Chapter Seventy-Nine: Encounter Battle

Morning in the Lower District was as tranquil as ever.

The Glorified walked along the rain-soaked, slightly muddy street, their footsteps echoing through the empty alleyway—three in total.

Yes, three.

Amy Ulysses, Mia the Swordbearer, and… Doctor Samantha.

“Are you sure you want to come with us?” The boy made one final attempt to dissuade her. While he understood the longing of the Lower District’s people for the Upper District, the latter, now a battlefield, was hardly worth anyone’s nostalgia. “This really isn’t the best time. If you’re after a better life, you don’t need to take this risk. Just wait patiently—everything will improve. I swear it by the name of Ulysses.”

“Honored Glorified,” Samantha replied, her tone devoid of any true respect despite the address. “This isn’t the orderly world you’re used to. Here, we’re surrounded by thieves, thugs, pickpockets, harlots, and murderers—a forsaken place.”

She paused. “We care less for promises and more for tangible benefits.”

“So?” The boy arched an eyebrow.

Samantha inclined her head with impeccable grace. “Please allow me to refuse.”

The Glorified’s gaze lingered on her for a moment before shifting away. A person determined to leap into the firepit needs no saving, especially when he barely understood her circumstances—his knowledge came only from a few brief words exchanged after waking. He knew neither the details of her situation nor the nature of her bargains; even the broad outline required him to fill in the blanks.

Ordinarily, he might have suspected this sudden companion, but after glimpsing that sliver of impending future, such trivialities no longer mattered. Even if she was a spy sent by the Dice House or some other faction, what threat could she pose under the shadow of looming death? Perhaps this was misplaced confidence, but at the edge of annihilation, only bold wagers might win a chance to overturn fate.

It was hard to describe his mindset in rational terms, but a simple analogy sufficed: like a salaried worker with a monthly income of two thousand, whose only home has just been seized and is now burdened with millions in debt—he would hardly care about the odd tens or hundreds lost here and there. In the face of destiny’s tidal wave, such ripples are insignificant. Rather than fret over minor worries, it was better to shove all his chips onto the table and gamble on that elusive fortune.

So, after his advice failed, the Glorified spared no further thought for the graceful, elegant doctor. Whatever her intentions, they were negligible compared to the monster sealed beneath Hemtica—utterly insignificant.

What truly mattered was finding a way to reach Duke Galsworthy.

Though Amy had encountered Hemtica’s lord a handful of times, she knew little about this highest figure in the Glorified’s hierarchy. She only knew that he harbored deep resentment toward the Ulysses family, but rumor had it that this sentiment was more complex than simple hatred. From loose hints dropped by those in the know, Amy gathered that the relationship between Galsworthy and the Ulysses was far from a simple enmity.

For that reason, a direct meeting might be unwise.

Perhaps Joshua could help. The memory of her childhood friend surfaced—a scion of the Onions family, which held several seats on the city council. Joshua’s official power might be limited, but his influence ran deep. In times like these, when authority was needed, connecting with him could make all the difference.

Very well, it’s settled—Joshua, it’s up to you.

Amy almost smiled at the vision of her friend’s exasperated expression.

But her mood soured again after only a few steps.

The Dark Assembly…

No matter how she looked at it, the breaking free of that unnameable horror beneath Hemtica was surely connected to them. Keeping track of their actions was essential.

But—

It was far too dangerous.

The Glorified remembered the Black Warlock and his flock of red-eyed ravens. Their overwhelming power was such that, even after unlocking new abilities and mastering the swordplay etched into his bloodline, he stood no chance—at best, he wouldn’t lose too shamefully if forced into battle.

To die beneath a raven’s claw…

Looking back, it was a humiliating memory.

But—

Precisely because of that shame, there was value in redemption, wasn’t there?

Decision made!

The boy clapped his hands together as he walked. Individual strength was insignificant before the sheer weight of fate. To change the future he’d seen, his own efforts would never suffice. He had to mobilize all the upper echelons of Hemtica. The Glorified’s side he could manage, and he would keep a close eye on the Dark Assembly, but the Church—there, he would need someone to speak for him.

