Robin knelt in solemn prayer. Red Falcon lay sprawled across his bed, still captive to the remnants of a drunken night. Shrike buried himself in paperwork, while Arthur wrestled with a far more daunting challenge—figuring out how to guide a child deep in the throes of rebellion.
Strip away the demons and monsters, and they were all merely ordinary people. Souls condemned to toil through life, forever chased by worries that never truly came to an end.
At last, the hands of time crept past midnight.
The old year quietly faded into history.
Then the ancient bells of Florence rang out across the darkness.
Their deep, resonant tolls rolled through the city like waves upon a midnight sea, spreading over every street and rooftop before reaching even the sacred Seven Hills beyond.
Father Anthony stood beside a window, gazing toward the city that stretched along the riverbanks.
Here, at the birthplace of the faith, the people of Florence celebrated the Day of Divine Birth with a fervor unmatched elsewhere. Believers flooded the streets, singing hymns and offering praise. Countless lights illuminated the night until the entire city seemed ablaze, glowing like a colossal torch in the darkness.
Even within the tranquil halls of Saint Naro Cathedral, Anthony could hear the distant cheers carried by the wind.
He traced the sign of the cross toward the mortal world below and offered a silent prayer.
Then he turned his gaze behind him.
Someone was speaking nearby, the voice stern and measured, as though delivering instruction.
"Is His Holiness still occupied?"
A man approached and addressed Anthony.
He was a few years younger, dressed in the same attire. Once, he had served beneath Anthony's command. After the reconstruction of the Demon Hunting Order, he and many others had been absorbed into its ranks and now worked as Anthony's aides.
Anthony nodded.
It seemed he had been waiting there specifically for the man's arrival.
Without another word, he gestured for him to follow.
"His Holiness has only recently ascended to the throne," the younger man said as they walked. "Though he eliminated many opponents with decisive force and secured his authority, there are still those unwilling to submit. Not to mention the criminals who escaped during the turmoil."
"They're preparing a counterattack?"
"Perhaps. I can't say for certain. We'll only know the outcome after His Holiness concludes tonight's meeting."
Anthony glanced toward the countless walls ahead.
Beyond them, faint voices drifted through the stone.
The Day of Divine Birth held profound significance within the Gospel Church.
Ordinarily, this would be the most jubilant night of the year. Even the usually quiet Saint Naro Cathedral would be overflowing with celebration. The Pope and the Cardinals would gather beneath its sacred vaults, offering prayers together as they welcomed the dawn of a new year.
But this year was different.
The newly enthroned Pope had arrived bearing blood and winter winds.
His methods defied every expectation.
When certain factions attempted to sow chaos during the transition of power, he crushed every dissenting voice beneath overwhelming force.
Blood had flowed through the streets of the Seven Hills.
Now he loomed above them like an iron curtain cast across the sacred land itself.
Even on the Day of Divine Birth, the Seven Hills remained silent and grim.
There was no celebration.
No prayers.
Tonight, the rulers of the Church had gathered here for only one purpose—
To await the Pope's command.
"Is something about to happen?" the newcomer asked, unable to hide his confusion. The holiness that once defined Saint Naro Cathedral seemed absent, replaced by the suffocating stillness that often preceded war.
"Perhaps, Samuel."
Anthony continued forward as he spoke, recent rumors resurfacing in his thoughts.
"The civil war among the northern Viking Kingdoms has ended. A Viking named Ragnar has succeeded in uniting the kingdoms once more. They're like starving vultures now, watching the south."
A cold wind seemed to drift from the distant north.
It was terrible news.
For generations, everyone had preferred the Viking Kingdoms locked in endless civil war, consuming their own strength through constant conflict.
But now the war was over.
The north was poor in resources.
Sooner or later, those Vikings would cast their eyes across the sea.
Plunder was woven into their nature.
"And the Empire of Leipar continues to grow stronger," Anthony continued. "Throughout the War of Glory, they never stopped expanding their trade networks. Their industrial technology advances with each passing year... They've already left the Holy Gospel Papal State far behind."
The rise of industry was reshaping the world.
The once-unshakable dominance of the western powers had begun to fracture, while new competitors emerged one after another.
The trend filled Anthony with unease.
Faith was a terrifying force.
There had once been a time when the authority of the Holy Gospel Papal State reached across the entire western world. In some kingdoms, a monarch could not even claim the throne without the Pope's blessing.
But now faith lay buried beneath dust.
The Gospel Church no longer held the influence it once commanded.
And the rulers of the world had little desire to see it rise again.
Time was running out for the Church.
When these tensions finally reached their breaking point, war would inevitably follow.
A war vast enough to engulf the entire western world.
