He opened his eyes… slowly, as though surfacing from the depths of a long-forgotten dream.
In truth, Lloyd had been awake for quite some time.
He simply hadn't dared to look.
He lay there in silence, letting the darkness linger behind his eyelids, as if postponing the moment would somehow change the answer. Where would he awaken this time? That question lingered, faint yet persistent, like a whisper at the edge of thought. The last thing he remembered was collapsing—his body surrendering to the cold embrace of unconsciousness.
And every time that happened… he would wake somewhere strange.
Every time, a different ceiling greeted him.
At some point, he had begun to suspect that these ceilings—these silent witnesses—were the true "save points" of his existence. Each awakening, a reset. Each breath, the beginning of something new.
So what would it be this time?
A sheet of cold metal overhead?
A mural-stained vault like something torn from a cathedral?
Or perhaps a ceiling plastered with posters, layered like the walls of a city drowning in advertisements?
At last—he opened his eyes.
What met his gaze was neither steel nor decay, but a tapestry of soft browns and pale golds, interwoven into intricate patterns that seemed to spiral endlessly outward. They stretched into a grand, continuous mural, framed at the corners by light, flowing drapes that fell like quiet waterfalls.
…Wait.
Lloyd sat up abruptly.
The splitting headache—the one that had clawed at his mind—had subsided, but not without leaving its mark. Pain, even when gone, leaves echoes. And this one lingered, faint but persistent, pulsing somewhere deep within his skull.
Still, that was not the pressing matter.
His eyes swept across the room.
There was no overt display of extravagance, no gaudy ornaments or excessive decor. Yet everything—every line, every texture—whispered of refinement. Of quiet wealth. Of a place far removed from anything a man like Lloyd should casually find himself in.
Beside the bed, neatly arranged upon a chair, lay his belongings.
His clothes.
A fresh set of garments.
And his weapons—each piece carefully placed, almost ceremonially, like components of a disassembled doll.
Organized. Precise. Intentional.
Which raised a new question.
If his clothes were there… then what was he wearing?
He glanced down.
A loose, pale-blue nightshirt draped over his body, clearly not tailored for him—too wide at the shoulders, too generous in its fall.
"This isn't right…"
He muttered under his breath.
Years spent clawing his way through the filth and chaos of Old Dunling had taught him one thing: nothing came without a cost. He had seen ambushes, executions, betrayals. Had he woken bound and awaiting death, he wouldn't have been surprised.
But this?
This was unfamiliar.
"Maybe I'm still dreaming…"
After a moment's thought, he came to a decision.
He lay back down, pulled the covers over his head, and waited.
A minute passed.
Then Lloyd sat up again.
Sleep would not return.
With a quiet exhale, he swung his legs off the bed, grabbed his Winchester, and strode out of the room.
A demon hunter had seen worse.
Much worse.
Beyond the door stretched a silent corridor, long and unbroken. A carpet ran its length, swallowing sound, disappearing into the distance. Through the windows lining one side, Lloyd caught sight of Old Dunling's ever-gloomy sky—heavy, oppressive—as well as the towering outer walls and the gardens that separated this estate from the cramped chaos of the streets below.
"You're awake?"
The voice came from behind him.
Lloyd reacted instantly—his body moving before thought could catch up. He swung the butt of his Winchester in a sharp arc—
—and stopped.
A familiar face entered his view.
"Good morning, Mr. Holmes."
Yavi stood there, offering a smile that tried—perhaps too hard—to appear warm.
Lloyd glanced at him, then back out the window.
Understanding dawned.
A trace of awkwardness crept into his expression.
"…How did I end up here?"
"Well…" Yavi stepped past him, gesturing politely down the hall. "That is… something of a complicated story."
…
It was, in truth, an almost absurd scene.
Beneath an exquisitely crafted crystal chandelier, a long table stretched across the center of the room. The fireplace crackled softly, its flames casting warm light across polished surfaces. Servants had already withdrawn after setting the breakfast, leaving only Yavi—the ever-composed butler—standing to one side.
At one end of the table sat the young mistress of the house.
At the other… Lloyd, who was currently engaged in a rather undignified struggle with his meal.
"So…" she began, unable to hold back any longer, "why exactly are you walking around in sleepwear… with a gun?"