Amy turned her gaze to the girl at her side.

Sensing it, the Swordbearer turned, her brows arching as she looked at him, puzzled.

“There’s something I might need your help with.” The Glorified, familiar with her ways, wasted no time explaining. “It’s about the monster sealed beneath Hemtica. I may need you to relay a message—sorry, I simply cannot be everywhere at once.”

“No need to apologize,” Mia replied in her usual cool tone, uncharacteristically stringing together a longer sentence. “So long as we tread the right path, do not hesitate to use the talents of others.”

“I understand.” After a brief pause, the boy nodded. “Thank you.”

“Information,” the girl cut directly to the point, more forthright than Amy. She searched for words. “I need more detailed information—about the monster.”

“What I can offer is very limited.” Her request was justified, but the Glorified could only shrug and offer a wry smile. “A being of that magnitude is chaos incarnate. Even glimpsing it from afar twists the mind into an indescribable state. Even with my vision of Hemtica’s destruction, what I know only scratches the surface. To be honest, I still believe it is not something humans can approach.”

“Incomprehensible,” Mia observed flatly. “Hope is dim.”

“But if we don’t try, there’s no hope at all.” The boy sighed softly. Even he doubted whether such empty words could inspire trust, but to give up now would be too bleak. After all, miracles sometimes did occur. “If the Church leadership isn’t entirely ignorant of the monster sealed beneath Hemtica, they might accept this account.”

“I’ll try,” the Swordbearer answered. “No promises.”

“You don’t need to promise anything,” the Glorified shook his head. “All we can do is our best, and whatever outcome awaits, let us seek peace of mind.”

“You don’t sound very optimistic,” Samantha interjected suddenly. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, but it sounds like some dreadful monster is about to break free, and humanity knows nothing of it? Feels like a tired cliché from those hackneyed knight tales.”

“Isn’t it though?” Amy replied offhandedly. “If only there really were a predestined savior like in the stories—but unfortunately, this is reality.”

“That may not be certain.” The mature woman in the doctor’s coat gave a playful whistle. “If stories are to be trusted, perhaps somewhere in Hemtica lurks a hidden master, ready to emerge and seal the demon king at the moment of disaster, even at the cost of his life.”

“If such a person exists, be sure to let me know.” The boy suddenly stopped, a cold smile curling his lips. “I’ll make sure to punch him myself.”

“Why?” Samantha sounded genuinely surprised.

“If you won’t fight back, you might as well be dead,” the Glorified replied in a low voice. “That’s reality—those who can’t face it should hurry up and take a friendly punch to the face.”

“Friendly?” The Swordbearer echoed. “Punch to the face?”

“Oh, that…” Amy was well accustomed to these odd phrases tumbling from her lips, so she improvised smoothly. “It’s another term for the fist of love—using friendship to wake a wayward comrade. It’s a secret technique spread among the Glorified.”

“Oh.” The response was flat, understanding uncertain.

It was the delicate woman in the white coat whose gaze—somehow odd—made him feel uneasy.

But whether through luck or misfortune, before he could wallow in embarrassment, the situation changed abruptly.

—Fog was rising.

Not ordinary mist, but something thicker, heavier, saturated with malice.

“Be careful.”

The Swordbearer’s figure became nothing more than a blur; only her voice carried clearly through the dense shroud.

“This reminds me of an old friend,” the boy narrowed his eyes, alertness at its peak. “Seems that beheading isn’t always enough—this time, let’s see how fire works.”

Almost before he finished speaking, a massive shadow hurtled toward them.

“Be my guest,” came a hoarse voice not far away, “if you think you can.”

“We’ll see.”

The Glorified did not dodge. As the shadow drew near and the fog parted with its speed, the killer’s greeting finally took form in the dim sunlight.

Then, like a cannonball, it crashed to earth, spewing a startling mist of blood.

It was a person—a person who should not have been here.

Though the youthful face and attire bore no resemblance to his memory, the boy recognized him at once. He hadn’t truly changed his features, only disguised himself a little. With some preparation, it wasn’t hard to identify him. But—why was he here?

Amy Ulysses narrowed her eyes and uttered a name:

“Willy—”