"His Holiness is likely troubled by these matters as well," Anthony said quietly. "And then there are the fugitives. They know the secrets of the demons... I don't know what they might do with that knowledge."
They reached the end of a corridor.
A massive door stood before them.
In truth, every door within Saint Naro Cathedral looked nearly identical.
The keys, however, were not.
The cathedral was like an enormous labyrinth.
Without someone to guide you, finding the door you sought was nearly impossible.
Anthony slowly turned the key.
The lock clicked.
The heavy door swung inward.
Darkness filled the chamber beyond, broken only by scattered candle flames that cast trembling pools of light across the room.
"What is this place?" Samuel asked, curiosity bright in his eyes.
He had joined only recently.
The hidden world of demons fascinated him.
It was as though an unseen realm of shadows had suddenly revealed itself before him.
"The archives," Anthony replied.
"Our situation is far from favorable. Cardinal Michael fled with the majority of the Cardinals. Their remaining influence at home has been eradicated, but no one knows what resources they've concealed. More importantly, they know far too many of the Church's secrets."
His fingers brushed across a collection of document folders resting upon a wooden table.
The yellowed pages carried the weight of centuries.
"The chaos of the Night of Descent was devastating. A great deal of the Church's records vanished during that betrayal... There are secrets now lost even to us."
Samuel felt the gravity of it immediately.
Those secrets had once existed upon paper.
Now they had been consumed by fire.
What remained survived only within the memories of the people who had witnessed them.
"Are we preparing to hunt down the Cardinals?" Samuel guessed.
As long as those exiled Cardinals still lived, the Pope's rule could never be completely secure.
Given the ruthlessness he had displayed so far, Samuel could hardly imagine him allowing such threats to remain.
"No. That can wait."
Anthony opened one of the folders and withdrew several sheets of paper.
"There are more urgent matters."
He unfolded the documents.
"Every nation has already entered the race. We possess no industrial foundation of our own. Sooner or later, we'll be left behind."
His eyes moved across the pages.
Clearly, he had already read them once.
Now he was reviewing them again.
"This comes directly from the Pope. Publicly, the Church will pursue technological cooperation with Ingelvig, exchanging our knowledge of demons for support in steam technology."
His voice lowered.
"But behind the scenes... that's where our work begins."
"What kind of mission?" Samuel asked.
"To track down the Book of Revelation."
Anthony's voice dropped low.
It was the cornerstone of the Secret Blood technology. Before the Holy Gospel Papal State fell completely behind, they had to recover it and restore the production of Secret Blood.
"We can now confirm that Lawrence betrayed the Church. During the Night of Divine Descent, he stole the Book of Revelation. A few days ago, the Temple of Stasis detected the signal of Lawrence's Silver-Binding Bolt. Its location was traced to Ingelvig."
"Silver-Binding Bolt?"
Samuel had only recently assumed his position and knew little about the affairs of the Demon Hunter Order.
"A specialized device designed to restrain demon hunters. Once the awakening level of their Secret Blood surpasses a critical threshold, the Temple of Stasis can detect them. Unfortunately, after the loss of the Book of Revelation, the device could no longer be manufactured."
"That's... remarkable."
Samuel could not help but marvel.
Ever since joining the Church, something new had emerged almost every day to overturn his understanding of the world. Compared to everything else he had learned, a mysterious device like the Silver-Binding Bolt no longer seemed particularly shocking.
The entire Gospel Church felt like a monstrous tapestry woven from secrets and shadows. No one truly knew what lurked beneath its endless darkness.
Anthony picked up a photograph tucked among the documents.
"Of course, Lawrence isn't the only one. At the same location, we detected another demon hunter as well."
Two demon hunters had simultaneously crossed the critical threshold in the same place.
Whether they had been fighting some dreadful enemy together, or attempting to kill one another, remained unknown.
Once the intelligence reached them, the Gospel Church's remaining forces within Ingelvig began moving in secret. Though they were only a shadow of their former strength, they still possessed some usefulness. Networks that had slept for years stirred back to life, gathering information with ruthless efficiency before sending reports upward.
"After receiving confirmation from the Temple of Stasis, we cross-referenced the Silver-Binding Bolt's identification code with its original owner."
Anthony stared at the black-and-white photograph.
The image had clearly been taken from a distance. Amid the crowd, only part of the man's face was visible, yet it was more than enough.
"According to our records, he should be dead."
"Who is he?" Samuel asked.
"Lloyd Holmes," Anthony replied.
"A name? I thought demon hunters didn't have names."
"He chose it himself. Professionally, he's a detective. We also suspect he has connections with the Purging Agency... which complicates matters considerably."
Anthony did not know whether Lloyd had formally allied himself with the Purging Agency. If such an alliance existed, the mission would become infinitely more difficult.
