It was a secret meeting.
Beyond the soundproof walls stood soldiers on guard, while the Purge Agency ensured every detail remained hidden from the outside world. No one would notice what had transpired here. It was, in every sense, an arrangement where everyone stood to gain. The Exiles would acquire a powerful ally, the Purge Agency would finally verify the unknown intelligence it had long pursued, and Duke Salicado would at last step into the existence of this hidden world.
Human beings were creatures forever drawn toward danger. For that intoxicating moment when the heart thundered against the ribs, they would willingly cast themselves into the abyss.
"So... it's all true. The Gospel Church never lied to us about any of this, did they?"
A faint ripple crossed Galahad's usually composed expression. His worst suspicion had been confirmed, and even he found himself momentarily stunned.
He had believed this to be another elaborate scheme orchestrated by the Gospel Church.
Instead, it had been reality all along.
Shermans gave a slow nod. Though he had no idea what connection the man in the photograph had to all of this, he answered with unwavering certainty.
"I may be old, but my memory hasn't abandoned me yet. I remember him. Those men usually guarded the Cathedral of Saint Narlo. Sometimes they escorted Cardinals like us as well. He left quite an impression on me."
"I see..."
Galahad silently committed the answer to memory. Looking back upon everything that had happened, he suddenly realized the horrifying truth.
From the very beginning...
...it had all been one enormous trap.
"I'll report this to Arthur through secure channels. As for what comes next..."
His voice faltered.
Perhaps it was because the truth itself was too terrifying.
As one of the few now aware of it, Galahad felt an overwhelming sense of impending catastrophe. Compared with this, even Archbishop Lawrence seemed insignificant.
"Are you alright?"
Shermans looked at him with concern.
"I'm fine."
That had been his intention.
Instead, the words erupted from his mouth like an angry roar.
Taking a long breath, Galahad struggled to steady himself. Only after a lengthy silence did he finally speak again.
"My apologies... I lost my composure."
"It doesn't matter."
Shermans smiled gently.
"I'm used to seeing it. In the Seven Hills Sanctuary, there were many Demon Hunters just like you."
"Demon Hunters?"
Galahad looked surprised.
"I'm not one of them."
"I know that."
Shermans chuckled.
"What I mean is... many Demon Hunters ended up in the same condition you're in now."
His gaze drifted into old memories.
"Their veins carried forbidden blood. Even restrained by the Silver Shackles, countless Demon Hunters still walked toward destruction."
There was pity in his eyes as he looked upon Galahad.
To him, this gaunt man looked no different from those doomed hunters of the past.
"They rarely met peaceful ends. Their wills withered as the years passed, while the Secret Blood within them only grew more violent. Eventually the blood slipped beyond their control, tormenting them until they became monsters themselves."
"And how did you deal with them?"
Galahad asked with genuine curiosity.
It was a blind spot the Purge Agency had never been able to investigate.
The Gospel Church had existed for centuries. Countless Demon Hunters must have lived and died beneath its banner.
Yet no one knew how their stories ended.
"I only know fragments."
Shermans shrugged helplessly.
"I was a Cardinal, yes, but as you've probably guessed, I held very little authority. Compared to Michael, I was little more than someone who showed up to cast a vote."
He continued.
"The Demon Hunter Order wasn't under my jurisdiction, but I learned enough over the years. As Demon Hunters aged, their bond with the Secret Blood deepened. Then one day... whether through old age, or because they nearly died from Corruption..."
His eyes lingered upon the scars covering Galahad.
He recognized those wounds.
This man had almost perished beneath Corruption's grasp.
"They survived... but the lingering Corruption continued dragging them toward the abyss. Once their exhausted minds could no longer suppress the Secret Blood... they were destroyed."
"Destroyed how?"
Galahad frowned.
Killing a Demon Hunter was hardly as simple as saying the words.
"It's actually quite simple."
Shermans smiled faintly.
"One cannot forge a weapon without first possessing the means to destroy it..."
His words stopped abruptly.
The old Cardinal simply smiled at Galahad.
After a brief moment of confusion, Galahad understood.
"Arthur's instructions were clear. Once you confirmed..." His eyes involuntarily drifted toward the black-and-white photograph lying on the table. Suppressing the fear rising within him, he continued, "...confirmed his identity, our cooperation officially began."
