This was a storm of rare ferocity. The brutal weather had driven everyone indoors, while the strange things prowling the streets were completely concealed by the wind and rain. Though they were only a short distance away,
Families drank and talked merrily together while, beyond their doors, blood ran like rivers through the torrential rain.
Perhaps this was the very history of mankind and the supernatural distilled into a single image. Those who fought against t
The Iron Serpent tore through the curtain of rain, heading toward the destination Lloyd had already anticipated. It was the escape route Oscar had
Lloyd remembered it. Back then, Lady Fanlud had been eagerly anticipating its maiden voyage, saying that she hoped to ride it back into the skies once more. That wish would probably never be fulfilled—or, at the very least, would have to be postponed. For now, the airship had been requisitioned by Lloyd.
This was a raging sun where conspiracy and desire converged. The Plague Doctor had come bearing Lawrence's orders, intent on assassinating Lloyd. In their eyes, Lloyd possessed the same power as Lawrence—the mysterious Authority, Gabriel. As for the fact that Lloyd had survived beneath the Heavenly Fire, they had already concocted an explanation of the
To Lawrence, Lloyd
The Plague Doctors attacked with reckless ferocity, attempting to capture Lloyd at this critical moment. At the same time, the demon hunters of the New Church joined the fray. They, too, coveted the unknown
Lloyd was like a bri
Outside the carriage window, the chaotic storm churned violently. Even while resting, Lloyd could not help but look toward Black Mountain Hospital. It seemed as though
Lloyd had no idea what was happening there, but somehow, beneath the curtain of rain, he could still sense the weight of the suffering.
On the other side of the storm, several minutes earlier.
The freezing rain washed over the divine armor stained with blood and filth, pale steam rising from its surface. The strange steel body slowly heaved, almost as if it were breathing. With every breath, the steam engine strained toward its absolute limit. Amid the thunderous roar, a grappling hook shot toward the earth.
"Lancelot…"
Everyone stared in disbelief at the streak of ghostly blue racing through the storm. No one could have imagined that the mysterious Lancelot was Ovis, much less that beneath this terrifying divine armor, such a fragile body was controlling it all.
"Arthur… he's Lancelot?"
Swallow stared at the scene in disbelief. During their days at Black Mountain Hospital, she had always been the one caring for Ovis. She knew the boy carried a secret. After all, his surname was Victoria. But she had never imagined that beneath that secret lay another, deeper truth.
"You let a child take part in a war like this!"
In Swallow's eyes, Ovis was simply a pitiful child. At an age when he should have been running freely, the King's Curse had bound him to a wheelchair. And yet this very child was Lancelot—the Lancelot who fought monsters with his own hands.
"What have you done, Arthur?"
Arthur ignored Swallow. He simply stared at the figure racing through the rain, memories of the past appearing upon the canvas of the present.
It had happened long ago, in the gardens beside the Platinum Palace. Arthur had met Ovis for the first time there. The boy had been somewhat dull and quiet, sitting in his chair and staring at the emerald lawn before him. There was longing hidden within those vacant eyes. He seemed to want nothing more than to stand and run, but by then the King's Curse had already begun to consume his body, leaving him dependent on servants even to move.
Ovis seemed to know who Arthur was. The moment he saw him, he struggled shakily to his feet and staggered over.
"Exorcism Bureau? The organization that fights the monsters. I know you. You're Arthur."
"You don't need to know how I learned all that. But… I want to join you. I've already spoken to the Queen about it."
"Why?"
"Because I think you might have… miracles?"
"Yes. Miracles. You know what the King's Curse is. As I grow older, I'll only become weaker and weaker until eventually I'll need someone to care for me just to stay alive. They always say it's a curse from the Devil, something beyond the power of mortals to dispel… At least, ordinary human strength can't do it. But what about miracles? Those mysterious, unfathomable miracles?"
"You possess miracles. Yes, miracles. After all, you're fighting those hateful monsters. Humans cannot withstand monsters unless a miracle occurs."
"I believe in them."
It had been a brief conversation. Arthur had been completely unable to dissuade the child, whose face still carried the innocence of youth. In the end, under the Queen's instructions, he allowed the stubborn boy to join the Exorcism Bureau.
