Arthur sat silently by the window, watching the sun sink beyond the skyline of Old Dunling.
It was a city of iron and frozen water, cold to its very bones. Only at sunset did crimson light spill across its steel façade, draping the lifeless metropolis in a fleeting warmth. The illusion lasted only a moment, yet for that brief span, it was enough to bring a strange sense of peace.
With a weary sigh, Arthur drained the last of the liquor from his glass. The past few days had left him mentally exhausted. He had never imagined that maneuvering through political intrigue would prove more draining than fighting demons. Every instinct urged him to put a bullet through Anthony's skull, yet for the sake of profit and diplomacy, he still had to greet the visitors from Florentine with a welcoming smile.
And beneath those negotiations lay an even deeper game.
The Exiles had already thrown their lot in with the Purification Agency. Though they were riddled with mysteries of their own, they posed far less danger than the diplomatic delegation. As for Father Anthony... he still knew nothing of any of this.
The Purification Agency was bargaining with both sides at once.
It was no different from dancing upon the edge of a blade. Even here, in Old Dunling—the Agency's own stronghold—Arthur could not shake the unease that something unexpected might still go terribly wrong.
Yet what troubled him most was the intelligence Anthony had delivered on the very night of his arrival.
The priest had come fully prepared.
As though every move had been rehearsed in advance, he had cast one bombshell after another before Arthur. None of them could overturn the situation outright, but each possessed the power to fracture the Agency from within. Arthur had already dispatched Galahad to verify every one of those claims with the Exiles.
He slowly set down his glass.
His hands trembled uncontrollably.
Only now did he notice the deep wrinkles covering the skin stretched across them.
He had grown old.
Arthur watched as the crimson clouds gradually darkened, as night consumed the city inch by inch. Mesmerized, his gaze grew vacant, until a sudden noise shattered the silence.
The door behind him burst open.
Blue Emerald stood in the doorway, breathing heavily, a capsule-shaped container clutched tightly in her hands.
It was part of the Purification Agency's pneumatic courier system. Documents or objects placed inside these capsules were propelled through underground pipelines by compressed air, racing beneath Old Dunling to every hidden Agency outpost. The network was primarily used to transmit sensitive intelligence while minimizing personnel movement, making it indispensable beneath the Shattered Dome.
"Galahad's report?"
Arthur spun around the moment he saw her.
Too winded to answer, Blue Emerald simply nodded with all her strength.
She had no idea what Arthur was planning. She only knew that some vital intelligence had to reach him as quickly as possible. Acting on his orders, she had rushed to the nearest outpost, borrowed its pneumatic courier terminal, and retrieved the capsule that had just arrived from another station.
Then she had run all the way back.
Simply so Arthur could see its contents a few moments sooner.
Arthur wasted no time. He strode straight toward her, paid no attention to her exhaustion, snatched the capsule from her hands, ripped away the warning seal, and twisted it open.
Inside lay several reports...
...along with a handful of black-and-white photographs.
Like a dreadful secret waiting only to be unveiled.
Arthur seized the reports. The handwriting belonged to Galahad, who had meticulously recorded every important detail from his conversation with Shermans. Line after line reflected within Arthur's eyes, weaving themselves into a story that became increasingly unbearable with every sentence.
The old man refused to believe it.
Again and again he reread Galahad's report, hoping he had misunderstood.
But ink did not change.
Words did not reshape themselves.
Every rereading merely branded the truth deeper into his mind.
At last, as though he finally accepted the futility of resistance, he lowered himself back into the chair, his shoulders heavy with defeat.
Blue Emerald had never seen Arthur like this.
Perhaps this was simply what unbearable pressure looked like.
For days he had been locked in an invisible duel with Anthony. Every conversation between them had been a battlefield, every word another thrust or parry as they fought relentlessly to secure greater advantages for their own sides.
During all that time, Arthur had not visited his daughter even once.
Ever since Eve had been admitted to Black Mountain Hospital, there had been no news of her.
He worried for her constantly.