"Oh?"
Shermans laughed.
"That sounds wonderful. Though I still don't understand why his identity matters so much. Honestly, I always believed my greatest bargaining chip was the location of the Templar treasure."
Whether because of age or simply a difference in perspective, Shermans genuinely couldn't understand what these people truly wanted.
To him, the immense fortune accumulated by the Knights Templar over centuries had always been the ultimate bargaining chip.
"You don't need to concern yourself with that."
Galahad cut him off before he could continue.
"Please go on."
Shermans nodded.
"The method of disposal was straightforward."
He searched through memories he had long tried to forget.
After becoming a Cardinal, he had rarely thought about those filthy secrets. Time had blurred them considerably.
"Demon Hunters are still human."
"There remains something human inside both their bodies and their souls."
"So long as that part is restrained... everything else follows."
Ancient memories galloped back into his mind like charging warhorses, crashing violently into his aging consciousness.
Then Shermans softly uttered a name laden with death.
"We called it..."
"...Cantarella."
His eyes brightened as forgotten memories became vivid once more.
"Yes."
"That was the name."
"Cantarella."
"What is it?"
Galahad quietly memorized the unfamiliar word.
"A poison created specifically for Demon Hunters."
"It was devised by one of the Cardinals—a terrifying figure whose brilliance rivaled Cardinal Medici himself."
He sighed.
"Unfortunately... his ending was far less glorious."
As he spoke, memories of another era resurfaced.
"His name was Cesare Borgia."
"The infamous Poison Duke."
"At first, he used the poison to eliminate every political rival before him. Together with his Pope father, he conquered cities and seized territories. But tyranny never sustains an empire forever."
"They rose through poison..."
"...and they fell by poison as well."
Shermans smiled bitterly.
"Both father and son were eventually assassinated by poison themselves, bringing their reign to an end."
"After that came Cardinal Medici."
"He inherited Florence."
"The poison itself survived, however. People discovered its unusual properties. After generations of refinement by alchemists, it eventually became the perfect weapon for subduing Demon Hunters."
Seeing Galahad's astonished expression, Shermans smiled.
"That's how it is."
"The weapons used against monsters..."
"...were also the weapons reserved for Demon Hunters."
"Whether silver..."
"...or Cantarella."
"So from the very beginning..."
"You never trusted Demon Hunters."
"They were dangerous monsters."
Shermans answered calmly.
"And monsters require unbreakable chains."
For the first time, the gentle old Cardinal revealed the cruelty hidden beneath his kindness.
His face remained utterly peaceful, as though none of it had ever concerned him.
"Besides..."
"...aren't you exactly the same?"
"I may have been an incompetent Cardinal..."
"...but I have faced monsters."
"I know better than most what price must be paid to confront creatures like them."
Galahad fell silent.
If Cantarella represented the inevitable end awaiting Demon Hunters within the Gospel Church...
Then Black Mountain Hospital represented the end prepared for agents of the Purge Agency.
Though the truth remained classified, he knew Lancealot had long since been consumed by Corruption and transferred into Black Mountain Hospital.
Whether he was still alive...
No one knew.
A strange thought surfaced.
He remembered how codenames passed from one person to another.
Before he inherited the name Galahad, someone else had borne it.
That Galahad had died.
He had simply become the successor.
Perhaps one day...
A stranger would stand before him.
And that man...
...would inherit the name Lancelot.
"That is the price."
Shermans smiled gently.
"If you wish to accomplish anything..."
"...you must always sacrifice something."
"Whether that sacrifice is good..."
"...or evil."
Looking at the old exile before him, Galahad finally understood him a little better.
Shermans had once stood among the few who truly wielded power within the Gospel Church.
What kind of suffering...
...could make a man grow weary even of power itself?
What kind of despair could leave him wishing only to serve God until death finally claimed him?
"Enough of these meaningless topics, Mr. Galahad."
Shermans straightened in his chair.
"Neither you nor I have the authority to decide any of this."
"We're merely gears inside a machine."
"So..."
"Let's speak of the Book of Revelation."
"I've revealed enough."
"Now..."
"...it's your turn."
Galahad remained silent for a long while.
The information he had obtained was scarce.
Yet every single revelation possessed the power to shake nations.
