Under the pitch-black night sky, a few drops of rain began to fall.
Then came the downpour.
Torrents of rain crashed from the heavens, dragging Old Dunling once more into a world of mist and shadows. Through that veiled darkness, the Iron Serpent sped forward, passing countless buildings and layers of guards before finally slowing to a halt.
"So why exactly has Arthur summoned us?"
Red Kite was the first to step down from the Iron Serpent, opening an umbrella as Robin and Shrike followed behind him.
"Defence," Shrike answered curtly.
Though they were all High Knights, Shrike wielded far more authority than Red Kite and the others.
Robin turned his head toward the storm-laden sky. Beneath flashes of searing white lightning, war airships left one black silhouette after another against the heavens, like colossal whales gliding through the night.
Such violent weather was a serious threat to war airships. A single mistake could send one plummeting from the sky. Normally, once the rainy season arrived, all war airships were supposed to remain docked in the air harbours for maintenance. Yet now they were appearing in great numbers, flying at low altitude to reduce the risk.
"Defence? Defence against what?" Red Kite asked.
This was Old Dunling, and they were now inside Black Mountain Hospital. Red Kite disliked the place well enough, but as a research facility belonging to the Cleansing Bureau, it was considered exceptionally secure. He could not understand what they were supposed to be defending against.
"If something really happens, you'll know what we're defending against. For now, what you need to do is assign duties and take up your posts."
Shrike motioned for them to follow as he spoke.
He had no intention of explaining further. Yet the damp night wind carried with it a murderous chill, as though something was approaching, something that had come to tear through the curtain of rain.
Red Kite turned toward the sky.
With every flash of thunder, one grotesque Divine Armour after another hung suspended in midair, descending from the war airships before disappearing into the darkness below.
For a moment, Red Kite found it difficult to breathe.
How many Divine Armours were there?
It almost seemed as though every piece of Divine Armour belonging to the Cleansing Bureau had been mobilised and brought here. He could not help wondering what, exactly, they were about to face.
Shrike, however, continued forward without even looking back. He possessed far more intelligence than Red Kite did, and he understood just how rapidly Third-Generation Divine Armour could be produced with the support of modern industrial technology.
Within the Mechanical Academy's furnaces, which never slept, they had forged an army of steel.
"Is everyone in position?"
Gawain emerged from the darkness. At his side walked Percival, wearing her usual faint smile. The woman seemed almost incapable of understanding concepts such as solemnity or fear.
"Everyone is in position."
Shrike reported to him.
In that brief span of time, Black Mountain Hospital had already been transformed into an impregnable fortress. Steam engines hummed at low power within the shadows, while scorching steam seeped through the joints of the Divine Armours. They stood motionless, as still as statues.
Yet unlike statues, these things of steel could awaken at any moment and raise their greatswords against the enemy.
"What are we preparing for? Lloyd Holmes?"
Shrike suddenly asked.
It was not that he had refused to answer Red Kite earlier. In truth, Shrike himself did not know. Only a few hours ago, he had been dealing with a mechanical brawl in the Lower District. Then, almost without warning, he had been transferred here, along with the elite forces stationed throughout Old Dunling.
"The New Order," Gawain said.
Shrike's expression shifted with surprise.
He had thought that the New Order and the Cleansing Bureau were cooperating. Yet the situation before him looked increasingly like the prelude to war.
"The New Order has lost the Book of Revelation. Under such circumstances, they no longer possess the ability to recreate the Secret Blood. That means their Witch Hunters are finite in number. If I were the new Pope, then no matter the cost, I would find a way to regain the ability to reproduce the Secret Blood—or obtain another power capable of replacing it."
Gawain paused.
"The False Holy Grail."
A chill ran through Shrike.
"Exactly. The New Order has been behaving strangely. They helped us contain Lloyd Holmes, yet when it comes to research, they have demanded almost nothing in return. Do you really think they would simply abandon the False Holy Grail? Impossible. And the Cleansing Bureau will never allow the False Holy Grail to return to the Gospel Church.
"The best outcome is negotiation.
"The worst is that the New Order attempts to reclaim the False Holy Grail by force."
"But this is Old Dunling."
Shrike found it difficult to believe that the New Order would truly go mad enough to start a war with the Cleansing Bureau in the heart of Old Dunling.
