"Honestly, Lloyd, in certain ways you're unexpectedly competent."
In the lightless corridor, Shrike's voice carried a dry edge of mockery.
The great detective trailed along behind him at an unhurried pace, wearing the familiar expression of a man who had decided not to understand a single word.
The earlier farce had ended with Seriu being left behind to clean up the mess. Once Shrike realized who Miss Stuart truly was, he summoned guards to watch over her and escort her through the exhibition halls. Lloyd, meanwhile, was brought along to see the real exhibit.
"Is it contaminated?" Lloyd asked.
During the incident in Ender Town, he had learned roughly where the Old Century God-Armor had come from. Scholars of the Far Eastern Nine Xia had turned demons into living war-armor. Judging from Lancelot—the one who had fought beside him at the end—the thing's unnatural mobility and strength suggested its erosion wouldn't be much weaker than that of Secret Blood.
"No."
"No? How is that possible?"
Lloyd sounded genuinely surprised. Shrike continued forward. From the steadiness of his voice, he wasn't lying.
"Correct. That's why the matter is being handled by the Shattered Dome. Our job is simply to transport this thing to the Perpetual Pump in a few hours."
Shrike glanced back. Candlelight from the wall brushed faint gold across his face.
They had reached their destination. The massive doors behind them groaned open, exhaling dust and the long, aching cry of metal against metal. Beyond lay the deepest warehouse—vast, silent, crowded with countless sealed crates. Armed guards stood at every angle. At the very center was an isolated zone.
Within it knelt a bronze giant on one knee.
"The monks never explained where this God-Armor came from. Maybe they don't know either. From what we understand of Nine Xia, they keep a very tight grip on this technology."
"A God-Armor that was smuggled out?" Lloyd murmured as he stepped closer.
Time had not been kind. Green moss clung to the ruined shell. Oxidation dulled the metal to a sickly, weathered hue. Most of the joints were fused solid with rust. A massive wound gaped in the chest—armor plates torn open into a cavernous hole, the fractured edges bent inward as though something had punched straight through.
The ornamental cloud motifs had long since lost their luster. Now they looked like twisted claw marks crawling across a corpse.
"It isn't contaminated," Lloyd said at last.
He had stood before the dead armor for a long while before speaking. A demon hunter's senses were always razor-sharp when it came to corruption, yet before this relic he felt nothing at all—only a flat, featureless void.
"No trace of steam technology. And the demonic components appear to have died long ago."
He circled the armor slowly. At last, he looked somewhat like the detective he claimed to be, piecing scattered clues together to reconstruct its former life.
"I'd say this was a God-Armor abandoned on a battlefield. That's probably the only way those monks got their hands on it. Like your sweepers—Nine Xia's logistics units simply never found the wreckage.
"The demon portion must have died from that fatal strike to the chest. The metal parts decayed over time. No signs of steam engineering, so it was likely built before Nine Xia's delegation ever visited here… This should be a God-Armor from decades ago."
He looked over, eyes faintly cold.
Inside, the armor housed a labyrinth of mechanical structures. But unlike steam machinery, this operated on a principle Lloyd had never seen before. Its energy source clearly wasn't a steam engine.
Perhaps… this was what they called mechanisms.
"So in your view, what use does this thing have? Right now it's just scrap metal," Lloyd asked.
"That's a question for the lunatics at the Perpetual Pump," Shrike said with a hint of smugness. Opportunities to show off in front of this detective were rare. "Though I do know a little."
"The Purge Mechanism has a set of formulas for dealing with demons. You hunters rely on… what, intuition? We're different. The former deputy director of the Mechanical Institute—Geiger—discovered that demons emit faint radiation. He built the Geiger counter and derived formulas from the readings. For example, estimating how long demonic contamination takes to dissipate naturally based on radiation intensity."
This was the progress of knowledge. While the Demon Hunting Order clung to obscure faith and unseen gods, the Purge Mechanism chose science. A band of stubborn materialists, through and through.
"By comparing radiation levels, we can systematically analyze the remains and work backward to determine when this God-Armor was decommissioned. Maybe we can even infer how advanced Nine Xia's armor technology really is."
Shrike's voice grew almost reverent. To him, it was just another technical reconstruction. But saying it in front of Lloyd felt strangely like a devout believer speaking to a scholar who denied the existence of all gods.
Lloyd said nothing. Once again, he was reminded of the Purge Mechanism's technical prowess. No wonder this was the nation that birthed the steam engine. Something new and astonishing seemed to appear here every day.
He reached out and touched the armor's back—the exit point of the penetrating wound. The entire rear shell had exploded outward, iron plates shattered. One could easily imagine the moment of impact: the knight inside crushed into pulp within his iron shell.
Yet something still felt off.
His fingers traced the edges of the wound. He had overlooked something—something important.
"…Mind if I have a cigarette?" Lloyd muttered.
He pulled out a windleaf cigarette. Though he asked, he had already lit it. Standing before the dead armor, he closed his eyes in thought.
Then the light drained from the world.
Windleaf dragged the mind into that strange spiritual sight. In that state, some glimpsed fragments of reality—stray memories, broken scenes, or perhaps a crucial clue.
But while the herb granted insight, it also deepened one's ties to the dark. Lloyd had already fallen far. The woman who had suddenly appeared in the church was proof enough. Since then, he had sunk so deep that even without the herb, he sometimes slipped into spiritual sight.
He had meant to quit. A full year without smoking, he'd decided.
It had been one week.
He knew this would only worsen his condition. But he had a peculiar suspicion about this God-Armor. He had to confirm it.
Shrike's voice blurred. He understood what Lloyd was doing, but he was too late to stop him. The world stretched under some uncanny force. After an endless night, light flared.
Lloyd saw it.
A barren world.
He tried to move forward, but his body felt heavier than ever before. He lowered his head.
Reflected in a pool of clear, shallow water was the hulking shape of the God-Armor.
He was inside it.
Standing upon a battlefield from a distant age.