In the neither-short-nor-long life that Lloyd had lived, he had witnessed countless strange and unbelievable things.
Things no ordinary human would ever believe.
Abominations born of fear, eldritch mysteries that no sane person could gaze upon, wars far more brutal than any recorded in mankind's history.
And yet, none of them were as shocking as what stood before him now.
More than once, Lloyd had imagined what he might find upon opening that door. Perhaps Madam Vanrood would be preparing supper. Perhaps Sig would be sitting quietly in a corner, staring into the hearth fire.
Anything but this.
The modest sitting room was packed wall-to-wall with weathered wooden crates. Lion crests had been stamped onto their sides, and several had already been pried open, revealing metallic glints beneath layers of oilcloth. The faint scent of gunpowder lingered in the air.
There sat the familiar Madam Vanrood upon the sofa.
In her hands rested a rifle that had been discontinued decades ago. Spent and unspent cartridges littered the floor around her feet, alongside enough weaponry to arm a small militia.
"Wait a second... this isn't how this scene is supposed to go."
Lloyd froze.
For a brief moment he considered backing out, closing the door, and trying again.
Unfortunately, Madam Vanrood's eyes found him before he could make his escape.
He instantly abandoned the idea.
"Uh... good evening."
The greeting came out painfully dry.
The feeling was difficult to describe. It was the sort of thing where you could spend your days carving through monsters and walking away from death itself, yet the moment you returned home and saw your mother holding a rolling pin, some primitive survival instinct would make you tremble.
...Hold on.
She wasn't his mother.
She was his landlady.
Almost unconsciously, Lloyd's hand drifted toward his coat pocket, checking whether he could somehow scrape together enough money for rent.
"Lloyd? I was beginning to think you'd died somewhere."
Madam Vanrood spared him a glance.
Apparently she had no awareness whatsoever of how terrifying the current situation looked.
She lowered her head again and continued polishing the rifle.
She knew exactly what sort of man Lloyd was. She knew he lived a life that constantly danced with death. Because of that, she never asked where he went or what he did.
As far as Madam Vanrood was concerned, if Lloyd came home alive, then somebody else had probably died.
The rifle she held was an old model—one that had seen service during the Radiant War. By all rights, it belonged behind museum glass.
Lloyd swallowed.
Seeing that her attention wasn't focused on him, his courage gradually returned.
"So... what exactly are you doing, ma'am?"
Madam Vanrood looked up and shot him an annoyed glance.
Lloyd immediately shuffled closer, carefully navigating the minefield of weapons scattered across the floor.
"So this is it, huh?"
He leaned conspiratorially against the sofa.
"You've finally had enough and decided today's the perfect day to start an uprising?"
The grin on his face suggested he was enjoying the idea far too much.
Given Madam Vanrood's long-standing contempt for city officials, her explosive temper, and the arsenal spread across the room, Lloyd could already picture the entire story.
An elderly woman crushed beneath the weight of a miserable pension, forced to take up guns and blades and march off to rob a bank.
"To be honest, I've hated those bastards for years."
His eyes sparkled with enthusiasm.
"I can drive the getaway carriage. Seventy-thirty split afterward?"
Madam Vanrood slowly stopped what she was doing.
Then she stared at him.
"What are you talking about?"
"Robbing a bank, obviously."
Lloyd pointed at the mountain of weaponry.
"How many divisions can a bank possibly have? You and me together—we'd be legendary outlaws."
The look of confusion on Madam Vanrood's face only deepened.
"Did you hit your head while you were gone?"
"Huh? Then what are you doing?"
If she wasn't planning to rob a bank, why in the world did she need enough weapons to start a civil war?
It was God's Day, after all.
Surely she wasn't planning to use them as fireworks.
"I finally managed to contact a few buyers. I was hoping to sell this stuff."
She sounded thoroughly displeased.
"But everything's damp. I'm checking to see if any of it still works."
These were the weapons she had quietly taken with her upon retirement from military service. They had spent years forgotten in the cellar.
Old Dunling was damp enough already, and poor storage had only made matters worse.
Most of the stockpile had become useless.
The realization clearly pained her.
"And then?" Lloyd asked.
"That's it."
She pried open another crate.
Peeling back the oilcloth, she loaded a handful of cartridges into a rifle.
Then, under Lloyd's watchful gaze, she raised the weapon and fired directly at the target fixed against the far wall.
Bang.
"Bullseye!"
The old woman shouted cheerfully.
She moved the box of ammunition into a separate pile and recorded a number in a notebook.
Lloyd felt his brain struggling to keep up.
He stared at the target, whose center had already been shot nearly to pieces.
Exactly how many times had this old lady done this?
Then again...
Maybe tenants and landlords really did end up resembling one another.
"Have the mounted police not shown up?"
"The streets are noisy enough already."
Madam Vanrood waved dismissively.
"Nobody cares."
Then she paused.
"Speaking of which, Lloyd, your timing is perfect."
She rose to her feet.
