Chapter Ninety-Six: Living Up to the Anticipation

Soul and flesh seemed to be ripped apart.

The swordbearer felt the searing heat brought by the stigmata and struggled to open her eyes.

Where... am I?

Her vision swayed. Her body had no strength in it at all. The unprecedented weakness made her think of the endless night from ten years ago—the third year after the fireseed went out. The scions of glory, born to bear glory, had already bled dry the last drop of their ancestral blood. Ignatius Cathedral, once the giver of light and hope, had long since become a nest where demons bred, and all across Nathaniel lay nothing but the remains of the dead wandering in every direction—

The world had, inevitably, been driven to its end.

At least for the two girls, Nathaniel had been their entire world.

Their father, who used to affectionately rub his bristly face against their chins, had died protecting them on the final stretch of road leading to the cathedral. And when the holy light, eroded by the endless dark, gradually faded, the mad demons began to break into the cathedral, the bishop and the knights had used their flesh and blood to forcibly hold back the first wave of ravenous monsters for everyone’s sake. She could never forget it: in order to let them escape the pursuit of that monstrous hound, with its three deformed heads and its wet, sticky drool forever dripping from its gaping maw, their mother—who had never received any combat training—pushed them away and turned to face the hideous demon.

They had escaped. Even they themselves never knew how they had broken through the encirclement of demons.

And then... they had lived on.

Though it was called survival, in truth it had only been her older sister who kept her alive.

Even now, Mia remembered that helplessness with painful clarity—watching her parents and kin die before her eyes, catching a chill at the very moment her sister needed help most, burning with fever until consciousness blurred, depending all the while on the sister who was only a few years older than she was, and taking for granted the food, the water... and the warmth her sister brought her.

How shameful.

How disgusting.

The swordbearer’s consciousness gradually cleared. She struggled to stand again, but her weakened body could not muster enough strength. After managing to prop herself up briefly, she went limp and leaned against the boy’s back. Her whole body was icy cold, except for the part where the stigmata lay, which radiated an astonishing heat.

"What’s wrong?" The black-haired, black-eyed boy turned around.

"No, nothing." After a brief silence, the girl from the Order answered in her usual cool voice. "And let me down."

"Are you sure?" The Glorious One frowned instinctively, then for some reason added, "Don’t worry. I’m not trying to take advantage of you."

"It’s fine." The blond, blue-eyed girl answered. Then she raised her head, emerald eyes reflecting the boy’s dark, faintly gleaming pupils. "Let me down."

"All right."

Since she insisted, Amy Ulysses naturally would not force the matter. Out of consideration for a comrade who had fought at his side, he did not simply let go. Instead, he slowly crouched and lowered the girl from his back.

"Thank you."

There was not much emotion on the swordbearer’s face. If there was any, it was stubbornness—unyielding, never-say-die stubbornness. Though her body was utterly weak, she still struggled to her feet again and again.

"There’s no need to make things this hard for yourself." The Glorious One did not think himself a softhearted man, yet when he saw the girl tremble as she rose only to fall again after only a few steps, his own tenderness was stirred in a way he himself found astonishing. "Some things can’t be overcome with willpower and grit alone. What you need is rest."

"No need."

And the swordbearer rejected him just like that, direct and simple.

Though her emerald eyes were so clear and calm, the boy seemed to glimpse a blazing fire within them, and with it an endurance that would never retreat, never compromise.

So, with a barely audible sigh, the Glorious One chose to give in.

He was not incapable of forcibly changing her actions, nor did he approve of her self-destructive behavior. He understood none of the reasons behind it, either. The boy named Amy Ulysses simply respected her—respected the choice of the girl named Mia, and that was all.

"The situation." As time passed, the swordbearer’s weakness faded at an unbelievable speed. While she swept the surroundings with wary eyes, she turned her attention to the small boy seated on the left shoulder of the iron giant at the head of the line. "What happened to him?"

"This is the interior space of Obadiah," the Glorious One explained. "The moment you were transferred here, you passed out. Meanwhile, the guy from Dice House and I engaged the rapid response unit of House of the Lost. By some stroke of luck, he seized partial control of Obadiah."

"And then?" A statement entirely in keeping with the swordbearer’s style.

"Spinning around like headless flies." The boy shrugged. "The highest control authority is still in Ignatius’s hands. He has the permission to alter the paths more easily. Right now we can only gamble that he hasn’t discovered this intrusion."

"Unreliable." A blunt, concise judgment.

Amy spread his hands. In truth, he agreed that it was unreliable too. But with the initiative now in the hands of the apostle who enslaved Obadiah, and without a better option, it was better to act according to the other side’s tempo.

"And also," Mia paused, "his ability."

She did not specify who exactly "he" referred to, though under the present circumstances it was obvious enough.

