Chapter Eighteen: Return to the Upper District

It felt like a lifetime ago.

Standing in the middle of the bustling street, watching the ebb and flow of the crowd, Amy found himself momentarily lost in thought—how long had it been since he was last in the lively markets of the Upper District? A month? Two? Or perhaps even longer? Yet whether it had been one month or two, the time wasn’t truly that long; in theory, a few short months shouldn’t have created a gulf in memory. But the reality before him insisted otherwise—he genuinely felt estranged and distant from the splendor of the Upper District.

Was this the unease of returning home?

The thought drifted through his mind only to be quickly dismissed. He felt no particular affection for the Upper District; he barely had any friends here, and could count the number of acquaintances on one hand. Under such circumstances, how could he possibly feel nervous about returning home?

So what was the reason?

On reflection, his memories of the Upper District were indeed pitifully scarce. A serious illness years ago had left his childhood memories little more than a vague impression, and in recent years, life at the academy, marred by the exclusion of other Glorified and his own naturally solitary temperament, had kept him rooted in the library. Any spare time was spent visiting his parents and looking after his sister.

After all, Yulia was hardly the kind of person one could leave unattended.

Thinking of his sister, a genuine smile briefly flickered across Amy’s face. But the rare, sincere smile quickly faded; he tugged the brim of his tall cap lower, scanning the surging crowd, and, only after confirming there were no suspicious figures around him, let out a long sigh of relief.

“Now is definitely not the time for daydreaming. What a time to lose focus.”

The questions in his heart hadn’t faded, but the young Glorified had no intention of wasting precious time in a daze. The passage from the Lower District to the Upper District was tightly controlled by the Council, watched by the eyes and ears of various Glorified families. If he didn’t want to be entangled by those pesky spies—or, worse, face another assassination attempt—it was best to reach the Tower of the Highest before their intelligence network caught up with him, lest some unexpected trouble arise.

Though the security of the Upper District was worlds apart from the Lower, one did not need to kill with their own hands. Hire an alchemist to poison your food, orchestrate chaos and frame you for a crime—there were countless bloodless ways to end a life. Without the cunning to match one’s strength and status, mere brute force would not keep anyone alive here for long.

Amy knew himself—not particularly clever, and too lazy to waste his wits contending with those experts who reveled in intrigue. Rather than wait here for his enemies to get organized, it was better to seize the window before news of his return spread, and hurry to the Tower of the Highest—then, with the friendship of the Order, leave this place of strife behind.

He believed that no one in the Upper District would dare provoke the Order’s wrath.

Of course, while he was here, he could also visit Yulia.

He wondered how she was adapting.

Just the thought of his frail sister living alone in the Order made Amy’s heart ache. His journey to the Lower District had been one of necessity; the mounting overt and covert pressures from all sides had made it impossible for the two of them to maintain a normal life at home. Fleeing to the Lower District to start anew seemed a reasonable choice, but knowing the chaos and lawlessness there, Amy dared not bring his sickly sister to such a place before he had established any roots.

Yes, a place far from the light of order.

That was what the people of the Upper District called the Lower District. And in truth, from what Amy had seen during his time there, the description wasn’t far off. The daytime might be safe enough, but the ever-present, almost tangible clouds, and the mists that crept in at night when the power of order waned, turned it into a lawless frontier.

By contrast, the Upper District boasted clear skies, star-studded nights, and a ceaselessly vibrant, neon-lit life. Even its schemes and bloodshed were conducted over wine and pleasantries—everything cloaked in the trappings of order, so neat and genteel.

Even Amy, who despised backstabbing and intrigue, had to admit the difference was like night and day. In the Upper District, as long as you didn’t provoke the high and mighty, life could be quite comfortable. In the Lower District, you could keep your head down and still fall victim to a murderer’s blade at any time.

But there was no going back.

Amy sighed, gazing at the towering spire shrouded in clouds at the center of the city.

