The entire courtyard had already been reduced to ruins.
A sea of rising flames devoured everything, its heat boiling the water in the pool until it shimmered and trembled like sheets of emerald glass. Though it was a bitterly cold night, warm vapor drifted through the air, coiling slowly like invisible serpents. They slithered through the wreckage, winding themselves around one figure after another.
Beyond the inner circle, soldiers stood on guard. Their eyes were fixed upon the scene, fingers clenched tight around their triggers, waiting for Arthur's command.
Everyone was waiting for him—waiting for his decision.
But Arthur did not look at them.
He was looking at Eve.
Countless emotions churned within that aging heart.
Of course he understood Lloyd's meaning. Here beside the iron rails he was the cold arbiter of fate. The value of Father Lawrence was undeniable; no matter the reason, he could not be allowed to escape. Yet the price of that decision was his beloved daughter.
It was a cruel choice.
Cruel enough that even iron-willed Arthur began to waver.
In the long silence that followed, time itself seemed to slow.
Lloyd watched the conflicted man before him. He was the mighty duke, a man whose authority shook nations, and the hidden administrator of the Purge Agency that worked within the dark. A scepter rested in his grasp—yet now that vast power could accomplish nothing.
How tragic.
He could command torrents of steel that crushed cities and shattered fortresses, yet he could not protect his own daughter. And because of that daughter he cherished so deeply, even a will forged of iron began to fracture with countless cracks.
In the end, Arthur was still only a mortal.
Strip away the halo that surrounded him, and he was merely a man… a father.
Lloyd suddenly felt tired. Not tired himself—rather, he sensed the exhaustion in Arthur's slightly swaying figure.
"We don't have a chance, Arthur," Lloyd said quietly. "His authority is Shandafon—the Shandafon that can foresee the future. He can see the result before your cause even occurs. No trick will work."
The treacherous power of Shandafon left no physical trace when it was activated. It was almost impossible to detect. Had Lloyd not remembered that ancient title, he might still have remained completely in the dark.
"Mr. Holmes," Arthur suddenly asked, "have you ever made a decision like this?"
Lloyd nodded, his face expressionless.
He had made such a choice long ago.
He had been the last one on that ship to retain his sanity, and it was he who dealt with the final hunters who had lost control.
Long ago Lloyd had already pulled the lever of fate.
The train had roared past, crushing the once-familiar faces beneath its iron wheels.
"I understand," Arthur murmured again.
"So… have you reached your decision?"
Father Lawrence looked at them with a gentle smile. The broken sword rested beneath Eve's chin. He did not care whether they were stalling or plotting something else. He was powerful, and that power granted him the arrogance to despise all schemes.
Whatever they attempted, Shandafon would foresee it.
Though the burden of that power was heavy—and it could only glimpse perhaps a dozen seconds into the future—that was already more than enough. With Lawrence's strength, those few seconds were sufficient for him to kill everyone here… and then depart without a trace.
The only real difficulty was Lloyd. With that unyielding divine armor upon him, Lawrence could scarcely harm him at all.
"Yes," Arthur answered.
His eyes sharpened.
Then he began to walk toward Father Lawrence.
"You intend to abandon her?" Lawrence asked, raising the broken blade slightly. A thin line of blood slid down.
"No," Arthur replied calmly. "Just exchanging hostages. What do you think?"
No one had expected such an outcome.
"What are you doing?!" Lloyd roared.
Arthur ignored him and continued.
"I am Duke Evrar Phoenix, current supreme director of the Purge Agency. Codename: Arthur. Within my mind are the critical secrets of systems such as the Serpent of the Atrium Observer, and… ah yes, portions of the knowledge concerning the Old-Century Divine Armor."
He slowly raised his hands and stopped where he stood.
"I believe my value is greater than hers. Wouldn't you agree?"
There was, in truth, another solution to the dilemma.
One could refuse to pull the lever.
One could refuse to push an unlucky soul onto the track.
Instead—one could step forward and meet the roaring train oneself.
Everyone is saved.
Except the one who chooses to sacrifice himself.
The demon would die. Eve would live.
It would make for a fine story.
Eve stared at Arthur. She had no idea what this "Purge Agency" or "codename" meant. She only stared at him in stunned silence.
This man, so overwhelmingly powerful… had chosen to yield.
For her.
"What a catch… a truly enormous one!"
