Like a fleeting hallucination, the figure faded as the people shifted and passed by. In the next breath, Watson's silhouette dissolved quietly into the air. Yet the cold imprint of her fingers lingered upon Lloyd's cheek, as real as winter's touch.
Something was about to happen…
Lloyd's breathing grew heavier. He knew Watson would never frighten him without reason. That woman—detestable devil though she was—had spoken the truth once: she had never deceived him. She merely told story after story, each one true, each one leaving those within it doomed beyond redemption.
The three people in conversation seemed not to notice Lloyd's change. The atmosphere remained lively, almost radiant. As Selu made her appearance, more guests gathered around, eager to flatter the future duchess.
But Lloyd could not merge into that warmth. Slowly, he raised his hand and slipped a sharp dining knife into the tight sleeve of his coat.
This was a noble ball. Lloyd had arrived unarmed—Winchester and his cane-sword both left behind on Cork Street.
He cursed under his breath, bitter with regret.
The Lloyd of the past had never been like this. He had been a cold and efficient demon hunter, weapons and vigilance always within reach—not a detective who could stumble into danger without even realizing it.
"You know why none of us have names?"
An ancient voice echoed in his mind. Lloyd did not understand why the memory surfaced now.
It was a story from long ago. All the orphans had their names taken by the Church. They were merely weapons in reserve—and weapons required nothing more than disposable codenames.
People feel fear. They grieve. They make mistakes. They panic.
But weapons do not.
Weapons are cold metal—precise, efficient, flawless—stripped of every weakness that makes one human.
Lloyd drew a deep breath.
When he opened his eyes again, a faint radiance stirred beneath that gray-blue gaze. He hid it well, avoiding eye contact with anyone. No one noticed anything unusual about the man.
He was thinking—searching for the source of the danger.
And then he heard a conversation drifting through the crowd.
"Duke Salicado, your reputation hasn't been very flattering lately."
Someone spoke lightly.
"I've heard your factories have been hiring a lot of the displaced. There've been quite a few deaths recently. The unions are preparing to investigate you."
The man chuckled.
"Investigate me? They protect workers of Invervig, not the workers of Gaulunaro. And without me, those people wouldn't even have food on their tables."
To him, the displaced were perfect labor—cheap, obedient, and burdened by no benefits or protections.
Some fell silent. After all, he was a titan of wealth, holding the economic lifeline of countless people. There was no need to offend him. Others, however, seemed to sense an opportunity and eagerly echoed his sentiments.
Lloyd stared blankly at Duke Salicado within the crowd.
He had found the end of every clue.
He simply hadn't expected it to appear in this way.
Through the dense gathering, Lloyd pushed forward. A chill aura of death clung to him—lifeless and mechanical, like a machine that drained warmth from the room. As he approached, people instinctively stepped aside.
"There's something wrong," he whispered beside Duke Phoenix.
Phoenix had been about to shove away the detective who had suddenly approached him, but Lloyd's words halted him.
"What kind of wrong?"
"What do you think?"
What could Lloyd possibly find abnormal—other than demons?
Without another word, Lloyd turned away. He didn't even have time to say goodbye to Selu. His eyes lingered one last moment on Duke Salicado, the man still unaware that danger was already closing in.
Lloyd stepped into the darkened shadows.
His muscles expanded, the tight fabric of his coat tearing as though a beast were breaking free from its cage. The sharp dining knife slid from his sleeve, and the secret blood within him began to stir.
"Have you figured it out?"
Watson walked beside him in the shadows, step for step, their pace quickening as though they were about to break into a run.
"Yes," Lloyd replied. "This place is filled with nobles. Three dukes alone are present tonight. If I were him, this would be the perfect place for revenge."
"And what do you plan to do now?" Watson asked, her voice teasing.
"Find it. Kill it."
Lloyd spoke without emotion, tearing the gaudy decorations from his coat with one swift motion.
"But it hides in the dark," Watson said again. "You can't protect everyone."
Her tone sharpened.
"Just like on the Night of the Holy Descent. No one understood you. No one helped you. You fought alone."
Lloyd stopped abruptly and turned to face her. The smile in her eyes was sharp with mockery.
But this time, he didn't care. He didn't even bother responding.
