The Perpetual Pump.
At the heart of the Purging Mechanism—and indeed of all Invervig—there lay the pinnacle of technological pursuit: the most advanced research institution in the known world. Its reach extended from alchemical steamcraft to the study of demons themselves. It could be said, without exaggeration, that it was this place that had driven the entire world forward. The very first prototype of a steam engine had been forged within these walls.
Its secrecy was absolute. To preserve its concealment, it operated beneath the guise of surface-level mechanical institutes. Most innovations were born here, only to be handed upward, where mature industrial lines would refine and propagate them into the world.
Their emblem was a serpent devouring its own tail—an ouroboros—whispered to symbolize perpetuity… infinity.
"The security here is at its highest," Red Falcon said, still playing the role of guide—though now, even more excited than Lloyd. "Within Old Dunling, only the Shattered Dome and the Platinum Palace share this level of clearance."
Even as a High Knight, Red Falcon had never been granted free access to the Perpetual Pump. To him, it had always been myth. More often than not, one would simply witness an ominous carriage screech to a halt before them, scattering brilliant sparks. Then, a handful of white-coated figures would emerge, dragging forth weapons capable of slaying gods and dragons alike—handing over a manual thick enough to serve as a brick—before vanishing without a trace. Sometimes, they would not even come in person, entrusting the delivery to scholars from the mechanical institutes.
Now, standing here, Red Falcon felt something close to reverence. Like a master swordsman stepping into the forge of legendary blades. He did not cry out in awe, yet the thought alone—that every force used to battle demons had been born here—filled him with a strange, almost sacred sense of pilgrimage.
The Old Era Divine Armor, the Ranger Initiative, even the steam engine that reshaped civilization—all of it had originated here.
From this place.
From the Perpetual Pump.
"…May I take a souvenir?"
The voice that broke the air sounded almost absurdly out of place. Yet it did not come from Red Falcon, but from the ever-silent Joey.
The usually meticulous man now stood transfixed, staring through the reinforced glass into a nearby testing chamber. Inside, researchers conducted weapon trials.
Clad in asbestos fireproof suits, they stood at a safe distance. Something was activated.
At the center of the chamber, a mechanical arm twitched—then pulled the trigger.
The Divine Armor musket roared.
In an instant, the brightly lit chamber was drowned in a violent crimson glow. The extreme heat forced the ammunition to discharge instantly—but the temperature soared beyond tolerance. The weapon detonated from within. Half-molten metal burst outward in a fan-shaped explosion, while the blazing core of the projectile tore through multiple layers of experimental steel plating. Fragments of liquefied metal followed, embedding themselves deep within.
Alarms shrieked.
A surge of frigid gas flooded the chamber, quelling the seething, burning steel.
The researchers, however, remained utterly calm—standing beside the molten wreckage, methodically recording data.
"The Dragon's Breath Divine Armor Musket," Tesla explained at Lloyd's side. "Its power is excessive. It detonates upon use. So, we made it… disposable. Current trials aim to optimize materials—lower the cost. After all, with this weapon, you don't reload. You discard."
His tone carried an odd admiration for the absurdity. He glanced briefly at Joey.
"That one's designed for Old Era Divine Armor. You wouldn't be able to use it. Best pick another souvenir."
They moved on.
Through long corridors they walked, passing chamber after chamber. Explosions echoed ceaselessly, sending faint tremors through the passageway.
Red Falcon's expression grew… complicated.
If the Pillar of the Furnace were an inverted tree, then the mechanical institutes were its roots—and the Perpetual Pump its trunk.
And if, one day, these lunatics decided to blow the trunk apart…
None of them would escape.
At last, Tesla led them into a vast experimental arena.
Its interior was entirely clad in reinforced steel. The space formed a perfect circle, rising upward like a colossal shaft—a deep well piercing toward a distant dome.
Above, an array of lights illuminated the chamber like an artificial sun.
Along the inner walls, massive elevators ascended and descended with the hum of engines. Heavy gates lined the perimeter, from which steel rails extended—stretching across the abyss. Suspended upon them were indistinct mechanical constructs, gliding overhead before vanishing into opposite gates.
Gears and cables lay exposed, unapologetically raw. Occasional arcs of electricity flickered. Wisps of steam escaped, only to be swiftly drawn away by powerful ventilators. Commands echoed across the chamber, as if every person present were but a cog in some vast, precise machine.