Apparently even she had grown tired after hours of work. Stretching her back, she headed toward the kitchen.
"What do you mean?"
Lloyd asked cautiously.
"It's God's Day, isn't it? ...Sig!"
The final word exploded from her lungs.
Her voice was so thunderous that it shook the entire house.
A heavy crash immediately echoed from the floor above, and Lloyd distinctly heard what sounded like his roommate tumbling out of bed.
A short while later, Sig slowly descended the stairs.
So many days had passed that Lloyd had nearly forgotten he even had a roommate.
Sig looked noticeably different.
Though there remained a certain unhealthy pallor about him, some color had finally returned to his face.
Lloyd was an observant man.
Anyone who spent enough time in the Lower District learned how to read people.
Long ago, he had realized that Sig was using hallucinogens.
Now, however, it seemed the young man had finally gained control over himself.
Despite living beneath the same roof, the two rarely interacted.
Both understood the reason perfectly well.
They were not traveling the same road, nor did they belong to the same world.
They exchanged a few awkward glances until Madam Vanrold finally called out.
"Alright, enough standing around. Come and eat. It's Nativity Day, after all. There ought to be a little sense of ceremony."
For once, there was a rare softness in her voice.
And then Lloyd witnessed what her idea of ceremony looked like.
A table assembled from stacked ammunition crates was covered with food. Several candles flickered atop it, their warm glow struggling against the coldness of the room.
The sudden enthusiasm felt strange, almost inexplicable. Yet Lloyd knew Madam Vanrold well enough. The old woman was simply looking for an excuse—any excuse at all.
An old woman living alone, with no family, no real friends, and a personality rough enough to scare off most company. She had always been forceful, the sort of woman who once captured her future husband on a battlefield. Even her kindness came wrapped in barbed wire.
Taking his seat, Lloyd found himself strangely uncomfortable beneath the warmth and resorted to the only defense he knew: bad jokes.
"You actually celebrate this? I thought church holidays weren't really your thing."
Nativity Day had originated from the Evangelical Church, after all.
"Who cares whether it's Nativity Day or Egg Day?" Madam Vanrold snorted. "It's just an excuse to celebrate something."
That sounded exactly like her.
Truthfully, most people observing the holiday were not churchgoers anyway. They simply borrowed the occasion as a reason to enjoy themselves.
Lloyd laughed.
To his surprise, the loneliness that had lingered over him these past days seemed to fade amidst the pointless banter.
"Now this is what I call ceremony. Sitting on ammunition crates while eating dinner." He glanced around theatrically. "Feeling nostalgic for your military days?"
Of course, the best way to return her kindness was to pretend it was not kindness at all. Pitying Madam Vanrold would only insult her.
"My military days?" she barked back. "I was Air Cavalry. First-class stock! We didn't sit in trenches hugging ammunition boxes while eating supper."
Sieg sat awkwardly between them, completely unable to participate in the exchange. Their terrible humor seemed to exist in a world all its own.
Strangely enough, despite having lived here the longest, Sieg understood Madam Vanrold less than anyone.
He ate mechanically.
He had arrived in Old Dunling when he was still a child. Madam Vanrold had taken him in. At times they resembled mother and son, while Lloyd often seemed more like the actual lodger.
"Sieg, how have you been?" Lloyd suddenly asked. "You look better."
The question caught Sieg completely off guard.
Across the table, Madam Vanrold's expression darkened. She did not want Lloyd embarrassing the boy.
At least not today.
"I'm a detective," Lloyd said casually. "Hallucinogens aren't exactly subtle. But it looks like you've gotten it under control. That's good."
Something shifted in Sieg's eyes.
Apparently he had never considered that, to a detective, his secret had never truly been a secret.
He opened his mouth, hesitated several times, then finally replied with a simple:
"Yeah."
"Come on, cheer up." Lloyd grinned. "It's Nativity Day."
"Not everyone is as carefree as you are," Madam Vanrold shot back.
"I'm just trying to get to know Sieg better. We've been roommates forever!"
Whether he meant it sincerely or not was difficult to tell. But Lloyd genuinely seemed interested in becoming friends, which only made Sieg more uncomfortable.
It was true that they had shared a roof for years.
Yet they were little more than strangers.
Their schedules never aligned. Days could pass without them seeing one another.
Perhaps dying and returning from death had changed something in Lloyd. Perhaps it had made him more sentimental.
For the first time, he found himself curious about this familiar stranger who slept in the room beside his.
Unfortunately, Sieg found Lloyd's friendliness deeply unsettling.
Instinctively, he resisted it.
After all, the man sleeping next door was also the lunatic who spent his days fighting and killing his way through the Lower District.
There was not much to like.
"I won't touch that stuff again," Sieg said firmly.
Madam Vanrold's expression softened with relief.
Then immediately hardened again.
"So stop ruining the mood, Lloyd."
As she spoke, she casually swung a rifle stock in his direction.
The holiday carried a strangely peculiar atmosphere.
