Loyd recognized them at once.
Witch Hunters… every one of them. Witch Hunters from Florence.
His heartbeat quickened. Every muscle in his body tightened.
On the surface, Loyd remained perfectly calm, but beneath that composed exterior, a tidal wave crashed through his mind.
He had imagined this encounter countless times. Perhaps it would happen upon a battlefield engulfed in flames, or in some rain-soaked alley swallowed by darkness. Never—not even once—had he imagined facing them like this. So sudden. So unprepared.
Adrenaline flooded his veins. His breathing grew heavier, faster. Every sense sharpened as his gaze locked onto the man called Anthony.
He knew this feeling.
It was the same instinct that had haunted him in the Valley of Terror.
Fear.
But fear, when pushed beyond its limit, did not always become madness. Sometimes, it transformed into something far more violent.
Fury.
A nameless, consuming rage.
Yet only a heartbeat later, Loyd forced himself to relax.
Every trace of emotion disappeared from his face, leaving behind something as cold and unyielding as forged steel. His eyes drifted quietly across the room, already calculating every possible way out.
This was a trap.
He should have realized it the moment Shrike had taken away his weapons.
Silence settled over the conference room after Anthony introduced himself, the air growing heavy enough to suffocate.
Then Arthur finally spoke.
"Easy, Loyd. Today is nothing more than a conversation."
Resting his chin upon folded hands, Arthur looked utterly exhausted. Whether it was the strain of recent days or the weight of the current crisis, his eyes had become frighteningly cold.
"A conversation?"
Loyd didn't believe him for a second.
Still, he made no reckless move.
"It is only a conversation," Anthony continued in the same emotionless voice. "The Gospel Church wishes to confirm several matters with the Cleansing Bureau."
"So you're not here to hunt me down?"
Loyd's vigilance never wavered.
"As far as I remember, Directive Thirteen is still in effect."
The Gospel Church had never abandoned its pursuit of the surviving Witch Hunters. Recovering the Sacred Blood. Finding the lost False Holy Grail. Those objectives had driven an endless campaign of extermination.
There was no reason they would suddenly spare him.
The situation couldn't have been worse.
Only a few dozen minutes earlier, he'd thought today would simply be a chance to rest.
Now it might very well become the last day of his life.
If he'd known...
He should have eaten a bigger breakfast.
No.
He should have killed Joey the moment he'd had the chance.
Regret was worthless now.
Once, Loyd had been nearly invincible because he was a Witch Hunter.
Now...
He wasn't the only one in the room.
His eyes swept over the attendants standing beside Anthony. Their Sacred Blood had not yet awakened, but the familiar scent lingering around each of them left no room for doubt.
They were all Witch Hunters.
The irony was almost laughable.
Witch Hunters had been trained to kill demons—not one another.
The old Order had never taught them how to hunt their own kind. At most, they possessed rough knowledge of each other's Authorities. But once blades crossed, no one could predict just how terrifying another Authority might become.
Loyd glanced toward Arthur, Merlin, Gawain, Percival, and the rest.
The highest ranks of the Cleansing Bureau were all present.
This was nothing like the confrontation with Lawrence.
Whether formal or temporary, the Bureau and the Gospel Church had clearly reached some form of alliance. If not an alliance, then at least a fragile truce for the sake of today's meeting.
Against the will of organizations this vast, the strength of a single man felt pitifully insignificant.
"Directive Thirteen remains in force," Arthur said calmly. "But at this moment, you are a member of the Cleansing Bureau. We've reached a preliminary agreement with the Gospel Church. To ensure that cooperation proceeds smoothly, they have agreed to make certain concessions."
He met Loyd's eyes.
"So, for now... you're safe."
"The old Order of Witch Hunters no longer exists," Anthony added. "I now lead the new Order."
Loyd let out a dry laugh.
"So changing jobs and joining the Cleansing Bureau doesn't make me a traitor?"
"More or less."
Anthony's face remained completely expressionless, untouched by sarcasm.
His emotions—if he possessed any—were buried beneath layers of iron.
"And what about you, Arthur?"
Loyd turned toward him.
Arthur. Merlin. Gawain. Percival.
Every major leader of the Bureau within Old Dunling sat before him.
None of them had come merely to chat.
For all he knew, several armored airships were already hovering directly above the building, their engines idling. With the Engineering Institute's manufacturing capacity, there was no chance the Sword Dancers existed as a single prototype.
Perhaps they were all waiting overhead, steam engines fully pressurized, prepared to descend the instant negotiations collapsed.