Blue Emerald had just opened her mouth to speak when Arthur beat her to it.
"Anthony succeeded."
His voice was low, almost a whisper.
"As expected of the new Pope's most trusted confidant... his methods are truly remarkable."
His expression was impossibly complicated.
"W-What happened?"
Blue Emerald asked in confusion.
Though she served as Arthur's bodyguard, there were countless matters beyond her clearance. She knew nothing of the conversations that had taken place between Arthur and Anthony.
"We're a fortress," Arthur murmured while staring at the photographs. "The Purification Agency cannot be broken from the outside. Every external force only compresses us tighter, making us stronger."
He paused.
"But what if the cracks begin... from within?"
"What happened?" Blue Emerald repeated, finally sensing the gravity of the situation.
"It's... complicated."
Arthur fell silent, weighing every consequence.
Only after a long while did he speak again.
"Blue Emerald..."
His eyes remained fixed upon the man captured in the photograph.
"Do you think... Lloyd Holmes is our enemy?"
He never waited for her answer.
The question seemed directed not at Blue Emerald...
...but at the man inside the picture itself.
His voice became little more than a whisper.
"Are you our enemy... Mr. Lloyd Holmes?"
Night settled completely over Old Dunling.
As Arthur's quiet question faded into the darkness, the thunder of galloping horses echoed outside the window. Steam burst from the horses' nostrils as their iron-shod hooves pounded against the cobblestones. The carriage wheels spun furiously, crushing debris, slicing through mud, and exploding through puddles, leaving everything behind.
Time rolled backward.
Anthony reached out and lifted the carriage curtain, his gaze drifting across Old Dunling's nightscape.
Despite his lofty position, this was his first visit to the city.
Everything before him was unfamiliar.
Like discovering an untouched continent, every corner held the promise of wonder for a traveler from distant lands.
Towering steam spires vented blazing clouds into the sky.
Great furnaces roared with endless fire.
Scalding vapor poured endlessly from beneath the earth.
Above it all, colossal sky-whales drifted through the heavens.
None of these sights existed in Florentine.
Even Anthony found himself quietly shaken, unable to suppress the reverence he felt toward this city of astonishing industry.
"What do you think?"
Arthur asked the newly arrived guest.
After receiving Anthony at the docks, he had immediately ushered him into his own carriage and ordered it toward the embassy. This marked the first diplomatic contact between their two nations in many years. Arthur intended to seize the initiative, allowing Anthony no opportunity to rest before beginning negotiations.
"It's extraordinary."
Anthony spoke without hesitation.
"I find it difficult to believe human hands built all of this."
Rows of towering structures pierced the mist, rising layer upon layer into a vast forest of steel whose cold grandeur inspired both awe and oppression.
"Then shall we skip the pleasantries and get to the point?"
Arthur asked bluntly.
Anthony's attitude had been courteous enough, but Arthur had no desire to waste time exchanging empty formalities.
"Very well."
Anthony remained expressionless. The savage scar crossing his face seemed strangely calm as he lifted the case he carried beside him and withdrew several neatly prepared files.
"According to reports from the Temple of Stasis, we have located traces of Lawrence. He is active within Ingelvig territory. We hope to cooperate with you in apprehending him."
Arthur remained silent.
He chose not to reveal that Lawrence was already dead.
"The true objective is the Book of Revelation, isn't it?"
Arthur asked directly.
Compared to a traitor, that was what the Gospel Church truly cared about.
"Naturally."
Anthony showed no surprise that Arthur already knew.
"But not only that."
He continued calmly.
"Our investigation also confirms that the Sacred Coffin once appeared within your territory."
Inside that forbidden coffin rested the remains of the Holy Grail.
According to the Gospel Church's original plan, it was to be sunk into the depths of the sea and sealed away indefinitely.
Instead, it became the prize in a struggle between the Purification Agency and Lawrence.
Lawrence emerged victorious.
"That's correct."
Arthur offered nothing beyond the admission.
Anthony pinched the bridge of his nose before speaking coldly.
