Lloyd slowly opened his eyes. The gray-blue irises that had once held an unwavering resolve were now hollow, emptied of life. Slumped against a wardrobe that leaned awkwardly to one side, he let an almost-spent cigarette rest between his lips.
He said nothing.
Silence settled over the room like a burial shroud.
Helkri remained equally quiet. He dared not disturb the stillness. Watching Lloyd in his shattered state, he could not shake the feeling that the man before him was less a survivor than a corpse that had somehow forgotten to stop breathing.
After what felt like an eternity, the lifeless figure finally stirred. Lloyd struggled upright by a few inches before removing the cigarette from his lips and flicking the dying ember aside.
Though an immeasurable age seemed to have passed within the Palace of Memory, only a handful of minutes had elapsed in reality. The wounds he had carved into his own flesh were already knitting themselves together, the unnatural vitality in his blood refusing to let them remain.
Slowly, Lloyd raised a trembling hand and stared blankly at the dried blood staining his palm. His vision blurred. For a fleeting instant, it seemed he was still gripping that nailed sword, still encased in iron armor, while the deafening roars of demons echoed endlessly around him.
Then, as though every fragment of emotion he had lost over countless years returned all at once, sorrow quietly surfaced across his frozen face.
Only now did he finally understand what 047 had meant.
Whoever Lloyd Holmes truly was no longer seemed important. Just as 047 had confessed...
He regretted it.
"One day, those Demon Hunters sleeping peacefully will awaken in tears. They will believe themselves cursed... cursed because they failed to die here alongside us."
The words escaped him in little more than a whisper.
He regretted it.
He regretted surviving.
Why hadn't he died beside them? Why hadn't his life ended on the Night of the Holy Descent? Perhaps, when everything was stripped away, the hatred he now bore toward demonkind had never been born from justice at all. It had always been born from guilt.
Life within the Order of Demon Hunters had been stained by bloodshed and danger, yet for Lloyd, whose life had already stretched far beyond what any ordinary man should possess, nearly every moment of warmth he had ever known belonged to those grim years.
Now...
Every trace of it had vanished.
His friends were dead.
The old Order had crumbled into history.
Every story had reached its ending on that single night.
Only Lloyd remained—a restless ghost who had survived by sheer accident, wandering a world that no longer had a place for him.
It was never a blessing.
It was a curse.
He alone carried the mourning.
He alone remembered the grief.
There was no home left for him to return to.
His sorrow became rage.
His friends had died because of demons.
So every demon deserved to perish.
Human greed had opened the forbidden gate that birthed every tragedy.
Then humanity's obsession with that forbidden power had to be erased as well.
From that day onward, Lloyd chased death itself. He sought battle after battle, throwing every ounce of his fury against the monstrous horrors of the world, longing only for the same glorious end that had embraced his comrades.
"...Are you alright?"
Helkri's hesitant voice finally broke the silence.
His words trembled.
He understood almost every secret buried beneath this city, yet the depths of the human heart remained forever beyond his reach.
He did not know why Lloyd had become like this.
Yet somehow...
He could feel the same pain.
Lloyd answered him with a crooked smile.
That was simply who he was.
Every time it seemed he had finally collapsed beyond recovery, he somehow clawed his way back to his feet.
"It wasn't... pleasant," he admitted quietly. "But I did learn something useful."
Beyond the Forgotten Gate, Lloyd had recovered memories of the Night of the Holy Descent.
Whenever he had tried to recall that night before, only vague silhouettes surfaced—as though something had deliberately woven a false memory to deceive even himself.
This time, however, every detail was crystal clear.
And that clarity only gave birth to a far greater mystery.
Throughout those memories of defending the Kingdom of Heaven...
He never once saw himself.
He never saw Subject 042.
From beginning to end, he witnessed everything solely through the eyes of 047.
Or perhaps...
Not merely through his eyes.
He had been 047.
He had lived through every moment personally.
As unwilling as he was to accept it, the conclusion was unavoidable.
Those memories belonged to 047.
Somehow, they had become his.
Or perhaps...
It was the other way around.
With every answer uncovered, even greater mysteries unfolded before him. Just as he had long suspected, this world was far stranger and far more complicated than he had ever imagined. Everything humanity struggled to maintain was nothing more than a fragile equilibrium, one that could collapse at any moment.
His thoughts finally settled.
Slowly, Lloyd rose to his feet and looked toward the adjoining room. Beyond the rain-streaked window, the endless curtain of rain still smothered all of Old Dunling.
Even after living here for so many years, he had never grown accustomed to the city's rainy season.
The storms could last for weeks without pause.
Each droplet struck the earth like the relentless beat of a war drum, pounding endlessly against one's sanity.