Father Lawrence burst into delighted laughter. He had lurked within Old Dunling for a very long time, yet his infiltration of the Purge Agency had progressed painfully slowly. He had not even discovered the location of the mysterious Shattered Dome—let alone come into contact with someone as high-ranking as Arthur.
"Well then," he said pleasantly, spreading one hand as if to welcome him, "please walk over yourself."
Then he glanced at Lloyd with a smile.
"I can see it."
The smile was hateful—like something torn from a nightmare.
Lloyd understood instantly.
In Lawrence's vision of the future, Lloyd had already launched multiple sudden attacks against him during the very moment of the hostage exchange.
It was a warning.
"No… that's not right. You should—"
Eve looked at Arthur as he approached.
But Arthur never looked at her. His gaze remained fixed upon Father Lawrence. His steps were steady, unwavering.
Regret began to flood her.
If she had listened to him… perhaps she would already be on some distant island now. There would have been no killing, no bloodshed. Arthur would not have needed to make this exchange.
But the chance to turn back had already vanished.
"Don't come any closer!"
Eve shouted, swinging her hand in a desperate attempt to strike Lawrence.
The broken sword pressed closer against her throat, forcing her to stop.
From beginning to end, Arthur never looked at her—almost as if he feared that the dam of his reason might collapse if he did.
At last he halted.
Hands raised, he turned his back toward Lawrence.
The broken blade left Eve's throat… and pointed at Arthur instead.
"I told you—I saw it, child!"
Father Lawrence suddenly shouted.
At the very instant of the hostage exchange, the entire situation twisted violently.
He looked mockingly at the iron rider plunging toward him from the air.
Lloyd was still too slow.
No matter the outcome, Lloyd would never allow Father Lawrence to escape. The mysteriously vanished priest might well have been one of the masterminds behind the Night of the Holy Descent.
This was the closest he had ever come to the truth of that night.
But just as Lawrence had said—
Lloyd was still too slow.
Without the slightest warning, the shattered sword lunged from behind and burst through Arthur's chest.
For a moment he seemed unable to believe it. His eyes fell upon the broken blade jutting grotesquely through blood and flesh. Then it was torn free again, and the man collapsed to the ground, strength draining from him.
From the very beginning, Archbishop Lawrence had never intended to exchange hostages. A man like Arthur would never yield anything of value under interrogation. Killing him outright would serve a better purpose—one more blow dealt against the Purging Agency.
Eve's mouth opened, yet no words came. Only meaningless sobs escaped her throat. All she could do was watch as Arthur fell… and something inside her began to burn.
She did not try to flee.
Instead, a desperate fury rose within her. When fear has burned away, nothing remains to restrain a person. As she tried to rush forward, the silent figure who had stood nearby all this time suddenly moved.
Celia lunged and seized Eve.
The girl—silent and cold as ice—gripped her hand and dragged her backward with frantic determination, hauling her like cargo toward the soldiers' line.
A bystander sees more clearly than those trapped within the storm. In this moment, the only thing that could be done was to minimize the casualties.
Eve struggled.
But the wounded girl held her with iron resolve, saying nothing, staggering yet relentless as she pulled Eve away.
Then the radiant white brilliance ignited once more.
Archbishop Lawrence watched Celia with a faint smile.
"Run."
Lloyd roared the word, his voice breaking as he tried to overturn a fate already written.
Yet he knew the truth.
He could do nothing.
He was too slow.
Slow enough that within the gap before he arrived, Lawrence would have more than enough time—whether to kill them both, or simply take Eve away.
A thousand thunderclaps erupted.
Countless thermite rounds screamed through the air toward the archbishop, blazing lines of death weaving together into a burning net.
But it could not change the ending.
Old and weathered, Lawrence stood gripping the bloodstained broken sword, yet the power within that shattered steel was unmatched.
It was useless.
At this moment, nothing mattered anymore.
This was an enemy who could see the future. Every ending already lay before his eyes. No matter how one resisted, it merely meant walking from one dead end into another.
Like lambs within a fenced pasture.
All of them waiting only for the shepherd's knife to fall.
The burning trajectory sliced across Eve's front.
Just as predicted, the attack did not strike Lawrence. Yet it succeeded in halting his advance.
Only for a few seconds.
But within those few seconds—
Amid the endless thunder of gunfire, heavy and urgent footsteps suddenly sounded, rushing forward like wind, rain, and lightning all at once.
A figure appeared at the edge of Eve's vision.
A man she never imagined she would see again.
He came like a charging tiger.
You… you're alive?