Selu raised an eyebrow, her tone somewhere between disbelief and restrained amusement.
"It's a long story."
Lloyd didn't look up. Nor did he seem inclined to elaborate. As far as he was concerned, Yavi had clearly set him up—who would've guessed he was being led to breakfast?
Ignoring the faint disdain in Selu's gaze, Lloyd continued eating with relentless focus. He had no idea how long he'd been unconscious, but hunger gnawed at him with ruthless intensity.
"You seem to be recovering well."
Selu watched him devour the food like a storm given form, a flicker of genuine admiration crossing her eyes. When they had found him in that alley, he'd looked no different from a corpse.
"You don't look half bad yourself."
Lloyd shot back casually.
Since the attack by Archdeacon Lawrence, he hadn't seen her. As one of those involved, she appeared… remarkably unscathed.
"So," Lloyd said after a moment, "have you joined them now?"
Selu nodded slightly. "Something like that."
Whatever arrangement had been made, the so-called Purge Agency hadn't erased her memory, nor subjected her to any of their more… extreme methods.
Lloyd cast a glance toward Yavi.
Only the three of them remained in the room.
"He knows about it too, but—"
Selu paused mid-sentence, as if reconsidering. She gave Yavi a subtle look. The old butler hesitated, clearly reluctant, but ultimately inclined his head and withdrew.
Now, only the two of them remained.
For a while, they ate in silence.
Then—
"So, dear detective," Selu said at last, her tone turning sharp, "are you one… or are you a demon hunter?"
No more distractions. No more pretense.
"One of my former professions," Lloyd replied lightly. "These days, I'm a certified detective—officially recognized by the Suaran Office."
A deflection.
An obvious one.
It didn't work.
"I already know enough," Selu said, almost absently. "From that… Purge Agency."
She leaned back slightly, a quiet sense of wonder in her voice.
"This world is… stranger than I thought. Monsters. Relics from the old age. Organizations lurking beneath the surface…"
She didn't know everything.
But she had seen enough.
The calm that had returned to Old Dunling after the incident spoke volumes about the power that organization wielded.
"…Wait."
Lloyd froze mid-motion.
"They just… sold me out like that?"
To him, the Purge Agency had always been something shrouded in absolute secrecy. People who learned too much either forgot everything… or disappeared to some frozen wasteland to dig potatoes for the rest of their lives.
"It's simple," Selu replied calmly. "I offered them support—commercial support."
She folded her hands lightly.
"The Stuart family holds considerable influence. Maintaining an organization like theirs—even with state backing—is expensive."
Sometimes, Lloyd forgot who she really was.
The future Duchess of Stuart.
Not as overwhelmingly wealthy as Duke Salicado, perhaps—but the Stuart family's network stretched across all of Invelvig. Their reach, subtle yet pervasive, could not be underestimated.
"Think of it as… an unusual company," Selu continued, a sly smile forming. "One that doesn't turn a profit. I became a minor investor—in exchange for certain… privileges."
The Purge Agency would never fully reveal itself.
But for those willing to cooperate—and to fund them—they were more than willing to share.
Besides…
They truly had no better way to deal with Selu.
And if a small price could keep her silent—
then it was a bargain worth making.
To a certain extent, this too was a means of sustaining rule—binding the House of Stuart to that galloping war chariot… though, given the young girl's present authority, she was little more than an ornamental trinket swaying within it.
"So that means I'm worth that little, huh?"
Lloyd shook his head, a trace of irritation in his voice.
"In that situation, your information had already lost its value. What they did was merely going along with the current."
Celiu explained calmly.
She had witnessed the entirety of the affair; there was nothing left worth concealing.
"Still… Lloyd, you hide yourself well."
With that peculiar smile of hers, Celiu sized him up from head to toe, as though seeing him anew.
Lloyd shifted uncomfortably. The sensation was oddly familiar—like a street thug leering at a passing girl—only now, their roles had been reversed.
He had thought her no more than a capable detective. Who would have imagined she was also a mysterious demon hunter?
"Everyone's got a past."
He spoke with feigned gravity, tearing into his food with renewed vigor. One had to admit—the meals of noble households far surpassed anything found in roadside stalls.
"By the way… why am I here?"
As Lloyd raised his head, he caught sight of another self—his reflection cast upon the frozen sea.
