Lloyd sat down in the sofa where Lady Vanrood always preferred to sit. It was the seat of authority—the head of the room. Merely occupying it silently declared his place within this household.
"So," he asked, knitting his brows, "what happened?"
He hardly needed an explanation. It was bound to be another damned complication. One after another, they never seemed to end, each more irritating than the last.
"Have you forgotten the commission Northern Dero entrusted to you?" Oscar asked. "Shermans."
Lloyd glanced from Ceryu to Oscar. Of course he remembered. The enigmatic idealist organization, the request concerning the fugitives of the Gospel Church.
Rather than answering immediately, Lloyd turned his attention to Ceryu instead.
"So the Stuart family has officially begun working with Northern Dero?"
"Not yet," Oscar answered before she could. "She hasn't made a final decision. It's not something to take lightly. As for why I brought her here..." The usual smile faded from his face, replaced by rare seriousness. "We're good friends in private, but once we stand for different interests, personal feelings have to stay out of it. Just as nations have diplomats, Duke Stuart is the ideal bridge between Northern Dero and you."
Lloyd regarded him skeptically, his sharp gaze refusing to waver. Oscar instinctively looked away before adding,
"And besides... this concerns her as well. The letter was delivered to the Stuart estate."
"A letter?"
Without a word, Ceryu produced a jet-black envelope and handed it over.
The instant Lloyd saw it, his pupils contracted.
Like a predator sensing another beast within its territory, he immediately felt something profoundly wrong emanating from the envelope. It was as though unimaginable, loathsome knowledge slumbered inside. Merely looking at it caused an indescribable chill to crawl across his heart.
"It arrived at the Stuart estate a few days ago," Ceryu explained. "Now that I've inherited the dukedom, countless letters arrive every day. There were too many to sort through. It wasn't until last night, when Yavi was checking the correspondence, that he found this one and immediately contacted Oscar."
Lloyd accepted the envelope. It had already been opened, yet instead of reading its contents, he carefully examined it first.
At first glance, it was perfectly ordinary.
Except for the unsettling sensation clinging to it.
"So... you don't know exactly when it arrived?"
Ceryu shook her head.
"The envelope is completely blank. No sender, no address, nothing. If it weren't for its unnatural black color... and that strange feeling..." She, too, had sensed it. "Yavi thought something was off. Otherwise, it probably would've been thrown away with the junk mail."
Lowering his gaze, Lloyd withdrew the single sheet inside.
Just one page.
Across it, written in crimson ink, was a brief sentence.
Yet as his eyes settled upon the scarlet words, they seemed to twist of their own accord, like a slowly turning vortex drawing in his consciousness, devouring his thoughts little by little.
His expression darkened.
He slowly raised his head toward Oscar.
Oscar sighed before Lloyd could even speak.
"This has nothing to do with us. I received the letter from Duke Stuart as well."
"Who sent it?"
"No idea. But there's a signature."
Lloyd lowered his eyes once more.
In the corner of the page, written in elegant handwriting, were three simple words.
Your old friend.
Above them was an address.
And a name.
"...Shermans."
Lloyd whispered the familiar name, tasting an odd sense of nostalgia.
He remembered him.
Or rather, he remembered him from those memories whose truth he could never be certain of.
In those fractured recollections, Lloyd had once served as the old cardinal's personal guard. Among the Cardinals, Shermans had seemed the most devout of them all—a man untouched by greed, unmoved by power, devoted only to faith itself.
"This is Shermans' location?"
The purpose of the letter seemed obvious enough, yet Lloyd still found himself asking.
Something about it felt deeply wrong.
An anonymous letter.
A signature like that.
"Your old friend..."
He murmured the words before looking back toward Oscar and Ceryu.
"It certainly isn't addressed to me," Ceryu said as she turned the black envelope over in her hands, searching for anything they might have overlooked. "I don't have any old friends."
"But the letter was sent directly to your estate..."
Lloyd frowned.
That was precisely the problem.
Ceryu had spent her childhood in Gaul-Naroth. After arriving in Old Dunling, she'd remained under the complete protection of House Stuart. Other than Lloyd, every friend she'd ever made had been carefully vetted by the family.
"Oscar," Lloyd suddenly asked, "where do you live?"
Oscar spread his hands dramatically.
"I'm an unsuccessful novelist. Like you, I humbly reside in the outer districts."
He looked every bit the starving genius whose talent had gone tragically unnoticed.
Lloyd wasn't buying a single word.
A member of Northern Dero living in poverty?
Impossible.