"Welcome," Tesla said with a faint smile, "to the Workshop."
"Our next experiment will be conducted here. But first… preparations."
He raised the communicator from his pocket and spoke briefly. Almost instantly, the entire Workshop stirred to life.
Hidden machinery rumbled beneath the steel.
The once-flat ground began to shift, bulging upward as metallic platforms rose one after another at the center. Simultaneously, the wall-mounted elevators began to climb. Massive gates slammed shut in sequence, sealing every exit—including the one through which Lloyd had entered.
"What exactly are you planning?" Lloyd asked, not alarmed—but curious. It felt like a cage, closing layer by layer around them.
"Safety measures," Tesla replied evenly. "This is the largest and most secure testing chamber within the Perpetual Pump. What we're about to test… is dangerous."
As he spoke, countless small protrusions extended from the walls—Geiger counters, densely packed, covering every surface. A crude yet effective method, enhancing sensitivity to contamination.
"Now then," Tesla murmured, "let us begin with an appetizer."
The cargo upon the rails descended slowly, until it came to rest at the center of the arena.
The enclosing frame opened.
Lloyd saw.
Clearly.
His hand tightened unconsciously. When he spoke, his voice had turned cold.
"…Are you trying to provoke me?"
"No," Tesla replied, his tone utterly devoid of warmth. "This is simply science."
He did not care for Lloyd's reaction. He stepped forward, presenting his creation without hesitation.
It was… a corpse.
Or what remained of one.
Flesh and silver metal were fused together in grotesque union. Its interior had been hollowed out. Beside it lay a metallic spine—its surface warped, sprouting twisted, branch-like iron tendrils.
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"Mr. Holmes… before I take part in your experiment, there are questions—many questions—I would have you answer."
Tesla slipped on his gloves. With a pair of tongs, he twisted the metal spine into view. Its surface was carved with strange, interwoven patterns—countless lines crossing and knotting together, like a script never meant for human eyes.
"This thing you call… the Silver-Bound Bolt—what is it, exactly?"
Lloyd's gaze rested on Ed's corpse. The spine, now wholly encased in sanctified silver, revealed something unmistakable—something that had never belonged to that body in the first place.
"What are you implying?"
"I mean this—do you truly know what the Gospel Church implanted inside you?"
As he spoke, Tesla reached into another heap of dismantled parts and lifted out a fragment threaded with innumerable, hair-thin neural wires.
"Look at it… such exquisite… craftsmanship."
Beneath the magnification lens, Lloyd could see it clearly—the intricate machinery within, a precision far beyond anything modern industry could hope to achieve.
"It was destroyed when the molten holy silver consumed it," Tesla continued. "All we've been able to determine is this: its level of precision lies utterly beyond current human capability. No need for that disbelief in your eyes—you stand within the Perpetual Pump, the cradle of mechanical civilization itself. And even here… our factories cannot create such a thing. We cannot even imitate it."
He set the piece down, his eyes glinting with both admiration and confusion.
"Mr. Holmes… do you understand what this implies?"
"What?"
Lloyd sensed where Tesla was leading, yet found himself unable to articulate it. He searched his memory—within the Order, every demon hunter, after completing their training, underwent the Baptism of Divine Grace. The implantation of the Silver-Bound Bolt and the infusion of Secret Blood were performed simultaneously. They were told that only the vitality granted by that blood could sustain them through the procedure.
The implantation… of the Silver-Bound Bolt.
Only now did Lloyd realize—he had never once seen it with his own eyes. He had never truly known what resided within his body.
"This is not technology of our age," Tesla said gravely. "Can you explain its function?"
"…A control mechanism for demon hunters," Lloyd answered after a pause. "When the awakening of our Secret Blood surpasses a critical threshold, it melts itself… and kills the hunter who has fully succumbed to demonic transformation."
"So it can autonomously detect the purity of the blood within you?" Tesla's voice brimmed with astonishment. "Remarkable. We have devices to measure similar levels of corruption—but ours are the size of a small cart, and require probes to be driven into the brain."
He could hardly contain his fascination. To him, Lloyd was no longer a man—but a vault of buried wonders waiting to be unearthed.
"And what else?"