At first, Arthur paid little attention to him. After all, even the Victoria royal family seemed not to care much about the boy. Otherwise, they would never have agreed to let him come to a place like this.
But everything changed after the routine spiritual aptitude testing.
The boy possessed an unimaginable strength of will. His mental fortitude was terrifyingly powerful, so much so that he could actually control a First-Generation Divine Armor.
The child put on the formidable armor, sealing away both his fragile body and the vicious curse within its steel shell.
Arthur stared at the trail of blood Ovis had left behind as he crawled. Ovis might have been only a child, but like Arthur, like everyone else, he was living for something. For the sake of that something, he could resort to anything. He could abandon everything.
As the grappling hooks hauled the divine armor forward, a razor-sharp flash of steel tore through the rain. Arthur did not know what Ovis was living for, but he knew one thing with absolute certainty.
Now, Ovis had obtained what he wanted.
"No. I didn't destroy him. Quite the opposite. I saved him, Swallow."
Arthur's voice was low. He had never regretted that decision.
He had given the child a path toward a miracle, even though the end of that path led into bottomless darkness and a cold so absolute it could freeze the soul.
Swallow stared at Arthur's back. For a moment, she found herself unable to understand the man. The others fell silent as well, shaken by his words. Eve watched the divine armor soaring through the storm, her expression complicated. She did not know what this strange feeling inside her was. But when she imagined Ovis's somewhat vacant, sorrowful face hidden within that armor, she felt as though she could sense the same sorrow.
"Forget all this for now! Find a way to evacuate!"
Joy shouted. In a situation like this, anyone could be s
"What about the King's Curse? Ovis is carrying it with him. He won't be able to hold out for long!"
Blue Jade asked anxiously.
"Trust him."
Arthur moved as well.
"The simplest way to prevent the King's Curse from affecting him is not to get hurt. As long as he isn't injured, the curse can't do anything to him."
The most terrifying aspect of the King's Curse was its inability to clot wounds. The moment the body was injured, a person would become like a ruptured blood bag, their blood pouring endlessly from the wound.
"Don't worry about him. Just like in all his previous operations, he knows perfectly well that he cannot afford to be injured. That's why Lancelot never gives the enemy a chance to touch him."
A difficult problem, solved by a simple method.
Many found the idea almost absurd.
But then the roar came.
The rushing thunder shattered every sense in its path.
Beneath the vast dome of the heavens, Lancelot raced forward. The divine armor had been designed from the very beginning for high-mobility combat using grappling hooks. He was like a bolt of lightning impossible to capture. The monsters could not even touch him. All they could feel was an icy wind sweeping past them, and whenever that phantom flashed by, the razor edge of his sword would already be carving through their bodies.
Both were First-Generation Divine Armor, yet Lancelot displayed power far beyond Percival's. He controlled the armor with a perfection that made it seem like an extension of his own body.
Within a brief span of time, Lancelot had wiped out most of the monsters around him. The fighting style of this divine armor was like that of a ruthless swordsman—swift and lethal. When killing a monster, he never needed a second strike.
But then agitation erupted from the other side of the battlefield.
The armored monster abandoned its assault on Percival and turned toward Lancelot.
Almost at the exact moment their gazes met, the grappling hook struck the armored monster. Yet the dense divine armor prevented the hook from penetrating. At the same time, a second grappling hook shot into the ground beneath its feet. With the combined pull of the cables and the force of the armor, Lancelot became as swift as a gale, the lightweight First-Generation Divine Armor displaying mobility beyond imagination.
Spinning through the air, he circled the armored monster and struck again and again. Amid the shriek of tearing metal, multiple showers of burning sparks and fragments of steel erupted from the creature's jagged armor.
The armored monster's joints had been increasingly restricted by the hard, proliferating armor. Its twisted body staggered as it tried to follow Lancelot's movements, but he was simply too fast. He was like a violent wind that could never be grasped, leaving behind nothing but the sensation of his presence fleeing from every direction.
Another heavy strike.