If anything, the only reason this "unsuccessful novelist" hadn't starved to death was precisely because he belonged to Northern Dero.
Oscar chuckled.
"All right, enough joking. I may have many old friends beyond Ingelvig, but within Ingelvig itself? None. Northern Dero concerns itself with the world outside these borders. As you know, our influence inside the kingdom is pitiful."
"You deliberately weakened your own presence in Ingelvig."
"We had little choice." Oscar shrugged. "A multinational trade consortium spanning several countries makes the old nobles nervous. The safest strategy is simply to stay out of sight."
Silence settled over the room.
Lloyd stared at the crimson writing.
So...
Those words were meant for him after all.
"So what do you intend to do?" he finally asked. "Capture Shermans?"
"Naturally. The Gospel Church would pay handsomely for him. But that's only part of it. Our real objective is opening a sea route to the Holy Papal State of the Gospel." Oscar leaned back slightly. "Northern Dero has almost no influence within Ingelvig. Otherwise, we wouldn't have needed your help."
"But it isn't that simple, is it?"
Lloyd fixed him with an unwavering stare.
There was something faintly dangerous in those gray-blue eyes.
They had known one another for years, yet even now Lloyd had never managed to see the whole of Oscar.
Oscar's expression gradually became solemn.
"No. We don't know who obtained this information, how they acquired it... or why they chose to reveal it."
He paused.
"More importantly, they had no reason to inform us. The delegation from Florence is already in Old Dunling. Whoever sent this could have bypassed us entirely."
"It looks like a conspiracy."
"Not exactly."
Oscar slowly shook his head.
"It's an open scheme."
"They've laid every piece on the table in front of us. We know something is wrong... and yet we'll still be compelled to act."
After a brief hesitation, Oscar spoke quietly.
"Something about this feels wrong. Lloyd... if you don't want to take this commission, you don't have to."
Lloyd gave a faint smile.
"Teacher worrying about his student?"
"It's just a bad feeling." Oscar's voice remained unusually grave. "The Florentine delegation. The Church's exiles. And now an unknown figure has exposed everything. It's obvious someone wants to lure us into the game."
He continued,
"I'm a novelist, yes. But I'm also a member of Northern Dero. During my 'research trips,' I've sailed with merchant fleets across countless seas. I've seen places... and people... most never will."
He looked toward the black envelope.
"This gives me the same feeling as standing outside a beast's den."
"You can't see it."
"But you can smell the blood on the wind."
Lloyd remained expressionless.
Several long seconds passed before the tension gradually melted from his face.
He let out a weary sigh, accompanied by a bitter smile.
"But the moment he placed all of this before us..."
"...he had already won."
He lifted the letter once more, bringing the rough paper beneath his nose and inhaling softly.
Without warning—
Lloyd's shotgun snapped upward.
The barrel slammed against Oscar's forehead with terrifying speed, so fast that no one else had time to react.
"I'm a detective," Lloyd said calmly. "Most people don't think I'm a very good one. Personally..." His finger rested lightly near the trigger. "...I consider myself first-rate."
"Oscar."
"Exactly how much do you know?"
"First there was that ridiculous teacher-and-student relationship."
"Then our 'chance meeting' aboard the train."
"That wasn't chance at all, was it?"
"And now this mysterious Northern Dero."
"In your understanding, I'm nothing more than a somewhat violent detective."
"So why are you handing me work that someone like that should never be capable of handling?"
His gray-blue eyes were filled with naked vigilance.
Once, Lloyd had never cared.
Everyone had secrets.
He wasn't Herkri. He had no obsession with uncovering every hidden truth.
But the pressure from the New Order... coupled with the mysteries surrounding his own existence... had forced him to distrust everyone.
"Shermans..."
"That wasn't a coincidence either, was it?"
Oscar blinked.
He clearly hadn't expected Lloyd's attitude to change so abruptly.
No—
Perhaps it hadn't changed at all.
Lloyd had suspected him for a long time.
He had merely concealed it perfectly until this very moment.
Finally, Oscar sighed.
"Very well."
"I'll admit... I know quite a bit."
"And this commission?"
"That part is true. We need Shermans to negotiate with the Gospel Church."
"And?"
Silence.
Lloyd showed no mercy.
The shotgun pressed harder against Oscar's forehead, leaving behind a shallow red mark.
"I will pull the trigger."
"No."
Oscar met his eyes.
"You won't."
"Because of our teacher-and-student bond?"
Lloyd laughed.
"Oscar."
"You should know better."
"I was never your student."
"I simply wandered into your lectures whenever I felt like it."