After a while, Madam Vanrold sighed.
"Seven years already. Hard to believe you've been in Old Dunling that long."
She looked at Lloyd.
"Ever thought about going home?"
"Home?" Lloyd speared a piece of meat with his fork and stuffed it into his mouth. "Where would that be?"
His tone was utterly indifferent.
To Lloyd, there was no such thing as home.
Only places to sleep.
And even if home had once existed, it had been destroyed long ago on the Night of Sacred Descent.
Madam Vanrold studied him carefully, searching for cracks in the mask.
People like Lloyd were the hardest to read.
The more carefree they appeared, the harder it became to glimpse what lay beneath.
Still, the result was unsurprising.
Words as gentle as home had never seemed compatible with someone like him.
Eventually, she turned toward Sieg.
"What about you? You've been in Old Dunling even longer than Lloyd."
Sieg paused.
When he thought about it, it had indeed been many years.
Then he shook his head.
"No point."
He lowered his gaze.
"I can barely remember where it is anymore."
Like countless drifters wandering Old Dunling's steel streets, he had stayed too long.
Long enough to forget where he had come from.
When Sieg thought of home, he remembered not a house, but a bakery.
He had worked there for years, saving every coin until he could finally afford a train ticket to Old Dunling.
Then, like a stray dog finally freed from its leash, he had run joyfully alongside the railway tracks, leaving his past far behind.
Silence settled over the table.
An uncomfortable silence.
Fortunately, Lloyd possessed an almost supernatural talent for disrupting such moments.
"You've gotten used to all this too, haven't you?" he suddenly asked.
Sieg frowned.
Lloyd gestured toward the spent cartridges scattered across the floor.
A strange smile crossed Sieg's face before turning into a weary chuckle.
"This is Old Dunling."
He shrugged.
"The center of the world. At this point, nothing surprises me anymore."
"Adaptable." Lloyd nodded approvingly.
Like a comedian performing for an audience of three, he continued filling the room with idle chatter.
Unfortunately, there were only three people present.
No matter how hard he tried, there was only so much atmosphere one man could create.
None of them shared common interests.
The holiday had merely forced them together for a single evening.
Tomorrow, Sieg and Lloyd would return to being little more than passing shadows beneath the same roof.
Thinking about it, the entire evening felt strangely sad.
As though the warmth around them were nothing more than a fleeting dream.
Then Lloyd suddenly stood and raised his glass.
"To our completely fake friendship!"
Neither of them acknowledged the toast.
Both had grown accustomed to the detective's nonsense.
Left ignored, Lloyd could only drink alone.
Sometimes life was like that.
Finding someone who truly moved in step with you was far harder than it seemed.
Then came the sound of hoofbeats outside.
At this hour, the streets should have been nearly empty.
Families were gathered indoors celebrating.
Even the Lower District's gambling dens had closed for the holiday.
Men who lived by the knife were hiding in forgotten corners, quietly celebrating another year of survival.
Lloyd neither knew nor cared who was approaching.
Instead, he found himself troubled by something else entirely.
A growing fracture within his own life.
A conflict between reason and emotion.
The hoofbeats stopped outside the house.
Instantly, Lloyd's expression sharpened.
The detective's mind began racing.
Meanwhile, Madam Vanrold looked delighted.
She disappeared into the kitchen and returned carrying a tray of cookies she had clearly prepared in advance.
And suddenly Lloyd knew exactly who had arrived.
The door swung open.
The bell above it chimed brightly.
Looking at the unexpected visitor, Lloyd blinked.
"Yahweh?"
Hearing his name, Yahweh looked up.
A moment ago, he had seemed perfectly cheerful.
The instant he saw Lloyd, however, his face died completely.
It was as though he had swallowed a dead fly.
The dramatic change irritated Lloyd immediately.
"Mr. Holmes?" Yahweh said. "I assumed they'd keep you quarantined for a few more days."
"So did I." Lloyd shrugged. "Unfortunately, the detention center is on holiday today."
"Oh."
Yahweh nodded thoughtfully.
"Then perhaps I can help you retire permanently."
He raised a pistol.
Lloyd had spent so much of his life staring down gun barrels that he barely reacted anymore.
This time, however, things unfolded differently.
Yahweh pulled the trigger.
"You're serious?!"
Lloyd launched himself out of his chair.
Instead of a bullet, a stream of colorful paper ribbons burst from the barrel.
Yahweh immediately doubled over laughing.
Completely unrestrained.
Then he stepped aside.
"Happy Nativity Day."
A girl's voice drifted in from the doorway.
Lloyd froze.
The girl walked inside.
And then, as though Lloyd did not exist at all, she strode directly past him and threw her arms around Madam Vanrold.
"Happy Nativity Day to you too, Seriu!"
Madam Vanrold wrapped her in an enormous embrace.
Like a great bear hugging a little bear.
And from within that embrace, the little bear secretly flashed a victorious grin at everyone watching.