Many days had passed since that earth-shaking assassination—days enough for the world to steady itself, and yet to Lloyd it all felt like a lifetime ago, as though he had awakened from a forgotten age.
In that thunderous fury, like the heavens themselves collapsing in wrath, the dreadful Archpriest Lawrence had perished. The fire of sin that consumed him burned for days before it finally, reluctantly, died away.
Even now, Lloyd still drifted in a haze, unable to fully believe that he had survived. At times he would pinch his own cheek, testing the boundary between reality and illusion. Given the state his body had been in, not even a god should have been able to save him… and yet, impossibly, he lived.
He still remembered the moment he first awoke—inside the workshop, of all places. The vast experimental hall where the Old Era divine armors were regulated. As he lay there, puzzled by the unfamiliar ceiling above him, a pillar of light suddenly descended from overhead, and a booming yet oddly cordial voice rang out from the loudspeakers, greeting him with a cheerful good morning.
Startled, Lloyd sprang upright like a startled carp, only to find the others gathered high above on a platform, watching him.
It was… comforting, in a way, to see those familiar faces again—though the way they looked at him was unmistakably strange, as if he were some foul contagion that might rot the air itself.
For safety's sake, Merlin insisted on conducting a full series of examinations. Though he had not been present at the scene, Arthur's account had been enough to make clear just how bizarre—and how terrifying—the situation had been.
To guard against any possible mutation, Merlin had temporarily confined Lloyd within the workshop. As he had put it: the vastness of the space would impose no pressure on him. Of course, that same vastness also meant the area could be blanketed by heavy firepower if necessary—and that there was ample room for Old Era divine armors to deploy and suppress him.
Fortunately, nothing happened. His physical indicators remained entirely normal. Still, they did not release him immediately. Instead, he was transferred overnight to this place.
Now Lloyd stood before a floor-to-ceiling window, gazing out upon a boundless expanse of snow.
No gray clusters of buildings. No towering steam spires. No iron rails threading through the streets, no endless plumes of vapor choking the sky.
The heavens here were startlingly clear, the sun burning a vivid, almost defiant red.
Everything carried a rare sense of normalcy—as though this, here, was the true world, and Old Dunling, where he had lived before, had been some warped and unknowable aberration.
At the thought, Lloyd's eyes grew faintly misted.
What kind of damned life had he been living?
This place was an old castle on the distant outskirts of Old Dunling, once the property of a noble who had long since fallen into ruin. The land had been reclaimed, and in time it came into the hands of the Purge Agency.
Now it served as something like a storage facility, crammed with the strange yet harmless relics the Agency had gathered over the years. To Lloyd, it felt more like a peculiar museum—and he found himself rather fond of it. In the few days he had stayed here, he had already uncovered more than a few fascinating curiosities.
Aside from Lloyd himself and the three unfortunate souls assigned to monitor him, almost no one lived here. The rest of the personnel existed only to maintain the castle's most basic operations.
Though officially under quarantine, the group had, in practice, slipped into something resembling a holiday. Apart from Red Falcon, who had to write daily reports on Lloyd's condition, there was scarcely anything resembling real work.
At first, Lloyd found it difficult to adjust. A Witch Hunter's life was one of constant motion, and the sudden stillness felt unnatural. But before long, he demonstrated the remarkable adaptability of his kind.
From a cold and fearsome hunter, he swiftly degenerated into a creature well suited to idleness—something not far removed from a lazy hound basking in warmth. Had Red Falcon not protested so vehemently, Lloyd would have dragged his bed straight beside the fireplace.
It was… nice.
Peaceful. Quiet. No flashing blades, no thunder of gunfire—not even a single lovable demon in sight.
For the first time in a long while, Lloyd tasted the simple beauty of living. His most important daily activity had become nothing more than basking in sunlight and drifting into an afternoon nap. In Old Dunling, sunlight had been a rarity; most days, the sky was nothing but a sullen canopy of clouds, faintly gilded at their edges.