"Arthur, we've come seeking cooperation, not war. Conflict benefits neither of us. It only serves the demons... and the traitors."
"Then blame history."
Arthur's reply carried unmistakable hostility.
"The Demon Hunter Order was once so overwhelmingly powerful that we could only survive by hiding in the shadows."
What the Purification Agency had feared most in those days was never the demons themselves.
It had been the Demon Hunter Order across the sea.
They monopolized every means of combating demons and tolerated no rival organization. Only after Divine Armor technology spread into Ingelvig—and relic armor from the Old Century was successfully reverse-engineered—did the Agency finally gain the strength to resist.
Only then had they escaped that desperate age of constant fear.
Yet Arthur's tone abruptly softened.
"Still... you're right."
"I'm a man who makes decisions."
"I deal in interests and positions—not personal feelings."
"There are no eternal enemies."
"Only eternal interests."
As though offering a gesture of sincerity, he added,
"The Purification Agency never obtained the Sacred Coffin."
"Lawrence stole it."
"I can believe that."
Anthony answered evenly.
"If you had truly possessed the Sacred Coffin... Old Dunling would likely have fallen months ago."
His eyes narrowed.
"You have no idea what was actually inside it."
That calm certainty—that perpetual air of superiority—only irritated Arthur further.
"It is the origin of every calamity."
"The place where every sin lies buried."
"So you're here to recover it."
Arthur looked directly at him.
"Along with the Book of Revelation?"
"Of course."
"It belongs to the Gospel Church."
"It has always been our responsibility to reclaim it."
"Which is precisely why we need Lawrence's whereabouts."
The Temple of Stasis had only managed to narrow down Lawrence's approximate location.
But this was Ingelvig territory.
Without the Purification Agency's assistance, Anthony could proceed no further.
"I see..."
Arthur finally answered.
"But Lawrence is already dead."
"The trail has gone cold."
This time, he concealed nothing.
For months the Purification Agency had searched relentlessly.
Following Lawrence's death, both the Sacred Coffin—or more precisely, the Holy Grail's remains sealed within it—and the Book of Revelation had vanished without a trace.
Either artifact possessed the potential to unleash unimaginable catastrophe.
The Agency had exhausted every resource searching for them, yet found nothing.
Even afterward, Secret Blood continued resurfacing.
A newly refined variant mixed into hallucinogenic compounds.
Lawrence had never worked alone.
Somewhere, hidden in the darkness, his organization still endured.
The longer they remained concealed, the more dangerous they became.
Rather than continue the search alone, Arthur had concluded it was wiser to accept the Gospel Church's assistance.
"He's dead?"
For the first time, genuine surprise crossed Anthony's face.
He had never imagined that the terrifying Demon Hunter Grandmaster could actually perish.
Then another thought struck him.
"You killed him?"
Arthur nodded.
A faint trace of warning entered his voice.
"This is no longer an age ruled by swords and shields."
"Iron and fire have become the new sovereigns."
Across Ingelvig, the flames of industry blazed brighter than ever.
Against that unstoppable tide...
Even Lawrence had ultimately been powerless.
Anthony stared deeply into Arthur's eyes, searching for the slightest crack in his story.
Silence settled inside the carriage.
Outside, it raced through Old Dunling's streets, scattering fog in every direction.
"No..."
Anthony finally murmured after a long pause.
"You couldn't have done it alone."
"Lawrence was a monster."
"He had lived for far too long."
"Demon Hunters are monsters unlike any other."
"The older they become..."
"...the stronger they grow."
"What do you mean?"
Arthur frowned.
"The older he became?"
Anthony regarded him quietly before speaking.
"Consider this... my gesture of goodwill."
"One of the secrets the world was never meant to know."
"No Demon Hunter dies of old age."
"When they reach a certain age, they are quietly executed."
"Lawrence was the sole exception."
"That monster lived far beyond the limits imposed upon his kind..."
"...so long that, in the end, no one remained capable of keeping him under control."
Upon seeing Arthur's reaction, Anthony decided to reveal a few carefully guarded secrets.