As though standing at the threshold of some vast revelation, Lloyd felt a flicker of fear—not of death, nor of monsters, but of the unknown itself. It was the fear of walking through a dense, endless fog, never knowing what might emerge from its depths.
"…It connects to the Stasis Sanctuary."
Whether it was trust in an ally—or the silent pressure of Archbishop Lawrence—this time, Lloyd did not conceal the truth.
"You can think of it as… a communicator. An internal one, used among demon hunters. Beyond that, I know little. I can no longer return to the Sanctuary."
Tesla did not seem surprised.
"Hmm… communication without signal towers, capable of transmission across immense distances? I suppose I should be grateful the Gospel Church destroyed itself. Otherwise… had war come, we might not have stood a chance."
He spoke in the language of his own discipline, translating the incomprehensible into machinery and theory. For a fleeting moment, the way he looked at Lloyd changed—then just as quickly, it returned to normal.
"What is it you're really asking?" Lloyd pressed.
Though he had never formally studied mechanical science, years of quietly attending lectures had sharpened his instincts. Something was wrong—profoundly wrong.
"Nothing," Tesla replied lightly. "I've merely confirmed a few hypotheses. Now… let us change the subject."
For reasons unknown, he abandoned the matter of the Silver-Bound Bolt entirely.
Before Lloyd could press further, the metal framework clamped shut. Ed's body was hoisted back onto the rail system. Then, with a thunderous crash, another massive cargo container descended, dragging a violent gust in its wake.
The moment it struck the ground, its rust-scarred doors burst open—
—and the encroaching corrosion swallowed everything.
Lloyd fixed his eyes upon what lay within.
Researchers approached, clad in sealed suits. They guided rails into the container. Then, slowly, from the darkness within—
—a knight of steel stepped forward.
It was a relic of the Old Age—Divine Armor.
Yet unlike any Lloyd had seen, this one was immense… grotesquely bloated. Its mechanical systems were exposed, unrefined—vast portions of its steam engine left bare. Many of its components were already obsolete, like weapons abandoned a decade too late.
"What you see before you," Tesla explained, "is the earliest model of Old Age Divine Armor. Built with technical support from Jiuxia, it was our first attempt. We named it… New Hope."
Within the furnaces of a decade past, a demon had been born—one that would forever change the nature of war.
"What are you planning?" Red Falcon demanded, his voice sharp with unease.
He feared these armors. To him, they were ill omens—silent beasts that devoured the very knights who wore them.
He still remembered the state Boleigh had been left in… in that hospital bed.
"Simple," Tesla replied. "As test pilots, you ought to understand the fundamental structure of the armor. Don't be like him—" he glanced at Lloyd with open mockery, "—completely ignorant of what resides within your own body."
At that moment, Joy spoke up again.
"Wait… you said you all?"
Gone was his usual composure; something strange flickered across his expression.
"Yes. You all. Did you think the Perpetual Pump was a place one simply walks into? This… is your ticket."
"No—wait! Our resistance to corruption isn't that high! You're sending us to die!" Red Falcon cried out, panic breaking through his loyalty. He trusted the Purge Bureau—but these madmen? Never.
"Which is precisely why we invited Mr. Holmes," Tesla—no, Merlin—answered calmly. "He will assist in optimizing the second-generation armor. We will refine it… until even those with insufficient resistance can operate it safely."
He had planned everything.
From the selection of subjects… to the trial runs within the armor.
They were nothing more than unfortunate specimens—lab rats led, unknowingly, into a cage.
The two men lost all composure, shouting, raging, their voices echoing like wailing spirits. They glanced around the heavily fortified workshop, wondering if escape—even a desperate, bloody ascent to the surface—was still possible.
But Lloyd remained still.
Calm.
As if he had foreseen all of this.
He merely lifted his gaze—toward the cargo container receding along the rails.
Ed's corpse.
The Silver-Bound Bolt.
And in that moment—
he finally understood what Arthur had meant by ignorance.
Everything he had failed to understand, he had once attributed to distant, unfathomable gods. Never had he questioned why such things could exist—just as with the monsters: incomprehensible, grotesque, their horrors conveniently buried beneath the doctrine of the Church.
A sudden chill crept into his soul.
In that instant, it was as though he had brushed against something—
—as though he had glimpsed, however briefly, a forbidden fragment of truth.