Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Path to Becoming Stronger

The Great Swordbearers, the Lords of Darkness, and the Chosen Ones. These, by and large, represent the ultimate limits of power that the mortal world can withstand. Since the ancients retreated into obscurity, only the legendary ancient kings who wielded the ultimate power of Prometheus, and the blind, mad will of chaos incarnate as the most wicked forms in the clash against order, have truly surpassed them. Yet, the strongest polarities that symbolize order and chaos became history long ago, fading away with the fall of the Evernight Wall. Whether it was the rulers who governed the domains of order or the legendary beasts that manifested chaos, neither have appeared before mortals for centuries. Their strength and terror are glimpsed only through scattered rural legends and a few brief lines in classical texts.

Their greatness has been both mythologized and forgotten by the world. Even those like the Great Swordbearers, the Lords of Darkness, and the Chosen Ones—who stand atop the mortal realm—rarely show themselves to the public in this era. The Great Swordbearers and Lords of Darkness are at least known among the elite, such as Amy, who has heard of their names in passing, but information about the Chosen Ones seems never to have circulated outside the circles of the Scions of Glory.

If the title of Chosen One had not appeared in numerous classical works, the youth might have suspected that the Chosen Ones' strength was merely a gimmick crafted by the Scions of Glory to maintain their rule.

After all—

If cultists, their sects, and even monsters possess peak power, then those who truly govern the cities scattered across the Deep Night—the Scions of Glory—must have some ultimate force to counterbalance them. Otherwise, their tower of power would lack the foundational stone to sustain it, and collapse would loom near.

This is also why the Scions of Glory in Hermtica are deeply wary of the cult—never mind anything else, the mere existence of three Great Swordbearers in the cult is enough to threaten the Scions' dominance in Hermtica.

Yet…

The young Scion of Glory could not bring himself to rejoice over the impending demise of a cult Swordbearer.

First, his sense of belonging to the Scions was far from strong. Second, the overt and covert struggle between the Scions and the cult was, at its core, an internal conflict on the side of order. Both parties had their tacit understandings, and the true enemy was not each other, but the monstrous hordes that surged beneath the Deep Night and the cultists lurking within the city—especially the Lords of Darkness, who were near incarnations of catastrophe.

Just Alfred alone had brought Amy to the brink of death several times, and now, the number of such entities had suddenly grown to three… Worse still…

The youth glanced furtively at the old man, whose breathing was growing weaker, and could not help but sigh inwardly—at this crucial moment, the only Great Swordbearer capable of facing them head-on had fallen, reducing their numbers, and the balance of power between order and chaos in Hermtica had suddenly grown uncertain—even tilting towards disadvantage, given that their foes remained hidden while they themselves were exposed.

A real headache.

Thinking carefully—the severity of the situation might well be linked to him.

The attempt on his life was likely a trap laid by the Lords of Darkness. One part of it was indeed the intent to utterly wipe out Ulysses, but the more important purpose was to use this slaughter to draw the attention of the Scions and the cult, thereby unexpectedly annihilating the forces of order and shifting the balance of power in Hermtica, positioning themselves more favorably for future conflicts. (Note: this is Amy’s subjective speculation.)

Looking back, the cultists’ plot had undoubtedly succeeded. Aside from his own lucky survival—a small flaw—all their objectives had been fulfilled, even claiming the life of a Swordbearer, a peak force. The big names in the upper districts would surely be troubled by this.

No, not dead yet—only close to death.

His gaze swept over the old man's faintly rising chest, and the young Scion of Glory corrected himself inwardly. Every living peak-level warrior is a precious asset—realizing this, he cleared his throat and looked respectfully at the elder, whose life signs were fading.

"Honored Great Swordbearer, forgive my boldness, but with your distinguished merit, you should not rest eternally here."

"The place of rest for the dead is determined only by the omniscient and almighty Lord. Mortal glory is of no consequence in the Kingdom of Heaven," the old man replied, arching his brow—a gesture rendered odd by his lack of hair—"All Scions of Glory are born false believers. No matter how deeply you study the sacred texts, you cannot wash away your inherent sin, nor ascend to the Lord’s realm."

"You seem to know who I am?" The youth had no intention of debating doctrine with a religious devotee.