"But our opponents are the New Order. They are all Witch Hunters—Witch Hunters much like Lloyd."
Gawain's voice was cold.
"Our interests were once aligned. We both wanted to contain Lloyd, that unstable existence. But now that Lloyd has been contained, there is no possibility that we will reach an agreement over who gets what from him. If negotiation fails, only force remains.
"I only hope Arthur's prediction is wrong. Starting a war within Old Dunling would create nothing but a bloody tragedy."
Gawain sighed.
It was already deep into the night. Without a sound, the knights of the Cleansing Bureau had taken control of the entire Black Mountain Hospital. From somewhere in the darkness came the faint grinding of steel. Large Geiger counters were transported here by Iron Serpents and installed throughout the facility, strengthening their surveillance.
"Black Mountain Hospital has many defensive systems, but most of them were designed to keep ordinary people out..."
Gawain glanced at Shrike.
"You've noticed it too, haven't you? Your impression of this place is strange. You know Black Mountain Hospital exists, yet you can't remember exactly where it is."
Shrike nodded.
Every time he came here, he was transported by an Iron Serpent. It was as though an unknowable fog surrounded the hospital. Only by following the railway beneath his feet could one avoid getting lost.
"Wait. This strange effect is also part of the defence?"
Only now did Shrike realise it.
"Exactly. This technology was brought to us from Jiuxia alongside the Divine Armour technology. Unfortunately, our research into it has progressed painfully slowly. Even now, all we can do is use it to restrict ordinary people."
Gawain and Shrike continued walking as they spoke.
Percival, meanwhile, still wore that vacant, almost foolish smile, as though none of this had anything to do with her.
"This phenomenon is known as an antimeme. It was brought here by the people of Jiuxia. They believe the corruption caused by demons is a form of memetic contamination, something capable of transmitting itself through any medium. An antimeme is a force that reverses that contamination."
Gawain's expression grew distant.
"Unfortunately, Jiuxia is far too distant from Ingveld. Apparently, every voyage between here and there takes several years. Effective communication between us is therefore extremely difficult."
"Is Black Mountain Hospital itself an antimeme?" Shrike asked.
"More precisely, it is an experiment involving antimemes. The Scavengers are responsible for this technology. The information concerning Black Mountain Hospital is itself a particular antimeme. It erases humanity's awareness of the hospital."
Gawain looked at him.
"Just like you. You probably know that such a place exists, but anything beyond that is simply... missing."
"How did you manage to—"
Shrike suddenly stopped.
"Rain."
He had originally intended to ask how the Scavengers had managed to impose such an antimemetic effect upon every person. But after recalling the way those people dealt with demons, he seemed to have arrived at the answer himself.
"Through alchemical refinement. The antimemetic agent is injected into the Pillars of the Furnace, then carried upward with the steam until it reaches the clouds. After that, it falls back down with the rain, baptising everyone beneath it."
Even Gawain felt a profound sense of awe whenever he thought about it.
After all these years of effort, Old Dunling had become a fortress in the truest sense of the word—a city that stood between madness and reason, keeping the former beyond the walls of the latter.
"I shouldn't have the authority to know any of this. Especially the part about antimemes."
Shrike became wary.
"It doesn't matter. Our understanding of antimemes is nowhere near as advanced as our understanding of the Divine Armour from the Old Era. So far, we still cannot weaponise it."
Gawain paused.
"But there is a reason I'm telling you this..."
He suddenly stopped and turned toward Shrike.
"The situation is extremely dangerous. We both know what the other side wants. Both the Cleansing Bureau and the New Order intend to keep the False Holy Grail firmly in our own hands. Conflict over it is inevitable. We simply don't know how that conflict will erupt."
"The brief cooperation between the Cleansing Bureau and the New Order is over. What comes next may be the beginning of a full-scale war."
Gawain's voice remained calm.
"Any one of us could die. After all, we are still only human. Compared to Witch Hunters, our bodies are far too fragile."
"What are you planning to do?"
Shrike felt a weight settle over him.
"Witch Hunters possess extraordinary individual combat capabilities. Based on our analysis, there is a strong possibility that the New Order will exploit that advantage to launch decapitation strikes."
Gawain's gaze hardened.
"If Arthur dies, I will assume command.
