It felt as though one were plunging into the deepest ocean. No matter how hoarse the struggle, how desperate the thrashing, your voice could only echo within those darkened waters. No one would ever hear that you existed. You would simply keep falling—downward, endlessly—until even memory itself dissolved into the distant abyss.
Lloyd slowly opened his eyes.
Before him lay a quiet street. People dressed in elegant formalwear walked hand in hand, smiles scattered among them as they savored the stillness beneath the moonlight.A poet sang on the corner, fingers plucking at strings, recounting stories long sealed away by dust and time.
He felt utterly exhausted. Lloyd turned his head slightly. He was draped in a white robe, a silver cross hanging upon his chest. The people around him looked at him with reverence.
"You'll catch a cold if you sleep here."
A voice rose beside him. A white-haired man had taken a seat at his side, his face carrying the weathered gravity common to middle age. Like Lloyd, he wore clerical vestments—only his were a vivid red, the color of one favored by the divine.
Passersby offered him respectful glances, lowering their heads, murmuring prayers beneath their breath.
"Archbishop Lawrence?"
Seeing this familiar figure from the past, Lloyd felt a strange stirring in his chest. He had never expected that, after so many years, he would see him again.
"Wait… is this Firenze?"
He suddenly sensed that something was amiss. Clutching his head, Lloyd stood up and looked around. Though his memories of this place had grown blurred, among the layered architecture he still found a faint thread of familiarity.
This was it—the place where he had been born. He had clearly left here long ago, yet after who knew how much time, Lloyd had returned to where it all began.
"You look as though you've had a very long dream," Archbishop Lawrence said gently, as if seeing straight through him. "Long enough that you nearly forgot who you are."
A servant of God, the leader of the Demon Hunter Order—Lawrence needed only a glance to pierce the core of Lloyd's confusion.
"A… dream?"Lloyd lingered on the word, still finding it hard to believe.
"Yes. You have undergone the Rite of Divine Grace. You should have gained something from that sacred baptism. Just as I once told you—those memories that do not belong to you will always follow. Some will aid you; others will cloud your judgment."
Lawrence smiled faintly. He always gave off a soothing warmth, like spring sunlight. Even without the red robe that marked his status, one would take him for a sage at first sight.
"I, too, once had dreams so vivid I could scarcely tell reality from illusion. I was lost, just as you are now. But time answers all questions, no matter how difficult."
"Even that damned forty-two?"Listening to Lawrence's gentle sermon, Lloyd was reminded of something buried deep in his memories—a story written within a medium called 'film.'
The ultimate answer to everything in the universe was forty-two: a number that seemed meaningful and yet utterly meaningless. Lloyd could never make sense of it, and so he could only regard that fragment of memory as an absurd tale.
He didn't know whether other Graced ones carried such nonsense with them, but at the very least, through those shattered memories, Lloyd had come to understand the existence of something called the universe.
"Forty-two?" Lawrence chuckled softly. "You mean something from your own private set of memories."
Every demon hunter underwent baptism. Only the Rite of Divine Grace could further refine their will, allowing them to resist demonic corruption. Yet it also brought side effects—memories that did not belong to them. No one knew where these fragments came from; even within the Order, there was no definitive answer.
"Perhaps…" Lloyd said quietly. "Then what did you dream of, Archbishop?"
He barely remembered the ritual himself. His recollection was a blur—only that he had stepped into a pool glowing with faint light, and afterward gained both these memories and a resistance to corruption.
"Many things," Lawrence replied. "But I'm old now. I've forgotten most of them."
Whether he truly had forgotten, or simply chose not to answer, he let the question drift away.
"When I was young, I longed for the world I saw in those memories—just as you do now. A world utterly unlike ours. No demons, no war. Peace everywhere, and everyone could obtain what they desired."
As he spoke of those yellowed recollections, his voice carried both nostalgia and quiet regret.
"But I traveled far—across countless lands—and I never found it. Only then did I realize it was nothing more than an illusory bubble. Tragic, perhaps… but comforting, in its own way."
Lloyd nodded, half-understanding. He studied the familiar face before him, trying to imprint it into his mind, again and again.
"All right. Don't dwell on it," Lawrence said, patting Lloyd on the shoulder. "Today is the Great Day. The Pope awaits us at the Seven Hills. The execution of the Old Era is about to begin. Every demon hunter must be present."
As he finished speaking, a lavish carriage rolled to a stop before them.The door opened in silent invitation. Without further thought, Lloyd boarded with Archbishop Lawrence.
The Seven Hills lay beyond Firenze. As the very heart of faith, only believers and churches were permitted there. Its entire cycle of existence depended upon Firenze—like a parasite clinging to the city.
The Tiber flowed alongside them as the carriage sped along the riverbank.
Inside, the carriage was vast—less a vehicle than a moving office. At the rear of the elongated cabin, stacks of documents were neatly arranged by assistants upon a table for review.
"Mm… do you know the country to our north?" Lawrence asked suddenly, peering through thick lenses as he studied the papers.
"The north? You mean Inglvig?"The name surfaced instantly in Lloyd's mind—the city where he had lived for six years in a dream. Everything there had felt so real, as though only minutes ago he had still been among its streets.
"Yes. After its war with Gaulnaro ended, steam technology advanced rapidly. To avoid being targeted by us alone, that Victorian queen generously shared steam technology with other nations, binding them to the steam juggernaut."
He set the papers down and looked directly at Lloyd, his voice turning cold.
"Steam now rises across the world. Even the mysterious Jiuxia has received their technological support."
"They all fear the Church," Lawrence continued. "They seek to use steam to leave us far behind. For now, a fragile balance remains—but no one knows what comes next."
Lloyd sensed the implication beneath his words.
"You… what does the Church intend to do?"
"That," Lawrence said with a knowing smile, "is precisely what we will discuss tonight."
"But tonight isn't—"
Lloyd's gaze stiffened. Suddenly, he remembered. He remembered exactly what this night was meant to be—the long-anticipated celebration.
"Isn't this a good day?"Lawrence smiled. Beneath that icy gaze burned a fervent madness.
"The end of an old era," he said softly,"and the dawn of a new one."
At last, Lloyd recalled everything. Months ago, news had already spread within the Demon Hunter Order: the final demon had been captured. Tonight, they would execute it, proclaiming the end of the Old Era and the arrival of the New.
"Then… what about us?"Lloyd lifted his head to look at Lawrence, confusion like none he had ever known filling his eyes.
"If the last demon dies," he whispered,"do we demon hunters still have a reason to exist?"
Was he questioning Lawrence—or himself?This was the final choice at the end of a long, uncertain road.
It is because of death that life becomes precious.It is because darkness terrifies that light holds hope.
All things exist in opposition and dependence.So what of demon hunters?When demons are gone, where do demon hunters go?
"There will always be a way," Lawrence said meaningfully."No matter how the era changes, we will endure. Like scattered sparks—so long as they have not gone out, they are enough to ignite once more."
Gradually, murmurs and prayers filled Lloyd's ears. The immense, solemn city loomed larger and larger before his eyes, as though it were alive. Countless believers gathered in the square, singing praises of its existence. Their fevered breaths merged together, rising as warm white mist, as if the city itself were breathing with them.
Towering cathedral knights stood guard at every intersection. They wore finely crafted armor, sharp swords at their waists, and massive firelocks held firmly to their chests—one frontal shot enough to punch clean through steel.
The carriage carried Lloyd swiftly past this all-too-familiar scene, racing forward, crossing the long crimson carpet, and finally arriving at the most sacred center of all.