"Then this time," he said quietly, "I'll find a few more helpers."
Something flickered through his memory. For a brief moment, a faint smile touched his otherwise cold face.
And then—
Pure white radiance bloomed in the shadows.
Like fireworks bursting into the night, the Cleansing Flame surged forth, blazing with fury as it denounced the darkness.
[Secret Blood Awakening: 5%]
A large Geiger counter installed nearby detected the sudden spike in readings. The data was immediately transmitted.
Within seconds—far away beneath the shattered dome—the Watcher System erupted into a piercing alarm. A crimson target appeared on the map.
At that same moment, in the garden courtyard, Selu suddenly paused.
As if sensing something.
She stared in the direction where Lloyd had vanished. Without a word—without even finishing the conversations around her—she pushed through the crowd and hurried after him.
…
"You can find it, can't you?"
The demon hunter raced through the shadows, searching every place where a murder might unfold.
"Yes," Watson replied calmly. "Do you want my help?"
No matter how fast Lloyd ran, she remained beside him like a phantom—like a shadow that could never be outrun.
"If it's free, the more the better," Lloyd snapped. "If you're charging, then get lost and stop slowing me down."
His voice carried not the slightest hint of courtesy.
Watson showed no anger at all—almost as if she had expected Lloyd to answer exactly that way.
"This time, your enemy is quite dangerous."
"That monster? The one relying on crude, inferior secret blood?"
Lloyd spoke with clear disdain. True, he himself was also a monster—but among monsters, Lloyd was something of an elite. How could such a defective creature ever compare to him?
"No, no. I'm not talking about it." Watson waved the idea away lightly. "It's hardly dangerous at all. I mean the one behind it—the person capable of creating that inferior secret blood."
She gave up pretending to run. After all, she could only exist within Lloyd's field of vision, like a phantom hallucination that had no place in the real world. Lazily, she reclined in midair, propping her head on one hand as she watched him.
"Lloyd, when you realized all this, you must have thought of that possibility too, didn't you? The technology of secret blood belongs solely to the Church… unless…"
A mischievous smile crept onto her delicate face. If one ignored what lurked beneath that skin, she was just as beautiful as she had once been.
Lloyd knew exactly what she was hinting at, so he answered bluntly.
"Unless some suicidal bastard stole the Apocalypse during the Night of Sacred Descent."
The Apocalypse.
Every piece of knowledge the Gospel Church possessed about demons originated from that book. The forging of holy silver, the implantation of secret blood—everything traced back to its pages. One could say that when that book was opened, history itself turned a new page, pushing humanity forward to an age where it no longer feared the demons lurking in the night.
Within the Gospel Church, only the Pope and a handful of cardinals were permitted to read it. Lloyd knew only that it was kept somewhere within the Cathedral of Saint Naro, though in which chamber he had no idea. He had heard of it all his life, yet never once laid eyes upon it.
"Your situation looks rather grim, Lloyd," Watson said lightly. "If the Apocalypse has appeared in Old Dunling, the people of the Gospel Church will never let this go."
Lloyd fell silent. In that brief moment, countless possibilities rushed through his mind.
Truth be told, he still found it hard to believe that the Apocalypse had truly been stolen—and that someone had successfully replicated the secret blood technology. If that were the case, then that person must also have been present on the Night of Sacred Descent. Lloyd simply did not yet know what role they had played.
But… there was no real need to wonder.
In Lloyd's eyes, every single participant of that night deserved to die—whether they were lowly demon hunters or the exalted Pope himself.
"You want the Apocalypse too, don't you?" Lloyd asked.
"Of course."
Watson answered with a smile.
"So stay alive, Lloyd. After all… we're one and the same now."
Then she tilted her head slightly.
"It's coming, Lloyd."
A bright, delighted laugh escaped her lips. The sound drifted farther and farther away, thinning into the night until it finally faded. And in Lloyd's perception, the demons appeared—burning in the darkness like torches.
He tightened his grip on the dining knife.
To demons, such a weapon posed little threat. But its wielder was Lloyd. What mattered was not the weapon, but the one who held it. Even if he had nothing but a stone in his hand, he was confident he could smash that monster's skull to pieces.
It was here.