Even he felt exhausted.
Looking at Shermans' calm face, he couldn't help wondering...
Just how many more secrets were hidden inside that old man's mind?
"The Book of Revelation..."
"Ah."
Shermans leaned forward.
"I remember Lawrence stole it."
"Are you hunting him down?"
There was unmistakable urgency in his voice.
"It seems..."
"...you don't know."
"Know what?"
"Lawrence is dead."
"He died."
"Before the Day of Divine Birth."
"We executed him in the North."
"He is completely..."
"...utterly dead."
"Lawrence..."
"...is dead?"
For the first time, the composure of the elderly Cardinal shattered.
Like a child, Shermans blurted out an incredulous curse.
Moments later he realized his outburst, swallowed hard, and unexpectedly felt relieved.
"So..."
"That bastard actually died."
In many ways, Lawrence had been the architect of every tragedy.
Had he not betrayed the Church on the Night of Divine Descent...
History would have unfolded very differently.
Then Shermans' expression abruptly hardened.
"Are you certain?"
"I am."
"Was his body completely destroyed?"
Shermans emphasized every word.
Galahad hadn't witnessed it personally.
But the grotesque Black Angel was now sealed within the depths of the Perpetual Pump.
The reports from the scene could not be false.
Lawrence was dead.
Whatever flesh remained...
...clung only to that relic of the Old Century Divine Armor.
He nodded firmly.
"I'm certain."
Shermans stared at him for what felt like an eternity.
Finally he released a deep breath, as though a tremendous burden had fallen from his shoulders.
"So..."
"I failed to kill the new Pope..."
"But Lawrence is dead."
"That's enough."
"That's... wonderful."
He laughed bitterly while shaking his head.
"I'm beginning to believe..."
"...that perhaps good and evil truly receive the endings they deserve."
"And yours?"
Galahad asked.
Shermans smiled helplessly.
"I doubt mine will be anything pleasant."
"Then why..."
"...did you doubt Lawrence could die?"
Galahad pressed.
Shermans' earlier reaction had been unmistakably strange.
He hadn't believed Lawrence could simply die.
Why?
"Because..."
"...he was a Demon Hunter."
Shermans answered quietly.
"Do you remember Cantarella?"
He continued before Galahad could reply.
"The office of Archbishop isn't granted lightly."
"If the Church wished to keep Demon Hunters under control..."
"...then Demon Hunters could never possess real authority."
"But Lawrence became a Cardinal."
"A Demon Hunter..."
"...who became a Cardinal."
"Exactly."
"That's where everything began."
Shermans nodded.
"Lawrence is actually older than I am."
"The Secret Blood merely prolonged his life."
"I'm nearly at death's door..."
"...while he remained as vigorous as ever."
He deliberately slowed his speech.
There was unmistakable greed hidden beneath the old man's voice.
"He belonged to the Golden Age."
"He and Cardinal Medici came from the same era."
"Back then..."
"All of Florence lay beneath Cardinal Medici's rule."
"The Pope himself was little more than a puppet."
"His dominion rivaled that of the Poison Duke..."
"...perhaps even surpassed it."
"The difference was that Medici's methods were gentler."
"And under his governance..."
"...everything truly prospered."
"Thus..."
"...the Golden Age was born."
He paused.
Then continued softly.
"The Cathedral of Saint Narlo."
"The Seven Hills Sanctuary."
"Florence."
"The entire Holy Gospel Papal State."
"He held all of it within his grasp."
"Do you truly think..."
"...he would ignore the Demon Hunter Order?"
Only then did Galahad finally connect the pieces.
"Lawrence..."
"...was Medici's man."
"More or less."
Shermans nodded.
"You already understand the status of Demon Hunters."
"They received glory..."
"...but never power."
"The only hand they could cling to..."
"...was Cardinal Medici's."
"They became his puppets."
"That is why Lawrence survived."
"Medici was only human."
"He possessed no Secret Blood."
"He didn't have centuries to cultivate another Archbishop."
"So he ensured Lawrence became a Cardinal..."
"...and escaped execution."
"Impossible?"
Shermans laughed.
"At the height of his authority..."
"Medici could depose Popes whenever he pleased."
"He..."
"...was a god walking among men."