This time, he truly seemed willing to negotiate. His voice remained calm as he continued.
"Fighting demons has always come at an unbearable cost. Demon Hunters die in great numbers, though a handful always survive. But as the years pass, their wills begin to weaken... while the power of the demons within them only grows stronger."
"And?" Arthur gestured for him to continue. "That's a promising beginning, Anthony. Now this is what I call an exchange of intelligence."
Anthony fell silent for a brief moment. After a trace of hesitation, he abandoned any further calculation of gains and losses and continued.
"You've tried to replicate the Secret Blood technology yourselves, haven't you?"
There was no point denying it. Arthur nodded.
The Ranger Program had, in truth, been developed by studying the principles behind Secret Blood. It had originated in the hidden laboratories beneath Black Mountain Hospital before ultimately being abandoned for countless reasons.
"The truth is," Anthony explained, "Secret Blood technology is nothing more than injecting demonic blood into a Demon Hunter's body. But we all know blood dies. Human blood is constantly replaced—it ages, is metabolized away, and fresh blood is produced by the body's hematopoietic system to take its place."
Anthony tried to explain what little he himself fully understood.
Though he now held the title of High Priest, he was perhaps the most unfortunate one in the Order's entire history. He had inherited the position precisely when the Gospel Church stood on the brink of collapse. And should they fail to recover the Book of Revelation, he would very likely become its last High Priest.
"So?" Arthur urged again.
"So no matter how strange Secret Blood may be... no matter how tenacious... time will eventually kill it as well. It too is metabolized and gradually disappears from the host."
Anthony's voice grew increasingly animated.
"But Demon Hunters never lose their strength with age. That's because Secret Blood doesn't merely empower them—it transforms them. Slowly. Imperceptibly. It rewrites them until their own hematopoietic systems begin producing minute quantities of Secret Blood themselves, sustaining what already flows through their veins."
"The greatest secret recorded in the Book of Revelation is how to refine Secret Blood."
He looked directly at Arthur.
"But under Secret Blood's influence... the human body eventually learns to do it on its own."
Arthur said nothing.
The speeding carriage suddenly felt less like a carriage and more like a roaring locomotive charging through endless darkness toward an unknown destination—one they might reach... or perish before ever seeing.
"As the years pass," Anthony continued softly, "the transformation becomes increasingly complete. It is... demonization. A rational form of demonization."
"The bones. The organs. The muscles. Every part of the body slowly ceases to resemble that of an ordinary human. The flesh itself becomes ruled by Secret Blood."
"You understand what I'm saying... don't you?"
Arthur stiffly nodded.
After a long silence, he spoke in a low voice.
"Lawrence betrayed you. He caused the Night of Divine Descent."
"It wasn't an accident."
"It was something he had planned all along... and something you forced him into."
Anthony's expression never changed.
"The Demon Hunters never truly lost control. But the demonization never stopped either. The longer they lived, the deeper it progressed, until every inch of their bodies—inside and out—ceased to be human."
"And when they crossed that final threshold..."
"...the Secret Blood awakened completely."
"That is a catastrophe no one can control."
"Demon Hunters," he continued, "have an expiration date. But Lawrence prolonged his life through Cardinal Medici's power. The longer he lived, the greater the danger became. An aging will could no longer restrain a body fully transformed by Secret Blood."
"We could never allow such a risk to continue existing."
Arthur stared at him in disbelief.
Then, absurdity overwhelmed him, and he laughed.
"So... all of this was your own doing."
"Not entirely."
Anthony answered without emotion.
"It was merely an old man's will... terrified of death."
"Demon Hunters appear stable. They retain the human shape we're all familiar with."
"But beneath that skin lies flesh utterly unlike our own—a body corrupted and reshaped by Secret Blood."
His calmness was chilling.
Arthur suddenly found himself thinking of Lloyd.
That was precisely what Demon Hunters were.
Neither human...
Nor demon...
Creatures suspended between two worlds, clinging stubbornly to existence.