"We simply wish to talk," Arthur replied. "There are questions whose answers we need."
Gone was the friend Loyd knew.
In his place sat the man who represented the will of an entire institution.
Arthur was no longer speaking for himself.
"And don't be overly concerned," he continued. "I know this situation isn't easy for you, so we deliberately chose somewhere you would consider... relatively safe."
"This place?"
Loyd raised an eyebrow.
"The center of Old Dunling."
Arthur spread his hands slightly.
"Neither we nor the Gospel Church would want a battle breaking out here."
Then, after a brief pause, he spoke with unusual sincerity.
"Loyd... you may not believe me, but you're still one of us."
"So long as you haven't abandoned the Bureau..."
"We haven't abandoned you."
"We're still standing behind you."
Loyd said nothing.
His eyes moved from Arthur to Anthony, then around the room.
They truly seemed to be waiting.
Patiently.
Giving him every opportunity to choose.
"Loyd."
Another voice broke the silence.
Merlin.
"You're an exceptionally valuable test subject."
The words sounded as chilling as ever.
Oddly enough...
They carried a strange warmth.
Loyd understood exactly what Merlin meant.
Only yesterday, they had completed another experiment.
Loyd possessed the ability to travel directly into the Stagnant Sanctuary—and perhaps even farther through the Gap.
The Gospel Church knew nothing about that ability.
It was a weapon.
More importantly...
It was his insurance.
As long as he retained that value, the Cleansing Bureau would never discard him.
Neither would Merlin.
Silence lingered for a long while before Loyd finally exhaled.
"...Very well."
"Let's begin."
Anthony's attendants quietly withdrew.
The Bureau's soldiers followed.
One by one, everyone left until only a handful of people remained inside the conference room.
The heavy doors swung shut with a resounding boom.
The room fell into solemn silence.
It felt less like a meeting...
...and more like the opening of some sacred ritual.
Outside the chamber, Bureau soldiers gripped their weapons as they watched the opposite side with unwavering vigilance.
Across from them, the Witch Hunters stood equally still.
Equally alert.
Equally uncertain.
This was no ordinary conversation.
It was a negotiation that had been planned long before today.
Everyone had known.
Everyone except Loyd.
And yet...
He was the very reason this negotiation existed.
Gawain picked up a file from the table.
"Loyd Holmes. Currently affiliated with the Cleansing Bureau and employed as an external detective for the Suarlan Office. Formerly a Witch Hunter of the Order. Fled to Old Dunling after the Night of the Sacred Descent."
He looked up.
"Is this information accurate, Mr. Holmes?"
Loyd still had no idea where this was heading.
"...Yes."
"Then..."
Gawain turned his head.
"Shrike."
Footsteps approached from behind.
Shrike had never left the room.
He had remained standing behind Loyd the entire time.
Without taking a seat, he positioned himself beside him, face as expressionless as stone.
"Seven years ago," Gawain asked, "you were the first person to make contact with Loyd Holmes, correct?"
Seven years earlier.
After months of exile, Loyd had finally staggered into Old Dunling, covered in wounds and barely able to stand.
No one knew where this foreigner had come from.
His arrival had caused no small disturbance in the Lower District.
That was when Shrike first met him.
Back then, Shrike had paid little attention to the stranger.
Men carrying that sort of hatred washed up along the Thames almost every day.
What interested him instead...
...was finding useful pieces for the board.
He arranged a legal identity for Loyd.
In return, Loyd worked for him.
That had been the beginning of his new life.
"What exactly are you trying to prove?"
Loyd finally interrupted.
"We're merely verifying the timeline."
Anthony glanced over several documents.
"So far..."
"Everything matches."
Then, without warning—
A violent wave of Corruption erupted through the room.
A familiar power.
A familiar nightmare.
For the briefest instant, the Sacred Blood awakened.
Invisible pressure rolled across the conference chamber like a rising tide.
Loyd never moved.
He only stared directly at Anthony.
"...Presence of the Sacred Blood confirmed."
The faint glow within Anthony's eyes faded.
He calmly marked something in the document before closing the folder.
"Now."
He folded his hands together.
"Mr. Holmes."
"Let us begin."
"The first question."
Silence filled the room.
Only Anthony's voice remained.
His gaze pierced straight through Loyd's gray-blue eyes, as though searching beyond flesh and bone, stripping away every lie hidden beneath.
"Why did you conceal your identity?"
"My identity?"
Loyd's nerves tightened.
This had taken a turn far worse than he'd expected.