"I need a new set of clothes," Lloyd said.
Helkri blinked in surprise.
"You're leaving?"
"Yeah."
Lloyd nodded.
"I can't disappear for too long. Otherwise they'll think I've run away..."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"...And I don't run."
Just then, Bolo the giant wool mouse happened to scurry past his feet.
Without warning, Lloyd reached down with his bloodstained hand and gave the creature an exaggerated rub, using its pristine fur as though it were nothing more than a rag.
Bolo froze in disbelief.
A second later, the enormous rodent squeaked furiously in protest.
Lloyd ignored the outraged cries.
It was the sort of childish prank one pulled on a harmless little animal.
Before long, Helkri had prepared everything.
Dressed once more in a charcoal-gray suit, his weapons hidden beneath a long overcoat, Lloyd settled a black felt hat upon his head. The brim cast his face into darkness, revealing only a pair of eyes that flickered beneath the shadow like ghostly blue flames.
In an instant, the broken man had disappeared.
The hunter had returned.
Looking at him now, no one would believe he was the same miserable soul who had been sitting against the wardrobe only moments before.
"So..."
Helkri asked as Lloyd reached for the door,
"...you're not planning to suddenly drop dead in some alley somewhere, are you?"
Lloyd opened a black umbrella.
Standing beneath its dark canopy, he looked strangely detached from the world around him—as though Death itself had chosen to walk among the living.
"Who knows?"
A quiet chuckle escaped him.
"Everyone dies eventually, don't they?"
He paused.
"...Though if I really did end up dying in some forgotten alley..."
"...that wouldn't be such a bad ending."
He hesitated before adding,
"Thank you for your help, Helkri. I may end up troubling you again before long. Tell your rats to stay prepared."
"I'm not running a charity," Helkri replied.
Truthfully, the two men were more alike than either cared to admit.
Lloyd pursued destruction.
Helkri pursued secrets.
It didn't matter what kind of secret it was.
As long as it had been buried away from the world, the unknown alone was enough to satisfy the unhealthy hunger gnawing inside him.
"I know."
Lloyd gave a knowing smile.
"The truth is... learning those damned secrets rarely brings anything good."
He shook his head.
"Of course, someone like you would never listen to advice."
"If you actually gave up chasing forbidden truths because of something I said..."
"...you wouldn't be Helkri."
Lloyd understood him.
Because he understood himself.
People like them could never be persuaded.
It was a curse.
Even if they abandoned it today, one stormy night, beneath thunder and rain, it would find them again.
Without another word, Lloyd turned and walked away.
He lifted one hand in a casual farewell.
As memories of the past became clearer, so too did the grief and fury buried within him. It was as though an invisible smith had begun hammering away at a shattered blade, forging its broken edge whole once more.
Rain poured relentlessly from the heavens.
Umbrellas became isolated islands beneath the endless gray curtain, each traveler separated from the next.
Water splashed against Lloyd's boots, soaking the hem of his coat.
Yet beneath that cleansing rain, the steam-shrouded city slowly revealed its true face.
Beyond layers of towering buildings stood the great Tower of Dunling.
Countless black cables stretched across the skyline, weaving themselves around iron pylons like enormous nests suspended above the city.
Most were telephone lines.
Together they formed a web that blanketed the entire metropolis—a lasting legacy of the Dunling Project.
It was that very inheritance that had transformed the city from mediocrity into the beating heart every soul longed to reach.
Cold moisture crept beneath Lloyd's collar, sending a chill down his spine and clearing the lingering haze from his thoughts.
Mounted constables continued their patrols beneath heavy rain.
Since the arrival of the war airships, security across the city had tightened considerably.
Repair crews marched alongside them. Although Old Dunling's infrastructure had long since matured, even a city like this could not escape the relentless punishment of weeks of uninterrupted rainfall.
Now Lloyd had completely exposed himself before the New Order.
There was no possibility they would simply ignore a bearer of the False Grail.
The irony was that Lloyd himself still had no idea what the False Grail truly was.
After everything he had witnessed within those fractured memories, he could no longer even say with certainty whether Watson had ever truly existed.
That single night concealed too many unanswered questions.
Even after all these years, its echoes continued to shape the fate of the world.
Still...
There was something else that interested him more.
How would the New Order choose to move against him?
This was Old Dunling.
Although the Purge Agency remained wary of him, they still occupied the same side of the battlefield.
Whatever their motives, they would never simply stand aside and watch the New Order capture him.
A direct assault?
Lloyd suddenly stopped walking.
Standing motionless in the middle of the street, he cast a casual glance around him.
In that instant...
The rain itself seemed filled with murderous intent.
A Demon Hunter's greatest strength had always been overwhelming individual combat ability.
