The blackened divine armor sealed Lloyd within its iron embrace, and from the narrow seams of that armor, pale-white flames rose in a slow, breathing glow—like something alive, something watching.
After the ruthless slaughter, amidst the pooling blood, Lloyd reclaimed control once more.
The three remaining intruders stared at the demon hunter before them, terror hollowing out their eyes. They had never encountered anything like this. The shadowed half of the world was unknown to them; to their minds, this was no man—this was a creature that belonged only in myth.
"I… I…"
One of them stammered, his voice unraveling.
They had seen soldiers clad in steel, had witnessed the cold machinery of war—but nothing, nothing like Lloyd.
Then, suddenly—another roar split the air.
"It's time to die in loyalty!"
The door burst open as a dark figure crashed through, a shotgun clutched in trembling hands, wildly aimed. His face burned with fury, with reckless courage—the look of a man ready to throw his life away.
"Yarvey?"
Lloyd's gaze shifted to the intruder—no, not an intruder, but the old butler. Blood vessels crawled across Yarvey's eyes, his grip tight on the gun, hands trembling as though a single flicker of emotion might set it off. Sweat drenched him, though what nightmare he had crawled out of was anyone's guess.
"Rough dream?" Lloyd asked quietly.
The illusion of nightmare had blanketed the manor. Lloyd could only assume Yarvey had just awakened from it.
The old man stood there, stunned—his eyes drifting from the blood-soaked hall, strewn with severed limbs, to the three intruders who now seemed almost harmless by comparison. Rage and fear drained out of him all at once. He swallowed hard, steadying himself.
"Yeah… one hell of a nightmare."
He sank down beside the stairs, exhausted. At his age, it was fortunate his heart had held.
Then he noticed the girl—Seriu—and urgency returned. He pulled her close, shielding her from the carnage… though she had already seen it all.
"So… who are you?" Lloyd asked, his voice returning to that cold, measured edge.
From their preparation alone, it was clear: these intruders were organized, precise. They had used the nightmare illusion to incapacitate their targets—then moved in to finish the job.
A flawless plan.
A pity they had met Lloyd.
"Don't make me ask twice."
No answer.
They were drowning in fear, clinging to what little will they had left, resisting the oppressive weight of Lloyd's presence.
Lloyd did not hurry.
Instead, he stepped forward—and drove his blade clean through one of their thighs.
He made them watch.
That was the cruelest part.
Pain, blood—within moments, Lloyd became something else entirely: an interrogator, efficient and merciless, extracting truth from flesh and nerve. Just as he had once told Shrike—he had audited classes at the Royal Medical Academy. He knew precisely how to wound without killing.
Strike after strike.
Blood flowed freely.
The intruders tried to suppress their screams—but the muffled, broken whimpers that escaped were worse. Far worse.
On the other side, Yarvey covered Seriu's eyes. The sound of metal carving into flesh echoed with brutal clarity. To him, this demon hunter seemed like nothing short of a madman.
But no one—no one—understood what Lloyd was truly doing.
He was watching.
Observing.
This was an assassination attempt on the Stuart heir. From experience, Lloyd knew these men were nothing but expendable pawns—hired to die, knowing nothing. The one who mattered… was the Dreamweaver.
And that presence—he could not find it.
Too many buildings in the inner city. Too many hiding places. If he alerted it too soon, there was no guarantee he could capture it.
So he watched.
Even as he tortured them, his senses stretched outward, hunting for the source of the corruption.
"P-please… let me go!"
One of them finally broke, his scream tearing through the air.
"What are you doing?!" the others snarled, fury turning on him. A traitor.
But the man had already collapsed inward—mind shattered under agony. Tears and blood smeared across his face, his voice trembling, warped beyond coherence.
Reason had been crushed.
After all… he was only human.
"I'm… I'm—"
His voice cut off.
All three intruders looked at Lloyd.
No—not quite. Three different bodies, but the same expression. As if a single will had slipped into them all, wearing them like borrowed flesh.
Something unseen… had taken their place.
Three pairs of eyes locked onto Lloyd.
Fear vanished.
Anger vanished.
Only a hollow, mechanical coldness remained.
Lloyd stepped back, instinct tightening in his chest.
Something was wrong.
"Hello."
All three spoke at once. Their voices overlapped, merging into one.
The moment twisted into something unnatural.
Before Lloyd could think further, they moved.
Their bodies rose—unnaturally, joints bending and cracking into grotesque shapes, forcing themselves upright despite shattered limbs. They lunged, arms swinging in broken arcs.
It wasn't a threat.
But Lloyd stayed wary.
The assault faltered almost as quickly as it began. One of them collapsed forward, latching onto Lloyd, hands clawing at his helmet—uncaring as the divine armor sliced into his own flesh.
"Hello."
The voice this time was drenched in madness.
It echoed—not in the air, but inside Lloyd's mind.
Then came the pain.
Without hesitation, Lloyd swung his knight's blade—piercing straight through the body. Blood and viscera spilled free.
The other two dropped lifeless.
"What… are you?"
Lloyd lowered his sword, pressing a hand to his forehead.
That pain again.
Inside his mind.
He looked at the two unconscious figures, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.
He had a suspicion.
Scanning the surroundings again—nothing. The corruption had faded. No trace, no ripple.
As if the Dreamweaver had never existed.
Or perhaps—
It never had.
"An attack… directly on the mind…"
Lloyd murmured.
More complex than anything he had faced before.
He glanced at Seriu. She had steadied herself now, sitting beside Yarvey on the stairs, her breathing calmer, a faint color returning to her pale face.
A conclusion began to take shape.
Cold. Certain.
"There is no Dreamweaver."
"This isn't a nightmare illusion."
"If I'm right…"
"This is an attack from the Interstice."
Something had bypassed reality itself—striking them from within that hidden mental realm.
The unknowable Interstice.
Like the vision once shown to him by Medanzo—that dim, endless starfield, where one could pass from one gap to another.
Piece by piece, the divine armor fell away.
Lloyd stared into his reflection in the blood.
Perhaps… it was time to speak with Medanzo again.
"There's no curse, Seriu."
"What?" Yarvey asked, confused.
Lloyd bound the unconscious men.
"That's how these things work. If you don't believe in them—they don't exist. But the moment your conviction wavers…"
"They slip in."
His gaze turned to Seriu—cold, unwavering.
"Demons are like that. Give them a crack in the dam of your will…"
"And they'll flood you with endless fear."
Seriu pressed a hand to her chest, still unsteady.
"I… don't understand. Then why me…?"
She stopped.
Because she already knew.
That connection. That unseen thread. Lloyd had brought her into contact with the darkness.
A trace of guilt flickered across his face.
"He was targeting you."
"From the very beginning."
"Who?" she asked, her voice fragile.
Lloyd hesitated—unease threading through his tone.
"…Lawrence."
"Archbishop Lawrence."