The negotiations had collapsed.
The two factions had reached an impasse over business matters, and in places like this, there was usually only one reliable way to resolve a disagreement—eliminate the other side.
Around the tavern, men tightened their grips on iron clubs and concealed pistols. All they awaited was a single order from their leaders. The moment it came, both groups would hurl themselves into a bloody struggle where only one side would remain standing.
Yet Lloyd paid little attention to the tense figures behind him.
Instead, he stared at Herkley.
The anger on his face gradually faded, melting away until it became something strangely similar to the smile Herkley wore.
A smile that didn't belong in a room like this.
Herkley frowned.
He couldn't understand why Lloyd was smiling at all.
Then Lloyd spoke softly.
"You really have no idea about the things lurking in the dark, do you?"
"Of course not. If I knew, I wouldn't have gone through all this trouble to seek you out."
Herkley wasn't entirely sure what Lloyd meant, but he suspected it was connected to the very mystery he had spent years investigating.
"I see. Then thank you for the warning, Herkley."
"No need. Arrogance and prejudice—those are flaws no human can completely escape."
For some reason, Herkley suddenly felt that something very unfortunate was about to happen.
"Oh? Arrogance and prejudice. I'll admit I have my share of arrogance. But where exactly is the prejudice?"
Both men spoke in riddles.
"You'll understand after you've dealt with them." Herkley gestured toward the mob. "Need a weapon?"
"No."
Lloyd answered with absolute confidence.
He was arrogant.
And perhaps he had earned the right to be.
He was a Witch Hunter. The secret blood flowing through his veins was enough to crush most problems that stood before him.
Yet he had not forgotten Herkley's warning.
After all, Lawrence had died because of arrogance toward ordinary men.
The mighty Grandmaster of the Hunter Order had never imagined that what would end him was not a burning nail-sword, but a storm of industrial gunfire.
"So..." Lloyd smiled. "Shall I begin?"
Herkley simply spread his hand in invitation.
"Please."
Lloyd laughed.
Under Herkley's puzzled gaze, he drained the last of the wine from his glass in one swallow. Then his nail-sword flashed from its sheath, streaking through the air like solidified light.
The sharp clang of metal rang through the tavern.
The atmosphere, already suffocating, grew even heavier.
Both factions had been watching one another carefully, expecting violence at any moment.
What none of them expected was that the first man to draw a weapon would be this stranger.
"Anyone still planning to leave?"
Lloyd drove his folding blade into the table.
The knife stood upright like a dividing line between the two groups.
No one answered.
Instead, dozens of eyes shifted toward him.
Apparently, neither side minded killing this unexpected nuisance before settling matters between themselves.
Realizing he had successfully become everyone's target, Lloyd's grin widened.
Then he stepped forward.
"You aren't taking a weapon?"
Herkley nearly jumped from his seat.
Lloyd hadn't even picked up the folding knife.
He was walking forward empty-handed.
Herkley only wanted to test the difference between Lloyd and ordinary men.
He hadn't intended to watch the detective get himself killed.
His hand slipped beneath the bar and wrapped around a hidden pistol.
Was the detective drunk?
If things went wrong, Herkley was fully prepared to start shooting.
Then Lloyd spoke.
"Those are weapons for hunting monsters."
His gaze swept across the room.
"These people don't qualify."
The thugs couldn't understand the conversation, but they understood mockery perfectly well.
Several men rose from their seats.
Steel gleamed beneath coats and belts.
The air itself seemed to harden into lead, pressing down on every chest in the room.
Each side assumed Lloyd belonged to the other.
Each side was equally convinced of it.
A numbness spread through Lloyd's body.
The drugs were still working.
Slowly, he spread his hands.
Then he suddenly revealed a bizarre smile.
The next instant, he grabbed a shotgun hidden beneath his coat and snapped it upward.
"Times have changed, gentlemen!"
Lloyd burst into wild laughter, looking every bit like a devil unleashed upon the world.
Everyone froze.
A moment ago, he'd looked ready to challenge the entire room bare-handed.
Now he had produced a shotgun.
What kind of madness was this?
Even Herkley, who had been preparing to vault over the bar and rescue him, stood there dumbfounded.
All those grand speeches from earlier suddenly sounded like drunken nonsense.
The thugs didn't dare move.
At this distance, a shotgun wasn't a weapon.
It was a death sentence.
There would be no rescue, no second chances.
Only shredded flesh.
Lloyd pulled the trigger.