Shermans had personally witnessed the end of the Golden Age.
His admiration for that extraordinary man bordered upon reverence.
Yet suddenly, all the passion faded.
His shoulders slumped.
"But..."
"He was never truly a god."
"He was only human."
"And humans..."
"...grow old."
He sighed deeply.
Though he appeared to be recounting Medici's story...
...there was far more resentment for his own fate hidden within those words.
"Time is impartial."
"It claims everyone."
"One day Cardinal Medici abandoned power."
"He devoted himself entirely to faith."
"He withdrew from every conflict."
"He became nothing more than a devout believer."
"The Golden Age ended with astonishing speed."
"No one saw it coming."
"No one..."
"...except Lawrence."
"It was his only chance."
"And the Demon Hunter seized it."
"Unlike ordinary men..."
"...he remained young."
"He still possessed strength."
"With centuries of accumulation..."
"...and the authority of a Cardinal..."
"...he secured his own position."
"And so..."
"...he survived in the cracks of history."
"Until the Night of Divine Descent."
Shermans gathered himself before speaking solemnly.
"Returning to the main point."
"Cardinal Medici also died that night."
"The cause..."
"...remains unknown."
Galahad froze.
He had never imagined so legendary a figure would vanish so quietly.
Then confusion overtook him.
"What does that have to do with our question?"
"Everything."
Shermans answered.
"Everyone who truly knew Cardinal Medici is dead."
"Everyone..."
"...except Lawrence."
"He witnessed Medici's rise."
"He witnessed his fall."
"If anyone truly understood him..."
"...it was Lawrence."
Shermans hesitated.
Perhaps he wondered whether these secrets should remain buried forever.
Then he smiled faintly.
There was no point carrying them into the grave.
"After the Night of Divine Descent..."
"We reached one conclusion regarding Medici's death."
"It was Lawrence..."
"...who murdered him."
"For revenge?"
Galahad immediately understood.
If it had been revenge...
Everything made sense.
After decades of silent endurance...
Lawrence had finally slain the man who had once ruled over him.
A vengeance nurtured for generations.
A betrayal fulfilled in a single night.
"No."
Shermans slowly shook his head.
"We believe..."
"...he wanted Medici's secret."
Suddenly the old man smiled.
The expression was strangely twisted.
Almost fanatical.
"The treasure worth dying for."
"The treasure of House Medici."
"His treasure..."
"Everyone was deceived."
"Do you truly believe a man like him..."
"...would simply surrender?"
"Lloyd Medici..."
"...was the architect of an entire Golden Age."
"Would such a man truly accept disappearing into the river of time?"
His voice became faster and faster.
Like someone chanting an ancient curse.
As he whispered, something unseen stirred within the darkness...
...struggling to escape its prison.
"For the sake of that glorious Golden Age..."
"Lloyd Medici sacrificed his entire life."
"How could he willingly allow it all to end?"
"We believe..."
"...that after the Golden Age collapsed..."
"...Lloyd Medici continued ruling Florence."
"Only..."
"...he ruled from the shadows."
"He had already obtained everything a mortal could desire."
"Gold."
"Power."
"Glory."
"Authority."
"So tell me..."
"...what else remained for him to seek?"
Galahad stared at the old madman.
Before he realized it, his own lips moved involuntarily.
As though another will had borrowed his body to answer.
"Immortality..."
A freezing chill engulfed him.
For one terrifying instant...
...the impossible tale no longer sounded impossible.
Somewhere in the unseen corners of this world...
A pair of cold eyes...
...might still be watching.
"Of course..."
Shermans laughed lightly.
"It's only speculation."
"Only speculation."
"They're all dead."
"Lawrence is dead."
"Lloyd Medici is dead."
"Everyone is dead."
"And the dead..."
"...tell no stories."
"So no one can ever prove whether any of it was true."
His tone had become almost cheerful, utterly unlike the suffocating darkness from moments earlier.
But Galahad heard almost none of it.
Only one thought remained.
What if...
What if every word was true?
He jerked his head upward in horror.
Across the table, Shermans sat motionless.
Expressionless.
Like a weathered stone statue robbed of every trace of life.
Neither joy...
...nor anger.
Within those deeply sunken eye sockets...
...there was only darkness.
A silent abyss without end.