The New Church, the Purification Bureau, Lawrence's remnants...
One face after another flashed through Lloyd's mind. Some wanted him dead. Some wanted to use him. Some were still hesitating. And some were already dead.
For the first time in a long while, Lloyd felt tired.
Looking back now, he realized that nearly everything he had been through was shrouded in unanswered questions. And it was not merely the New Church that troubled him. There had been mysteries long before them.
Watson and 047.
Those two figures, lingering in his mind like restless ghosts, had both vanished. And with their disappearance came something far more unsettling—the doubt Lloyd had begun to feel toward himself.
Who was he, really? What exactly was the nature of the False Grail? What was the New Church truly after? And, most importantly, what was the [Truth] of the world that Sherman had written about in his notes?
Lloyd's current situation was far from favorable. He had been dragged completely into the affairs of the New Church. The Purification Bureau did not fully trust them yet, but no one could say what that mysterious Queen Victoria might do next.
And then there was Moriarty.
That man lurking in the shadows was even more terrifying.
He had taken advantage of Lloyd's humanity and used it to bind Lloyd's own hands. Lloyd had no idea what Moriarty intended to do next. All he could do was remain vigilant and prepare for whatever came.
Lloyd was not the only player at this gambling table. Everyone was laying their pieces, one move after another, pushing all their chips forward for the sake of their own interests.
It was a damned game.
No one would be allowed to walk away with dignity.
Lloyd was still considering his options when the door opened.
Abigail had returned.
"You took rather a long time with your experiment," Lloyd said.
"There was a little accident. Nothing worth worrying about." She answered without hiding anything.
Abigail knew perfectly well that she could never conceal it from the Witch Hunter before her. The faint corruption emanating from the white mouse was as obvious to Lloyd as the smell of blood in the air.
"The secret blood inside you is fascinating. Once extracted, it possesses no corrosive properties of its own. It behaves just like ordinary blood. But when injected into another living organism, it awakens..." Abigail paused. "You Witch Hunters possess the ability to put it to sleep and awaken it again, don't you?"
"Perhaps. It feels more like instinct than anything else."
Lloyd answered calmly.
For the first time, he felt that this strange woman might actually be useful. What he needed was the Purification Bureau's sophisticated research system. If he could approach all the hidden mysteries from a rational perspective, perhaps he could uncover what had been concealed from him.
It would be a mutually beneficial arrangement.
And, naturally, a relationship built on mutual exploitation.
"How fascinating." Abigail's voice carried a strange amusement. "If you strip away all that theological nonsense, you Witch Hunters are capable of things far beyond what anyone could imagine. Flames that burn at your command. Armor as dense as iron. Even that bizarre ability to foresee the future... Do you know what would happen if academic researchers discovered all this? Their entire worldview would probably collapse. And then, just like those two old frauds who founded this place, they would turn to theology, desperately trying to find answers within faith."
"That sounds rather pathetic," Lloyd said. "Unable to find answers through reason, they eventually threw themselves into the very theology they despised. I imagine those two founders became quite mad in their later years."
"More or less. In the end, both of them died here because of mental illness."
Abigail gestured toward the ceiling—or rather, toward the ground above them. The research division was located underground, after all.
"You can even find their gravestones in the cemetery of Black Mountain Hospital. No one has tended to them for a very long time, though. They're probably filthy by now."
"But you're a researcher yourself, aren't you?" Lloyd asked. "When you came into contact with all this, why didn't you end up like those predecessors of yours? Why didn't you descend into the same kind of hysterical madness?"
"I'm different from them."
Abigail replaced one of the filter canisters as she spoke.
"The limitations of their era brought their research to a dead end. Knowledge tempted them to keep moving forward, but when they could no longer find answers, they began abandoning every restraint. They studied theology. They conducted forbidden experiments on human bodies. And then..."
Her gaze settled upon Lloyd.
It was almost as though she were deliberately hinting at something.
"They studied monsters. They seized the power known as secret blood."
Abigail suddenly laughed.
To Lloyd, however, all he heard was the low mechanical roar of her respirator.
"When there is no road, you make one. No matter what it costs."
Lloyd froze for a moment.
The words were brief, yet something nauseatingly bloody seemed to lurk beneath them.
"That sounds rather like the alchemists," Lloyd said. "Those scholars who lose themselves to madness in pursuit of [Truth]."
"More or less. In the end, everyone is alike. We're all people seduced by knowledge. When we want to uncover the secrets hidden from us, we become willing to do whatever it takes."
As she spoke, Abigail replaced another filter.
"So what are you going to do next? You've taken enough blood, haven't you?"
Abigail had just drawn an entire bag of blood from him. Lloyd suspected that she had never actually decided how much she intended to take. Perhaps she simply figured that he was a Witch Hunter and therefore could afford to lose a little more.
After all, an experimental specimen this precious was hardly something one encountered every day.
"I only have questions."
"Such as?"
"For example... this False Grail everyone has been searching for. Would you care to tell me what exactly it is?"