Under the tremendous output of the Old Era Divine Armor, Lancelot drove his grappling hook into the dome above. His blade came down viciously upon the monster's thick neck.
But once again, the attack ended in failure.
The dense armor continued to grow wildly as the secret blood boiled within it.
The armored monster's movements grew slower and slower. After its complete transformation into a monster, the secret blood, freed from all restraints, released its power without limit. Layers of heavy armor grew like weeds, becoming increasingly dense, increasingly terrifying.
Lancelot tried attacking from another angle.
At the same moment, Percival moved as well. Her divine armor was battered and broken, but fortunately, it could still fight. She raised her greatsword and attempted to draw the monster's attention, creating an opening for Lancelot.
"Evacuate! Use the time Lancelot is buying us! Move!"
Kestrel shouted from the side, directing the medical personnel and wounded toward the research district. After Lancelot donned the divine armor, Arthur's side finally had at least some hope of survival. They had originally intended to break through from the ground, but a mysterious Plague Doctor was guarding that route, and no one knew what other abilities the creature had yet to reveal.
"This is… the Scavengers… broadcasting… to all survivors…"
At this critical moment, a broken voice suddenly came through the silent communication channel.
Perhaps Lancelot's slaughter of so many monsters had reduced the effects of the corruption, allowing the previously jammed communications to recover somewhat.
The others' eyes lit up.
As long as communications were restored, the others would know what was happening here. With the Exorcism Bureau's ability to mobilize forces, reinforcements would arrive soon.
But unlike the others, Arthur felt a chill settle in his heart the moment he heard that the Scavengers were broadcasting.
"Please… quickly…"
The voice broke apart again.
"What did they say?"
Kestrel shouted. At this moment, reinforcements were their only hope. Lancelot's desperate battle had done nothing more than push their deaths a little farther into the future.
"I'm trying! I'm trying!"
Robin gripped the communicator tightly. Only then did he remember that he had absolutely no idea how to repair such a device. For all he knew, it wasn't broken at all—the corruption had simply interfered with the signal again.
He gritted his teeth and slammed the communicator hard.
Under this brutally primitive method of repair, the distorted voice somehow became clear.
Almost everyone who heard it was moved to tears.
Then the words themselves dragged them back into the abyss.
"Command-level personnel of the Exorcism Bureau have lost contact. Scavenger forces are assuming control of the battlefield. Disaster Protocol No. 36 is now in effect. To all survivors receiving this broadcast: seek shelter immediately."
What were they going to do?
The people looked at one another, but no one knew.
Only now did they realize how little they actually knew about the Scavenger forces. They knew only that the Scavengers were responsible for dealing with the aftermath left behind by monsters, and that they served as a transitional department for personnel before retirement.
Thinking about it carefully, that was almost the entirety of their understanding.
They were always dressed in black.
They always appeared at the very end of an incident.
And they always presided over funerals for the dead.
It was almost as though their understanding of the Scavengers had been distorted by something.
Just like Black Mountain Hospital, hidden behind an antimeme.
No one knew what lay deeper within this department…
"Find shelter!"
Arthur shouted.
As the commander, he clearly knew exactly what the Scavengers were—and what Disaster Protocol No. 36 meant.
Just as everyone within the Exorcism Bureau knew, different disaster protocols existed to deal with different catastrophic situations.
And now, one of them had been activated.
Arthur dragged the wounded into the tunnels beneath the research district. Lancelot fired a grappling hook and disappeared beneath the dome, while Percival did her best to retreat into a corner, grabbing the external armor plating that had fallen from the Third-Generation Divine Armor earlier and using it to shield herself.
Then, high above the gloomy and darkened sky, an immense conflagration suddenly erupted.
Endless rain of fire pierced through the torrential storm and descended upon the earth, sweeping across the entire surface of the research district.
The monsters were consumed in flames.
On the other side of the storm, the Ascalons had come to a halt upon the railway tracks within Old Dunling. Their immense weight had crushed the tracks after the bombardment, leaving the ground webbed with cracks, while the twisted rails sank deep into the earth.
All around them stood figures dressed in black—the Scavengers, packed together like night crows marching beneath the darkness.