More often than not, the right choice does not lead to a good ending.
And yet, at times, a terrible decision may carve out the faintest sliver of hope.
Loyd slowly opened his eyes.
Having torn himself free from the Interstice, the demon hunter appeared more exhausted than ever before. Yet beneath that weariness, something had shifted—something resolute. His fingers curled tightly into a fist, as though he had just sealed a decision that could not be undone.
A curious way to describe it…
Recalling Watson's words, Loyd found himself seeing demons anew.
An ant, wishing to summon the aid of mankind, piles up the corpses of insects. To the ant, it is winter's salvation. To the human who answers the call, it is nothing more than a rotting heap of filth.
Humans and demons were never meant to understand one another. Between their ways of thinking lay a chasm no will could bridge.
Perhaps… those acts of cruelty, so monstrous in human eyes, were—
to the demons themselves—nothing more than a game.
"Mr. Holmes?"
The door creaked open. Redfalcon stepped in, his voice cutting cleanly through Loyd's spiraling thoughts.
Loyd lifted his gaze, rising to his feet. He set his weapons beside him.
"Has it arrived?"
"All of it. This is Old Dunling. Moving supplies is still within the Purge Bureau's reach."
Redfalcon handed over a silver case. Upon it was engraved an ouroboros devouring its own tail—the mark of the Perpetual Engine.
This was what Loyd had requested upon their arrival. Thanks to prior cooperation, the Bureau's response had been swift.
"And the identities of those people?"
"They've been confirmed. But… there's something you need to see."
Redfalcon frowned slightly.
"I understand. Give me a moment."
Loyd's gaze shifted toward the bed.
"Selu. We're leaving."
"Where…?"
The girl looked up, her eyes heavy with exhaustion.
"You'll know soon enough. We can't stay here."
His tone was calm, almost indifferent. Stuart Manor was far too conspicuous—marked plainly on any detailed map. And their enemy lurked in the shadows. With the demons' strange and unknowable abilities, no one could predict how—or when—they would strike.
"But before that… there's one more thing."
He opened the case.
Inside lay rows of Florend vials, transferred overnight from the Perpetual Engine. Yet Loyd ignored them. Instead, he picked up another syringe, concealing it behind his hand as he approached Selu.
"What are you doing…?"
Something in his approach unsettled her.
"You need rest, Selu."
The needle pierced her skin before she could react.
Shock—then resistance. But it was futile.
A tidal wave of drowsiness swallowed her whole. Her struggles faltered, her eyelids fell, and at last she slipped into unconsciousness.
The tension left her face, replaced by a fragile softness.
Loyd tapped her cheek lightly. Once certain she was truly asleep, he lifted her and handed her to Yavi, who had just entered.
"If anything seems off, inject her with this."
A Florend vial followed.
Human will had its limits. In Selu's condition—fatigued, worn—she would only grow more vulnerable. She could not withstand what was coming. Not the kind of assault that targeted the mind itself.
"What did you do to her?"
Yavi's voice tightened with anger.
"She's sleeping. That's all. We're relocating—and I have preparations to make."
Loyd's expression had grown cold. He wiped down his blade and crossbow with methodical precision, like a hunter laying out traps.
The change unsettled Yavi.
The man before him had always been dangerous—but there had been a strange, almost disarming madness about him. Now that was gone.
What remained… was a hunter.
"Yavi," Loyd said quietly, "you are her true support."
Selu was still young. Too young. The burdens of the Stuart family—the alliances, the industry—had all been carried by this old steward.
And time changed people. Oaths, too.
"…What do you mean?"
Yavi hesitated. Loyd's gaze held no warmth.
"There are things you need to know. Whatever you see next… don't be surprised. And take care of your master."
If battle came, Loyd might not be able to protect her.
Yavi would have to.
Without another word, Loyd stepped past him and pushed the door open.
Outside, the Purge Bureau's carriage was already waiting.
…
"Mr. Holmes… is this what you call 'connections'? Trouble seems to follow you everywhere."
To his surprise, Merlin was waiting inside the carriage.
"Then I'll take that as a compliment."
Loyd climbed aboard.
Behind them, under Redfalcon's watch, Yavi escorted Selu into another carriage. Soon, the convoy began to move—black carriages cutting through the streets of Old Dunling like shadows.
"I didn't expect you to come in person."
"This concerns a future duke. No precaution is excessive."
"Their identities?"
Loyd got straight to the point.
"The infiltrators… we've confirmed them. One piece of good news, and one bad."
Merlin gave a faint smile, then continued.
"The good news—our Bureau identified them overnight."
Efficient.
"They are remnants. Survivors of the Radiant War."
"…Remnants?"
"Yes. They live on Inglivig soil, but they've never truly belonged. Policies speak of equality—but hatred lingers."
Conflict breeds opportunity.
"Recently, southern remnants have unified. The radicals among them formed a terrorist organization targeting Inglivig."
"Backed by Gaulnaro, no doubt," Loyd said flatly.
Merlin nodded.
"They've already launched several attacks on nobles. We anticipated escalation—but not this far north."
Loyd shook his head.
"That's not the real surprise."
Merlin's expression sharpened.
"They're connected to Archbishop Lawrence."
Silence fell.
"That… changes everything."
Even within the Bureau, Lawrence was considered a catastrophic threat. Entire contingency plans had been drafted around him.
"If my deduction is correct," Loyd continued, "he's behind all of this. And his target… is Selu."
"Why her?"
"I don't know. If I did, we wouldn't be this passive."
Loyd's eyes lingered on Merlin—cold, wary.
If Lawrence could invade minds through corruption… then anyone could already be compromised.
Even Merlin.
Perhaps the one speaking to him now… was not Merlin at all.
This was the most dangerous enemy Loyd had ever faced.
"And the bad news?"
Merlin exhaled softly.
"The two captives… are brain-dead."
"…Brain-dead?"
A foreign concept to Loyd.
Merlin explained—about the loss of consciousness, the extinguishing of will.
A body that lived…
but no longer contained a soul.
"Total annihilation of awareness," Loyd murmured.
And in that moment, a realization took shape.
Perhaps those men had already died before their final words. Their minds erased—
and something else had stepped in.
From afar.
Speaking through borrowed flesh.
Hello…
That voice echoed again.
Lawrence.
Every thread led back to him.
Loyd drew a slow breath. Beneath the crushing weight of helplessness, anger ignited—burning, relentless.
Driving him forward.
"So… nothing more can be extracted?"
"Not directly. But we'll trace how they entered Old Dunling. There will be clues."
Time-consuming ones.
"Then explain this to me, Mr. Holmes," Merlin said. "Remnants, Lawrence, the Stuart heir—how does all of this converge?"
Loyd studied him.
"It's… a long story."
"We have time."
Merlin pulled back the curtain. Beyond the glass, an immense industrial district loomed—steel rising like a forest.
Only he knew their destination.
After a brief hesitation, Loyd spoke:
"Merlin… have you ever heard of the Interstice?"
Something unseen.
Something that touched everyone.
Merlin shook his head slowly.
"Rather than the word… describe it to me."
He leaned back, eyes glinting with quiet curiosity.
"Different lands name the same truth differently. Demon hunters… are no exception."
A pause.
"Perhaps I do know it. Only… by another name."
His voice lowered.
"After all, in the eyes of certain madmen… what you call demons—"
"—are called gods."