Such was the way fortune turned its wheel.
Centuries ago, in the glorious age when the Gospel Church stood at the height of its power, Florence was the destination that haunted countless dreams—the city every soul longed to behold.
Some claimed its streets overflowed with devout clerics whose prayers echoed day and night without cease. Others said that innumerable kingdoms paid tribute to the Church, and that the treasury of House Medici held more than half the wealth of the western world. There were even those who whispered of a gate leading directly to Heaven itself, guarded tirelessly by the Temple Knights.
There were endless stories, endless rumors, endless desires and greed. To many, Florence was less a city than a manifestation of God upon the earth, a place where every wish might finally be granted.
Lloyd had never truly understood humanity's obsession with distant places. Yet after arriving in Old Dunling himself, he found that he understood far more than before.
People always carried obsessions within them.
The tragedy was that most of those obsessions could never be fulfilled. No matter how hard one struggled, one often found oneself merely clawing at the edge of failure.
It was a despair unlike any other—a helpless, crushing despair.
Yet few could accept such a reality. They needed something to believe in, a destination upon which to project their hopes. Centuries ago, that place had been Florence. Now, it was Old Dunling.
People yearned for this miraculous city as though somewhere within its wonders lay the path that would finally allow them to fulfill their deepest desires.
The thought brought a smile to Lloyd's lips.
After all, he himself had once been a stowaway.
So much time had passed that he could scarcely remember how many days he had drifted upon the sea. The merciless sun, the storms, the endless waves—perhaps the suffering had been so severe that even memory had chosen to bury it beneath a haze.
There had been moments when he was certain he would die.
The great Captain Holmes, he had thought, would never even begin his legendary career of plunder before becoming food for the fishes.
Yet perhaps obsession itself had kept him alive.
Like everyone else, Lloyd had possessed something he refused to abandon.
And so he survived.
When he finally awoke, he found himself lying in shallow seawater, with Old Dunling standing before him, close enough to touch.
"I wonder," he murmured, "whether those stowaways feel despair when they finally see the real Old Dunling."
Preston gazed toward the gray silhouette of the city.
Here stood marvels beyond the understanding of ordinary people. Steam technology had advanced to impossible heights. Massive leviathans drifted through the heavens above. Endless fog cloaked the skyline, making the city seem less like part of the world and more like another realm entirely.
Old Dunling did possess miracles.
The problem was that not everyone could claim them.
Preston had come chasing those miracles as well.
And in the end, he had become nothing more than a humble detective.
His ambitions and ideals had gradually cheapened with time. These days, his greatest wish was simply to retire in peace.
It was a merciless city.
It stripped away reason. It consumed passion. And eventually, amid its endless gears and machinery, people lost themselves.
The stowaways were like pilgrims.
They endured unimaginable hardship to reach this place, only to glimpse its dazzling miracles while remaining blind to the countless bones buried beneath its prosperity.
"Shouldn't you be home sleeping?" Lloyd asked.
"You think I'd feel comfortable letting someone like you investigate alone?" Preston replied.
Lloyd glanced at the dark circles beneath the detective's eyes.
"Honestly, you should trust people more."
"Trust you?" Preston looked as though he had just heard a joke.
"Alright, Mr. Holmes," he continued. "I admit you're exceptionally gifted in certain... areas. But trusting you? Forget it. It feels about as reasonable as releasing a criminal who swears he'll come back after breakfast."
Lloyd frowned and considered the statement seriously.
"That does sound like something I'd do."
"You'd actually come back?"
"Maybe."
The two chatted idly as they left Suarlan Hall.
Because of the department's manpower shortage, no carriage had been provided this time. They would have to rely on their own legs.
"A cargo ship from Florence," Preston explained. "The stowaways hid inside shipping containers. They concealed themselves well. If the diplomatic delegation hadn't arrived and raised everyone's alertness, they might have slipped through unnoticed."
"And you failed to catch them?"
"They're quick. Escaped the docks under cover of darkness. The mounted police chased them for quite a while before losing the trail. Honestly, though, this case isn't particularly important. Smuggling happens every day. For every one we catch, ten more probably slip through."
Lloyd mentally calculated the number and nearly stopped walking.