Celiu, lacking the height she needed, planted one foot on the chair and half-knelt upon the table, leaning closer. Her gaze fixed intently upon his eyes.
They say the eyes are windows to the soul. Yet Celiu looked as though she meant to tear the roof clean off—dragging that strange soul into the open and examining it anew.
Lloyd's first instinct was to avert his gaze.
There was something almost supernatural about her eyes—no one could hide their thoughts beneath them. She would always see through you, effortlessly uncovering what she sought.
If not for the fact that she had never shown any sign of corruption, Lloyd might have suspected this unfortunate girl to be some undiscovered breed of demon.
He hated eye contact—or rather, being seen through.
It felt as though someone had ripped off the roof of his house and dragged him out of bed by force. He tried to look away, only for a pair of icy hands to hold him firmly in place.
Celiu gripped him tightly, forcing him to meet her gaze as she studied his face—both familiar and foreign.
"We had an agreement, Celiu."
Lloyd avoided her eyes as he protested.
"The one who made that agreement with me was a detective—not a demon hunter."
She pinched his face hard, kneading it like one might toy with a fluffy dog, twisting it into all manner of strange expressions.
"You do realize that if I use force, I can just pull you down with me, right?"
Lloyd threatened.
At that moment, Celiu's weight was already leaning onto him. If he leaned back, she would fall straight onto the table.
"Oh? Then Yavi would hear the noise, walk in, and see me sprawled across the table…"
Her tone turned sly, her cold face laced with mockery.
"You know, Lloyd—ever since you moved in, Yavi hasn't gone anywhere without his gun. He really does have quite the opinion of you."
For a moment, Lloyd fell into an awkward silence.
"So behave yourself, demon hunter."
She straightened his face with force, their eyes finally locking.
It was… a strange feeling.
It reminded Lloyd of the first time he had met her—in Gaulnaro, a coastal town by the White Tide Strait.
After making inquiries, he had learned of her existence. This girl survived within the cracks of chaos, relying on her uncanny ability to read hearts.
He had found her in a dilapidated alley.
There had been many others present—but the moment he saw those eyes, like a frozen sea, he knew she was his target.
They were mirror-like, those eyes—reflecting everything in the world.
And then, suddenly, the cold touch vanished.
By the time Lloyd realized it, Celiu had already returned to her seat, calmly cutting the food on her plate as though nothing had happened.
Without the slightest regard for decorum, she deliberately made loud chewing sounds—as if savoring Lloyd's little secrets.
"So… why am I here?"
Lloyd had no intention of dwelling on that topic. His expression grew guarded.
He remembered collapsing in an alley—yet he had awakened here.
"I needed to find you. Madam Vanrud said you'd been out for days. Then, on my way back, I saw you—passed out in an alley."
Celiu spoke matter-of-factly.
"So I brought you back. You were injured—Yavi treated your wounds. After that, you slept for an entire day."
"That's it?"
"That's it. What else would there be?"
She finished her meal and set the utensils aside.
This girl was always so cold—like a lifeless doll. And yet, at times, she would flicker with vitality, showing rare glimpses of liveliness.
Something felt off to Lloyd.
"So what is it you needed me for?"
Trouble, it seemed, never came alone.
"Someone wants to see you."
"See me?"
In an instant, Lloyd ran through his circle of acquaintances. Aside from monsters and ghosts… there were mostly the dead. Few remained who might seek him out.
"Yes. So please stay here until tonight, Lloyd."
Celiu stood, a faint smile on her lips.
"A distinguished guest wishes to meet you—this evening."
There was a trace of mystery in her tone. She seemed to enjoy watching him struggle.
"You still haven't said what it's about, Celiu."
Lloyd sensed something amiss and pressed again.
"As a demon hunter?"
In his view, the only thing that could draw the attention of the powerful was that very identity. For someone to bypass the Purge Bureau and come directly to him… it did not bode well.
Celiu shook her head.
"Relax. I didn't reveal your secret. We did sign a confidentiality agreement, after all… though that thing hardly seems binding."
She stepped closer and fastened the buttons of his sleepwear, her voice whispering by his ear.
"It's as a detective."
"As the great detective—Lloyd Holmes."
Those ice-sea eyes seemed almost to smile.
"And when the time comes… do try to dress properly."
"Don't come out in your sleepwear, alright?"