Chapter Seventy-three: That Eternal Slumber... (Third Update)

The meeting with Duke Galsworthy had not been anticipated.

As the leader of the Hemtica Chaos Cult, Alfred was intimately familiar with his old acquaintances. If the Dawnbreakers were the hounds on his trail, then Duke Galsworthy was the hunter holding their leash—the most dangerous of all the Glorified. His danger lay not just in his power and status, but in his innate abilities.

Augmentation.

As one of the most publicly visible Glorified, the lord's abilities were no secret in the Upper District. Though the exact limitations remained unknown, what was revealed was undoubtedly augmentation. It sounded simple and unremarkable, didn’t it? In reality, it was nothing of the sort. Even though Alfred had crossed blades with this man, who stood at the pinnacle of the Glorified, only a handful of times—and those bouts had ended almost as soon as they began—he was keenly aware that Duke Galsworthy stood where he did by no accident. Perhaps his ability was not the strongest, nor was he invincible, but in terms of versatility and tenacity, few could rival him.

Augmentation, as the name implied, allowed him to enhance himself at will. But what did enhancement mean? The definition was broad, ambiguous. Duke Galsworthy could, according to the situation, boost his own explosive power, reaction time, recovery, regeneration, and so on. He could alter his resistances, reinforce his body to be stronger than steel, and raise his immunity to superhuman levels. All in all, no matter what kind of enemy he faced, he maintained overwhelming strength.

A man with no weaknesses.

At least, Alfred had no confidence he could defeat him.

“Lords of Darkness.” The true ruler of Hemtica City emerged from the shadows like a tiger patrolling its domain. His black coat fluttered in the breeze, and no trace of emotion could be read in his pitch-dark eyes. “State your purpose.”

He surveyed them from on high, silver-white hair cascading down his back.

“Duke Galsworthy, I am under no obligation to answer your questions—” The Black Sorcerer opened his half-lidded, blood-red eye, the usual rakish smile slipping from his beautiful, painting-like features. His voice was cold as ice. “Not before you return to the land of the dead.”

“Do not evade my question,” the Glorified said, not sparing him even a glance. His gaze remained fixed on the tiny girl before him, with no threat, no anger, not even the faintest hint of hostility. He spoke that secret name in a tone of calm indifference: “Pandora.”

Alfred was momentarily stunned, humiliation at being ignored melting away in an instant. Indeed, the titles of the Triarchs and the Nine Lords were not secret, but even so, within the cult only those acting on the will of chaos knew such hidden truths. How had Duke Galsworthy—a mere Glorified—come by that name?

Could it be… that a traitor existed among them?

“My purpose? Surely, you already know.” The girl, counted among the Nine Lords, bounded before the Glorified like a child unacquainted with the world, affectionately poking his chest, then looking up. “After all, the flames of war between Order and Chaos—”

She paused, the flippancy vanishing from her voice.

“—never cease.”

“That’s your answer.” Duke Galsworthy raised an eyebrow, letting out a cold laugh. “A most fitting reply for a servant of chaos. But… are you, or you all, truly prepared to go to war with the Order of Knights?”

Order of Knights… Wait, the Knights!?

The Black Sorcerer was no stranger to the term; indeed, anyone with the slightest knowledge of the age of the Ancient Kings would recognize it. In that era of unprecedented civilization, knights gathered under the banner of the Aloof King to combat the threat of the Faceless Mist, and wherever their standard flew, none could stand before them.

The Order of Knights represented the highest echelon of Glorified power. If it still existed in this world, only a scant few in Hemtica City would be worthy of its ranks—even Samuel Olding, Dawnbreaker himself, who had pursued Alfred for decades, might not have the strength to claim the title of Knight.

Each Knight was the elite of the elite, a monster among monsters. Their might defied simple description and exceeded the confines of rank. Not even those swayed by the will of chaos, nor even those of Alfred’s caliber, could claim certain victory against them.