Abigail brought over a chair and sat down opposite Lloyd.
At the same time, the other medical personnel began moving. They pushed over carts loaded with machines designed to measure the degree of corruption.
In the blink of an eye, Lloyd found himself surrounded.
Abigail continued.
"This may hurt a little. At the moment, those restraints are mostly decorative. If it becomes too painful, I hope you can control yourself and refrain from hurting anyone else."
"What are you going to do?"
Lloyd remained calm.
But, truth be told, after everything he had endured during the tests conducted on the Perpetual Motion Pump, he had very little trust in another research facility like Black Mountain Hospital.
"We'll measure the extent of your corruption. And while we're doing that, I'd like you to talk to me about the False Grail. It should help you remain conscious during the examination."
"Is that so..."
Lloyd eyed the medical personnel suspiciously as they surrounded him.
They lifted his hair and took a pair of scissors to the back of his neck. With a faint sting of pain, they cut away the hair and inserted electrodes beneath his skin.
The testing machine stood beside Abigail.
Her hand rested upon the switch.
She alone would decide when the examination began—and how intense it would become.
"Here we go."
She pressed the switch.
A faint prickling sensation traveled up from the back of Lloyd's neck.
"What exactly is the False Grail?"
"I don't know either."
"You don't know?" Abigail pressed. "How is that possible?"
Lloyd hesitated.
But when he considered that he might never uncover the truth on his own, he realized that he needed to make use of Black Mountain Hospital and its research capabilities.
"I forgot."
Just as they had said, his memories were confused. There were blank fragments in his recollection of the Night of Advent.
"The part concerning the False Grail?"
"Yes."
Lloyd was a liar.
A skilled one.
When it came to Abigail, he was deliberately withholding part of the truth—particularly everything concerning the False Grail.
He knew something about it.
But those memories were fragmented.
Lloyd knew that Watson had been transformed from 016. What he could not remember was why 016 had undergone that transformation.
By the time Lloyd's consciousness had become clear again, Watson had already existed within his mind, possessing an awareness of his own.
He had become the being known as the False Grail.
It was an awful feeling.
A former friend had become an unknowable monster—and, worse still, that monster had been hiding in the deepest recesses of his own consciousness.
"That's not good..."
Although Lloyd could not see Abigail's face, he imagined that she was probably wearing an expression of frustration.
"What's wrong?"
"Don't you think it's a little too convenient?"
Abigail picked up a model of the human brain from a nearby shelf and began turning it over in her hands.
"You've lived for so long. Your brain should contain an enormous amount of memories. And yet, somehow, the one portion you've forgotten happens to be the most important part."
"This is Black Mountain Hospital, after all. Our primary field is the study of the mind. What you call 'memory loss' is, technically speaking, amnesia. There are many possible causes—brain trauma, strange drugs, and countless other things. This world is full of strange possibilities. Almost anything could cause such a condition."
She paused.
"But those explanations don't apply to you, Mr. Lloyd Holmes."
"What do you mean?"
Lloyd became serious.
The Purification Bureau wanted to know what the False Grail was.
So did Lloyd.
For the moment, their interests had aligned.
"Have you really not realized it?"
Abigail sounded genuinely surprised.
"You're a Witch Hunter!"
Her voice sharpened.
"Even if you're struck by a sword, shot through with bullets, or drink poison, as long as your secret blood continues to boil, all of those injuries can eventually heal—as long as you have enough time and remain mentally lucid."
She leaned closer.
"In other words, even if your brain were injured, unless someone literally removed most of it, you should still be capable of recovering, shouldn't you?"
"I don't know. Normally, a Witch Hunter who reached that point would already be on the verge of becoming a monster. Power and its price are inseparable."
Lloyd explained it calmly.
"So, theoretically, you should be able to recover."
Abigail's voice became thoughtful.
"If someone wanted to make you 'forget,' why would they go through all that trouble? They'd have to damage your brain carefully enough to erase the right memories while avoiding killing you. One mistake, and you'd be dead."
She shrugged.
"It makes no sense."
"And poison can probably be ruled out too. On that damned Night of Advent, I can't imagine why you would willingly swallow a massive dose of poison. And whatever poison it was, it inflicted an injury so severe that even your secret blood couldn't completely heal it."
Suddenly, Abigail walked over.
She placed one hand firmly upon Lloyd's head, then slipped her fingers beneath his eyelids and forced them apart.
His gray-blue eyes were exposed.
"Unless you were the one who didn't want to remember, Mr. Lloyd Holmes."
For a moment, Lloyd forgot the pain in his eyes.
His bloodshot gaze fixed upon Abigail.
"What did you say?"
"You possess secret blood. Interference from the outside should be extraordinarily difficult."
Abigail released him, then opened his other eye and carefully examined it.
"I suspect that those memories were hidden by your own psychological defense mechanisms."
"You probably aren't familiar with the terminology. Put simply, psychological defense mechanisms are the self suppressing the id. A kind of unconscious... mental defense mechanism."
Abigail tilted her head.