"I think you understand," Anthony said quietly. "Your own knights are no different. When the day comes that they become too dangerous..
"...you'll make the sam
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"Someone else must have helped you."
A name surfaced in his thoughts.
Reports from the Stasis Sanctuary had mentioned another Demon Hunter appearing beside Lawrence.
"It was him, wasn't it?"
"The Demon Hunter known as... Lloyd Holmes."
"...or should I say..."
"...the detective."
Anthony withdrew several black-and-white photographs from the folder.
Each had been taken from a different angle.
Each captured the same man's face.
"Don't be surprised," he said evenly. "The Gospel Church may have fallen into decline, but we once stood at the pinnacle of this world. Our knowledge of demons far exceeds anything you've seen."
Arthur accepted the photographs.
His expression returned to its usual icy composure.
"So... even that couldn't be hidden from you."
"Correct."
"It seems that with his assistance, you killed Lawrence."
"And from him, you've already learned quite a few of the Gospel Church's secrets."
None of this surprised Anthony.
He was younger than Arthur.
Far more ruthless as well.
It had been under his command that the Templar Knights had driven the Exiles from the Seven Hills.
"So?"
Arthur smiled coldly.
"Are you planning to hunt down this traitor?"
Lloyd had become one of the Purge Agency's greatest assets.
Without overwhelming benefit, no one could sever the alliance between them.
"Something like that."
Anthony's voice remained emotionless.
"In any case... we can't allow him to remain free."
The secret order was still in effect.
Every Demon Hunter who had survived the Night of Divine Descent remained a target.
Arthur suddenly laughed.
He found Anthony's intentions increasingly difficult to decipher.
"The Book of Revelation."
"The Holy Grail Relic."
"Lloyd Holmes."
"I suppose you'll also ask us to help capture the other fugitives."
None of those tasks could be called easy.
Taken together...
They bordered on madness.
"So tell me, Father Anthony."
"You."
"The Gospel Church behind you."
"And His Holiness Senny Lothair."
"What exactly are you prepared to offer in return?"
A faint trace of anger lingered in Arthur's voice.
Yet he also felt something long forgotten returning.
The two men sat across from one another like emotionless machines, laying every advantage upon the table, each calculating only how to maximize his own side's interests.
Anthony remained silent.
Only the relentless rumble of the carriage wheels echoed through the night.
Freezing wind poured into the compartment, sharpening both men's senses.
Then...
Anthony smiled.
There was mockery in that smile.
And quiet disdain.
"Sometimes," he said softly, "there is no need to pay a price."
"So long as both sides share the same interests."
"Don't you agree, Arthur?"
"Just as you joined forces with Lloyd Holmes."
"You both wanted Lawrence dead."
"No payment was necessary."
"He helped you because your goals aligned."
Arthur frowned.
"You think our interests are the same?"
"You think I'd help you capture Lloyd?"
The idea bordered on absurdity.
Lloyd might be eccentric—perhaps even unstable—but compared to Anthony...
He was infinitely more trustworthy.
"Naturally."
Anthony leaned forward.
"But there is one thing I've never understood."
"I came to meet you openly, under legitimate authority."
"Yet you've treated me with suspicion from the very beginning."
"And Lloyd Holmes?"
His true objective finally emerged.
Compared with the Book of Revelation...
Compared with the Holy Grail Relic...
The man who had remained constantly within everyone's sight was the far more valuable target.
"Lloyd Holmes."
"A Demon Hunter who suddenly appeared before you."
"He hunted demons beside you..."
"And that alone earned your trust."
"But everything you know about him..."
"...comes solely from his own words."
Anthony looked genuinely puzzled.
"Does the Purge Agency truly accept strangers so easily?"
"What if every story Lloyd Holmes has told you..."
"...is a lie?"
"You know him."
"He's a cunning deceiver."
"A master of manipulation."
"A man who calculates every step."
"So tell me..."
"How can you be certain the Lloyd you've come to know..."
"...is real?"
"...and not simply another lie?"
