After Pedro presented himself, they went under a stone pavilion at the edge of the Garden.
A modest shelter of weathered black marble whose roof had been carved to resemble folded wings. Rain drummed relentlessly against it, but beneath the overhang the air was marginally drier, the downpour reduced to a hushed curtain that blurred the rows of plain tombs beyond.
Edric sat on the white birch bench that stood against the far wall of the pavilion. The contrast of a lonely, white bench against the dark, brooding marble was, in a way, very philosophical. For a moment, Edric's mind wandered to its significance, but it didn't last long.
Tina stayed close to him, her arm still a steady support until he was fully seated. Her honey-gold eyes remained closed as always, yet Edric could feel the quiet alertness radiating from her.
Pedro took off his raincoat with deliberate care, folding the heavy black fabric over one arm. Beneath it he actually wore a crimson chasuble instead of a tunic like Edric had thought. The golden cross around his neck now fully visible, gleaming softly in the dim lantern light.
His snow-white hair and deeply etched wrinkles were proof that he was quite old. Yet his light-blue eyes still brimmed with remarkable vitality—clear and bright as an untouched summer sky. It was a color Edric couldn't help but find strikingly beautiful, even here, in this cold rainy night.
Pedro lazily took a seat beside him on the bench and threw a glance at his cane.
"Aren't you too young to be using something like that?"
Edric raised an eyebrow.
"Aren't you too old to ask stupid questions?"
Pedro laughed, a warm, rumbling sound that seemed oddly out of place among the graves.
"I guess I am pretty old," he said, reaching once more for his lighter. The flame caught on the third try, and he drew deeply on the cigar. "But it wasn't a stupid question… I think." He exhaled a slow plume of smoke that the wind snatched away. "Are you sick?"
Edric didn't mind talking about his illness—not anymore. Shame had burned away years ago. Still, why share something so personal with a stranger? Instead of answering, he simply stared out at the rain, letting the silence stretch between them.
Surprisingly, it was Tina who broke it first.
"Excuse me, sir," she said, voice soft yet edged with caution. "What are you doing here in Whystan? Is there any danger around?"
"Danger?" Pedro raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. "There is always danger around."
"You know what I mean…"
He took another drag, then exhaled with a faint chuckle.
"I know. I was only playing." He scratched the back of his neck, leaving a faint smear of ash on his collar. "No, there are no Demons lurking nearby, at least none that I've sensed. I'm here purely to visit the city."
Tina released a quiet breath of relief. She moved gracefully to Edric's left side and sat, her posture finally relaxing as she fell silent once more.
The simple exchange left Edric's mouth slightly agape. Tina rarely showed concern over anything that didn't directly threaten them. Who was this man? What was the St. Matthew Order, really? What are Demons? Were they so terrifying that their mere presence could unsettle someone like Tina?
Unable to contain his curiosity any longer, Edric asked,
"Who are you?"
Pedro smirked.
"Didn't I just present myself? I am Pedro."
"Do you always answer questions with other questions?"
"Do you always ask that many questions?"
'This guy…'
Taking a deep breath, Edric forced himself to stay calm.
"It seems we started off on the wrong foot," he said.
"We? I didn't start anything," Pedro replied, the lazy grin never leaving his face.
"...Anyway," Edric cleared his throat, "I suppose we should introduce ourselves properly. I am Edric. This is Tina."
"Huh, found your manners, did ya?" Pedro took another long drag from his cigar, the tip flaring bright orange in the dim light. "I already know who you are. Lloyd's son."
Edric frowned. His existence wasn't exactly well-known even in Whystan—how could it be? He spent nearly every day cloistered in his own remote region, almost never leaving the mansion. His entire social world amounted to Tina and Galleon. For this stranger to know his name and parentage could only mean two things: either Pedro possessed an impressively thorough information network… or he had been sent here to kill him.
"Galleon still talks about you."
'Guess it's the former.' he thought.
"Does he?" Edric unconsciously straightened his posture. "What does he say exactly?"
"Nothing much," Pedro said, tapping ash from the cigar. "Just that you're a good lad… for the most part."
"I see." Edric scratched his chin, mind racing. "I didn't know Galleon was still part of… what was it called again? The St. Matthew Order?"
"Once a member, always a member. A man's beliefs never fade." With one last drag Pedro flicked the glowing butt into a small stone receptacle at the pavilion's edge. "But enough chit-chat. Just ask what you really want to know."
Edric hesitated for a moment.
