Yager ran as though death itself was at his heels. Though he, too, hailed from the mysterious Gospel Church, compared to the monster relentlessly pursuing him through the darkness, he was as harmless as a laboratory mouse.
Gunshots echoed from deep within the tunnels behind him, mingled with the terrified cries of the Followers. They had failed to stop that creature.
And now it was coming.
For the first time, Yager regretted his decision. No one could have imagined that exterminating a nest of rats would attract a monster like Lloyd.
He sprinted through the labyrinthine tunnels. The guide-rat had been the first thing he killed, and now he stumbled blindly through the underground maze, crashing from passage to passage. Yet somewhere within his panic lingered a stubborn hope.
He believed he could escape.
No one knew how long these Lesser Rats had lived beneath the earth. They had hidden beneath Old Dunling for generations, unseen and forgotten.
Then the sound of rushing water grew louder through the darkness.
Yager's heart leapt.
He was close to the surface—or at least another sewer outlet. Either way, it was better than remaining trapped in these suffocating tunnels.
Behind him, hurried footsteps echoed through the dark.
The monster was catching up.
As he ran, Yager drew the short sword from his belt. Terror gripped him, but he refused to surrender completely. Once, he had been a Templar Knight.
At the very least, he deserved a chance to fight back.
His breath came in ragged gasps. Then he burst from the tunnel mouth, nearly losing his footing and tumbling into the drainage channel below.
He was out.
A flicker of joy crossed his face.
Just as expected, this was a sewer outlet. Beyond it flowed the Thames, and nearby stood a crude stone stairway leading back toward the city streets.
Under the oppressive weight of fear, even this foreign land suddenly felt comforting.
Without hesitation, he rushed toward the exit.
Then he heard it.
Footsteps.
Clear.
Close.
Lloyd had emerged from the darkness.
The faint white gleam of the sword-cane shone in the shadows like the scythe of Death itself.
"Don't run," Lloyd mocked, striding forward with weapon in hand. "Weren't you planning to silence witnesses?"
Yager neither had the courage nor the breath to answer.
He scrambled up the stairs and burst onto the streets of Old Dunling.
His appearance immediately drew attention. Filthy sewer water dripped from his clothes. The stench of the underground clung to him. Passersby wrinkled their noses and stared.
There was no time to care about dignity.
He needed to lose Lloyd.
Yager darted toward the densest crowds he could find. Yet his filthy appearance caused people to instinctively move away from him, and when they noticed the short sword in his hand, caution instantly transformed into panic.
But the panic was only beginning.
Moments later, people saw the man chasing him.
Lloyd looked even more miserable than Yager. His clothes were soaked, his appearance disheveled.
Yet the sword-cane in his hand radiated unmistakable killing intent.
The residents of Old Dunling were not fools. Most quickly concluded they were witnessing some kind of street vendetta. A few civic-minded citizens even considered intervening.
Then Lloyd roared:
"Suarlan Hall investigation! If you don't want to die, get out of the way!"
His voice boomed through the street with absolute confidence.
At that moment, Lloyd deeply regretted not borrowing Press's badge.
Of course, if Press knew what was happening now, he would probably regret going home to sleep.
The crowd froze.
No uniform.
No visible credentials.
Yet Lloyd sounded far too confident to be bluffing.
Meanwhile, Yager continued running desperately. He shoved through crowds, overturned street stalls, and scattered goods across the roadway.
His efforts worked.
A carriage was forced into a sudden stop.
Horses screamed.
Wheels skidded.
Another carriage overturned.
Chaos erupted across the street.
Soon, faint iron whistles echoed in the distance.
Mounted police were responding.
Lloyd noticed immediately.
If the cavalry police arrived, everything would become complicated.
Worse, Yager might escape.
With that thought, Lloyd reached into his coat.
According to Article Seven of The Lloyd Holmes Detective Handbook, when a suspect is about to escape, it is entirely reasonable to break his leg before he succeeds.
His hand found nothing.
Only then did Lloyd remember.
His beloved Winchester was gone.
An indescribable sorrow flooded his heart.
Followed immediately by the emotional devastation of a grown man on the verge of tears.
During that rain of fire, Lloyd had been nearly blown apart. Naturally, the Winchester had not fared any better. It had vanished amidst the explosion.