Almost everyone who knew about the False Holy Grail had died on the Night of the Sacred Descent.
Still...
The Gospel Church had never been ordinary.
If they somehow uncovered its existence...
He wouldn't be surprised.
But Medanzo—the previous bearer—was already dead.
Loyd had inherited it afterward.
There should have been no trail leading back to him.
"Your true identity."
Anthony's words landed like a hammer.
"You deceived the Cleansing Bureau."
"And you concealed the existence of the False Holy Grail."
Loyd froze.
He had expected a battle of words.
Instead...
Anthony tore away every disguise before the argument had even begun.
"The False Holy Grail?"
He forced a confused expression.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
He could never admit it.
If the Gospel Church convinced the Bureau that the False Holy Grail itself posed too great a threat...
Not even the Bureau could protect him.
Perhaps Merlin would.
But only if Loyd's value outweighed the danger he represented.
"You know exactly what it is."
Anthony's voice remained perfectly level.
"It is a Messiah-Class Containment."
"One of the things mankind must never speak of."
He slowly lifted his pen.
Its tip pointed directly at Loyd.
"At this very moment..."
"It resides within your body."
"And how do you intend to prove that?"
Loyd smiled.
Truthfully...
Even he no longer knew where Watson had gone.
Perhaps she still lingered somewhere inside his consciousness.
Perhaps she had escaped the prison entirely.
None of that mattered now.
Survival did.
Loyd could be unbeatable.
But even invincibility had conditions.
And today's circumstances had already exceeded every one of them.
Anthony hesitated.
For the first time, a crack appeared within that icy composure.
He genuinely didn't understand why Loyd had answered that way.
Without another word, he produced a second file.
"This is Yanar's testimony after the Night of the Sacred Descent."
"He stated that he witnessed someone retrieve the False Holy Grail..."
"...and leave the Stagnant Sanctuary alive."
Yanar...
The name stirred a distant memory.
A devout believer.
Unlike Loyd, who cared only about killing demons, Yanar had been a madman with ritual.
Before every hunt, he always prayed.
Without fail.
"So..."
Loyd sighed.
"You mean Medanzo."
"But he's already dead."
There was no point hiding him anymore.
The dead kept no secrets.
Still...
Loyd couldn't help feeling surprised.
He had always known Yanar was terrifyingly strong.
He simply hadn't imagined the man could survive the Night of the Sacred Descent.
Anthony remained silent.
He studied Loyd carefully.
Oddly enough...
Loyd looked utterly sincere.
Because he wasn't lying.
From his perspective—
Medanzo truly was dead.
The silence that followed stretched uncomfortably long.
Then Anthony seemed to realize something.
He looked directly into Loyd's eyes.
"Mr. Loyd Holmes."
"Who do you believe you are?"
"...Who am I?"
For reasons he couldn't explain...
Loyd saw something in Anthony's gaze.
Pity.
Not hatred.
Not suspicion.
Pity.
The same look a physician might give a patient beyond saving.
"I am..."
"Loyd Holmes."
That name was the Morning Star.
It was hope.
It was the one thing he had sworn never to abandon.
Yet when he finally spoke it aloud...
There was hesitation.
Even he didn't understand why.
"Your designation."
Anthony asked quietly.
Loyd knew exactly what he meant.
"042."
He forced certainty into his voice.
"Designation 042."
The room fell silent.
Anthony looked at him with heartbreaking sympathy.
For one impossible moment, the conference room ceased to be a meeting chamber.
It became a funeral.
Loyd was the corpse.
Anthony stood as the priest delivering the final rites.
Everyone else had become mourners.
With every fragment of truth unearthed, another shovelful of cold, damp earth buried him alive.
"You've been corrupted by the False Holy Grail."
"What are you talking about?"
Loyd stared at him in disbelief.
Today had been supposed to be a day off.
Instead...
Everything had spiraled into madness.
Like sitting peacefully aboard a train—
Only for it to derail without warning.
And after crawling free from the wreckage, you discovered yourself standing beneath a blood-red sky...
...while demons laughed all around you.
"Your designation is 047!"
Anthony roared.
He flung the file across the table.
Pages scattered through the air.
One slid to a stop before Loyd.
A black-and-white photograph stared back at him.
The man in the picture...
Looked almost exactly like him.
Anthony's voice was merciless.
"This..."
"...is your true name."
His eyes remained fixed upon the faint tremor running through Loyd's body.
"This is who you really are."
"Designation 047."
"The Witch Hunter who bore the name..."
"Medanzo."