break through the boundaries of Order to chase the legendary Lost City of Prometheus was formidable enough in their own right, and those who remained sane under the Fog of the Nameless were living legends—impossible things became possible for them.

To challenge such legends alone? To seek revenge? It was laughable!

Therefore, he needed a helper, someone who could aid him in the fight against Ignati. This requirement seemed simple, but in reality, only a handful in the Lower District could meet it—such as Dick of the Dice House and the mysterious figure imperceptible to his senses, or the sword-bearer who followed the Glory-bearer, or perhaps… the shadow-like companion of Michelangelo… the Mask?

Among these candidates, the Dice House was not trustworthy; the Church and Glory-bearers were mortal enemies. Only one was both reasonably trustworthy and had reason to assist him—the Shadow King of the Lower District, master of the Realm of Death, the Mask from the Mist Zone.

With the fall of the Dark Guild, the Three Pillars' foundation of power collapsed, and the once-murky situation became unprecedentedly clear. Before Emperor Michelangelo and the Home of the Lost lay a single, uncompromising path. The only remaining reason to forestall war was the presence of the dark traveler Ignati—not just in the Lower District but across all of Hemtica, he was a first-rate powerhouse.

Even with the Mask as an ally, his chances were not great.

But he had to try.

Because… blood for blood, tooth for tooth.

If life lacked even this pursuit, what remained? Nothing but emptiness.

Perhaps that was why he valued the name Jack so dearly, why those dull, even humiliating memories mattered—because of his innate sense of emptiness, of nothingness.

What does it mean to be alive?

What makes life meaningful?

Born from the void, the Murderer instinctively yearned to return to emptiness.

Thus, he fought, he killed—only the burning crimson could give him the feeling of being alive.

But indulgence was not for now. The merging of memories was not yet complete; his body's combat instincts still needed time to recalibrate. He needed at least three to five days to adapt to this form, to receive and integrate the battle experience accumulated by thirteen split consciousnesses over years.

Only then could he face the most exhilarating adversary in his perfect state.

To kill or to be killed, both were his desire.

Jack’s life had long ended in sorrow; the one standing here now was the Murderer, and nothing more.

The Murderer.

The returned Murderer turned, his back to the sunrise rising through the mist, then pivoted—

And stepped into the darkness.