It was a thing of pitch-black mass, dark enough to dim the night sky itself. Vast torrents of steam burst from its hull, rolling in with clouds and gale-force winds.
Spiral propellers thundered as they turned. A new-generation steam engine poured power into every inch of the steel behemoth. Twin rows of piercing searchlights cut through the darkness, like the blazing eyes of some primeval giant opening for the first time. Then it began to descend.
It was a war airship.
During the era of the Glorious War, it was machines like this that crossed the White Tide Strait. Flying at altitudes far beyond the reach of ground artillery, each appearance was that of a merciless harbinger of death. All the enemy could do was watch as it drifted above their lands, before raining down fire like divine punishment.
Yet this one was different.
Lloyd had never seen a war airship of such colossal scale. No such model had ever appeared in Ingilvig's official records.
Reinforced iron plating and dense rivets interlocked across its body. Enormous directional sails jutted from either flank. Heavy steel panels slowly lifted, and the main guns mounted along both sides slid down their rails, extending their muzzles outward.
This was the product of twisted craftsmanship. The engineers had named it after the miraculous sea-dwelling beast recorded in the Gospel.
The Leviathan-class war airship—Dawnbound.
Its arrival suffocated the battlefield into momentary silence. Then, countless bolts of thunder erupted from the colossal frame. Artillery batteries unleashed their fury without restraint. To Dawnbound, every living thing on the ground was nothing more than a target. Apocalyptic fire rained down, flames devouring the earth, severing the tide of countless monsters surging in from the sea.
It was a sight worthy only of myth.
Superheated shells fell from the heavens, staining the gloomy clouds a deep iron red. They slammed into the ground, blasting crater after crater, before erupting in searing explosions that annihilated every demon within their kill zones.
This was the efficiency of a war machine.
During the counteroffensive of the Glorious War, dozens of such airships had plunged into Gaulnalo territory. Ingilvig's steel leviathans ruled the skies, and all their enemies could do was watch as fire flattened city after city—until, at last, they signed their surrender.
First came the artillery purge. Relentless bombardment carved a zone of safety out of the chaos of war.
Then the sky cavalry descended.
Dragging steel cables behind them, they dropped from the air just before reaching the ground. Thermite rifles roared to life in their hands, tracing blazing arcs as they fast-roped down, eradicating the remaining demons with practiced precision. In moments, layered fire nets were established, sealing the perimeter around Glorious.
"Looks like we're safe,"
Bailao said as he finally allowed himself to sit back inside the carriage, loosening his grip on his weapon. Seeing his fully armed comrades, he felt—at last—the advantage of fighting on home ground.
His mission was over. They had successfully delayed until Lancelot's arrival. Whatever lay ahead, that cold-blooded knight would cut it down, one by one. And that wasn't even counting the unfathomable demon hunter standing among them.
"The demons aren't all dead yet."
Lloyd's voice rang out again. He looked up at the reinforcements pouring down from the sky. Their arrival had turned the tide, yes—but he didn't believe it would end so easily. He strode forward, walking straight into the burning rain and the howls of the monsters.
"But Dawnbound has arrived," Bailao replied. "What matters isn't the firepower aboard the airship—it's who owns it."
That caught Lloyd's attention.
"What do you mean?"
Bailao explained lazily,
"I mean, that's his mount. And if the warhorse has arrived, how far behind can its rider be?"
He was already here.
A piercing howl of wind tore through the air above them, something plummeting at terrifying speed. Lloyd caught only a fleeting shadow slicing through the night, before a massive white parachute burst open to slow the falling knight.
But clearly, he was in a hurry.
Before the descent could fully stabilize, the knight severed the connection. He accelerated once more, plunging downward.
Like a meteor crashing into the mortal world.
His target was the giant emerging from the tide.
It was a monstrous amalgamation of countless demons. By all biological logic, a creature of that scale should not exist—it should have burned itself to death from its own heat before ever moving. But anything tied to demons carried a trace of miracle, and so this nightmare stepped out of dreams and into reality.
"Lloyd, have you ever seen a demon like that?"
Among them all, Lloyd had the most experience. Bailao directed the question to him.
"No," Lloyd answered. "Demons used to operate in secrecy. They've never moved on this scale—let alone produced something this large."
He sprinted across the burning ground. To be honest, everything he had seen tonight shattered many of the doctrines he had once learned in the Order. The world was changing. More secrets were rising to the surface.
That was the wonder of the world.
Just when you think you understand it, you realize you've only seen the tip of the iceberg. Everyone is ignorant—trembling wretches shivering in the dark.
Secret blood began to surge.
To avoid detection by the ever-lingering Church, Lloyd kept it below the critical threshold—barely activating it at minimum output. Black divine armor slowly enveloped his body, searing white flames roaring out through the seams.
[Secret Blood Awakening: 17%. Stability threshold exceeded. Silver-binding bolt melting initiated.]
[Attempting connection to the Stasis Sanctum.]
[Connection failed.]
[Reconnecting…]
The cold, genderless voice echoed in his mind once more.
Truth be told, Lloyd despised that cursed silver-binding bolt. It was the Church's most refined mechanical creation—and yet it felt like a ghost living inside him, ready to kill him the moment he broke free of its restraints.
That was how Ed had died.
Molten holy silver had utterly destroyed his body, sealing that aberrant secret blood within metal.
Gripping his nailed sword, Lloyd spun the Winchester in his other hand with effortless elegance. A round chambered. A breath of blazing white dragonfire surged along the barrel.
His gaze lingered briefly on the scarred gunmetal frame. Etched there was a short line of poetry—a memory from Florence.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
The towering demon filled his vision.
Several meters tall, its twisted flesh still streamed with seawater. Strange patterns crawled across its bloated body, as though countless demons clung to its surface. Eyes opened from every fissure of flesh—not just its head, but across its entire form—staring hungrily at the world.
Purifying flame rose.
Lloyd pulled the trigger again.
Howls and fire collided. Steel and gunpowder tore into flesh. Shattered gore flew as warm blood burst from massive veins, pouring like torrential rain.
Lloyd never saw that strange knight again.
As he fell into darkness, it was as if he dissolved into the night itself—vanishing without a trace.
But Lloyd had never placed his hopes on the knight.
He could do plenty on his own.
Facing the mountain-like silhouette, countless eyes locked onto him. He raised his rifle, sighting the creature's head.
Yet just as he squeezed the trigger—just as purifying flame was about to engulf that grotesque face—a voice whispered into his ear.
It carried an inhuman malice. Familiar. And deeply chilling.
[Reconnecting…]
[Connected to the Stasis Sanctum.]
[Login confirmed. Login ID…]
The sound inside his head was disorienting. Lloyd froze, his movements stalled by the intrusion.
And in that fleeting moment, the massive hand came crashing down—dragging with it crushing winds and violent force.
A shriek of metal tore through his ears, leaving him briefly deaf. High-frequency ringing drowned out the neutral narration in his mind, reducing it to an indistinct, wailing hum.
Then—
A sharp grappling hook slammed into the descending palm.
From the opposite side of the darkness, the knight named Lancelot burst forth. The winch screamed as it reeled in the cable, dragging him closer to the demon—until his blade came down.
Blood and shattered bone exploded before Lloyd's eyes.
The divine-armored knight, gripping his massive sword, turned his head midair to look at Lloyd. That gaze was sharp, almost accusatory—as if demanding to know why he had hesitated.
But inside Lloyd's heart, a storm had already been unleashed.
After six long years—
The silver-binding bolt had reconnected to the Stasis Sanctum once more.