The silhouette leapt from the blazing sea of fire.
With a brutal swing of his arm, he hurled the girl tucked beneath his armpit outward. Her scream had barely torn the air apart when Red Falcon was slammed backward by the unexpected collision.
Mid-air, the second-rate detective twisted his body in a manner almost unnatural. Blinding white fire surged from the muzzle of his gun—and thunder answered.
Countless hands stretched out from the inferno, clawing desperately, trying to cross the burning boundary. Heavy slugs fell like judgment, driving them back one by one. Then Lloyd descended, silver blade in hand, like lightning given form—so fast that only a pale arc of light could be seen.
Steel, flame, demon flesh—it mattered little.
Sparks burst forth, dazzling as falling stars, and all were severed alike.
"Cut the hook!"
Red Falcon shoved Eve aside and roared at Lloyd.
But the detective showed no intention of obeying. He turned slowly, almost lazily, and looked at Red Falcon.
"Do you have any more of that incendiary weapon?"
"You—what are you planning?! Cut the hook, now!"
Red Falcon felt ready to explode. Was this man insane? If he wanted to die, did he really have to drag them all with him?
"These demons must be eliminated. If they escape, their contamination will only worsen the situation. I have to wipe them out here."
He was no longer a witch hunter—but the instinct remained. Between Lloyd and demons, only one side was ever allowed to live.
He raised his sword. His emotions did not stir in the slightest. A casual swing impaled a lunging demon. He turned, lifted the shotgun, and gunfire flooded his vision.
But it could not last.
The demons surged like a tide. Lloyd retreated step by step, until, at the final moment, he leapt into the armored carriage and slammed the heavy door shut behind him.
Darkness swallowed everything.
Ragged breathing, pounding heartbeats, and the shrill scraping of countless claws against steel merged into one sound—a funeral symphony. And they were the dead sealed inside the coffin.
"Are you out of your mind?! You had a chance to cut the hook! At this speed, the train would've outrun them!"
Red Falcon lunged forward in the dark, clutching Lloyd's collar and roaring at him. Because of this man, everyone in the carriage might die. And if the weapon transport failed, no one could say how badly it would affect the mission in Ender Town.
"But they had to die."
Lloyd ignored his fury entirely. He lit a cigarette; the ember glowed vividly in the darkness.
"You know about demons, don't you? I figured Old Dunling must have something like a witch-hunter order."
He spoke casually—but the words struck deep.
Red Falcon hadn't expected this detective to know so much. Not just about demons—but about the Witch-Hunter Order itself.
Six years ago, Seven Hills had suddenly sealed itself off. A massive force of Cathedral Knights encircled the region, locking it down for two full years. No one entered. No one left. Even after the incident ended, Seven Hills remained under the tightest security in its history.
No one knew what had truly happened. Neither royal spies nor special envoys ever set foot in that god-blessed land. The isolation delayed information for years—it was only six years later that the Purification Agency learned the Witch-Hunter Order had been disbanded.
So how did this damned detective know?
Red Falcon had no time to think.
"They must die here," Lloyd continued. "Hundreds of them. If they spread, it'll be a plague. Even if everyone here dies, we still kill them all. Do you understand?"
He grabbed Red Falcon by the collar and exhaled smoke into his face. In the dim glow, his expression was savage.
Demons must die.
"Now tell me—do you understand, Mr. Kamu Naredo?"
It was like a devil whispering in his ear, thick with terrifying madness. The detective was serious. He would kill every demon here—even if it meant they all died.
"But… dying isn't necessary, is it?" Lloyd suddenly added. "So—what else do you have? Incendiaries like before? Reinforcements with serious firepower?"
The shift was so abrupt that even Red Falcon froze. The madman ready to die with them all vanished in an instant. Eve, barely visible in the darkness, gave Red Falcon a helpless nod. Yes. He's always like this.
"So? Stop staring and tell me what cards you're hiding!"
Red Falcon snapped back to reality.
"We—we'll reach a station soon. Our main force is there. But there's interference—the radio can't get through. We need to warn them somehow."
Arriving at Burrow's station without warning, with a swarm of demons in tow, would mean catastrophic casualties. The operation on the Sacred Coffin might fail before it even began.
"How far are we from the station?" Lloyd asked calmly.
"Not far."
"Bring the incendiary weapon."
Suddenly energized, Lloyd yanked Red Falcon upright.
"What are you planning?!"
Red Falcon couldn't understand. Lloyd was strong—but against that many demons, he couldn't hold them off alone.
"What else?" Lloyd grinned. "Fireworks."
Confidence radiated from him.
"If we don't know the distance, then we launch one every so often. Flames that big—unless your people are blind, they'll see it."
"You mean… using incendiary bombs as signal flares?"
Red Falcon stared at him.
It was absurd. Brilliant, perhaps—but absurd all the same.
A signal flare that could melt steel.
"The optimal solution: most people survive, the fiends are eradicated."
With those words, Lloyd stepped toward the door.
Beyond it came a shrill, grinding scream—as if tens of thousands of steel needles were being dragged across metal. That was the sound of blood-hungry fiends. To them, Lloyd and the others were nothing more than sealed rations, a tin can of meat they were desperate to pry open by any means necessary.
Some of the soldiers brought out more incendiary weapons—bulky firearms whose foremost payloads were lethal white-phosphorus rounds.
Red Falcon was the nominal commander, yet in this moment of absolute crisis, the sense of total control radiating from Lloyd crushed what little confidence remained among them. Like a final hope made flesh—when someone remains rational at the edge of madness, it brings a terrible, undeniable reassurance.
"No—no—are you insane?! We can't hold them back at all!"
Only now did Red Falcon snap out of it, screaming in protest. He couldn't understand how his own thoughts had been dragged along by Lloyd, how he had actually begun to believe this damned plan might work.
How many fiends were out there? Hundreds? Thousands?
Against such a colossal tide, they wouldn't last long. Once the door opened, whether they could even make it out of the carriage would be a question.
"Relax," Lloyd said calmly. "You fire the signal flare. Leave the fiends to me."
As he spoke, he pushed the door open.
A violent gale rushed in, carrying with it the stench of blood and death. From beginning to end, this detective never gave Red Falcon a choice. The door was already open. There was no path left—except to follow this madman to the very end.
[Secret Blood Awakening: 17%. Stability threshold exceeded.]
As the door swung wide, scorching fire ignited within those gray-blue eyes.
"You still don't seem to understand how to fight these monsters…"
Lloyd looked at the still-hesitating Red Falcon, his tone almost mocking. The shotgun was slung aside, and then a blade slid free from the case. He drew a second sword, gripping both tightly, his voice sinking low.
"Between us and them… it has always been kill or be killed."
Then the blades roared.
Blazing white fire burst forth with every strike, and under those sweeping arcs, countless fiends were driven back, powerless to advance. That lone figure stood between the carriage and the horde—power beyond the mortal realm, holding back the tide of death by sheer will alone.
He roared:
"Run!"