Arthur had promised to search for it during battlefield cleanup.
But Lloyd knew the truth.
Given the scale of the bombardment, even if it were found, it would probably be nothing more than twisted scrap metal.
The rifle had accompanied him for years.
It was practically family.
A brother.
A beloved companion.
The thought ignited fresh fury within him.
The murderous aura around Lloyd intensified so noticeably that even Yager felt it.
Panic spread through the entire street.
Yager ran like a headless fly through the chaos. By now he no longer believed he could escape.
He only wanted to survive a little longer.
One more minute.
Then another.
Yet suddenly he realized the monster chasing him had vanished.
The street behind him was empty.
For a brief second, confusion overtook him.
Then a blade-like killing intent exploded behind his back.
Yager spun around instinctively.
The instant he turned, he found himself staring directly at Lloyd emerging from a side alley.
The sword-cane surged toward him.
Growing larger.
Closer.
Then came the scream of steel.
The instincts of a former Templar Knight saved him.
His short sword rose almost automatically.
The blades met for a fraction of a second.
Then Lloyd's overwhelming strength shattered the balance.
It felt less like crossing blades with a man and more like dueling a monster.
Numbness exploded through Yager's arm.
His body staggered backward.
His balance vanished.
Lloyd stepped forward aggressively, a savage expression twisting across his face.
Instead of resisting, Yager allowed himself to fall.
The moment he hit the ground, he rolled, sprang back to his feet, and lashed out with a sudden reverse slash.
The unexpected strike nearly caught Lloyd.
Fortunately, he halted his advance in time.
Then he exploded in outrage.
"You dare fight back?!"
Yager froze.
Even his panic seemed to pause.
What kind of lunatic was this?
Was fighting back illegal now?
He desperately wanted to curse Lloyd right back.
But instinct screamed at him to run.
The moment he took a step, agony erupted from his ankle.
The sword-cane had already cut through it.
Yager collapsed.
Blood sprayed across the pavement.
Whether by bullet or blade made little difference to Lloyd.
The objective was simply to remove a suspect's ability to flee.
His control had been precise.
Only muscle had been severed.
Had he used full force, Yager's entire leg might have come off.
Lloyd approached slowly, wearing the satisfied smile of a victorious hunter.
Despite smelling like a sewer.
"From Florence?" he asked casually.
Yager ignored him completely.
He merely clutched his ruined ankle and groaned in pain.
Lloyd crouched.
Then punched him hard in the ribs.
Yager curled up immediately.
Back in the Lower District, Lloyd had dealt with countless thugs, killers, and knife-wielding maniacs.
Interrogation was sometimes necessary.
Some men could endure beatings.
Some could endure torture.
But Lloyd had eventually discovered the universal weakness.
Fear.
The detective smiled.
A cruel smile.
"Oh, you've finally fallen into my hands."
His voice softened.
"Don't worry. We have plenty of time to get acquainted."
He looked less like a detective and more like a psychopath selecting his next victim.
One glance at that expression was enough to know there would be no pleasant outcome.
Terror filled Yager's eyes.
Lloyd's hand slowly reached toward his throat.
Invisible pressure hammered against his heart.
God.
Faith.
Neither could save him now.
Death itself seemed less frightening than whatever prolonged torment awaited him.
Just as Lloyd's fingers were about to close around his throat—
Hoofbeats thundered through the street.
Lloyd assumed the cavalry police had finally arrived.
He barely cared.
They could no longer affect the situation.
Then suddenly—
The world flipped upside down.
Even the great detective looked bewildered for a moment.
Pain followed.
Explosive.
Brutal.
His vision spun violently as his body flew through the air.
He traveled several meters before crashing into a streetlamp.
The impact was so tremendous that the entire iron pole shook violently.
A carriage stood beside the road.
Its wheel stopped mere inches from Yager's head.
A little closer, and it would have crushed him outright.
"Still alive?"
A man stepped from the carriage and looked down at the battered Yager.
The terror on Yager's face instantly transformed into joy.
Before he could speak, the newcomer grabbed him by the collar and dragged him into the carriage.
Everything happened in less than a minute.
The horses surged forward.
The driver lashed the reins furiously.
The carriage accelerated away.
For an ordinary man, the collision would have been fatal.