To be honest, after so many years together, this was the first time Eve felt Arthur was both familiar… and utterly strange.
The broken sword had pierced his chest.
And yet now he was sprinting forward like a beast of prey.
That face…
It looked so unfamiliar.
In her memories he had always been a smiling father. Perhaps a little overprotective, but never once had he shown her true anger—almost as though he was determined to preserve the image of a gentle parent.
But now his expression was twisted like a demon's, his body drenched in blood.
Compared to the father she remembered, he looked more like a starving fiend.
Don't come any closer.
If you survived, then stay down and play dead!
This time you'll really die!
That man is a witch hunter—terrifying and powerful. Not Lloyd, not even the thunder of the thermite rifles could halt his advance. What could you possibly change by coming here?
There was no more time to think.
The blazing white broken sword fell with merciless force, a judgment meant to cleave everything apart.
The world was swallowed by blinding light.
Yet the blade never descended.
The broken sword cut deep into Arthur's arm—
But it could move no further.
It was as if the man had lifted the falling sun upon his back.
He had made it in time.
"I told you… you should've listened to me," Arthur said, forcing a strained smile toward Eve as he stood between her and the blazing light.
"If you had, you'd be on some little island right now… lying in the sun, sipping wine… eating desserts…"
"Y-you…"
For the first time in her life, Eve felt completely helpless.
She tried to pull him away.
But her hands froze in place, as though all strength had drained from them.
Only at this distance did she truly see the wounds covering Arthur's body—each one more than enough to claim a man's life.
For the first time, she understood with terrible clarity that she was about to lose someone.
And yet… there was nothing she could do.
"Don't worry…"
Arthur spoke those final words.
Then he clenched the broken sword embedded in his flesh, turned, and hurled a heavy punch into the blazing light.
As a father, Arthur had always believed himself unworthy.
Eve once had brothers—but they died one by one. All of his love had poured into this last daughter.
Yet because of his dealings with demons, he had always wanted to send her far away.
Just as Lloyd had long feared, those who entangle themselves with demons inevitably drag the people around them into the same abyss.
Arthur knew men like him rarely met a good end.
He didn't want Eve to share that fate.
Reason and emotion had torn at him for years.
But tonight… it seemed he no longer needed to hide.
He was the Duke of Phoenix.
A son of a war-born lineage.
The war in the light had ended.
But the war in the shadows had only just begun.
Archbishop Lawrence was forced back several steps. A faint pain stirred in his chest.
For the first time… a mere mortal had struck him.
There was no anger in his eyes.
Only curiosity.
The man before him had seized a gap.
A crucial gap.
Shangda Feng's foresight of the future lasted only a short span—no more than ten or so seconds.
Yet Arthur had appeared after that span ended.
At the moment Lawrence prepared to act again, the fragment of predicted future simply… stopped.
"You learned well, child!"
Archbishop Lawrence laughed loudly and turned his head.
At that very instant, a flaming greatsword swept past.
Lloyd had concealed his true intention so deeply that even Lawrence had not anticipated the trap hidden within that strike.
The witch hunter had retained a sliver of reason.
Faced with an impossible choice, he had left Eve a single path to survival.
And that path had been hidden within his conversation with Arthur.
He had revealed the nature of Lawrence's power.
And in that fleeting moment of thought, Arthur had discovered its fatal flaw.
When the power activated, there must be a moment of initiation.
And after the foresight ended, there was a brief cooling interval before it could activate again.
To Lawrence, that span was an unobservable void.
The wounded tiger hid himself within the gaps of the future.
He did not know when the power would trigger again.
But he gambled.
And he won.
Within that towering body, something seemed to awaken.
A long-silent mountain of snow began to stir. Ice melted into raging torrents—and then erupted into blazing heat.
This was no strength any ordinary man could possess.
A witch hunter?
No.
Something different.
Lawrence sensed no corruption within him.
Yet soon he saw it—
Faint lines of light surfaced across Arthur's exposed skin, intricate patterns engraved with alchemical sigils. His face twisted with agony, as though enduring unbearable pain.
Arthur bared a savage grin at the archbishop.
Beside him stood the burning iron knight, shouldering a massive sword, guarding the girls behind him.
Eve was safe now.
And Arthur no longer had any weakness.
The final chain that bound the demon had shattered.
"What exactly… are you?"
Lawrence asked, gripping the bloodstained broken sword in confusion.
Arthur's grin widened into something feral.
Then he thundered his answer.
"Have you ever heard… of Captain Invilvig?"