Click.
Nothing happened.
There should have been a thunderous blast.
There should have been screaming and blood.
Instead, a pathetic trickle of river water dribbled from the barrel.
Silence.
More than a dozen pairs of eyes shifted back and forth.
The entire room had become a roller coaster of emotions so absurd that even hardened criminals couldn't process it.
Lloyd sighed and grabbed the barrel.
Of course.
How could he forget?
He had only recently crawled out of the Thames.
His ammunition had been soaked long ago.
"Sorry about that."
He smiled brightly.
"Let's try a different opening."
Before anyone could react, he swung the shotgun like a club.
The stock smashed into a man's skull with a sickening crack.
And just like that—
The brawl began.
Shouting.
Gunshots.
Bottles and chairs flying through the air.
Herkley ducked instinctively as a throwing knife whistled over his head and embedded itself in a wooden cabinet behind him.
Peering over the bar, he watched Lloyd move through the chaos.
The detective wove through the crowd like a predator among livestock.
His body was still hindered by drugs.
Yet he remained terrifying.
This was where Herkley had made his mistake.
He knew nothing of the things hidden in the dark.
He could calculate probabilities, predict motives, and dissect human behavior.
But like every human being, he possessed limits.
One cannot accurately imagine what one has never witnessed.
Chains could restrain men.
They could not restrain monsters.
Lloyd hurled the useless shotgun across the room.
The weapon smashed into a man attempting to draw a pistol and knocked him flat.
Then Lloyd snatched up a soup spoon from a nearby table.
With a sharp twist, he snapped it in half.
He clenched the broken metal tightly in his fist, allowing the jagged edge to protrude between his fingers.
A crude knuckle-dagger.
Enough sedative to drop a normal adult still coursed through his veins.
Lloyd was an adult.
He just wasn't particularly normal.
The numbness slowed him.
It did not stop him.
His fist shot forward.
The punch struck a thug square in the throat.
Driven by monstrous force, the broken spoon pierced flesh and sank deep into muscle.
He grabbed a chair and swung it like a warhammer.
Wood exploded on impact.
Men collapsed screaming.
Another chair shattered against Lloyd's skull moments later.
He didn't even stagger.
Turning around, he found the attacker still clutching the remains of the chair, staring in disbelief.
Lloyd kicked him.
The force launched the man backward through a table, reducing it to splinters.
Knives appeared.
Pistols followed.
But in a crowd this dense, firearms became nearly useless.
Lloyd deliberately kept other people between himself and the gunmen.
No one wanted to shoot their own allies.
At last, one desperate fool squeezed the trigger anyway.
Lloyd seized a nearby thug and used him as a living shield.
Bullets struck flesh.
The unfortunate man screamed.
Lloyd shoved the shield forward, closed the distance, and buried his spoon-blade into the gunman's body with a single punch.
The improvised weapon worked remarkably well.
Like a beautifully crafted dagger.
Simple.
Efficient.
Deadly.
The tavern became a blood-soaked carnival.
Bottles shattered.
Alcohol filled the air.
The scent was so strong it felt as though a single spark could ignite the entire room.
Punch after punch.
Strike after strike.
Gradually, strength returned to Lloyd's body.
The drugs were wearing off.
For a Witch Hunter, such chemicals were merely a temporary inconvenience.
His metabolism devoured them.
He became faster.
Stronger.
More brutal.
The fight transformed into a one-sided massacre.
By now, both factions had realized something horrifying.
Lloyd belonged to neither side.
At first they had assumed he was hired muscle.
Now they understood the truth.
He was simply beating everyone equally.
Like a drunk lunatic who had wandered into a tavern and decided to vent his frustrations on whoever happened to be nearby.
Eventually, fewer and fewer people remained standing.
Then the tavern doors burst open.
Kamu charged inside with the expression of a man marching toward his own execution.
A pistol trembled in his hand.
He had heard the fighting begin.
He didn't know what was happening inside.
Only that it sounded dangerous.
For several agonizing minutes he had debated whether to run away or save his new employer.
In the end, he chose the latter.
What greeted him inside was not what he expected.
The only people still standing were Lloyd and Herkley.
Bodies littered the floor.
The wounded groaned and whimpered.
And in the center of it all stood Lloyd, looking mildly disappointed that the entertainment had already ended.
Herkley emerged from behind the bar.
His face appeared blank.
Then suddenly it lit up with manic excitement.
He stepped over unconscious bodies and rushed toward Kamu, grabbing him by the collar.