"Absolute Command—" The boy tried his best not to insert his own subjective judgment. The man from Dice House, Dick, was not worthy of trust. That had already been confirmed earlier. "By speech, it can confine or suppress multiple powered armors whose maximum output can still suppress the extraordinary physique of a Glorious One. And once certain conditions are met, it can enslave Obadiah."

"A terrifying ability," the swordbearer judged, then shook her head. "Listen, Amy—please remember this well: do not reveal your true name, because a name, by its mere existence, possesses power."

"You mean he has to obtain a name in order to enslave someone?" The Glorious One immediately caught the implication.

But the girl shook her head again.

"Cannot be certain."

"But there’s still one thing that doesn’t make sense," the boy frowned. Mia’s words did make a certain amount of sense, yet there was still something he could not explain. "Why didn’t he use his ability on us back in the Ildan Mine and make us turn on each other?"

"Mia is not my true name." The swordbearer from the Order glanced at him, then said, "And at that time, you still weren’t capable of being my opponent."

"Fair enough." At her words, the Glorious One did not refute her. Instead, he genuinely acknowledged it as one possible explanation. Without knowledge of the omen of death, indeed no one would believe he had any chance of defeating the girl. "Any advice? About this ability."

To the boy’s surprise, Mia merely looked at him and said nothing.

Some twelve breaths later, that cool voice finally sounded again.

"I’m sorry, Ulysses." A rare trace of apology appeared in her emerald eyes. The blond, blue-eyed girl looked at him with great seriousness and said, "From this moment on, I cannot entrust my back to you."

"No need to apologize." To say there was no bitterness, no feeling of betrayal, would be a lie. But the boy who knew the cause and effect, and understood the swordbearer’s earnest nature, comprehended why she said it. "Saying it outright may be for the best. I should still be able to trust you, right?"

Even the Glorious One himself could hardly describe the mixture of emotions in his heart at that moment.

"If you are still willing," she said, as if the snow were melting, as if a white lotus were blooming in the frost, and the girl smiled. "I will not fail your trust."

I will not fail your trust.

Amy Ulysses fell silent. From that single sentence, he could feel the swordbearer’s trust in him. It was a trust so warm as to be moving, and yet so... heavy.

Yes, heavy.

Because he could not return it.

Even now, he still could not fully trust the girl before him. Whether it was the true nature of her ability, or the cloud of mystery surrounding his own identity, he could not bring himself to speak of it. He could only bury it silently in his heart and share it with no one.

So—

I’m sorry.

He opened his mouth, wanting to force the words out, yet at this moment, he simply could not say them.

Until the road reached its end.

It was a door, a black door adorned with intricate patterns.

And before it, standing guard, was a young man the Glorious One knew quite well.

The information broker, Willie Wilson.

Perhaps his true name was not Willie, but without more information, calling him Willie was perfectly reasonable.

"Long time no see, Amy Ulysses, Mia Windspeaker, and the apostle of Dice House, Dick." The information broker, whose true form was that of a demon, greeted them without the slightest trace of enmity, calling out each of their names in turn, then changed his tone. "Welcome to House of the Lost."

"You don’t seem surprised by our arrival." The scene was a little eerie. At the very least, the Glorious One did not believe that sly information broker Willie would willingly corner himself in such an absolute dead end. "What gives you that confidence? Obadiah—or Ignatius?"

"Words cannot shake my resolve, Amy." The former information broker shook his head, then said before the battle between the two sides was fully ignited, "I’m not here as your enemy. I’ve come only to deliver an invitation in Ignatius’s name—an invitation for you to speak with him beyond this door."

"And what about them?" the boy asked, though he already faintly guessed the answer in his heart.

"They will become guests of House of the Lost," Willie said calmly, looking at him as though he had seen through his thoughts. "Just as you expected, there is only one who is qualified."

"Couldn’t you add one more?" the Glorious One asked tentatively.

"This isn’t a marketplace. No haggling allowed." A smile appeared at the corner of the information broker’s mouth, and then he said his name. "Amy Ulysses."

"So it seems the negotiation has broken down?" The black-haired, black-eyed boy raised an eyebrow.

"Correct." Willie clapped his hands. The world—no, the entire space, Obadiah’s body—suddenly began to stir. The ground trembled violently, the walls started to crack, and then the powered armor controlled by Dick abruptly broke free of the apostle from Dice House’s enslavement, seized the blond, blue-eyed beautiful boy in one hand, and lifted him up.

"If you can afford the price of rupture."

As his words fell, torrents of steam poured out from the rows of iron armor.

One pair after another of scarlet eyes lit up in the searing haze.

Predatory.

For some reason, a strange word surfaced in his mind—one unfamiliar to him, yet perfectly able to summarize the scene before his eyes.

Then, in a somewhat long silence, the Glorious One gave his answer.

"I am willing."