Before awakening Secret Blood, they were no different from ordinary humans.
But if every Demon Hunter chose to hunt him together...
Lloyd's chances of survival would be terrifyingly slim.
His strength existed to kill demons—not Demon Hunters.
All the techniques that had served him so well against monsters became nearly worthless against fellow hunters.
And beyond that...
They possessed those unfathomable Authorities.
But...
Would they truly choose such a course?
It might very well succeed.
Yet Lloyd was hardly prey waiting to be slaughtered.
He knew Old Dunling better than any outsider ever could.
As long as he survived the initial attack, the labyrinthine city would become his hunting ground.
Massive Geiger Counters were scattered throughout Old Dunling, all connected to the Watcher System.
Any Demon Hunter burning Secret Blood would shine upon those instruments like blazing beacons in the darkest night.
All Lloyd had to do was awaken his own Secret Blood with everything he had.
After that...
It would simply be a matter of how quickly the Serpent of the Atrium could deploy the Purge Agency's forces.
...No.
Even the Purge Agency could not be trusted completely.
Not yet.
Human beings were far too unreliable.
Lloyd had long since stopped placing his hopes in anyone else.
Without warning, a magnificent black stallion thundered past him.
Its iron-shod hooves crashed into the rain-soaked street, sending water splashing over Lloyd's trousers.
The carriage came to a halt beside him.
The door swung open.
A familiar face looked out.
"Out clearing your head?"
Shrike asked with visible confusion, studying the apparently aimless Lloyd.
"...Shrike?"
Of all the ways they could have met again, Lloyd had never imagined this one.
In weather like this, it couldn't possibly be coincidence.
He had been looking for him.
"That's right."
Shrike grinned.
"It's really me. You're not hallucinating."
There was a trace of teasing in his voice as he gestured toward the carriage.
Lloyd hesitated briefly before climbing aboard.
There was little reason to worry.
He still trusted his own abilities.
"You look surprisingly well."
Shrike gave him a careful once-over.
He still remembered the vacant shell Lloyd had become when he left the meeting.
Shrike had assumed the madman would spend quite some time wallowing in despair.
Instead...
Here he was again, looking as though he'd recovered every ounce of his drive.
"So what are you doing away from the Lower District?"
Lloyd asked.
"Has something gotten bad enough that they had to send you personally?"
Among all the High Knights, Shrike clearly wielded the greatest authority—and perhaps deserved the most trust as well.
Had his resistance to mental corruption met the required standard, he might already have become one of the Knight Commanders.
Then again...
With Merlin's third-generation Divine Armor nearing completion, perhaps that limitation would soon cease to matter altogether.
"You could call it..."
Shrike scratched his cheek.
"...moonlighting?"
Even he wasn't entirely sure how to explain it.
The Purge Agency had always operated the same way.
Wherever manpower was lacking, someone got sent.
"You can thank this damned rainy season."
"The Lower District's practically underwater."
"The roads have turned into swamps, and half those bizarre illegal buildings have collapsed in the rain."
"The whole place's absolute chaos right now."
Just imagining the scene was enough to lift his spirits.
As administrator of the Lower District, Shrike hated the place more than anyone.
Every day brought new immigrants.
Every newcomer brought new trouble.
"At least nobody has time to cause problems anymore."
He laughed.
"They're all like drowned dogs now, scrambling for somewhere dry."
"Until the rain finally stops..."
"...they'll stay remarkably well-behaved."
"So Headquarters sent you to find me."
Lloyd looked directly at him.
"And judging by your expression..."
"...you've been searching for quite a while."
Shrike responded with a look that practically screamed At least you're aware of that.
"You still don't understand your own position, do you?"
He sighed.
"Right now, you've become the piece both the Purge Agency and the Church of the Gospel are fighting over."
He grimaced slightly.
"I know you probably don't like being called a chess piece."
"But none of us are any different."
"Father Anthony's one."
"Arthur's another."
"We're all pieces being moved by players sitting at a much higher table."
The chill of the rain made him instinctively tighten his coat.
He hated rainy weather.
"Besides..."
Shrike continued,
"You're considered valuable property now."
"We just haven't figured out why you're valuable."
He shrugged.
"But value's value."
His expression gradually grew more serious.
"When you never returned to 121A Cork Street, we assumed you'd either fled Old Dunling..."
"...or worse."
"...that the Demon Hunters had already cornered you."
"But judging from the way you look..."
"...none of the worst possibilities have happened."
Shrike seemed ready to continue his lecture.
Before he could, Lloyd suddenly interrupted him.
A trace of uncertainty flickered across his face.
"...Shrike."
He looked at him intently.
"Do you remember the first time we met?"