Lloyd was not an ordinary man.
Slowly, painfully, he forced himself upright.
Every bone in his body screamed with dull agony.
Yet he knew himself well.
Give him time.
Just a little time.
And he would be running around again as if nothing had happened.
Unfortunately, the carriage had no intention of waiting.
It was already disappearing down the street.
Lloyd staggered forward.
Then broke into pursuit.
"Damn it!"
he snarled, clutching his chest.
The attack had caught him completely off guard.
He hadn't even had time to release his Secret Blood.
The injury wasn't fatal.
But it had weakened him significantly.
The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth.
The carriage continued pulling farther away.
With a furious roar, Lloyd hurled his sword-cane.
A flash of steel streaked through the air.
The blade embedded itself deep into the carriage.
Then there was nothing more he could do.
Breathing heavily, Lloyd dropped to one knee.
The carriage vanished into the distance.
Gone.
Then more hoofbeats approached.
Lloyd immediately tensed.
He rose sharply.
This time it truly was the cavalry police.
"Stay where you are!"
they shouted.
The diplomatic delegation's visit had placed Old Dunling under strict security. Yet despite those precautions, today's disturbance had still occurred.
"Don't waste my time."
Lloyd's voice was low and dangerous.
The carriage had already escaped beyond reach.
There was no point chasing anymore.
He needed to return to the Lower District.
Hopefully the information broker had stayed put.
One way or another, he would drag that man out into the light.
"First warning!"
The mounted officers raised their weapons.
Bolts slid into place.
Gun barrels pointed directly at Lloyd.
Though battered and filthy, the man radiated an unsettling pressure that demanded caution.
Lloyd stopped.
Part of him wanted to flatten the lot of them and continue his investigation.
But human society came with rules.
Sometimes even he had to obey them.
"I am Lloyd. Lloyd Holmes!"
He pointed at himself.
"External Detective of Suarlan Hall. I'm pursuing an active case. Understood?"
A dull ache pulsed from his chest as he spoke.
The officers exchanged glances.
Surprised.
But unconvinced.
Their weapons remained raised.
"Do you have proof?"
Proof.
Lloyd regretted not taking Press's badge more with every passing second.
He shook his head.
"Then we'd appreciate your cooperation."
The officers' tone softened slightly.
They clearly preferred not to escalate matters.
Lloyd fell silent.
Just as he was about to argue further, another voice intervened.
"He's telling the truth."
The sound of approaching hoofbeats grew clearer.
Familiar.
Lloyd turned.
A young woman rode forward proudly atop her horse.
For a fleeting moment, Lloyd experienced something close to seeing family after a long separation.
"I-Ivy?" he said.
The last time they had met was the night Lawrence appeared.
Back then, Lloyd had been fully prepared to sacrifice her if it meant killing Lawrence.
To be honest, he had been a completely different person then.
A weapon.
Nothing more.
If Lawrence died, Lloyd would have gladly died with him.
But things had changed.
Lawrence was gone.
And Lloyd had slowly become human again.
Which meant guilt now had a habit of catching up with him.
He had not prepared himself for this reunion.
Still, considering the circumstances, it wasn't entirely bad.
Ivy had just helped him out.
Clearly she wasn't angry anymore.
Such a broad-minded... understanding girl.
Surely she understood why he'd made that decision.
Right?
Lloyd's thoughts raced as he desperately justified his past choices.
By the time he approached her, he had practically convinced himself that all awkwardness between them had vanished.
"You heard her! I really am—"
The shameless detective grinned and stepped closer.
Then he saw Ivy's face.
Cold.
The joy froze inside him.
She stared at him.
A faint smile appeared.
More accurately—
A sneer.
"Public disorder. Property damage."
Her gaze drifted toward the devastated street behind him.
Overturned carriages.
Scattered debris.
Injured civilians pinned beneath wreckage.
"Wait! I was investigating a case!"
Lloyd suddenly sensed disaster approaching.
He hurriedly defended himself.
After all, he really had been investigating.
Even if the suspect had escaped.
"And why are you explaining that to me?"
Ivy shrugged.
"I'm just a cavalry officer responsible for maintaining public order."
Then she casually tossed a pair of handcuffs toward the other officers.
"Put him in cuffs."