"At best, I stole a few lessons."
"And you..."
"...were never much of a teacher."
Oscar's carefully prepared emotional appeal collapsed before he even had the chance to use it.
"Of course not." Oscar smiled helplessly. "A teacher's affection could never restrain you."
He glanced toward the hallway.
"But waking everyone else..."
"...would be rather troublesome."
Silence returned.
Ceryu, already accustomed to scenes like this, sat quietly to one side as though nothing unusual were happening.
A long while later, Lloyd slowly lowered the shotgun.
"You're right."
"If blood gets all over the floor..."
"Lady Vanrood will kill me."
An absurd reason.
Yet it was enough.
Lloyd had never brought trouble home.
Nor would he ever allow iron and blood to stain this house.
To everyone else, it was merely an ordinary home.
Filled with ordinary people.
None of this belonged here.
"Nation Builders."
Oscar suddenly spoke.
Lloyd frowned.
"What?"
"You may call us the Nation Builders."
For the first time, Oscar spoke with complete honesty.
"We know many things."
"The Purification Bureau."
"The Demon Hunting Order."
"And far more besides."
He smiled faintly.
"Compared to the world beyond, Old Dunling is nothing more than a single city."
"The commission regarding Shermans is genuine. We need him to establish the sea route."
"But at the same time, the Church's exiles have already infiltrated Old Dunling."
"And within Ingelvig..."
"Our influence is pitiful."
"Private armies are out of the question."
"So after weighing every option..."
"...we chose you."
"Not just because of that," Lloyd said quietly.
"I believe what I've told you is already enough."
Lloyd offered no reply.
He leaned back in his chair, brows tightly knitted, staring intently at the letter as though trying to glimpse something hidden beneath its surface.
At that moment, soft footsteps echoed from upstairs.
Lady Vanrood had awakened.
Still half asleep, she wandered into the room—only to freeze the instant she saw Lloyd radiating murderous intent, a strange man seated opposite him, and the lingering tension hanging in the air.
Her drowsiness vanished immediately.
She seemed unable to decide whether to fetch a gun... or scold Lloyd first for dragging more trouble into her home.
Before she could choose, Ceryu hurried forward and gently stopped her.
"I'll accept the commission," Lloyd finally said.
"But I have one additional condition."
Oscar blinked.
"I thought you'd refuse."
"Perhaps torture me for information."
Lloyd's face suddenly blossomed into the brightest smile imaginable.
"How could I?"
"We're teacher and student, after all."
He enthusiastically grabbed Oscar's hand with both of his, rubbing the rough palm as though polishing an irreplaceable gemstone.
Oscar's face immediately turned green.
Only moments ago he had stood his ground without fear.
Now...
This smiling Lloyd was infinitely more terrifying.
"Your influence in Old Dunling may be limited," Lloyd said softly, the warmth disappearing from his smile almost instantly, "but you do have some influence."
"You..."
Oscar seemed to realize exactly where this conversation was headed.
"This is Old Dunling. Compared with the Purification Bureau, we're insignificant."
"I wasn't expecting you to fight them."
Lloyd leaned close enough to whisper directly into Oscar's ear.
No one else heard what he said.
Oscar's expression shifted ever so slightly.
Lloyd, meanwhile, leaned back into his chair with complete satisfaction, as though every smile, every threat, every movement until now had merely been part of a carefully orchestrated performance.
After a long silence, Oscar laughed again.
"I never expected you to accept... something this new so quickly."
Lloyd simply repeated Oscar's own words.
"The world is vast."
"Compared to it, Old Dunling is only a city."
"I should have realized that long ago."
"If the Holy Papal State of the Gospel and Ingelvig alone contain so many bizarre things..."
"...then Gaul-Naroth, Leipar, the Viking kingdoms..."
"...and even Jiuxia in the distant East beyond the sea..."
"...how could they possibly be ordinary?"
He looked directly at Oscar.
"It is precisely because the world is so vast that organizations like yours must exist."
"If Old Dunling were the only place where the strange and impossible gathered..."
"That would be the true anomaly."
He picked up the letter once more, staring at the crimson writing.
"And besides..."
"This isn't only about Northern Dero anymore."
He paused.
"I finally know what that familiar feeling was."
Again and again he had examined the page.
Only now had he recognized it.
"This isn't red ink."
He gently placed the letter back upon the table.
"It's blood."
His eyes narrowed.
"Secret Blood."
The scent was unmistakable.
Like a devil he had once slain...
Clawing its way back from the realm of the dead—
Only to send him... an invitation.