The long, lingering wail of a train whistle cut through the conversation between Shrike and Blue Jade. Shrike lowered his gaze, his thoughts unreadable as he watched her breathtaking profile.
The woman before him was shrouded in mystery. You might think you understood her—but that was only a beautiful façade. Just like her codename,Blue Jade: the brilliant kingfisher that soars through forest canopies, never to be caught. Free as the wind itself.
"It seems our guest has arrived."
Shrike turned toward the window, toward the direction from which the whistle had sounded.
"Guest?"Blue Jade couldn't imagine who would willingly visit this godforsaken place—cold, ruined, packed with weapons and soldiers. Even criminals would rather steer clear.
"My good detective," Shrike replied calmly. "Lloyd Holmes. Red Falcon reported over the radio—he's on the train as well."
He turned back to Blue Jade as he spoke.
"ThatLloyd Holmes?" she asked.
Shrike nodded.
The mere thought of the detective gave him a headache. He had no desire to expose the identity he wore beneath the title ofcrime lord. Lloyd was far too clever—clever enough to infer the truth from fragments alone.
The coming operation was too important. To Shrike, Lloyd was a dangerous variable, an uncontrollable factor—a razor-sharp double-edged sword. Mishandled, it would cut its wielder just as easily.
"So what are you going to do about him?"Blue Jade asked, gazing past Shrike toward the direction from which theRadiantwas approaching.
"I'm leaving that to you. My suggestion? Knock him out the moment you catch him, bind him with iron chains, and dump him somewhere. You can't kill him—but you can make his life unpleasant for a while."
Shrike spoke from experience. Ever since Lloyd had completed his acting studies and slipped silently into Shrike's inner circle, Shrike had never let his guard down.
"Why me?"Blue Jade frowned.
"Simple. I don't want to see that lunatic." Shrike's disgust was undisguised.
"Hm… I think you may not have a choice."
Blue Jade raised a finger, pointing toward the darkness beyond the window behind him.
Shrike sensed it before he turned.
Under the pitch-black night sky, a blazing serpent thundered along the tracks. White-hot flames were dragged out behind it by the wind, stretched long and luminous—like a burning brushstroke carved across the earth.
What was truly insane was that the burning train was still sounding its whistle—cheerful, almost jaunty. Like a deranged Thomas the Tank Engine.
"All units, move!"
Shrike's roar exploded across the comm channel. Soldiers on the abandoned platform sprang into motion as theRadiantclosed in. Geiger counters began to scream—sharp clicks escalating into a feral, continuous shriek as distance collapsed to nothing.
...
"Looks like we've arrived."
Lloyd stared at the faint pinpricks of light in the darkness—the lamps mounted on soldiers' iron helmets. Red Falcon hadn't lied. A mysterious force was stationed here, and they were already prepared to receive them.
"No… we need to turn back!"
Red Falcon's voice wavered as he watched the burning carriages, demons surging forward only to die again and again.
"What's wrong? I'm here. They won't get past me."
Lloyd raised his blade, confidence unwavering—but Red Falcon was shouting about something else.
"I meanthem! They're carrying the Institute's new weapons! If we stay on the roof, we'll be shredded!"
Before the words fully left his mouth, daylight erupted.
A massive floodlight ignited from the highest point of the platform, bathing the train in blinding white. Beneath its glare, the twisted demons had nowhere to hide.
For a brief moment, everyone felt a constriction in their chest.
The demons were countless—like an ant swarm—white flames still burning on their bodies as they howled toward warm, living flesh with ravenous hunger.
"Open fire!"
The command came from Commander Shrike.
Soldiers raised their new weapons—more accurately, weaponsdesignedfor demons.
From where the stars seemed to rise, gunfire erupted. Hundreds of crimson rounds carved burning arcs through the night sky before raining down upon the train.
Lloyd had no time to think.
He seized Red Falcon and leapt from the carriage just as the first wave of rounds struck.