"That many people? And you're not worried?"
Preston shot him a dismissive look.
"Tell me, Lloyd. Do you remember where you ended up on your first day in Old Dunling?"
Where?
The question stirred memories long buried.
Back then, Lloyd had believed the demons were gone. He had thought Old Dunling would be nothing more than a place to spend the rest of his days in peace.
So he buried his past.
Forgot his memories.
Abandoned everything behind.
Yet after peace came darkness once more.
He discovered the demons had never truly vanished. The Holy Advent Night had merely been one piece of a much larger conspiracy.
His mission had never ended.
"I remember... the Lower District."
As a foreigner without proper documentation, he could never have entered the Outer District, let alone the city's inner regions. He had arrived battered and half-dead.
The Lower District had been the only place willing to take him in.
It was there that he first met Shrike.
"Exactly," Preston said. "The Lower District. It's a hellhole, sure. But you've got to admit, it serves a purpose. It gathers all the city's garbage into one place."
"The vast majority of stowaways end up there. Most of them don't last long."
"Some manage to climb out eventually. But what awaits them is still a mechanical existence. This city isn't beautiful, Lloyd. At least, its beauty belongs only to a select few."
Lloyd immediately declared with righteous fury,
"Damn class inequality!"
Preston rolled his eyes, completely unable to understand what had suddenly gotten into him.
"Actually, Lloyd," he said, "I'm jealous of your life."
Lloyd froze.
"You... what?"
Someone was jealous of this kind of life?
That was a new one.
But Preston nodded seriously.
"It's amazing."
Lloyd suddenly had no idea how to respond.
Of all the things he expected to hear, that certainly wasn't one of them.
The detective continued speaking, and for the first time there was a trace of loneliness in his voice.
"Think about it. You're a freelance investigator. You work when you want, rest when you want. You never seem worried about money."
He sighed.
"I envy you, Lloyd. You always seem happy. The kind of person who creates amusement even when none exists. Honestly, it's like you don't have a single worry in the world."
Lloyd sat there stunned.
After a long silence, he reached into his coat and pulled out a cigarette.
It was the pack Red Falcon had bought for him.
Though technically Joey had paid for it.
His fingers trembled slightly as he lit it, drawing deep breaths from the cigarette as though it were medicine keeping his heart alive.
Yet he said nothing.
Nor did he argue.
He wasn't about to explain how colorful his life truly was.
The truth was that Preston couldn't even begin to imagine it.
Piloting bizarre mechs.
Blowing things up wherever he went.
Flirting with dukes.
Well... assuming that awkward exchange aboard the train qualified as flirting.
Working alongside Old Dunling's most mysterious agencies.
Being, by all reasonable standards, an absolute powerhouse.
It sounded exactly like the life of some legendary urban hero.
Ridiculously cool.
But Lloyd would never mention the other side of it.
Most of the people he cared about were dead.
Every day was spent fighting demons.
The only reason he appeared cheerful was because if he didn't actively search for things to laugh about, he would probably lose his mind.
And unlike everyone else, he never worried about marriage, children, mortgages, or retirement.
Because as a demon hunter, Lloyd had never believed such a future could belong to him.
Demon hunters did not retire.
Demon hunters died on battlefields.
The profession was less a calling and more a curse.
By the time he finished the cigarette, the silence had become uncomfortable for Preston.
Fortunately, something interrupted it.
The Iron Serpent emerged from the far end of the street.
Steam billowed from its sides as it rumbled forward like a breathing beast.
It finally came to a stop before them.
Only then did Preston notice the station sign nearby. He had been too busy talking to Lloyd to realize they had been standing at a stop all along.
Though steam technology continued to advance, electricity had begun entering the Steel City thanks to research surrounding the Eternal Pump.
It seemed the authorities intended to use Old Dunling as a grand experiment—to see just how much brilliance electrical power could bring.
The steam tram was one such creation.
Running along iron rails laid across the city, it bound Old Dunling together like veins within a living body.
"Come on," Lloyd said. "No carriage, remember? This will have to do. You can catch another nap on the way."
Preston glanced inside.
Several seats remained empty.
The two boarded the Iron Serpent, and moments later it began rolling forward once more.