"Ah… a holiday really is something else…"
he murmured, unable to suppress a sigh of contentment.
Of course, not everything was perfect.
There was still Red Falcon, who came to pester him every single day, insisting he cooperate with those endless reports.
"You're the one writing it—so write it! Why bother me?" Lloyd complained.
"But the report is about you!" Red Falcon shot back.
"So what if it's about me? Why do you have to bother me for it?"
"Because it's about your physical condition!"
This exchange repeated itself almost daily, invariably ending in Red Falcon's exasperated, near-hysterical outbursts.
Truth be told, Lloyd rather enjoyed tormenting him. It brought a peculiar sense of satisfaction—one that made him suddenly understand those trivial, almost childish human amusements.
Wrapped in a blanket, bored beyond measure, Lloyd wandered through the castle.
It truly was a museum of sorts. Strange crates filled most of the space, and objects of wildly differing styles and functions lay scattered everywhere, each tinged with an air of the arcane. Break the glass, drape the corners in cobwebs, and the entire place would transform in an instant into a foreboding haunted castle.
Unfortunately, one of its current residents was a Witch Hunter—an exceptionally skilled one at that. In Lloyd's presence, no ghost story, no matter how eerie, could retain its weight.
"This is actually Merlin's castle."
Joey approached, striking up a conversation.
Over time, their relationship had grown relatively harmonious. Lloyd had always been adept at speaking to people—and to monsters—each in their own language.
His particular fondness for tormenting Red Falcon stemmed from the man's reactions: that helpless, simmering rage was simply too entertaining. Joey, by contrast, would calmly repeat his requests with stubborn persistence, while Robin would fix him with a stern gaze until he complied.
Between the earnest man and the devout believer, Red Falcon was undeniably the most interesting—his flawed, almost roguish nature aligning far more closely with Lloyd's own way of thinking.
"Merlin's castle?" Lloyd echoed, surprised.
After all this time, Merlin had always struck him as a scholar with almost no material desires—a figure shrouded in mystery, with no discernible past and seemingly no future either. In some ways, he resembled a Witch Hunter.
"Yes. Though originally it was granted to him by Arthur," Joey explained. "As the Chief of Technology, he was entitled to a proper residence."
Lloyd glanced around at the cluttered interior. When he had first arrived, it had taken him half a day just to clear a space near the fireplace for his naps.
"…Unexpected. But also, somehow, exactly what I'd expect."
It was unmistakably Merlin's style—piling things together without care, never truly living among them.
A thought struck Lloyd, and he lowered his voice.
"There isn't some strange alchemical laboratory hidden here, is there? A castle and a mad scientist—it's practically perfect."
Joey sighed, exasperated.
"The Purge Agency has strict regulations. Even Merlin needs proper documentation to move alchemical materials or equipment outside designated areas."
"Really?"
"Really."
Joey's tone was firm.
This was how Lloyd passed his days—no entertainment, no demons to hunt, nothing to break the monotony. So he turned his attention to Joey and the others, spreading his nonsense like a creeping infection whenever they let their guard down. Red Falcon had already fallen victim, spiraling ever deeper into hysteria.
Joey, for his part, remained vigilant.
"…There is one room Merlin personally organized," he said at last. "Would you like to see it?"
Lloyd's expression turned instantly solemn.
"And you didn't show me something like that sooner?"
Joey rolled his eyes. If they didn't give Lloyd something to occupy himself, Red Falcon's sanity might not survive much longer.
"As you said, these items were collected over the years—strange artifacts, like peculiar works of art. Merlin liked them. He even considered turning this place into a museum. But he's too busy. After organizing part of it, he never had the time to continue."
As Joey led the way, he added, "Perhaps it's an alchemist's way of thinking. I've seen them myself, but I can't say I understand their meaning. In any case… it should keep you quiet."
For Joey, Lloyd's restlessness was baffling. To them, a holiday was something distant and almost unattainable. As high-ranking knights of the Purge Agency, they were among the few humans specially conditioned to resist corruption.
