The two of them stared at the burning figure.
The pitch-black god-armor was withering away from Lloyd's body, flaking like dead leaves, while the surging secret blood gradually calmed. In his hand, the jet-black blade looked less like a weapon and more like an angel's sword, cleaving despair itself in two.
Berau watched the damned detective and felt a storm of emotions collide in his chest. In the end, his voice broke, almost a sob.
"Fuck… fuck! I think I've fallen in love with this lunatic!"
His words tumbled out in a mess. Off to the side, Blue Emerald finally let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding and sank weakly to the ground. If she hadn't been truly exhausted, she might have shown some sign of joy as well.
"I'm not interested in men. Move aside."
Lloyd had already pulled himself out of the emotions surrounding Ed's death. He was cursing under his breath again, back to his old self as if nothing had happened.
"You… how did you do it?"
Blue Emerald looked at the vast bloodstains outside the door. She knew all too well how many demons had been out there. Even if they had stood still and let Lloyd hack at them, there was no way he could have slaughtered so many in such a short time.
Lloyd gave his answer plainly.
"They retreated. I only intercepted a small portion… You should be able to feel it too. The Nightmare Illusion has been lifted. That means the Dreamweaver is dead. The real question is—who killed it?"
Some of the terms, clearly borrowed from the demon-hunting order, went over Berau's head, but he understood enough. The greatest obstacle of this operation was gone. It was time for the counterattack.
"The dream's broken. Those soldiers should be waking up by now… Move it, Berau! If you're not dead, get up! This isn't over yet!"
As he spoke, Lloyd kicked Berau, who was still lying on the ground, showing no concern at all for his horrific injuries. Then again, Lloyd was probably imposing a demon hunter's standards on him—by those standards, as long as you had a single breath left, you could still fight. Terrifyingly resilient.
"What are you planning to do now?"
Berau couldn't understand him. The detective was unnervingly energetic, like someone in a hurry to go kill again.
"Recover that so-called Holy Coffin. That thing is far more complicated than you think."
This time, Lloyd was serious. Before, he had acted as a detective taking on a job. Now, it was the demon hunter in him that was moving his body—and a demon hunter had obligations he couldn't ignore.
"How does this thing even work?"
The control console was a maze of complexity. Lloyd couldn't make sense of it. His greatest regret from all his time in Old Dunling was never learning steam mechanics. This was core Ingervig technology—knowledge only granted to those with impeccably clean backgrounds. With Lloyd's tangled past, he'd be arrested for espionage by his second day.
"It's in emergency brake mode, and it's been idle for too long. We need to restore power, then get the engine running."
At that moment, the driver woke up. He didn't know exactly what had happened, but seeing the grievous wounds on Berau and Blue Emerald, both high-ranking knights, he could guess enough.
"Perfect timing," Lloyd barked. "Get this damn thing moving—now!"
The driver nodded frantically and began operating the console like his life depended on it.
"Next, it's you two."
Lloyd's gaze shifted to Berau and Blue Emerald.
"You… what are you going to do?"
Berau sensed something deeply wrong. The blazing white flames around Lloyd were dying out, leaving behind the gray ash of death clinging to him.
"Nothing much," Lloyd said calmly. "Just making sure certain things pay the price."
He crouched down and tore the communicator from Berau's chest. The indicator light flicked to a soft green. With the Nightmare Illusion gone, the interference that had plagued communications vanished as well.
"Wait—Lloyd!"
Berau forced himself upright, trying to stop him, but Lloyd planted a foot squarely on his chest, pinning him in place. Calmly adjusting the channel, Lloyd spoke.
"All units, listen up. Those of you who've woken up—wake up the bastards around you who haven't!"
His voice carried raw fury.
"This is Lloyd Holmes. I'm assuming command of the entire operation. All personnel, enter combat readiness. Chamber your rounds. You have one order only: kill every non-human entity within your line of sight."
"Lloyd, you lunatic! What the hell are you doing?!"
Berau roared, but Lloyd didn't even look at him. He clipped the communicator to his chest and snarled,
"You're relieved of duty, Berau."
"You're insane! This is a Purification Agency force—you're our suspect!"
Berau was on the verge of losing his mind. Just hours ago, Lloyd had been his prisoner. Now he was about to command the entire task force.
"No," Lloyd said coldly. "This time I'm serious. You have no idea what you lost. Frankly, you never should've touched that thing in the first place."
What poured out of him was pure killing intent—an aura so violent it made people shudder. Compared to demons, the only real difference might have been that Lloyd still looked vaguely human.
"So if you want to make up for your mistake," he continued, "you'll listen to me. Understood?"
Berau stared at him, stunned. This was a side of the detective he had never seen—overwhelming, absolute. Before he could speak, Lloyd added,
"I think you'll agree, sir. I'm the only one here who can solve this."
He wasn't speaking to Berau.
He wasn't speaking to Blue Emerald.
He wasn't speaking to anyone present.
He was speaking to the Purification Agency far away in Old Dunling—to the mysterious Shattered Dome.
Lloyd had opened an all-channel broadcast. Not only the soldiers on the train could hear it, but also the Shattered Dome that monitored everything.
Seconds dragged by, stretching into something that felt like a century.
Then, at last, a weathered voice came through the communicator.
"By the authority of Arthur, operational command is hereby transferred to you, Lloyd Holmes."
Far away, beneath that vast and hollow dome, the colossal and intricate command center buzzed with motion. Personnel moved briskly, sealing report after report into capsules that shot through brass pipelines, plunging downward until they reached the lowest depths—into pitch-black darkness.
Someone retrieved the report, stamped it with a date, and archived it. Below, an enormous pool filled with insulating fluid reflected the glow of towering differential engines—copper pillars standing upright, calculating furiously. A triumph of mortal ingenuity, mechanical art so precise it was suffocating.
Arthur's orders cascaded layer by layer, until at last they reached the dim train beneath the world.
Everyone heard the command. Some had no idea who this "Lloyd Holmes" was. Others did—and their faces went pale with shock.
After a long moment, Blue Emerald swayed and raised her hand.
"What… should we do?"
Lloyd looked at the knight who had finally snapped back to reality and nodded with approval.
"First," he said, "get this damned train moving."
"But sir," the driver protested, "the tracks ahead have been destroyed by that twisted flesh! If the Radiant starts moving, it won't be long before it derails!"
Lloyd didn't care. He fixed the driver with a cold stare.
"Who said we need tracks to move forward?"
In theory… yes, it was possible.
In practice, anyone who actually tried it was a fool—like saying humans could survive in lava, just not for very long. The logic was obvious, but the driver wasn't about to argue. This man looked like a god of slaughter; who knew if displeasing him would get you split in half.
"You're completely insane now, Lloyd," Berau cursed again, still pinned under Lloyd's boot.
"Even if we don't overturn after derailing," Blue Emerald said calmly, ignoring both grief and pain, "the ground won't support the Radiant. We won't get very far."
"Yes," Lloyd replied. "But we don't need to go very far, do we?"
His gaze pierced through layers of steel, stretching forward until it rested on the dim green lighthouse ahead.
The Radiant was already close to it.
Very close.
All that remained was one last stretch of distance—
waiting for Lloyd to conquer it.