By that measure, Duke Galsworthy fit the definition of a Knight.

Yet, more surprising even than this was Pandora herself—or, more precisely, the secrets implied in her words.

“The Order of Knights will no longer stand in the way.” The doll-like girl beamed as if she had just received her favorite toy. “The eternally sleeping are not the dead. In the eons of mystery, even death itself will fade away—wouldn’t you say so, Lord of Hemtica?”

Her voice was clear and melodious as an organ, but to the Glorified, it sounded like the whispering of demons.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Galsworthy narrowed his eyes, his handsome face unreadable. “The eternally sleeping are not the dead? Eons of mystery, and even death itself will fade away? You’ve been listening to too many wandering minstrels.”

“Perhaps,” Pandora spun in her black princess dress, “if you insist, Hemtica—or rather, I should call you Lord of R’lyeh.”

A silence ensued, so long it left even the Black Sorcerer, an outsider, feeling awkward.

The eternally sleeping are not the dead, even death will fade away, and not Hemtica, but R’lyeh… Alfred had no idea what they were talking about, what riddles they were weaving. For the first time, the Lord of Darkness found the city he had lived in for decades to be utterly unfamiliar.

What secrets lay hidden beneath Hemtica?

What did the name R’lyeh truly mean?

He did not know, not at all. At this moment, the one who should have been most familiar with Hemtica among the Lords of Darkness could only meet the mystery with silence.

Until—

“What do you…” The Glorified’s lips moved faintly, “know?”

“More than you imagine.” Pandora pressed a finger to her lips, tilting her head with a radiant smile and a sweet voice. “In the era of the Ancient Kings, Hemtica was famed as the Unbreakable Triple City, but few know even this was not its true name. Hemtica’s history is long indeed—before the capital Prometheus was built, its prototype already existed, and back then, it was named the Great Seal of R’lyeh by the first people.”

“And what did it seal?” The girl, all innocence and nonchalance, circled the man who stood at the apex of Hemtica’s hierarchy, her skirt fluttering like a butterfly, her smile as guileless as a child’s. “Remember, it was the ancient age when the first people, who shattered the blind darkness of chaos, still walked the earth. What was here, so dreadful it needed sealing? The answer is, of course…”

“That’s enough.”

A chill in the voice, and a wave of killing intent surged forth. Yet Pandora simply tilted her head, feigning confusion, her voice weak and girlish as she protested, “Interrupting a lady is terribly rude, Mr. Galsworthy.”

“You… don’t tell me you intend to unleash that monster?” The lord of Hemtica loomed over the little girl, a razor’s edge glinting in his gaze. “Or is this merely a ruse to distract me?”

“Guess?” Pandora’s eyes widened, as clear as crystal.

“I never leave things to chance,” Duke Galsworthy replied, and then—the invisible blade at his waist flashed like lightning, cleaving through the darkness before dawn. Blood sprayed; before anyone could react, the now-crimson blade had pierced through the girl’s back, lifting her like a broken doll. “Indeed, I trust in steel more than words.”

It all happened too swiftly, too abruptly. Only after his words fell did the Black Sorcerer’s red-eyed raven take flight.

“Too late.” The Glorified deftly withdrew the invisible sword from the girl’s chest, flicked the blood from its blade, and looked up—unhurried, unruffled—at the gathering swarm of ravens. “You never learn, Alfred.”

In the next instant, he was already at his back, like a shadow.

Fast, fast, too fast!

The Black Sorcerer froze, half-turned, as an arc of steel split him from crown to heel.

The ravens scattered.

An incarnation.

Watching in silence as the Black Sorcerer’s pieces reassembled themselves, forming a human shape several dozen meters away, Duke Galsworthy did not press the attack.

If only Samuel were here.

The lord could not help but think—his own powers were ill-suited to dealing with Alfred—

But in the next moment, his calm reflections were abruptly cut short.