Pollution

"You... are you saying that I touched the Secret Blood a long time ago and became what you call a qualified person?"

Eve said this in disbelief. In her memory, the first half of her life had been so carefree. She was the princess of Phoenix, and all of Old Dunling waited for her to come of age; whoever married her would effectively possess half of the great Phoenix family.

"Yeah, that's the only conclusion. It seems Old Dunling is much more complicated than I imagined. For instance, I thought demons were extinct, yet after all these years, I've actually encountered them here in Old Dunling."

Lorenzo said this casually. To him, such things weren't even a problem—at least people were still alive.

"Demons went extinct over a dozen years ago. That was the wildest celebration in the history of the Demon Hunter Order. Everyone drank until they passed out, pouring burning holy water over the very last demon and watching it howl in agony as it died."

"To be safe, the Demon Hunter Order continued to monitor the world for several years, confirming the complete extinction of demons. There was no prey left in the forest for hunters to hunt, so I retired and came to Old Dunling to chase my dreams. Just like I said, I really do dream of being a detective."

Chattering away like an old woman, Lorenzo was truly a peculiar man. Through his idle gossip, he sketched out a grim and terrifying world, yet his tone sounded as if he were teasing a big cat at the zoo. It was hard to tell if he was just used to it or if it was simply his nature.

Optimistic?

Looking at that lazy, world-weary face, with the warm sunlight streaming through the glass onto his features, it was a beautiful scene. Yet, his expression stubbornly carried the look of someone who was owed millions. The cold ruthlessness from before had vanished entirely.

This... he was simply heartless.

"Wait, does that mean you are also one of those so-called qualified persons?"

Only then did Eve recall that Lorenzo, like her, was a qualified person who possessed the Secret Blood, and that he knew even more.

"Right, but it doesn't matter anymore."

He seemed completely indifferent, slowly standing up as he looked at Eve.

"Eve, your situation is far more complex than what we've discussed, but at least for now, you seem safe. Still, if you ever need anything, here is my business card."

Looking at the soaked business card, Eve finally remembered that Lorenzo was a detective. Although he was bottom-tier, he was likely the most capable fighter among them.

"From state secrets to catching cheating spouses, this detective handles it all. If it involves demons, please pay double."

Combing back his wet hair, Lorenzo picked up the Winchester at his side and prepared to leave.

"Where are you going?"

Eve asked hurriedly.

"Home, of course."

Lorenzo turned back. He was already walking steadily, though it was hard to imagine such vitality.

"But... didn't you ask that Doctor to get medicine?"

"I just wanted to send him away. After all, this 'friend' of mine has had it rough enough—middle-aged, divorced, and his only child doesn't seem to live with him. Why deepen his connection to the darkness? Let the poor man be."

It was clearly he who had kicked open Buscalo's door with a shotgun, yet now he was acting hypocritical. Sometimes, Eve couldn't quite figure out what was up with this detective.

He was like the wind; his actions always preceded his words. By the time Eve wanted to say something else, the door had already closed. Lorenzo was gone.

Suddenly, there was a sense of emptiness, like a hamster whose house had been lifted. Filled with an inexplicable feeling, Eve knew clearly that she had stepped into the darkness and had no choice but to keep moving forward. Although she felt some fear, at least the true world had become clear in her eyes.

Looking down, the soaked business card used cheap ink, and the handwriting had blurred, but the text was still vaguely legible.

"Outer District, East Ilins District, 121A Cork Street."

"Lorenzo Holmes."

Sunlight spilled through the glass window, driving away the cold wind of the approaching winter. Her body felt warm and incredibly comfortable.

Shrike struggled to open his eyes. Above him was the familiar ceiling, covered in mythological murals of gods in their fury raining down fire to banish twisted demons from the mortal world.

As he watched, Shrike suddenly smiled. He thought that if anyone painted it again in the future, they should add airships and cannons; those things were far more useful than ethereal gods.

He remembered that this place used to be a monastery before it was converted into a hospital. Every time he was injured and fell unconscious, he would wake up here again, like a reset point in his life—only, he always woke up feeling miserable.

Shrike tried to move, but his hands seemed to be bound, unable to budge.

As expected...

"You're awake?"

A familiar voice sounded from the other side. Shrike felt a bit dazed. He turned his head to see Robin lying on the bed next to him, his chest wrapped in blood-stained bandages. Wearing an oxygen mask, his voice sounded like a broken bellows, accompanied by a loud, wheezing hiss.

"You're actually still alive?"

Shrike was both happy and incredulous; that sword strike should have been fatal.

"Yeah, Galahad's strike was off-center."

Robin looked at Shrike with a sidelong glance. