Every inch of flesh unfurled, as though awakening from a long imprisonment. Pain returned first—sharp, merciless—yet with it came a power Arthur knew all too well. His gaze hardened, feral and cold.
Long before Jiuxia introduced the technology of divine armor, the Purge Agency had already been founded in secrecy. It was born out of necessity, a desperate answer to the relentless pressure of the Demon Hunter Order. But in those early days, Inglvig possessed little more than steam-driven industry, and such crude technology could not decisively exterminate the fiends that stalked mankind.
So in that hour of hardship, Director Florend of the Perpetual Pump stepped forward.
Through a secretive alchemy—one that blended obscure formulas with the very nature of demonic biology—he devised a compound meant to strengthen the human body. The vain director, as was his habit, named the creation after himself: the Florend Reagent. From that foundation, the Purge Agency launched what would later be known as the Ranger Program.
Unlike the Secret Blood, the Florend Reagent was never meant to grant brute force alone. Its true purpose was to fortify the mind—to harden the human spirit against demonic corruption. Those who underwent the enhancement could stand before monsters without losing themselves to madness. The bursts of savage strength it granted were merely a side effect, a byproduct of the human body pushed beyond its limits.
Or rather, the drug forced the body to burn its own hidden vitality.
A stimulant fueled by life itself.
Mystic power flowed through Arthur's veins, saturating his flesh. The aging body he once carried seemed to grow young again, vitality roaring through bone and muscle.
In its earliest years, however, the Florend Reagent carried dreadful risks. Power, like a blade with two edges, never came without cost. Many Rangers died the moment they used it, their hearts driven into fatal overdrive.
The Perpetual Pump spent years refining the formula. In the end, they went further still—altering the human body itself. Flesh was inscribed with mechanical sigils, reshaped and reinforced.
Arthur belonged to the final generation of Rangers who underwent that transformation.
Their existence carried the Purge Agency through its darkest era—until at last the age of divine armor dawned.
All the soldiers who had stood beside Arthur were long dead. He was the last Ranger still breathing. In time he stepped away from the battlefield, and the Ranger Program was gradually abandoned. The risks to the human body were simply too great. Instead, its technology was redirected to assist the development of Old Century divine armor. The brutal modifications were discarded, and the Florend Reagent itself was weakened again and again, until it became little more than a mental stabilizer—used to help armored knights endure the creeping corrosion of demonic influence.
Even now, those knights within the Purge Agency who could battle demons head-on had undergone what was called "specialization."
In truth, it was merely the lingering shadow of the old Ranger technology—allowing an ordinary human mind to face monsters without shattering.
"So… this makes you a super soldier?" Lloyd asked.
"Not anymore," Arthur replied hoarsely. Then his voice thundered across the battlefield.
"But what are you waiting for, Lloyd?!"
Yet after that shout, Arthur did not charge.
Instead he stepped backward, casting Lloyd a sidelong glance. His body trembled faintly, almost imperceptibly.
The man before them was already at the end of his strength.
A so-called super soldier was still human, after all—and Arthur's enhancements had always been meant for the mind rather than the flesh. His wounds were severe. The only thing keeping him upright now was sheer willpower.
He should have collapsed long ago.
But not here.
Not in front of Eve.
The next wave of slaughter began.
Arthur fixed a cold stare upon Archbishop Lawrence as the Iron Cavalry burst forward beside him. At last there were no more restraints, no more worries for the aftermath.
Now they could fight with everything they had.
Lawrence had not expected events to spiral this far. And in this moment, it seemed he had only one path left to take.
"I look forward to our next meeting," the archbishop said with a gentle smile.
Then the silent night erupted once more.
Wails rose from every direction as a tide of demons surged across the battlefield.
Impossible.
Lloyd stared in shock. He could feel the corruption spreading in every direction—countless presences, as numerous as grains of sand in the sea.
But how?
How could one man command such a host?
Ed.
The name struck him like lightning. That dead hunter of the Order of Michael—when he had acted in Ender Town, he too had possessed the power to command demons.
"So the so-called Sacred Coffin is in your possession as well, isn't it?"
Lloyd's voice fell colder than winter's breath. He had never been this angry before. And when anger reached its absolute limit, it no longer roared.
It froze.
Of course he knew what lay within the Sacred Coffin.
The remains of a Messiah-class containment artifact.
Everything suddenly aligned.
From beginning to end, Archbishop Lawrence had orchestrated it all. The man who should have died on the Night of the Holy Descent had instead lived on in shadow—nurturing corruption in darkness, letting it ferment patiently through the years.
"What exactly do you want, Archbishop Lawrence?" Lloyd demanded.
At this point, Lloyd could even believe Lawrence had engineered the Night of the Holy Descent itself. The entire Gospel Church might have been nothing more than pieces in his game.
But why?
Wealth?
Glory?
Power?
He already possessed them all.
A Cardinal of the Church.
The terrifying leader of the Demon Hunter Order.
He stood at the summit of everything a man could achieve.
So why would he choose to stand beside demons?
Lawrence's expression never changed. The same warm, gentle smile lingered on his face as he shook his head.
"My child," he said softly,
"the world of adults is complicated. Some things… you simply would not understand."
Then the endless swarm of demons poured from the darkness.
Thermite rifles roared, firing wildly, yet even their fury could not halt the advancing tide of death. Chaos swallowed the battlefield once more. To stabilize the situation, even the war airships hovering above began to fire, heavy shells crashing down one after another.
The entire inner district had descended into turmoil.
Though the Imperial Guard and mounted police sealed the combat zone, the thunderbolts falling from the clouds above were visible to all—like divine punishment descending upon the earth.
Standing within the demonic flood, Archbishop Lawrence cast Lloyd one final glance.
Then he turned and walked away.
"Don't run!" Lloyd roared.
The burning Iron Cavalry surged forward like a war chariot. Blazing fire illuminated the night as bright as day. Demons crashed against the jagged armor only to be engulfed in flame. Their bodies disintegrated in seconds, flesh and bone reduced to drifting ash.
But it wasn't enough.
Not nearly enough.
The endless demons slowed him, blocked him, devoured every step of his advance. Lawrence was slipping away again.
The truth Lloyd had pursued for so many years was about to vanish into the darkness.
And then—
Dawn came.
A burning spear tore across the sky, splitting the night apart. Torrents of molten metal followed, white-hot steel streaking downward with half-melted iron clinging to it. The blazing liquid fell like a storm of fire.
The sudden rain of iron lit the battlefield in brutal brilliance.
Each droplet of superheated metal punched through the demons below before hardening in the earth like upright gravestones.
Under that harsh light, twisted shadows stretched across the ground—monstrous forms pinned to those iron monuments before burning away into nothing.
Even if Lawrence could foresee the future, what did it matter?
Against an attack of such vast scale, there was no escape.
As the iron rain descended, countless demons hurled themselves onto him, piling together like living shields—layer upon layer, sacrificing their bodies to block the deadly storm of steel.
Amid the chaos came the faint whir of machinery.
A winch screamed as it spun at blinding speed.
Then a cable—dark as the night itself—shot through the air. It streaked across the scorched battlefield and slammed into the ground before Lawrence.
A heartbeat later—
A suit of deep-blue divine armor descended from the heavens.
Behind the visor, the gaze was cold and merciless.
The figure drew the blade from its waist and strode forward, stepping across the still-molten iron.
"Stop, child. Let this night end here."
Archpriest Lawrence no longer had the heart to continue the battle. His objective had already been secured, placed safely under protection, and he had no desire to awaken the Secret Blood for any longer. In truth, that blood was nothing less than a devil lurking within him, forever gnawing at his will, forever seeking the moment it might tear him apart.
Had he still been a younger man, perhaps it would have been different. But Lawrence was old now—so old that even a man of his unshakable confidence could no longer claim certainty.
This was not yet the hour for him to burn himself completely away.
"No… you can't leave. I must… I must!"
A voice steeped in venom seeped from beneath the blackened divine armor. Lloyd staggered forward beneath the weight of overwhelming corrosion.
He could not let Lawrence go—no matter the reason. The sensation of this corruption was far too familiar. It was one of the very tides of defilement that had shrouded the Night of Sacred Descent. Lloyd would remember it even in death.
So it had been him. Lawrence had taken part that night.
Then he must die. He must pay for all of it.
"Lawrence… Lawrence!"
Lloyd's voice grew weak as he called out. His steps faltered, the divine armor upon his body fracturing piece by piece like dying petals falling from steel. At last he collapsed to one knee, bracing himself upon his greatsword so he would not fall entirely.
What… is happening to me?
He could not understand it. He forced his head up, but his vision had already begun to warp. The world twisted before him—warping, splintering, collapsing into fragments of impossible shapes.
Lancelot had always been dependable.
He had arrived at the battlefield long before the fighting truly began, yet he had not acted rashly. Instead, he gripped the iron cable that hung down from the airship above, observing everything from above like a silent hunter preparing the fatal strike.
"How terrifying…"
A quiet sigh drifted from the ashes.
Lawrence turned slightly, his gaze settling upon the iron spear that had pierced through several demons before nearly striking him down.
The weapon glowed red with heat as it embedded itself into the ground, radiating a terrible temperature. It stood mere centimeters from Lawrence, its burning edge searing his skin with blistering pain.
But it had not struck him.
That single blow could have pierced steel plating.
It had been Lancelot's carefully prepared ambush.
First the spear of molten iron was hurled. Then the divine-armor firearm fired upon it mid-flight, triggering a premature detonation.
The explosion would scatter a storm of flaming fragments across the battlefield, maximizing the field of destruction. Hidden within that inferno would be the true killer—the burning spear itself, streaking through the rain of fire like a silent assassin.
Yet all of it had already been foreseen.
Shangdafeng, who could glimpse the future, had long seen through the plan. Lawrence had already prepared for it.
"And what comes next will be even more frightening."
The air shimmered with heat. Rivers of molten metal ran across the black divine armor.
Like a nightmare given form, Lloyd followed relentlessly behind Lawrence. For reasons no sane man could fathom, the madman trusted the armor upon his body completely—so much that he dared to walk straight into the storm of burning iron.
His greatsword rose, dragging a scorching wind in its wake.
At the final moment Lawrence lifted his broken blade, catching the strike head-on. Using the force of the blow, he hurled himself backward—
—but in the next instant a grappling hook slammed into a distant wall. Lancelot surged forward along the cable, blade already drawn.
No words had been exchanged.
Yet the two men fought in perfect harmony.
Under the repeated impact of overwhelming force, the nailed blade shattered entirely. Lawrence stepped back—
—and Lancelot's sword came crashing down.
When the strike failed to land, he immediately raised the divine firearm and pulled the trigger. The Red Dragon roared, breathing its blazing breath.
For perhaps the first time in years, Archpriest Lawrence looked truly cornered.
He rolled aside decisively. A heartbeat later, a torrent of molten iron rained down upon the ground where he had stood.
But before he could even regain his footing—
Lloyd charged again, straight through the burning storm.
In that moment the terrifying authority of Mendazo revealed itself completely.
Like an unmoving mountain.
Neither flame nor shock could shake the unyielding armor he wore—yet a single casual swing of his blade could take a man's head.
Lawrence's calm rhythm of battle was shattered.
Then the blazing greatsword swept past him—
—and crimson bloomed.
"You're wounded, Archpriest."
Lloyd's voice carried the hungry thrill of a wolf that had finally scented blood.
"Not bad, child."
Lawrence looked upon him with genuine admiration.
At last Lloyd had discovered the flaw in Shangdafeng's foresight.
Whenever a demon hunter invoked their authority, certain signs would appear. In Lawrence's case, white flames burned within his pupils. Yet Lloyd had noticed that those flames occasionally vanished for a brief instant.
He had guessed that those moments marked the end of the power's vision.
Reality had proven him right.
During that brief fragment of time—
Lawrence could see no future.
In the next instant a speeding hook struck him. The sharp tip drove deep into his flesh. The cable snapped tight—
—and Lawrence was dragged across the ground like a puppet on a string.
Lancelot was already waiting, blade raised.
It looked almost as though Lawrence himself had thrown his body upon the sword.
But at the very brink between life and death—
An invisible weight descended like collapsing mountains.
Even Lloyd faltered for a heartbeat.
Then came the shriek of tearing steel.
What followed was a sight beyond belief.
The blade about to strike Lawrence was snapped in half by bare hands.
Lancelot's sword arm twisted grotesquely, bending inward under a force no man should possess. None had anticipated the sudden change.
Before Lancelot could react—
An aged arm punched straight through the divine armor.
Then withdrew.
Blood mixed with machine oil dripped from the torn metal.
A man like a demon god stood atop the shattered armor.
"Child, you have done very well. Truly, very well."
His voice carried a tone almost like praise.
He did not linger long, stepping slowly down from the wreckage of the armor.
"I am very old now. Each time I awaken the Secret Blood, the risk grows greater. Sometimes even I do not know what would happen if the blood were to devour me completely…"
He smiled faintly at Lloyd.
"After all, no demon hunter should live to reach my age."
Wounds left by Lloyd and Lancelot marked his body. Blood had nearly dyed him entirely red. He was old, and his authority had been seen through.
It had seemed victory was within Lloyd's grasp—
yet in the final instant everything had reversed.
Or perhaps…
Victory had never once belonged to Lloyd's side.
That was the source of Lawrence's confidence.
From beginning to end, the entire affair had remained under his control. What he had done just now had merely been the final contingency.
Lloyd froze where he stood.
In his eyes, Lawrence was no longer a man.
Though he still retained a human shape, the surging corruption pouring from him eclipsed anything Lloyd had ever encountered—even the most terrifying demons.
At this moment Lawrence was nothing less than a walking source of contamination.
And this… did not yet seem to be his limit.
The ancient divine armor lay silent. Lancelot made no movement. It seemed that when the eruption of corruption began, the shock alone had knocked him unconscious.
After all, those men relied on Florend serum for mental enhancement. Compared to Lloyd, who carried the Secret Blood itself, their resistance to corruption was far too weak.
Most people within the range of the corruption collapsed immediately.
Only a few struggled to remain conscious, straining to witness the strange and dreadful presence before them.
Before Lloyd's eyes, Lawrence began to change.
The shape of humanity could no longer contain him. Something indescribably grotesque emerged within that aging body—as though some other being had replaced Lawrence entirely, using the frail flesh as a vessel.
Something had arrived.
Something had descended.
On this sacred night of descent.
Hidden nearby, every large Geiger counter overloaded and burned out. On the Watcher System's map, the entire district turned crimson like spilled blood.
A level of corruption far beyond measurable limits was rising slowly.
"Lawrence…"
Like a dreamer murmuring in sleep, Lloyd collapsed.
And a vast black shadow spread across the earth.