As winter drew near, yellowed autumn leaves fell with weary grace. Withered branches twisted and stretched like a forest of thorns. Warm sunlight poured down, only to be sliced apart by the sharp limbs and scattered in broken fragments across pristine white sheets.
Bailao lay on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling above him. Ornate paintings filled his entire field of vision; after a while, even looking at them made his eyes ache.
"Ah… it's rare to get some real rest."
A familiar sigh came from the neighboring bed. Bailao tilted his head slightly. Red Falcon had turned over, found a comfortable position, and drifted back into rest, muttering idly under his breath like someone talking in their sleep.
The rustle of blankets sounded again from the other side. Bailao turned his head once more and saw Robin holding a theological tome, reading quietly.
His chest was wrapped in layers of bandages, yet his relaxed expression made it clear—this one was recovering quite well.
"Yeah… it really is rare."
Bailao looked back up at the ceiling and echoed the sentiment.
He could no longer clearly remember how he had made it back from that godforsaken place. The colossal body, wreathed in surging white flames, had finally collapsed. The demon had truly been enormous—when it fell, it crashed into the lighthouse. Though it failed to break the structure, it did knock Red Falcon off from above.
During the fall, the unlucky fellow managed to grab onto a protrusion in the wall and avoided death, but still shattered several ribs, ending up in a miserable state.
As for Bailao himself, he had passed out due to the corrosion of the Old Era Godframe. When he first awoke, he was lying in the laboratory of the Perpetual Engine. The degree of neural erosion was, fortunately, within acceptable limits—Nikola had not thrown him straight into the furnace for incineration. When he woke again, he was here, sharing a ward with two familiar faces.
"How's Blue Jade doing?"
After a moment's thought, Bailao asked.
"She's fine," Robin replied. "Multiple burns, but nothing life-threatening. She's resting now."
Robin closed the book as he spoke.
Having been admitted the earliest, he had recovered the best. The doctors even allowed him to get out of bed and walk around. Blue Jade's room was at the other end of the corridor. Bailao, however, had not yet stabilized from the corrosion and was firmly strapped to the bed, unable to move.
"Hah… that's good."
"Hm? What's this—are you interested, Bailao?"
Red Falcon, who had been pretending to sleep all this time, rolled over and looked at him with a wicked grin. Of the three, he had suffered the lightest injuries, yet for the sake of some so-called peaceful vacation, he shamelessly refused to leave.
"It's nothing. I just owe her my life. Without her, I'd have died there."
Since returning, Bailao had been plagued by dreams—dreams of the battlefield. Countless demons swarmed toward him, tearing at the iron armor on his body. No matter how strong he was, he couldn't break free, until heavenly fire descended, and a pale hand dragged him out of the darkness.
"Doesn't sound so bad."
Red Falcon nodded as he spoke, as if he understood something. Robin laughed along as well, but after only a few chuckles he broke into a painful cough. Galahad's out-of-control strike had pierced straight through his chest, leaving behind many lingering complications.
"Seeing you all so lively really makes me happy."
The door to the ward was pushed open in the midst of that moment of levity. Two figures entered one after the other—a perfect contrast. One wore a broad smile; the other was cold as ice.
Night Owl carried a fruit basket, while Black Phoenix, under the gaze of the three patients, produced a large bottle of strong liquor from beneath his coat. He gave them a wink and pressed a finger to his lips, signaling for silence.
…
"So this time as well—anonymous?"
In the hushed stillness of the church, a nun asked the man seated on the pew. A deerstalker hat was pulled low over his face; all she could see were his pale, blood-deprived lips and a chilling, metallic composure.
"Yes. As usual will be fine."
The man replied, then gestured for her to leave. He turned his gaze toward the statue at the front of the church. Sunlight filtered through stained glass, soaking the figure in bands of color. Its indistinct face appeared incomparably sacred.
The nun nodded, respectfully accepting the generous donation before departing. Every time this man came, it was the same—he gave, then sat until sunset before leaving.
She had once thought he was seeking spiritual refuge, or perhaps salvation from God. Yet he never prayed, nor did he ask for the clergy's blessings. He simply sat there, enjoying a rare moment of peace.
So she shooed away the children playing nearby and preserved that quiet for him—the only thing she could offer.
"So, the mysterious Mr. Lloyd Holmes is a philanthropist as well?"
A man sat down beside Lloyd, keeping a safe distance, and spoke slowly.
"What, is that not allowed?"
Lloyd opened his tired eyes and looked toward the man, forcing a faint, friendly smile.