But that also meant that when demons appeared, they would stand at the forefront—and the death rate was correspondingly high. Joey had long since abandoned any hope of great achievements. A safe retirement would be blessing enough. After all, in such a dangerous profession, the only true reward was an excellent pension.
According to Agency regulations, his gradual detachment from demon-related work had already begun. He would be transferred to a cleaner unit, distancing himself step by step from such influences, until one day he would leave it all behind.
And then… perhaps, in some sunlit town, he would spend the rest of his life in quiet anonymity.
Joey let out a soft sigh. In a life of madness, such peace was unbearably precious.
"Alright, alright—let's go already," Lloyd urged.
For him, there was no such thing as retirement. Compared to that distant notion, boredom was the more immediate enemy.
They climbed the stairs, ascending to the highest point of the castle. Their movement drew Robin's attention; he arrived with the scripture Lloyd had already read countless times cradled in his hands.
An unspoken understanding passed among the three of them. At last, Joey stepped forward and pushed open the long-sealed door.
Light poured in.
The castle's dome was made of glass, framed by iron supports. Snow still clung to its surface, mingled with withered leaves left behind by autumn. The air felt heavy, almost solemn, as dust drifted in the dim light like falling snow.
"Not bad," Lloyd murmured, stepping inside.
It resembled less a museum than a somewhat organized warehouse. Objects were piled into small hills, with even a writing desk among them.
After a few turns, Lloyd began to grasp what Joey meant by "strange."
In a delicate glass case hung a simple knotted rope. On a dust-covered desk lay an enormous nautical chart, alongside rulers and compasses. Blank sheets were scattered across the floor, accompanied by a stack of scientific texts.
There was no order, no obvious value—nothing that would tempt even a thief.
Elsewhere sat wooden wheels, coins in small boxes, a copy of the Code of Inlwig, a complex locking mechanism, and an ancient flintlock pistol. Yet none of these commanded attention.
What truly drew the eye stood at the center.
A steam engine.
But unlike any Lloyd had seen before, this one was bulkier, more intricate—clearly ancient, yet meticulously preserved.
On its base gleamed a polished plaque:
"Year 867 of Inlwig—This shall be the power that changes the world."
Lloyd remembered that era. In those days, Inlwig had been locked in the Radiant War, and it was the advent of the improved steam engine that had turned the tide.
Understanding struck him like lightning.
This… this might very well be the first improved steam engine in history—the one that ignited the Second Industrial Revolution.
In that instant, everything became clear—this place, and Merlin's purpose.
The scattered objects around him suddenly gained meaning. His limbs tingled—not with fear, but with exhilaration.
"This… is a hall of history," Lloyd said.
Joey looked at him, puzzled.
But Lloyd continued, his gaze sweeping across every object in the room. For a fleeting moment, he seemed to see the first fire kindled in darkness, humanity rising slowly from its crouched beginnings.
It was as though a grand orchestra had begun to play, its swelling melody echoing the strains of Thus Spoke Zarathustra.
"Merlin has excellent taste," Lloyd murmured.
Yet when he saw the confusion deepening in Joey and Robin's eyes, a faint disappointment stirred within him. Not everyone, it seemed, could be expected to share his brilliance—and to demand such would be an arrogance of its own.
"This is a hall of history," he repeated softly, brushing dust from a wooden table. He recalled Merlin once speaking of the death of alchemy. It seemed now that the man had not been joking.
He had meant every word.
And yet, in the next moment, Lloyd plopped himself down atop the table, grinning with unrestrained satisfaction.
"You could also call this… a 'book.'"
"What kind of book?" Joey asked, doing his best to follow.
"A myth."
The word caught Robin's attention at once.
"A myth," Lloyd repeated, his voice quiet yet resolute.
"The myth of humanity."
A myth born from the moment darkness fell—one that had struggled against fear ever since, and had never, even now, come to an end.