"I'm just a bit curious… What is this 'Order' about? What do you guys do? What are demons?"
"Hm… so you don't know?" Pedro leaned back against the bench.
"Is that weird?"
"Not really. I just thought we were getting more well-known by now."
"You shouldn't use me as a metric," Edric said with a dry half-smile. "Although I am quite well informed in some matters, I am completely obvious to others…the majority of them perhaps." And that was painfully true.
Pedro studied him for a long moment, then he gave a low chuckle and leaned forward.
"If you say so." Pedro adjusted his glasses, then leaned back on the bench with the air of a professor about to begin a lecture. "Then let me enlighten you. The St. Matthew Order is… well, like an army, I suppose. Or more accurately, a group of people who have devoted their entire lives to protecting humanity against demonic creatures."
He adjusted his glasses again and leaned forward slightly, voice calm and measured.
"We are officially gathered by the Vatican to devote ourselves to that mission." Pedro tugged aside the edge of his crimson chasuble, revealing a small, neatly tattooed Roman numeral on the fabric over his heart: LX.
"See this? LX. I'm the sixtieth Venator in the Order."
Edric blinked.
"So there are another fifty-nine Venators?"
"No." Pedro sighed, the sound heavy with long years. "There aren't many who survive as long as I have. And there are others like Galleon—men who had more important things to do. Some took wives, raised children. They never truly left the Order, and they would never turn a blind eye to evil… but they don't exactly count anymore."
"I see." Edric's voice stayed even. "Then… how many of you are there?"
Pedro shrugged, the gesture almost careless.
"I have no idea. It's not exactly common for us to work together. And I think the Pope lost count long ago."
Edric raised an eyebrow but didn't change his expression.
"Isn't that a bit… cruel?"
"Cruel?" Pedro smirked, but there was no mockery in it, only tired acceptance. "Not really. I myself wouldn't keep count. It's almost impossible. We can die anywhere, at any time. Sometimes our bodies are never found. How could the Vatican keep track of something like that?"
"That's exactly what I'm talking about," Edric said. His voice was completely calm, almost emotionless. "How can you live like that? Is your mission even worth it?"
He was genuinely curious.
"Of course," Pedro's sky-blue eyes sharpened, "The mission was given to us by God, our lives are not ours to live, but to serve and protect."
"Hm…" Edric couldn't really understand his devotion to his God. Giving his life to serve a cause without getting nothing in return, "Is the Gods even worth it?"
"Gods?" He repeated with genuine surprise, "I serve not the Gods, kid. I only serve the One True God, the rest are just imitations."
"One True God?" It was his turn to be surprised. For all that he knew there were only Seven Gods, not eight.
"Listen well, kid. We don't serve the Gods. Those bastards could go to hell for everything I know. Bunch of disgraceful bastards they are. No, we serve the One who created the Earth in seven days. The One who parted the seas, who raised the dead, who sent His only Son to die for our sins. The One True God. The only God worth serving."
Edric frowned. He had never once heard of such a God existing. For a moment he doubted it was even real. Yet Pedro spoke with such fervor that Edric couldn't believe he was lying. How, then? How had he never known about this God? Was his isolation so deep, or was it something deliberate? Why had Galleon never spoken of it?
"But make no mistake," Pedro continued, voice still warm but now edged with steel, "we are not holy. Quite the opposite. While we work for Him, we are still only human. We will sin to exterminate evil—deceive, lie, break the rules of men and even the churches themselves—everything to purge the demons from existence. Such is the life we chose. Such is the life of penitence."
Edric stared, stunned. For a few moments he didn't know what to say. Never had someone shown such raw, burning devotion to anything. Were all the Venators like him? Possible.
Before Edric could form a reply, Pedro rose to his feet.
"It's getting late," he said, glancing out at the rain that showed no sign of stopping. "This storm won't let up anytime soon."
He unfolded the still-damp raincoat and slipped it back on, the heavy fabric settling around his shoulders with a wet slap.
"I have to go."
He walked to the edge of the pavilion, stopping just before the curtain of rain. Glancing back at Edric, he added quietly,
"I wonder what Galleon saw in your Mother… to abandon his duties."
Pedro pulled the hood over his head, stepped down into the muddy Garden of Eternal Rest, and gave a small, almost fond nod.
"Good bye, little sheep. Till we meet again—if He so wishes."
With that, the old man vanished into the downpour, leaving only the sound of rain and the faint scent of cigar smoke behind.