As he spoke, Anthony tossed another file across the carriage.
Until now, Arthur had been the one pressing relentlessly.
Now the counterattack belonged to Anthony.
Inside the cramped carriage, words alone became their weapons.
"Do you know who he really is?"
Anthony lifted one of the photographs.
The man within it leaned lazily against a street corner, cigarette smoke drifting into the air.
"Lloyd Holmes."
Arthur had seen that infuriating face countless times.
He could never mistake it.
Anthony smiled coldly.
"Then..."
"Do you know the name he carried while he served the Demon Hunter Order?"
Arthur fell silent.
He didn't know.
Only then did he realize something unsettling.
Lloyd had taught them countless things about demons.
Yet never once...
Had he spoken the name he once bore.
"Go on, Arthur."
Anthony tapped the file before him.
"Everything inside concerns Lloyd Holmes' past within the Order."
"Compare it with everything he's told you."
"See for yourself..."
"...whether he has lied."
Arthur immediately countered.
"Does it matter?"
"The Purge Agency has never judged people by where they come from."
Anthony's face only grew colder.
Without another word, he pushed the file directly before Arthur.
"But what if..."
"...he is an extraordinarily dangerous demon?"
"What if everything he has done..."
"...was simply to get close to you?"
"What if killing Lawrence..."
"...was nothing more than a performance..."
"...to earn your trust?"
Anthony folded his hands together and leaned back into his chair.
His voice remained calm.
Cold.
As though narrating a forbidden history.
"The Night of Divine Descent brought more than destruction."
"It gave birth to something far more terrifying."
"It was our mistake."
"And we have spent every day since trying to correct it."
"My presence here..."
"...is proof enough of that."
"Although the Gospel Church suffered catastrophic losses that night..."
"...we also succeeded..."
"...in creating an unknown weapon."
"An unknown weapon?"
Arthur frowned.
Why had Anthony suddenly changed the subject?
"Yes."
"Unknown."
"We know nothing of its nature."
"Nothing of its form."
"Nothing of whether it is good... or evil."
"It was born on the Night of Divine Descent."
"On that night of annihilation."
"Every person involved died before dawn."
"We learned of its existence only through the testimony of a handful of survivors."
"So?"
Arthur asked again.
"It is an evil born from the Holy Grail."
"A forbidden experiment."
"Humanity's attempt to reach into the unknown."
Anthony recalled the documents entrusted to him by the new Pope.
Even reading those records had made him feel as though the gates of Hell stood open before him.
"According to Yanar's report..."
"One Demon Hunter escaped that battlefield of Hell..."
"...taking it with him."
"He vanished beyond the Gospel Church's reach."
"The surviving records suggest..."
"...that this thing may rival the Holy Grail itself."
Anthony stared directly into Arthur's eyes.
From the very beginning...
He had come fully prepared.
Everyone had misunderstood his purpose.
His ambitions.
Even the true nature of this entire story.
Arthur suddenly felt an unbearable weight pressing against his chest.
It radiated from the man sitting opposite him like mountains collapsing upon his soul.
Inside the cramped carriage...
He could scarcely breathe.
"Go on."
Arthur's voice had become just as cold.
His gaze remained fixed upon the black-and-white photograph.
He could no longer look away.
"The Demon Hunter who carried that abomination away..."
"Who was he?"
Anthony slowly lifted the photograph.
When he spoke again, his voice seemed to drift from some nameless abyss.
"We knew him only by his designation."
"Zero-Four-Seven."
"The Demon Hunter who bore the name..."
"Metatron."
Arthur's breathing stopped.
For a single instant...
Every sound vanished.
Only Anthony's final words echoed endlessly through the darkness.
"And the man you know..."
"...is Lloyd Holmes."
Beyond the carriage windows, only endless night remained.
The carriage rolled onward into the darkness, its wheels grinding across stone and mud, across the passing years, across the souls of all who still walked the earth.
And somewhere beneath the pale embrace of the moon...
An ancient grave slowly opened.
Something long buried...
Rose once more into the light.