"If I die, command will pass to you, Shrike."
His eyes were cold, devoid of emotion.
For a fleeting moment, Shrike remembered Joy's assessment of Gawain.
Gawain was a soldier in the purest sense of the word, a man who followed the commands of steel. To accomplish all of this, he had turned himself into a machine. Once an order was given, he showed no mercy to anyone.
Just as he had once killed those children in front of Joy.
Even now, when standing before Shrike, Gawain remained just as cold and merciless.
"Go make your preparations, Shrike. Merlin has arrived at Black Mountain Hospital. The formal research into the False Holy Grail will begin tomorrow."
Gawain turned away.
"If I were the New Order, that would be the perfect moment to launch an attack."
He bid Shrike farewell and continued forward with Percival.
There was no way the New Order could fail to notice tonight's mobilisation. Of course, they had never intended to conceal the movements of the Divine Armour from the Old Era.
It was more akin to a threat.
The Third-Generation Divine Armour might exist in sufficient numbers, but in actual combat, it was still inferior to the First Generation. And the two people capable of piloting First-Generation Divine Armour—Gawain and Percival—were currently the strongest combatants stationed here.
"Oh, my. I thought you were going to give command to me."
Percival spoke.
"You? If you could behave seriously for even five minutes, perhaps I would. But you're completely unreliable, Percival."
Gawain had never considered handing command to his partner. After spending so long together, he knew exactly what sort of person she was.
Percival merely smiled.
The air was thick with the scent of rust, as though a blade corroded by blood had been left leaning against a wall somewhere nearby.
The woman paid it no attention.
It was almost as if fear simply did not exist within her.
A war airship swept low over Black Mountain Hospital.
One cable after another descended from the darkness above, carrying black objects that slammed onto the ground below, sending faint tremors through the earth.
Arthur stood by the window, watching the Divine Armours of the Old Era that had already arrived.
Dense steam poured from the darkness with every turn of their engines. Rising vapour merged with the curtain of rain, gradually swallowing the entirety of Black Mountain Hospital.
"This feels terrible. It's as if war is drawing near."
Merlin sat nearby, flipping through a stack of documents.
He did not look outside. But from the faint tremors constantly travelling through the floor, he knew perfectly well what had arrived.
"Indeed. The schemes and manoeuvring of adults are truly unbearable."
Arthur sighed.
"We both know the New Order is at the embassy, plotting something. But we can't simply blow the place up. On the surface, we're still cooperating with them. The moment a conflict breaks out, it becomes a matter between nations."
"So this is what politics is?"
Merlin continued reading the contents of the Ranger Project as he spoke with Arthur.
"We have no choice. We represent an organisation, a nation—not individuals. If I were acting on my own, I'd already be at their doorstep with a sword in hand."
Arthur paused.
"Of course, I'd probably lose to those Witch Hunters."
It was not a particularly funny joke.
"Until the New Order launches an outright attack, we have no legitimate reason to strike first. Besides, they are all Witch Hunters. We don't even know who would emerge victorious."
"What a troublesome situation..."
Merlin turned another page.
"Actually, I think this is exactly what the New Order has wanted all along. Everything we're seeing may simply be another piece of their conspiracy."
"I only hope all our assumptions are wrong. I hope the New Order genuinely wants to cooperate with us, rather than yearning to return to the glory they once possessed."
Arthur looked toward Merlin.
"How are you preparing for the research into the False Holy Grail?"
"I have a general theory."
Merlin finally raised his head.
"From the information Dean Abigail gave me, Lloyd may have forgotten everything concerning the False Holy Grail as a result of a psychological defence mechanism. And the form in which the False Holy Grail exists may not be material at all."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"It may be some kind of immaterial... spiritual entity."
Merlin looked at Arthur.
As an alchemist, those fragments of information had given birth to countless strange possibilities within his mind.
"Spirit. Will. Soul. In truth, all of these things can be classified as one."
"The soul."
Arthur studied him.
"Sounds like this is beyond your understanding."
Merlin nodded.
"The most conventional manifestation of alchemy lies in metal. The soul of metal is its 'colour' and 'lustre'. Thus, one kills base metal, then resurrects it as something precious and sacred. From 'death' to 'resurrection', one perfects the soul in every aspect, achieving sublimation and approaching the gates of truth."