"Did... did you see that?"
His voice trembled.
"See what?"
Kamu stared at him.
Herkley pointed wildly toward Lloyd, then at the sea of broken criminals sprawled across the floor.
"He did this!"
Herkley practically screamed.
"He beat all of them by himself!"
Then he ran back to Lloyd.
Grabbing Lloyd's bloodstained hand, he forced it open.
Resting in the detective's palm was a twisted, mangled piece of metal.
The remains of a spoon.
"With a goddamn spoon!"
Herkley wailed.
It took nearly five minutes for Herkley to calm down.
Now he and Lloyd sat in the tavern's kitchen.
Meanwhile, Kamu remained outside, sorting through the groaning pile of criminals to determine who was alive and who wasn't.
Lloyd felt strangely uncomfortable.
After witnessing the fight, Herkley's attitude had changed dramatically.
The information broker sat across from him like a devoted admirer meeting his idol.
If anything, he seemed almost shy.
"Truly..." Herkley rubbed his face, struggling to organize his thoughts.
"I've been looking for you for a very long time, Mr. Holmes."
Lloyd blinked.
"Looking for me?"
"Yes!"
Herkley jumped to his feet again.
He paced nervously around the room.
"I noticed you long ago. After all, you're the man behind the Red River Massacre. But I couldn't be certain. I hadn't witnessed any of it myself. Anything I haven't seen with my own eyes—I doubt."
"Because people lie?"
Lloyd understood immediately.
As a master deceiver himself, he knew just how easy it was to manipulate perception.
"Exactly!"
Herkley pointed emphatically.
"Rumors. Fabricated stories. Sensational newspapers. All of it clouds judgment. At first I assumed you were simply unusual. Maybe you used special weapons. Maybe you had hidden accomplices helping you from the shadows."
He spoke so quickly that Lloyd's head began to ache.
Lloyd raised a hand.
"Let's discuss that later."
His expression grew serious.
"I've done what you asked. Now tell me about the Rat King."
The question snapped Herkley out of his excitement.
He sat back down and took a deep breath.
Slowly, he regained his composure.
"My apologies. I got carried away."
A smile crossed his face.
"I've spent years chasing people like... you."
People like you.
Lloyd stared at him.
Before he could ask what that meant, Herkley suddenly emitted a strange sound.
A low, rhythmic chirping.
Like some peculiar animal call.
"What are you doing?"
"Calling the Rat King."
Herkley's smile became mysterious.
Lloyd had seen that expression before.
Kamu had worn exactly the same look when discussing the Rat King.
Then came the sounds.
Tiny scratches.
Soft scurrying noises.
Something moved through the kitchen.
Pots rattled.
Utensils clinked.
And then, under Lloyd's increasingly bewildered stare—
The Rat King appeared.
It strutted confidently out from the shadows.
"Wait."
Lloyd frowned.
"That's the Rat King?"
"I mean it literally."
Herkley nodded.
"That is the Rat King."
Lloyd looked at Herkley.
Then at the Rat King.
Then back at Herkley.
And suddenly everything made sense.
He crouched down and scooped the creature into his arms.
It offered no resistance.
"So that's the prejudice."
"I think we're the same kind of person." Herkley tapped his temple. "You know better than anyone how easy it is to mislead people."
"Yeah."
Lloyd laughed.
"That's exactly what prejudice is, isn't it? Rat King literally means the king of rats. Yet people always imagine something grander. Something mysterious. They create legends where none exist."
Just as Kamu had said, the Rat King was adorable.
Soft.
Warm.
Ridiculously fluffy.
Lloyd recognized the species from books.
Its proper name was a chinchilla.
It certainly wasn't native to Ingelvig, and he had no idea how Herkley had managed to transport one across oceans.
Still, the title suited it perfectly.
The creature was far larger than any ordinary rat.
"What is its name?"
Lloyd scratched beneath its chin and looked at Herkley with newfound respect.
For once, the master deceiver had been deceived.
"Poirot."
Herkley smiled.
"To be precise, every chinchilla I've ever owned has been named Poirot. This one is the second generation."
He stepped forward and rubbed the animal's head.
No one would ever imagine that the legendary Rat King looked like this.
Then again, perhaps that was the point.
The Rat King had never been anything more than a smokescreen.
A puppet.
The true master behind the web of information was not the mysterious creature at all.
It was the seemingly insignificant information broker standing beside it.
Herkley was the real Rat King.