The River Thames cut through the entirety of the Ingervig Isles. At its mouth stood the Port of Rendona, where countless foreign vessels gathered and where trade flourished.
Yet many ships did not stop there.
After passing customs, they continued upriver toward Old Dunling itself.
The Florence cargo vessel had been inspected at one of those docks, where the hidden stowaways were discovered.
That was where Lloyd and Preston were heading now.
Preston looked genuinely exhausted.
The moment he leaned against the seatback, he fell asleep.
Lloyd sat beside him and picked up a newspaper from the pouch attached to the seat.
Traveling aboard the Iron Serpent was usually dull, so newspapers were provided for passengers' convenience.
Lloyd began reading.
He disliked letting his mind sit idle.
The Viking Kingdoms had finally ended their civil war.
The pirates now followed a man named Ragnar.
The article celebrated the peace, but Lloyd could easily read between the lines.
No one truly wanted the conflict to end.
The Viking lands were poor and resource-starved. The world's territory had already been divided among the major powers. To the Vikings, there were only two paths toward prosperity.
Trade.
Or plunder.
Leiber continued its rapid rise.
During the War of Radiance, they had maintained neutrality while secretly developing their strength. Now, a vast trade network stretched along the Rhine River, and their industrial growth was beginning to rival Ingervig itself.
Many found the trend deeply concerning.
As for Gaul-Naro, the hatred between the two nations remained alive.
Peace existed only on the surface.
While their homelands remained relatively calm, colonial conflicts outside Ingervig occurred constantly.
The remaining articles focused on smaller nations.
Though independent in name, most were secretly manipulated by greater powers.
One country protested another today.
Tomorrow, someone else threatened invasion.
Minor conflicts never ceased.
Yet no great war had erupted.
Ironically, the once-mighty Holy Gospel Papal State had become the least threatening of them all.
The Temple Knights had fallen behind the age.
While the world embraced rifles and artillery, they still marched in their cumbersome sacred armor like participants in a funeral procession dedicated to their own lost glory.
Everyone missed the age of faith.
No one wanted it back.
The Pope, once powerful enough to command kings, had become little more than a ceremonial symbol.
That was the state of the world.
Forever lingering somewhere between rotten and completely rotten.
Turning the page, Lloyd found local news from Old Dunling.
A gas explosion in the Northern District had devastated an entire street. Fortunately, casualties were minimal, though the structural damage was severe and the area remained under lockdown.
Wait.
His hand froze.
Lloyd stared at the headline.
A gas explosion?
Could this be another operation carried out by the Purging Agency?
Reading further, he found reports about the visiting diplomatic delegations.
Then a single line caught his attention.
A delegation from the Holy Gospel Papal State would arrive in the coming days.
Even after seven years away, any mention of that place still stirred old memories—and old caution.
The article itself carried a distinctly arrogant tone.
According to its author, the Gospel Church had finally set aside its pride and embraced the age of steam technology.
Though perhaps, the writer suggested, they had arrived too late.
The nations of the world had already established their industries.
The Church had fallen far behind.
Lloyd frowned.
Not necessarily.
If the Gospel Church recovered the Book of Revelation and completed its militarized Demon Hunter program, it could still reclaim global dominance.
The price, however, would be a war beyond imagination.
He understood better than most the difference between ordinary humans and demon hunters.
"Wake up, Preston."
Some time later, the docks were approaching.
Lloyd nudged the detective awake.
Preston looked miserable, though noticeably more refreshed than before.
Sleep worked wonders.
Still, he remained unwilling to leave Lloyd unsupervised—not because he feared the detective might die, but because he feared the chaos he might cause.
Rubbing his eyes vigorously, Preston forced himself awake.
"Are we there?"
"We are now."
The Iron Serpent slowed to a halt.
This was the end of the line.
Passengers began disembarking.
"I really wish I were home asleep right now," Preston muttered miserably.
"Move it."
Lloyd urged him forward.
The moment they stepped off the tram, a thick stench of salt, fish, and industry washed over them.
Countless laborers moved through the docks.
Steamships sailed along the Thames, trailing towering plumes of black smoke behind them.
From a distance, the river looked less like water and more like a road woven from mist.