"It's just unexpected. I've looked into your finances. You donate here regularly. Taken together, that money would be enough for you to live quite comfortably in Old Dunlin. Yet you've kept none of it… is this some kind of iron-blooded tenderness?"
The man watched him with open curiosity.
"It's nothing more than sympathy for the past."
Lloyd shifted his gaze back to the statue and shook his head.
"A witch-hunter is a dangerous weapon, so the Evangelical Church must keep tight control over him. Training them from childhood is the best approach. Innocent children make the most fervent believers—the Church becomes their entire world."
He thought again of Ed. To that man, the Church had been exactly that—everything he was. And then, one day, it had cast him aside without mercy.
"So… you were born in such a… place as well?"
The man considered his words, then asked cautiously.
Lloyd nodded.
"On the outskirts of Florence. A monastery built along the Tiber. The nuns were kind and took us in. But to keep the monastery running, we were later transferred to the Church's headquarters. We thought it would be a wonderful life—after all, it was Florence, not that cursed countryside."
He let out a self-mocking laugh.
"Then what are these acts of yours? Atonement? Confession?"
The man asked. He had seen people like this before—cold-blooded killers on the surface, yet devout believers in private, trying to justify their atrocities through faith. In his eyes, Lloyd was the same: hands stained with blood, attempting to wash them clean with good deeds.
"Just sympathy."
Lloyd gave the same answer again.
"A beautiful childhood matters. When you're in pain, those memories are the only comfort worth holding onto."
Faint laughter drifted through the air—the children had disobeyed the nun after all, sneaking back to play.
"Is that all?"
"That's all."
Lloyd said, tapping his temple as he spoke, then looked back at the man.
"Human memory is a deeply unreliable thing," he said softly. "We always forget something—no matter how precious it once was. Even the most cherished memories fade and yellow under the erosion of time. If there is any reason left at all… it is that here, I can still barely recall fragments of the past. Those were the only truly beautiful days."
For a fleeting moment, the man seemed to understand what Lloyd meant. He, too, gazed up at the multicolored statue, lost in thought.
"I—"
"An invitation to join the Purification Directorate?" Lloyd cut in calmly. "Or are you here to arrest me? After all, I am a demon hunter. Once I lose control, I become an extremely dangerous demon myself."
He paused, then smiled faintly.
"If that's what you were going to say, then don't. Mr. Arthur. I rather like my life as it is."
Arthur's words were severed mid-sentence. Lloyd rejected him outright.
It felt like swallowing a bitter, silent defeat. Arthur had not expected this demon hunter to be so troublesome.
"Why are you so confident?" Arthur asked.
"Because you need me," Lloyd replied evenly. "I believe my actions in the Ende Town operation have already proven my value. That value is my bargaining chip. Is that acceptable?"
Arthur considered this, then nodded slightly.
"Fair enough. Then let me rephrase it, Mr. Holmes. I believe we could, to a certain extent, become partners."
He took out a document he had been carrying and offered it to Lloyd.
"An exchange of value. This is our sincerity."
"Oh…" Lloyd sighed. "That does look troublesome."
He did not take the document. A faint crease formed between his brows.
From what Lloyd knew, Arthur was the head of the Purification Directorate itself. He had just rejected the man outright, on his own home ground. Given Lloyd's level of danger, if his guess was correct, that damned warship—the Dawn Voyager—was probably hidden somewhere in the clouds above them. All it would take was a wave of Arthur's hand to reduce this place to rubble.
And yet Arthur remained courteous, even willing to show good faith.
Which meant something had gone wrong. Something troublesome enough that Arthur was willing to bargain.
"May I hear the whole story?" Lloyd asked.
Arthur withdrew the document, a trace of delight flashing across his face. He liked negotiating with intelligent men—clear prices, open cards.
"You are aware that the Demon Hunter Order has been disbanded, yes?"
Lloyd nodded, saying nothing.
Arthur studied his flawless expression and continued.
"Then are you aware… that they have begun rebuilding the Demon Hunter Order?"
"Rebuilding?"
Lloyd could not suppress his shock. For the first time, his gaze locked with Arthur's—like two beasts facing each other, fangs bared.
"Several days ago—during the Ende Town operation—we received a telegram from the Seat of Seven Hills," Arthur said slowly.
"It came from a newly appointed pope. His name is Ceni Lothair."
Arthur's voice remained steady.
"He proposed an exchange of intelligence and the sharing of technology. For the first time in centuries, the Church bowed its head. That alone is cause for alarm—but it doesn't end there."