They were incendiary bullets. Upon impact, they erupted into violent combustion. Unlike Lloyd's mysteriousPurifying Flame, this fire was brutally simple—yet capable of reaching terrifying temperatures in an instant.
The carriage occupants reacted immediately. The doors flew open; Lloyd and Red Falcon tumbled inside without hesitation.
A storm of fire followed.
Like molten rain, like acidic downpour, bullets slammed into the steel shell, leaving glowing, melted craters behind.
Inside, Eve clutched a handrail. She heard only shrill whistling—then impact after impact against the metal walls, as if countless blacksmiths were hammering from the outside.
The temperature surged. Heat pressed in from all sides. Everyone felt it.
On the platform, fully armed soldiers continued firing. When attacking the carriage proved ineffective, the demons turned their attention to the soldiers instead—howling as they charged down the tracks.
None made it far.
Fire cut them down in waves. Any that breached the line were finished by Shrike's silver spear.
Demonic shrieks intertwined with gunfire, forming the soundscape of hell itself.
Where the blazing rounds struck, steel and flesh alike dissolved under the unbearable heat.
This was the power of technology.
If a god of technology existed, every pull of the trigger was a prayer.
"So… whatisthat weapon?"
Inside the carriage, Lloyd wiped sweat from his brow. It felt like surviving a disaster. Those bullets could melt steel—being hit would mean annihilation.
"A product of the Mechanical Institute," Red Falcon gasped."Thermite rifles."
He continued, the air inside stifling beyond reason.
"Think of it as launchable thermite. An igniter in the muzzle triggers the reaction during firing. On impact, it releases massive heat—enough to melt through heavy armor."
Human technological history was, at its core, the evolution of weapons—each generation deadlier than the last.
"Damn it… is this how you won the Radiant War?"
Lloyd was speechless. He understood that war accelerated progress—but not at this speed.
"No. We use it to kill demons."
In the darkness, something cold pressed against Lloyd's chest.
"Mr. Holmes. I need your cooperation."
Just moments ago, Red Falcon had been a comrade. Now the betrayal was complete—or perhaps it had been planned all along.
"Cold-blooded," Lloyd scoffed."Without me, you'd be dead out there."
"One thing at a time. I'll speak on your behalf… at least make your detention comfortable."
The situation flipped in an instant.
"So what's your plan? You think ordinary weapons can kill me?"
Once Lloyd had ignited the Purifying Flame, he no longer bothered hiding. The hunter's radiance burned freely, driving demons into oblivion. His identity was exposed—there was no point pretending otherwise.
"I know. But you're awfully confident. Because of the Order's secret blood technology?"
Red Falcon studied Lloyd carefully, waiting for anger, shock—anything.
There was nothing. Only absolute composure.
"You know quite a bit," Lloyd replied calmly.
"Yes. Unlike the Order, we don't possess miracle blood. So we turned to technology. This is our answer. Even without secret blood, we can fight demons."
"Are you boasting?"
"No. I just want you to behave."
Lloyd remained silent, calculating—until the girl stood.
"Looks like we've reached a dangerous balance."
Eve brushed her sweat-soaked hair back and raised her silver revolver, pressing it against the back of Red Falcon's head.
To her, everyone on this train was suspicious—no Inglvig army markings, yet armed with lethal firepower, and somehow entangled with demons. She couldn't afford trust.
Since that insane night, she had been like a fawn hunted through the forest by unseen predators.
For now, Lloyd was the only one she trusted.
"So… can we all lower our guns and talk like adults?"Lloyd sighed. Even speaking felt exhausting in the suffocating heat.
"You could do that outside."
Another voice.
The heavy iron door opened from without. Icy wind surged inside, sending shivers through sweat-soaked bodies.
The man stood unmasked, expression hard, weapon in hand. Behind him lay the burning battlefield.
Lloyd froze—then grinned, as irritating as ever.
"Shrike, I always thought you wore a mask because you were ugly. Turns out you're… passable."
Shrike didn't dignify it with a response. He ground his teeth and muttered:
"I really didn't want to see you here,Lloyd Holmes."