"Amy Ulysses." The skeletal old man also seemed uninterested in conversion, and did not pursue the subject, instead managing a smile on his wrinkled face. "Your sister cried terribly that day—I could not help but remember you."

Julia…

The Scion grew silent, then after a pause, looked up. "Is she well?"

"You ask me? How could I know?" the old man replied irritably. "But your kind—Scions of Glory—have all sorts of strange abilities. Even resurrection doesn’t surprise me anymore."

"Oh." Amy responded coolly. It appeared his feigned death had worked better than expected; not only had Alfred the Black Sorcerer failed to notice, but the cult had been fooled as well. Still, this was nothing to boast about. If possible, he would never want to face such a situation again. "How long was I dead?"

"Three days, as of today," the cult Swordbearer said with a meaningful glance. "Resurrected after three days—a truly legendary ability."

"Also a useless one." To Scions of Glory, concealing their abilities was almost instinctive.

"Useful or not, any power that can save your life at a critical moment is a good power," the old man mused. "Take me, for example—what use is having abilities that cover all five domains, with complete systems for attack and defense? I still got beaten senseless by those bastards, barely clinging to life here."

"But you faced three alone," the youth praised at the right moment.

"Alone my foot! Hunting Lords of Darkness is a tricky business—I’d never dare go alone," the old man retorted, unmoved by flattery. The ancients said, 'When a man is about to die, his words are kind,' but perhaps it was the approach of death that revealed the true nature of this usually lofty Swordbearer. "But then two more dangerous names jumped out from the grass, and everything went to hell. If I hadn't risked my life, none of us would’ve gotten out."

"Is it really that bad? Are the Lords of Darkness so strong?" To Amy, the Great Swordbearers, Lords of Darkness, and Chosen Ones were all peak-level warriors; their individual strengths, even if varied, shouldn’t differ too much. "I remember the cult had three Swordbearers stationed in Hermtica…"

"The Tower Supreme must always have one guarding it," the old man said with some annoyance, waving his hand. "It was always a case of the few against the many, and with surprise attacks, it’s no wonder we got wiped out."

"I see." The youth nodded. "May I ask, what are the five domains you mentioned?"

"It's the cult’s method of categorizing abilities," the Swordbearer replied, shaking his head. "Hardly a secret. Since you’ve accompanied me through my last journey, I’ll break tradition and tell you—based on how abilities manifest, the cult divides them broadly into five domains: Enhancement, Transformation, Manipulation, Energy Shaping, and Specialty."

"These five domains are actually easy to grasp," the old man continued, his mood improved. While such knowledge might be precious in Hermtica, for the forces that truly shape the future of order, it’s basic stuff every apprentice learns at entry. "Enhancement is for strengthening the body or items like armor and weapons that function as bodily extensions; Transformation is about altering the body—becoming a wolf, tiger, lion, or even mythical creatures, as well as changing one’s appearance or parts of the body; Manipulation, also called Control, is harder to explain briefly—it’s about controlling the atmosphere, plants, objects at a distance, and so on; Energy Shaping is straightforward—creating energy, summoning fire and lightning—these are the most dangerous abilities in combat, both for enemies and the user; lastly, Specialty is a vast dumping ground—any ability not fitting the first four is placed here. Your resurrection clearly belongs in Specialty."

"Thank you," the young Scion of Glory said with genuine gratitude, steadying himself as if making a decision, and bowed deeply to the stooped elder. "Sir, I have one final question—does a way exist in this world for me to become stronger?"

"You wish to become strong?" The Swordbearer paused, shaking his head. "Then let me ask you, what is strength—power, wisdom, or unique ability?"

"Perhaps…" Amy shook his head, embarrassed. After a brief silence, he looked directly into the elder’s clouded eyes and enunciated each word: "Strength enough to master my own fate."

The Swordbearer was silent.

After a long moment, he sighed deeply. "You truly are a troublesome child… To seize your destiny—this is a dream many pursue all their lives but never attain. If you truly wish to be someone who can master his own fate, I can tell you this: it cannot be done. Not even the Lords of Darkness or Great Swordbearers can achieve it. In the mortal world, perhaps only the true Chosen Ones have a glimmer of hope."

"So—"

With a drawn out tone, the words rang clear and resolute.

"Make it your goal to become a Chosen One."