"After the telegram, we activated one of our assets embedded within the Seven Hills—planted more than a decade ago, our most valuable operative in intelligence. According to his report, the new pope has restarted numerous ancient departments and long-abandoned projects.
"The entire Order of the Holy Knights has mobilized, as if war itself were imminent. Overnight, the old powers within the Seven Hills were purged. In the name of God, the pope eradicated all opposition within days, seizing absolute control of the Church."
Even spoken aloud, the air seemed thick with the stench of blood. To completely uproot the old factions—an almost impossible feat—accomplished in a single night. How long, one wondered, had that new pope been preparing in the shadows?
"Those who submit to him revere him as the King of Kings," Arthur continued. "They sing his praises. The name of God will once again echo across the Western world."
Danger flickered in Arthur's eyes, yet Lloyd remained conspicuously indifferent.
"And what does such an exalted figure have to do with me?"
"I know you think it doesn't. But that was only the first part of the intelligence," Arthur said.
"The second part concerns you directly—or rather, demon hunters."
That, Arthur implied, was merely the appetizer. No matter how powerful this so-called King of Kings was, Inverg still had its queen in the Platinum Palace, along with countless muskets and steam engines to oppose him.
"Six years ago," Arthur said, deliberately slowing his pace, "an incident known as the Night of Holy Descent occurred within the Evangelical Church."
He watched Lloyd closely. There was no reaction.
"We don't know the full truth. But shortly afterward, the Demon Hunter Order was mysteriously dissolved. Then the pope at the time signed a document known as Secret Decree No. Thirteen. Based on our analysis, it was an extermination order—targeting demon hunters."
As if anticipating the question, Lloyd shook his head.
"I don't know. By then, I had already arrived in Old Dunlin."
"And what if Decree No. Thirteen was never rescinded?" Arthur pressed, his tone edged with menace.
That ancient hunt had never ended. Like a shadow, it pursued every surviving demon hunter.
"At the end of the telegram was a wanted notice," Arthur said.
"The new pope made no attempt to conceal it. The Church is hunting a demon hunter—one who left the Seven Hills six years ago. Recently, the Evangelical Church rediscovered his trail. His location is… Inverg."
Lloyd's gaze turned icy. Secret blood surged through his veins. As if sensing his killing intent, faint metallic sounds echoed from all directions.
Outside the church, nuns stared in terror. Crimson-clad sky cavalry descended along steel cables, sealing every corner of the building. At the far end of the road, knights stood waiting, clad in those detestable god-forged armors, awaiting Arthur's command.
"Is this part of your sincerity as well?" Lloyd asked quietly.
"The prerequisite for an equal conversation," Arthur replied without much concern, "is that both sides possess a sword capable of killing the other. Wouldn't you agree?"
"So you intend to bind me to your war chariot," Lloyd said, nodding slowly. He understood now. The Church hunted surviving demon hunters relentlessly—but the Purification Directorate could protect him. As long as he remained valuable, they would never discard him.
"Whether or not the Church is hunting you," Arthur added, "you still carry secret blood. Power of that magnitude tempts everyone."
"And you intend to lay hands on secret blood as well?"
Lloyd laughed softly, as if he had heard a joke.
Arthur seemed to know exactly why he was laughing.
"Mr. Holmes," he said, "the era has changed. We were once hunted by demons—but with the rise of industry and technology, we can now crush them with ease. More weapons. Greater destructive power."
The air itself seemed saturated with the scent of gunpowder, as if fire were about to ignite.
"The world is changing. You know what the Church has been doing. According to our intelligence, they have long sought to militarize demonic technologies.
"And in the northern seas, the Viking realms have seen fewer pirates in recent years—not because of peace, but civil war. One Viking seeks to unite the fractured kingdoms, and he is close to succeeding. Even Gaul Nalo, just across the strait from us, has begun to pursue steam technology. And to the east…"
Arthur paused.
"…there is still Jiuxia, watching in silence."
Arthur had once been a warrior. In those days, all he needed was what lay before his eyes on the battlefield.
Now, he was a player at the chessboard—one who had to look down upon the whole of it.
"Where do you think this world is heading, in the end?"
he asked suddenly.
Lloyd fell silent for a moment before replying,
"I don't know."
Arthur's voice carried the faint echo of clashing steel as he answered,
"War."
"The Industrial Revolution brought tremendous progress, but behind that progress lies the sacrifice of countless lives. Human labor is replaced by machines, class divisions grow ever wider and more rigid. Every nation, without exception, is left teetering beneath the weight of accelerating technology. Only war can divert these contradictions elsewhere."
