Across the boundless earth, a pitch-black train dissolved almost seamlessly into the night. With a mechanical roar, it carved through waves of snow at relentless speed, as if no past hatred could ever hope to catch it.
Lloyd pushed open the carriage door. A violent gust of freezing wind surged in. Moonlight, once gentle, was shattered by the curtain of snow, smearing the darkness into a hazy gray. It spread like the fog of Old Dunling, veiling everything in sight. From beyond that pale shroud came indistinct sounds, as though something monstrous trudged forward beneath the blizzard.
He lowered his gaze to the pocket watch in his hand. It had been a long while since they boarded. The hour had sunk deep into the latter half of the night. By now, they were far removed from any human settlement—within dozens of kilometers, this lone train was the only thing still moving.
He snapped the watch shut, closed the door, and muttered under his breath, quietly calculating time.
A faint rustle stirred in the dim carriage. Seriu awoke, wrapped tightly in a blanket like a cocooning larva waiting to emerge.
"You can sleep a little longer. We still have time," Lloyd said.
In the darkness, the girl shook her head. "I've slept enough."
She sat up and leaned against the cargo. Truthfully, drowsiness still clung to her, but under such circumstances, sleep came with difficulty.
A faint, acrid scent lingered in the carriage—some kind of chemical agent. The metal body creaked and swayed gently, like a mother's cradle. Only this cradle was forged of steel, hurtling along iron tracks at dozens of kilometers per hour.
"It feels like the old days," Lloyd murmured, lighting a cigarette. A brief flare illuminated half his weary face.
"The old days? Back in Gaul Naro?" Seriu asked, memories stirring.
Years ago, it had been just like this—huddled in the corner of the night, idly talking. Back then, her world had been nothing more than a forgotten little town. And the moment Lloyd led her beyond it, she suddenly understood what "the outside world" meant.
In an instant, her world expanded—from that small town to Gaul Naro, then to Inelvig.
"No… even earlier," Lloyd said. "Back when I was still with the Demon Hunter Order."
He leaned into the memory. "We hunted heretics like that. When we grew tired, we'd find some place to rest—sit around a fire, leaning on our nail-swords. No words, no conversation. Just the firelight. And in that glow, every one of them looked like a devout soldier of God."
He let out a quiet laugh.
It was a strange feeling—no sound, yet you knew you weren't alone. With the flicker of flames, you could hear their breathing, feel their presence.
"You sound like you miss it."
"I do. The Evangelical Church may have been a pack of idiots, but what does that have to do with the place I grew up in?"
He paused. "They were all good people… though all the good ones are dead."
"So that's why you want to kill Bishop Lawrence so badly?"
"Of course. They were my friends. They died for nothing—while he thought himself fighting for something sacred, never realizing it all began with his betrayal."
His voice remained calm.
"It's a pity… demon hunters don't have names. Just dull, lifeless codes. I can't exactly carve numbers onto their graves."
Silence followed. Seriu could not truly grasp his feelings. Empathy, after all, has its limits. All she could offer was quiet.
After a long while, she took out a sugar cube and chewed softly, the faint crunch like a rabbit nibbling grass.
"Are you still afraid?" Lloyd asked.
"Of course I am, great Mr. Holmes," she replied with mockery. "I'm just an ordinary, fragile girl. Not like you—shot and still jumping around. If I get shot, I die. That's it."
"…Being too mature isn't always a good thing," Lloyd said.
"Yeah. Normally, I should be crying and screaming, begging you to let me go home."
She continued, "Like back then, when Yavi wanted to take me to those banquets. I didn't want to go. I hate strangers. It felt like an auction—I was the exhibit, showing off the Stuart family's new toy."
"But Yavi treated me well… even that rigid old butler did. I didn't want to trouble them, so I just forced myself to go. Again and again."
She exhaled. "Maybe I should've cried. It would've been easier."
Lloyd chuckled softly. "I remember the first time I saw you."
"Not the one you're thinking of. I saw you even earlier."
He recalled a snowstorm-choked alley—the man dragging her along. Her reaction had far exceeded his expectations.
As he spoke, the memory sharpened in her mind. The dream of being chased by hounds… it hadn't been a dream at all. It was memory. As the dark water rose around her, she remembered what she had been clutching.
"You were fierce," Lloyd said. "You picked up a stone and smashed it down without hesitation."
The man's scream, the girl's escape—he had been uncertain then, but afterward, he knew. She was the one he had been searching for.
That stone had been her dagger—anything she could grasp to shatter her chains.
"But now? Even a blade probably couldn't kill you," Seriu said bluntly. Lloyd himself had become her chains.
"Well, what can I do? We've shared life and death. Borrowing your life a little isn't too much, is it?"
Their relationship was twisted—criminal and hostage, yet bound by a strange trust, like travelers on a cheerful journey, reminiscing, joking, and walking together toward death.
Seriu suddenly understood why Lloyd got along so well with Oscar. Only someone who could write such absurd stories could follow the logic of a man like him.
A boy sought a red rose to win a girl's heart. A nightingale, aided by a great tree, stained a flower with its own blood. Yet the girl rejected it. The boy cursed love, and the rose faded into nothing.
A foolish little nightingale, dying for a boy—forgotten by all.
"…I suddenly feel like I'm that nightingale," Seriu murmured into the darkness. The fire had gone out.
"For your ridiculous plan, I'll have to bleed into that red rose. Who knows if you'll even praise me."
"Of course I would. If I ever have a child, I'll name them after you."