From the darkness, a hideous demon rushed toward him. Lloyd moved without hesitation. The knife flashed upward, blazing white flame engulfing the blade, stretching through the air into a blinding streak of light that carved across the creature's body.
The sharp knife pierced straight through the demon's heart—one strike, perfectly placed.
In the next instant Lloyd twisted his wrist, ripping the blade free, and slashed again across its throat. Because of the knife's short length, he dragged it hard through flesh and bone, sawing until he tore the entire head from the body.
The demon's body, not yet fully dead, convulsed violently. Its claws shredded the elegant evening suit it wore into ragged strips before it finally stilled.
Lloyd tossed the corpse aside.
Blood spilled across the stone path.
This kill had been even easier than he expected.
Of course, he thought coldly. He himself was the real monster. Compared to him, these creatures were as harmless as little rabbits.
Then—suddenly—
Countless heartbeats echoed through the night.
The brief satisfaction of the kill froze instantly into cold dread. Slowly, Lloyd turned his head toward the darkness behind him.
There, beyond the shadows, innumerable demons revealed their fangs and claws.
Not just one. Not just here.
The entire manor had descended into chaos. From every direction came desperate screams and agonized wails.
Of course. This place held half the noble class of Old Dunling—and not just nobles, but those occupying the highest offices of power. Whether the mastermind sought revenge or wished to shake the entire foundation of the city's order, they had already won.
Completely.
And here, among all of them, there was only one demon hunter.
Lloyd might survive the tide of monsters—but he could never protect everyone else.
"How… are there so many?!"
A dining knife was nowhere near enough for this.
Lloyd cursed himself again for not bringing proper weapons. Then he raised his fist and slammed it down.
Blood and shattered bone burst outward. Yet even so, Lloyd was killing far too slowly.
He was a demon hunter—one who could freely control the demonic transformation within a human body. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say he was a demon capable of maintaining his sanity.
But whatever Lloyd was… he was not a transcendent being.
He could bleed.
He could be wounded.
And he could die.
The demons pressed forward in wave after wave, filling the once-empty corridor until there was no space left to swing a fist.
Then suddenly—
Blazing fire erupted.
The flames roared and devoured the creatures, burning them instantly to ash.
Lloyd climbed out from the smoldering remains, breathing heavily. Yet before long, his frantic heartbeat gradually steadied.
These were only low-grade demons—mindless things with nothing remarkable about them. Discarded refuse.
But even such refuse was lethal to ordinary people.
"Damn it… damn it!"
Suddenly Lloyd realized something critical.
He had never imagined there would be so many demons. From the beginning he had believed there was only a single one acting in the shadows.
Yet now an entire tide of enemies had appeared.
And worse still—among his deductions, that original demon possessed intelligence.
But the ones he had been killing were nothing more than walking corpses.
"Se… Seiryu…"
Lloyd murmured the name under his breath, then suddenly turned and sprinted.
His original plan had been simple: find the demon first and eliminate it quietly, containing the situation before it spread.
But this swarm had completely shattered that plan.
And there was one fatal detail—
The intelligent demon had not appeared.
Its target was the dukes. They were the grandest prize at this ball.
Lloyd could already imagine it: the demon slipping silently through the chaos of the crowd… drawing close… and slaughtering the dukes one by one.
This situation had already slipped beyond Lloyd's control.
Just like on the Night of Sacred Descent.
Medanzo's armor had protected only him.
He had saved no one.
It was a helplessness beyond words. Even if you stood peerless beneath the heavens, you were still only peerless alone. Amid the torrent of death, you were nothing more than an isolated reef against the sea.
Thinking back on it now, Lloyd could almost understand the Church's choices.
Demon hunters were cold weapons.
Between the trolley and the tracks, only a cold weapon could make the most rational decision.
As if possessed, Lloyd gave a bitter, self-mocking laugh.
In these six years in Old Dunling… he had begun to live more and more like a human being.
Blazing white flames surged upward.
From beneath his skin, metallic matter began to emerge, growing within the fire—like scales reborn from flame, like twisted thorns. Layer upon layer they wrapped around Lloyd's body, encasing him as he ran, growing heavier, stronger, harder.
Like a burning war chariot—
crushing every obstacle within sight,
unstoppable.