And with Lloyd's presence, it was likely that the Purging Agency had already learned things about demons that should never have fallen into their hands. Recovering the Book of Revelation would demand an even greater price from the Church.
"So we're going to hunt him down?"
Anthony shook his head.
"The Purging Agency will never allow us to operate freely within their territory. More importantly, I suspect they already know of the Book of Revelation's existence. If tensions escalate, it could lead directly to war."
He paused.
"We will go as an official delegation."
"This is what we are going to do."
Anthony continued.
"Several days ago, the first group of demon hunters departed for Ingelvig. Among them is one of the finest your generation has produced. He will be one of our greatest hopes in this operation."
"They will investigate quietly within Old Dunling."
"Meanwhile, we will conduct negotiations with the Purging Agency in public and keep their attention fixed on us."
Samuel frowned.
"That plan doesn't sound particularly reliable."
He disliked the so-called finest among them.
He had met the man before.
There was something deeply unsettling about him.
"That's because you don't need to know the whole picture," Anthony replied coldly. "Besides, we know almost nothing about the current situation in Old Dunling. Many arrangements can only be made once we arrive."
This was a mission upon which everything depended.
One mistake could provoke a coordinated assault from the Purging Agency, and given the Gospel Church's diminished influence, escaping Ingelvig alive would be far from guaranteed.
"In any case, that's the general outline."
Anthony gathered the documents and stood.
"Go make your preparations. We leave within the next few days."
After a brief pause, he added:
"You should say goodbye to your family."
Every journey began with a farewell.
Yet when those words came from Anthony's mouth, they carried an entirely different meaning.
Samuel's expression hardened.
"Will I die there?"
"Very likely."
For the first time, a heavy weight settled visibly upon Anthony's features.
"The future balance of power in this world may depend on what happens next. The Purging Agency will not lower its guard around us. Neither will those two demon hunters. They survived the Night of Divine Descent. They understand better than anyone what the appearance of new demon hunters truly means."
His gaze traveled slowly from Samuel's head to his feet.
"You... and all the newly initiated demon hunters."
"You carry recycled Secret Blood in your veins. There are no Silver-Binding Bolts restraining you. If necessary, you can surrender completely to demonic transformation and unleash your full strength."
He paused.
"But that also means certain death."
"Perhaps it won't come to that," Samuel said.
The implantation of Secret Blood had subjected him to unimaginable agony, but it had also granted him power far beyond ordinary men.
"No."
Anthony's voice was firm.
"You don't understand, Samuel."
"You've never seen a real demon hunter."
A bitter smile crossed his lips.
"In the end, all of you are merely crude imitations of what they once were. So are we."
"Compared to those demon hunters who could fight freely even while bound by their restraints, we are fragile beyond measure. The difference between us is like the difference between a newborn child and a veteran hunter."
The original demon hunters had been trained from childhood.
They had been created for a single purpose: to wage endless war against demons.
No names.
No past.
No attachments.
Only perfect discipline and absolute reason.
The new generation was different.
They had been chosen from among the Templar Knights.
Compared to the cold, ruthless killers forged by the Order, they remained far too human.
Far too gentle.
The same Secret Blood flowed through their veins, yet their hearts were fundamentally different.
The old hunters possessed hearts of iron and stone.
The new ones did not.
"Have you ever seen a real demon hunter, Father Anthony?"
Samuel asked quietly.
He knew the history of the Demon Hunter Order.
He knew that, apart from a handful of fugitives, every true demon hunter was dead.
That was why he could not understand why Anthony—who should never have met one—spoke of them with such unmistakable fear.
Anthony fell silent.
A long time passed before he finally exhaled a weary sigh.
"I have, Samuel."
Memories resurfaced from the deepest corners of his mind.
The steel mask.
The burning eyes.
Slowly rising from the darkness beneath it.
Even now, after all these years, Anthony could scarcely remember how he had escaped the Temple of Stasis alive.
But that encounter had answered a question that had haunted him for years.
Why had the Pope survived so many assassination attempts?
The answer was simple.
Seni Lothaire himself was the deadliest predator of them all.
No one had ever realized it.
The presence he radiated in that moment had been terror made flesh.
Despair given form.
It felt as though the most horrifying thing in existence had turned its gaze upon him.
"When you meet him," Anthony said quietly, "you'll understand the difference between yourselves."
There was a depth of meaning in his words that Samuel could not yet grasp.
A child playing with fire could never truly understand danger through warnings alone.
Only the agony of burned flesh could teach caution.
But this time was different.
The price of a mistake would not be a simple burn.
It would be death.
Samuel would understand eventually.
When he stood before that blazing white flame, he would feel the same thing Anthony had felt.
The same emotion that had frozen his soul all those years ago.
A fear born from the deepest depths of the human spirit.