"Are you worthy of that?"
"Hah! Nothing from the Stuart family comes cheap!"
Their eerie laughter filled the dim carriage.
But this place was a trap—bait for Bishop Lawrence.
"Don't say that, Seriu. I hate children," Lloyd said from the dark. "If I had a role in that story… I'd be the tree."
"The tree?"
She frowned. The tree had suggested the nightingale's sacrifice, then lost its friend forever.
But Lloyd did not answer. He lowered his gaze, fingers brushing the watch as time slipped away.
"…I think I understand you now, Lloyd," she said softly.
No one could truly see through a demon hunter who wished to disguise himself. He had survived that burning night, and still longed for his fallen companions.
Lloyd looked up, confused.
"A person's world has limits," she continued. "Mine was once just that town. You opened something bigger for me. And your friends… they were your world. They knew you, understood you. But now they're gone. No one remembers who you used to be."
Her voice was like a quiet melody.
"That Lawrence destroyed your world. If it were me, I'd kill him too."
She paused.
"But Lloyd… your reason for living is kind of pitiful."
Pitiful?
The great detective Lloyd Holmes—former demon hunter of the Medanzo branch, a man who traded words with underworld kings and called secret chiefs his brothers—how could such a life be pitiful?
Yet he found no words to refute her.
"You really are pitiful," she said lightly. "People live for so many things—family, children, dreams, tomorrow… even just a good breakfast."
"But you? You live only for revenge."
Her voice echoed.
"You'll kill Lawrence. Then monsters. Then more monsters, until none are left."
"You pretend to live normally—attending lectures, solving cases—but it's all a disguise. A madman can't belong in society, so you pretend to be human."
"But you're not human. You're a weapon named Lloyd Holmes."
"Your real life is filled with violence and rage. When you hunt monsters, that excitement—that's when you feel alive. That's when you return to the past, when your friends were still there, killing monsters together."
She finished, almost startled by her own conclusion.
"What a miserable life you have."
Her tone was light—like banter between friends—but unbearably heavy.
Then, something arrived.
Lloyd barely had time to respond before he snapped his head up. Cold metal pressed against his forehead. Even in the dark, his hunter's eyes recognized her.
"Lloyd… you've been planning something all along, haven't you?"
Seriu held an aluminothermic rifle to his head. She didn't fully understand it, but she knew it was a weapon. She had found it among the cargo—the crates were filled with them. Their conversation had merely been a distraction.
"You lunatic… this wasn't some impulsive kidnapping, was it?" she demanded. "You avoided everyone's sight. What are you really trying to do?"
Nothing made sense—their escape, the train's timing, the hidden route, the key, the weapons.
"This was all planned… what are you trying to do?"
Lloyd didn't answer. He simply checked his watch.
"Perfect. Right on time."
"Right on—what do you mean? Explain it!"
She pressed the rifle harder, finger tightening on the trigger.
But Lloyd only smiled faintly.
"For a long time, I've wondered… what does Bishop Lawrence really want?"
"Why you?"
He showed no fear.
"If he wanted to shake the Purge Agency, he'd target Arthur. If he wanted to destabilize Inelvig, he'd assassinate the queen."
He reached out and twisted the rifle aside with ease.
"This weapon needs ignition," he said casually.
She didn't even know how to use it.
He took it from her, tossing her to the ground. In the darkness, his eyes burned white—like an angel delivering divine punishment.
For the first time, she felt fear.
"Another lie, then?" she asked.
"Maybe."
He dragged her up.
"Until one day… inspiration struck. I understood."
"He has the Apocalypse. The key to refining secret blood. The Church is crippled, the Agency can't stop him. He's already a perfect terrorist."
"What he lacks… is a foundation."
He looked at her.
"With you—with the Stuart family—with that memetic contamination… he could infect an entire network instantly, couldn't he?"
Her heart went cold.
"Yes. That's it. War-bound ties, sworn oaths—connections that bind people together. A perfect web."
"Even if he can't control it immediately, the seeds are planted. It will spread."
Her face turned pale.
"That's… impossible…"
"It is. He has the Holy Grail. Even speaking its forgotten name invites disaster."
Lloyd's mind flickered with dread—and then he laughed.
"So that's what 'one death ruins a family' means."
He smashed a crate open, weapons spilling out. He armed himself calmly.
"I beat him once in the Gap. Took part of his consciousness. I know what he'll do."
"He's dying. The Grail is consuming him. He doesn't have time."
"…He's already here."
He suddenly grabbed her head, steadying her trembling.
"Don't be afraid, Seriu. You'll get used to this kind of thing."
He injected her with Florend serum. Her vision snapped into clarity. The crate beside them—empty of syringes.
"Lloyd…"
She saw the needle marks along his neck. He had used them all.
"I had no choice. He's too strong… I needed to stay conscious."
The drugs were never meant for her.
They were for him.
His veins bulged, his expression warping—his body on the verge of collapse.
"You saw the thing in my mind," he said softly. "You can't beat her. The Gap won't save you again. So you'll come in person… won't you?"
The calm shattered.
A thousand impacts struck the carriage at once—metal screamed, sparks burst like knives tearing through steel.
Seriu clung to him, her last anchor.
And in another's eyes, reflected in that storm—
A crimson figure stood atop the train, sword rimed with frost.
"Magnificent," Bishop Lawrence praised.
The cold suppressed the monsters' strength. No humans remained nearby for him to possess and escape.
A dead zone.
A battlefield chosen with care.
The final battle to the death.