Chapter Sixty-One: Clouds of Doubt I (Second Update)

Chapter Fifty-Nine: Clouds of Suspicion I

Something feels off...

The sword-bearer furrowed her elegant brows. As a girl from the Order, her understanding of demons far exceeded those who were confined within Hemptica’s glory. She knew well what it meant to encounter a high demon—not merely a power beyond comprehension, though some lacked overwhelming might. Yet between high demons and ordinary ones lay a chasm impossible to cross: a gulf of essence.

That gulf was the chakra.

Chakra was the source of a high demon’s power, the very foundation that allowed them to rival the great sword-bearers. This mysterious organ not only bestowed physical prowess far beyond that of common demons, but also enabled them to wield mysteries beyond human understanding—powers as strange as those of the glory-bearers. What was even more terrifying: their abilities were rarely singular.

Mia recalled that in Canaan, where the Order was headquartered, they had discovered a fearsome creature awakened to seven distinct powers. Though such monsters could not wield multiple abilities simultaneously, in battles where power decided all, each unique talent represented a different possibility—a built-in advantage in intelligence for their enemies, and several opportunities to change fate.

But...

Her gaze lingered on the corpse of the murderer, its head severed. Then she looked away. The aura emanating from the killer was genuine; it was indeed a high demon at the pinnacle of its kind. Unlike the nameless monstrosity slain by her sword earlier, this one was not an artificially flawed creation, but a true demon born of the wild chaos.

To kill such a creature—after a battle that hardly qualified as arduous?

No matter how she thought about it, there was a sense of unreality, an absurdity. Apart from the initial manipulation of mist, this rare, intelligent demon revealed nothing exceptional. Even if their victory was not easily won, there was an undeniable stiffness, a sense of deliberation—as if they had stepped into a script written long ago, and the arrival of victory lacked any sense of authenticity.

Especially regarding Amy Ulysses—there was much uncertainty about him. He claimed his ability was resurrection of the dead, yet here it manifested as some kind of spiritual sight? And, at the very outset, he managed to severely wound the high demon, dragging an opponent unskilled in direct combat into a brutal sword fight and laying the groundwork for their triumph.

Yet even so, victory came abruptly—in a far-from-fierce struggle, the high demon relied purely on brute force and never unleashed its innate abilities. The earlier mist, though strange, hardly seemed a complete power. In other words, the white-haired, red-eyed killer may have concealed a decisive move capable of turning the tide.

But... why did it not use it?

Was it simply unable? Or did some unspeakable reason prompt it to abandon its power?

The outcome may be the same, but the meaning is entirely different: the former suggests the demon’s awakened talent was not suited to immediate combat, the latter implies its apparent death is merely a trick to lull them into complacency—the battle is far from over.

Which is it?

The girl could not be certain—not in the short term, at least. All she could do was ponder the question while heightening her vigilance.

But before she could decide, something unexpected happened.

Without a sound, without warning, the glory-bearer collapsed to the ground.

“Amy?” The sword-bearer’s feelings toward the boy bearing the Ulysses name were complex. He had proven himself a trustworthy companion in the previous fight, yet the mystery surrounding his claimed resurrection power made full trust difficult. Still, she could not ignore him. “Are you still conscious...”

She left the question unfinished; the answer was already before her.

The young glory-bearer’s eyes remained open, but their darkness was lifeless. If not for the faint breath near his nostrils, Mia could not have been sure he still lived.

A curse?

Instinctively, the girl tilted her head.

Among the countless talents of high demons, curses were not uncommon. They could sap strength before battle, induce splitting headaches during combat, or bestow misfortune afterward. Most demons possessed the ability to curse humans, and some could even deliver fatal curses—though the conditions were strict, often only effective after death. But once a curse took hold, escape was nearly impossible.

Was Amy facing such a curse?

The sword-bearer still could not be sure.

Demon talents, like the abilities of glory-bearers, were myriad and strange. Even though the Order’s research into these chaotic servants had been systematic and thorough for centuries, new talents and species were recorded every year—demons were like weeds in a field, always sprouting anew, each crop slightly different.

The only certainty was that she had to help him.

The Order’s main headquarters had professional curse-breakers, but such rare talents were never sent to branch offices, even to a city called Hemptica. Now, she could only use the simplest method.

That was invocation.

Invocation of the Sovereign’s name.

This was a folk remedy among sword-bearers, but not without basis. Among scholars dedicated to studying the relationship between order and chaos, there was a consensus: the fundamental difference between order and chaos was the presence or absence of names.

A name is the world’s oldest sealing art.

It distinguishes the named from all else—in the absence of names, the world is but a formless chaos, until the omniscient, omnipotent Lord declared, “Let there be light.”

In that moment, the ambiguous chaos was cleaved; the concept of “light” was separated from the void.

Thus, light came to be.

The strongest argument was that everything in the world of order had a name—even the beast 666 that ended Prometheus. When it manifested from chaos and descended upon the realm of order, it was given a name, branded with the title “666,” symbolizing the end, and the concept was etched into the soul of everyone who had seen it, impossible to forget.

The only thing in this world that cannot be named is blind, ignorant chaos.

Though called “chaos,” that is merely humanity’s term for the unrecognizable, the unnameable, akin to “that thing,” “that fellow,” “someone,” “something”—ambiguous designations.

Of course, this was only the scholars’ hypothesis. Mia did not know if it was true, but she knew this folk remedy was widely practiced among sword-bearers, and in critical moments, it could save a companion’s life—and that was enough.

“Amy,” the girl called in a mechanical tone.

But something was off—she tilted her head for some time before recalling the boy’s full identity and added his surname.

“Amy Ulysses.”

Yet the young glory-bearer remained barely breathing, as if the method had little effect.

But the sword-bearer did not lose heart, repeating Amy Ulysses’s name over and over.

Perhaps the curse’s erosion changed, or perhaps her method had some effect; the glory-bearer’s slender form, shadowed in the darkness, suddenly convulsed as if struck by lightning. Though not fully conscious, the spasms were accompanied by guttural, incoherent utterances.

Was this improvement?

Perhaps...

The girl tilted her head, then continued to call his name.

But at that moment, the unexpected happened.

There was a spark in the glory-bearer’s eyes; he seemed to have broken free from the curse. Yet the ferocious expression on his face and the malevolent intent in his dark eyes made the sword-bearer instinctively step back, gripping her greatsword behind her.

“Amy?” she asked cautiously, ready to strike.

But the boy only let out a wild, animalistic howl.

Was something wrong?

The girl held her sword, unmoving, emerald eyes fixed on the glory-bearer, vigilant for any change.

Yet Amy Ulysses, trapped in some terrifying state, showed no aggression.

Instead, fear twisted his face.

As if confronted by something incomprehensible, unbelievable, he retreated on the ground, panic-stricken like a rookie seeing blood for the first time in war.

“Don’t... don’t come any closer...” His voice was hoarse and utterly different from before. “What are you... what kind of monster are you...”

“Ah! Monster!”

The glory-bearer’s eyes widened.

“You... you monster! Monster! Monster!”

After repeating the word three times, something within him collapsed. He slumped to the ground like a boneless snake, temporarily silent.

He still breathed.

The sword-bearer checked his breath and sighed in relief; at least some progress had been made.

Perhaps...

“Amy Ulysses.” She called again.

Unexpectedly, the boy responded—his eyelids fluttered, then opened, as if awakening from a long sleep. His consciousness was still hazy, but instinctively he looked at her and replied:

“M... Mia?”