"So, Lloyd, your amnesia may very well have been caused by exactly that. After all, the Night of Advent was simply too unbearable, wasn't it?"
She suddenly leaned toward him and removed his respirator.
Her clear voice whispered beside his ear, carrying with it an eerie, almost supernatural quality.
"You Witch Hunters are willing to allow secret blood to turn you into beasts in order to preserve the rational world. All you have are cold, impersonal numbers. You grip your nail swords and spend entire nights slaughtering those twisted monsters."
"No glory. No wealth. No one will ever remember you."
"You are nothing but weapons, giving up everything for a noble ideal."
Abigail's voice softened.
"But on that night, you turned around and discovered that the very people you had sworn to protect with your life had already become something more wretched than beasts."
"How tragic."
She smiled.
"Don't you think?"
Lloyd stared at her.
He had imagined that beneath that heavy protective suit would be some ancient old woman.
Instead, Abigail appeared to be roughly his age.
There was even something approachable about her, something distinctly doctor-like.
But in Lloyd's eyes, at that moment, she was no different from a monster.
"You lost everything that night."
"Your friends. Your faith. Your past."
"Everything you had devoted yourself to became so utterly ridiculous in the face of human desire."
"Yes..."
"It was unbearable, wasn't it?"
Her voice echoed clearly beside Lloyd's ears.
The cruel past was being torn open, piece by piece.
Faces appeared before his eyes—bloodied, broken faces, one after another.
Lloyd lowered his voice.
"Shut up..."
His voice was calm.
But a distinct murderous edge slowly began to flow through him.
His bloodshot eyes remained fixed upon Abigail.
The woman showed no fear whatsoever.
Instead, she smiled at him.
Then she put the respirator back on.
Her voice once again became a deep mechanical rumble.
"Looks like I succeeded in provoking you."
"The memories of the Night of Advent truly are a tremendous burden for you, aren't they?"
"Such a rational man, and yet you nearly surrendered your will to your instincts."
The steel restraints on the chair had already begun to crack.
If Abigail had pushed him any further, Lloyd might have broken free right then and there.
"There aren't many things capable of moving you this deeply."
Abigail sounded almost fascinated.
"That alone tells me how terrifying the memories of the Night of Advent must be."
"You think I deliberately forgot because those memories were too painful?"
Lloyd slowly calmed himself.
His voice remained as cold as ever.
Abigail nodded.
"That's right."
"Although you're a Witch Hunter carrying secret blood, there is still a human part of you. And with it comes all the ugliness inherent to humanity."
"Do you remember Joey?"
"Why are you bringing him up?"
According to the information Lloyd knew, Joey had been corrupted because of the False Grail within him.
At first, Lloyd had refused to believe it.
But Arthur had no reason to deceive him in such a manner.
And then Lloyd thought of Moriarty.
The answer came naturally.
Moriarty had done it.
As long as Lloyd refused to step into the New Church's scheme, more and more people would be "corrupted" because of him.
"Before he was 'corrupted' by you, Joey had already gone through a period of psychological instability."
Abigail spoke slowly.
"During that time, he frequently injected himself with hallucinogens and lost himself in visions."
"Why do you think someone like him—a High Knight of the Purification Bureau—would do something like that?"
Lloyd remained silent.
"Because Joey, just like you, had a memory he could never bear to face."
Abigail did not wait for an answer.
"Only he never forgot it."
"And because he never forgot, that damned memory continued to torment him until he began using hallucinogens to escape from it."
"What memory?"
"That's patient confidentiality. I can't tell you much."
Abigail's tone suddenly became almost playful.
"But if you cooperate with me, I might be willing to gossip about it a little."
She looked utterly serious.
Yet everything about her words and manner felt like some elaborate game.
"You have humanity's ugliness inside you too."
"And humans are so terribly fragile."
"Fragile enough that when suffering becomes unbearable, instinct can overpower conscious will, driving a person to do whatever is necessary to survive."
"For Joey, the hallucinations brought by the drugs were an escape."
"They were survival."
"He knew exactly what those substances were. He knew what they would do to him."
"And yet, for the sake of a moment of peace, he injected them without hesitation."
"You're no different, Mr. Lloyd Holmes."
"The Night of Advent was simply too cruel for you."
"So cruel that even with a will like iron, in the end, you had no choice but to heal yourself through forgetting."
Abigail's voice suddenly fell silent.
There was a trace of amusement in it.
"This might hurt a little."
Then, without warning, she pulled down the valve.
The machine surged to full power.
Electricity burst from the apparatus and discharged through the electrodes embedded beneath Lloyd's skin.
Agony tore through him.
Yet Lloyd remained firmly seated in the chair.
His usually icy face betrayed a faint trace of pain, while a riot of colors erupted across his vision.
But the hallucinations vanished almost as quickly as they had appeared.
Darkness swallowed everything.
And then, within that darkness, something emerged.
Something that seemed strangely familiar.
Doors.
One after another.
Great doors sealed away in the deepest reaches of his memory.