There were three landmarks in the central district, visible at a glance: the City Hall, seat of Hemtica’s highest authority; the Hephaestus Temple, keeper of the sacred flame; and the Tower of the Highest, home of the Order.

It was amusing, in a way. Despite its name, the Tower of the Highest was the most accessible of the three. Any citizen could freely visit its first three floors, unlike the Hephaestus Temple, which required strict identity checks. Even for a Glorified, blessed with ancestral blood, entry to the temple was no easy feat.

Amy himself had never visited the Hephaestus Temple.

—Though in truth, he’d never had a chance to visit the Tower of the Highest, either.

With these thoughts, he arrived at the foot of the tower. Without bothering to glance up at the mist-shrouded spire, he strode straight into the reception hall on the first floor. After presenting his citizen’s identification to two sword-bearing knights clad in silver armor, he approached the reception desk and nodded politely to the dignified young nun. With solemn formality, he intoned, “May the Lord have mercy.”

“May the Lord have mercy upon the world,” the charming young nun replied, pressing a hand to her chest in the ritual gesture of the Order, and offered him a warm smile. “How may I assist you, sir?”

“I wish to see Bishop Franks,” Amy said directly.

“Do you have an appointment?” the nun asked, her gaze curious as she took in his youthful features. She couldn’t imagine what business this still-somewhat-awkward young man might have with the venerable Bishop Franks. “If you do, I can inform his Excellency for you.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have an appointment,” Amy replied, spreading his hands apologetically. “But please, would you inform him? I have an urgent matter to discuss with Bishop Franks. My name is Amy—Amy Ulysses—as you can see, I am a Glorified.”

The nun began to utter a polite refusal, but the words caught in her throat. Though the Order made no outward show of deference to the Glorified, she herself had once been an ordinary citizen of the Upper District and still felt a natural awe for the city’s true rulers.

“Please wait a moment. I will inform him at once.”

“Thank you.”

Amy watched her go, then found a seat.

The Order was a religious organization devoted to the worship of the Divine—an entity with no mundane name, known within the Order simply as the Lord, or simply God, or even, by some, as the Omniscient and Omnipotent. More a concept than a deity of myth, a personification of the light of order.

The Bishop he sought, Bishop Franks, was one of the Order’s leaders in Hemtica.

He didn’t know much about the Order’s internal structure, only that the Swordbearers, representing military might, and the clergy, responsible for administration, belonged to two independent branches. The rank of Bishop, within the clergy, held considerable power.

As far as Amy knew, aside from the mysterious High Pontiff, the twelve Bishops of the Tower of the Highest stood atop the pyramid of authority. In the Pontiff’s absence, all matters great and small fell under their jurisdiction—save only for the legendary Grand Swordbearers, whose power was said to surpass even the Glorified and who answered only to the Pontiff.

A single Grand Swordbearer, it was said, could sweep the Lower District aside with ease.

Amy was not particularly nervous. While not intimately acquainted with Bishop Franks, he was not a stranger either. It was this elder whom he had asked to preside over Yulia’s initiation into the Order. Rumor had it—though he had never confirmed it—that among the twelve bishops, the venerable Franks was both the oldest and most respected, and had been a close friend of Amy’s mysteriously vanished parents.

As their child, he felt awkward seeking out the bishop on the strength of that connection.

Besides, after all he’d been through, Amy had come to a clear realization: his parents’ friendships were theirs alone—in this world, one ultimately had to rely on oneself.

“—Mr. Ulysses?” The nun returned after about a quarter of an hour. Not a trace of breathlessness or sweat betrayed her; clearly, the Tower of the Highest was equipped with some mechanical device, for anyone else would have been exhausted after running up and down dozens of floors. “Bishop Franks will see you now, but please make it brief. He has an appointment with Councilman Jonathan at ten twenty.”

“Less than half an hour, then?” Amy glanced at the clock on the wall and gestured for her to lead the way. “Understood. Please lead on, miss.”

For this meeting—which would decide his fate—Amy could not help but feel a surge of anticipation.