He spoke slowly.
"Understand it. Then reconstruct it."
"The same principle can be applied to the human soul. But as you know, alchemy has long since declined. The so-called alchemical soul exists only in fragments of surviving manuscripts. No one has truly witnessed such a thing in nearly a century."
Merlin took a sip of water.
His hollow eyes stared at his own pallid skin.
"I once tried to perform 'sublimation' on myself."
He smiled faintly.
"And you can see the result. I became this thing—neither human nor monster."
As he spoke, he let out a quiet sigh.
Merlin pursued truth with an obsession bordering on madness. For the sake of that truth, he had never hesitated to throw even himself into the furnace.
"If the False Holy Grail really is some kind of spiritual entity, then I suspect Lloyd himself may be the False Holy Grail."
"What did you say?"
Arthur's expression changed.
"Do you remember Lloyd's account? The experiments involving the False Holy Grail were conducted within the Well of Sublimation beneath the Silent Temple. According to the information he gave us, the refinement of the Secret Blood was also accomplished through that same Well of Sublimation."
Merlin's voice grew quieter.
"On the Night of Advent, the Old Order may have performed a form of human sublimation. They attempted to escape the constraints of matter, solidify the spirit, and construct a spiritual entity capable of existing beyond its physical vessel."
"But an immaterial spirit could no longer be controlled."
Merlin's gaze deepened.
"So they created another vessel capable of controlling that spirit."
"Or perhaps..."
"A cage."
"You think that was how the False Holy Grail came into existence?"
Arthur's eyes sharpened.
For a moment, it seemed as though he stood only one step away from the truth behind the mystery.
Then Merlin's next words extinguished the spark of excitement that had just appeared within him.
"It's only a hypothesis."
His expression did not change.
"The formal experiment doesn't begin until tomorrow."
The young, expressionless face remained utterly still. This was the price of his failed experiment.
Fortunately, he was still alive.
And he had the chance to witness what came next.
"This is what research is, Arthur."
Merlin spoke calmly.
"Propose a hypothesis. Test it. Then tear down everything you once believed and build new knowledge upon the ruins."
"However, I do have some objections to Abigail's hypothesis."
Merlin continued.
"She believes the Night of Advent had such a profound impact on Lloyd that even a man with a will of steel like his was forced to choose to forget those memories."
He looked at Arthur.
"But what if it wasn't his choice?"
"What are you saying?"
"Suppose—just suppose. Even now, we still don't understand the true nature of the False Holy Grail, do we?"
Merlin's voice became softer.
"All of our information comes from the New Order, yet we have no way of determining whether they are lying to us."
"What if Lloyd's forgetting wasn't caused by psychological trauma?"
"What if it was caused by the False Holy Grail?"
Merlin stared directly into Arthur's eyes.
His abyssal gaze seemed almost capable of swallowing Arthur whole.
"Don't you find it strange?"
"The fire on the Night of Advent destroyed every record. But do you really believe flames could destroy everything?"
Merlin's fingers slowly tightened around the document.
"Or was someone secretly erasing every trace of the Night of Advent?"
"If the New Order hasn't lied to us about this, then there may be another possibility—one far stranger than anything we've considered."
Arthur's expression froze.
"An antimeme."
His heart sank.
Under Merlin's guidance, countless possibilities suddenly surged through his mind.
"An interesting hypothesis..."
"More accurately, a terrifying one."
Merlin's face remained expressionless.
"If this hypothesis is correct, then everything suddenly makes sense."
"Unlike the Holy Grail, the False Holy Grail possesses an extraordinarily powerful antimemetic nature. Under the influence of that antimeme, every piece of information connected to it would have been erased."
Merlin's gaze became almost feverish.
"Do you really believe Lloyd Holmes—that monster of a man—could simply be broken by a tragedy?"
"No."
"His memories may have been deliberately erased because of the False Holy Grail's antimemetic nature."
The muscles in Merlin's face pulled tight.
For the first time, beneath his calm voice, there was something almost grotesquely excited in his expression.
"But it doesn't matter."
"Tomorrow, we'll have our answer."
He raised a finger and tapped lightly against his own temple.
"Everything is here."
"All the secrets are inside Lloyd Holmes's mind."
"At the deepest reaches of his soul."