Like the breath of a wyrm murmuring at his ear, Arthur laid out the trajectory of the world for Lloyd.
"The impoverished Viking realms are in economic decline. Steam technology has yet to take firm root there. Once they are unified, they will need a way to catch up to us—and plunder is the fastest means. Just as history has shown: hordes of Viking raiders crossing the seas. Only this time, they will be carrying advanced firearms."
"Gaul-Narlo is no different. Pressed against Inglvig and crushed beneath our dominance, their decline is inevitable. The only way to change that fate is to launch a glorious war—one they must win. And the Pope of the Evangelical Church is no exception either. To restore the Holy Evangelion Papal State's dominion over the western world, a single war that engulfs everything is the most efficient solution."
Arthur spoke slowly, deliberately. The world that appeared peaceful on the surface was already seething with unseen storms, everyone struggling to maintain a fragile balance.
"Mr. Holmes, this is the tide of the age. No one can stand apart from it. Even if you carry the Secret Blood—how long do you think you can endure beneath a flood of steel?"
"A war that will sweep across the entire world is taking shape. Its arrival is inevitable."
"But the Secret Blood is a forbidden taboo beyond mortal scrutiny,"
Lloyd replied calmly.
"You're only repeating the Church's old mistakes."
"Yet whether a blade kills," Arthur said quietly,
"depends on the hand that grips it."
They fell into silence together. After a long while, Arthur stood up, his gaze turning cold.
"If you change your mind, you can seek out the Shrike. As for Old Dunling—so long as you can guarantee you won't lose control, you're still welcome to stay here."
As he spoke, Arthur drew his gun and fired directly at Lloyd's head.
The bullet tore free from the chamber and grazed Lloyd's cheek, drawing a thin spray of blood.
"You're still hesitating over whether to kill me?"
The pain took a long moment to arrive. Lloyd suddenly found Arthur rather interesting—just a slight deviation, and his skull would have burst apart. Yet Arthur had chosen not to do so.
"Of course," Arthur said coldly.
"My position tells me you still have value. But my position as a father makes me want to kill you."
The Duke of Phoenix glared fiercely at Lloyd before adding,
"Farewell, Mr. Holmes."
...
He left.
And with him went the vast army that had surrounded the cathedral.
Lloyd touched the blood on his face. After a long while, he burst into laughter. In truth, this too was Arthur's gesture of sincerity. They could have captured him—or killed him outright. After all, he was nothing more than a living specimen of the Secret Blood, walking wealth. Yet Arthur had abandoned him here, leaving the choice in his hands.
But did Lloyd truly have a choice?
A peaceful life had already slipped beyond reach—or perhaps it had never existed at all.
The world before his eyes began to waver. Red and blue bled into one another, and after the turbulence came distortion after distortion, like a corrupted video feed, accompanied by sharp pain deep within his nerves.
[Initiating connection to the Stasis Sanctum.]
[Initiating link τψΓΗυωΔΘΦΡΝ...]
As the voice in his mind settled into calm, the pain finally receded. Lloyd wearily pressed a hand to his head.
"Why didn't you agree?"
A woman's voice whispered at his ear. She gently stroked his face, pressing close, then placed both hands over his head, massaging the source of his pain.
"The demon-hunting order has indeed been rebuilt. The Stasis Sanctum coming back online proves that much. But Lloyd—forcefully terminating a connection isn't free."
Her arms slipped around his neck, the two of them close as lovers.
"Why won't you speak? Aren't you happy to see me again?"
She murmured softly into his ear.
"I have no interest in illusory demons,"
Lloyd finally said.
His fist came down with savage force, splintering the wooden chair beneath it. In that instant, the woman scattered like smoke on the wind.
Lloyd sat alone in the cathedral. After a long time, he reached into his case and took out his Winchester—the weapon never far from his side. He picked up a heavy slug, its pellets cast entirely from holy silver, and loaded it carefully.
Facing the kaleidoscopic statues of the saints, Lloyd pressed the muzzle firmly beneath his jaw. He closed his eyes and rested his finger lightly on the trigger. As whispered prayers left his lips, the distant voices of children singing in a choir drifted through the air.
After a long, unnerving stillness, the gunshot rang out.
The shattered holy-silver round blasted through the stained glass, sending fragments flying amid cries of alarm. The man leaned against the Winchester. At the final moment, he had still twisted away from the muzzle. His ears rang with violent tinnitus, and within it lingered the faint echo of a woman's laughter—mocking his cowardice.
_____________________________________________
Volume1 is over!
Let me start a new chapter of great things.
The door to a new world is about to open.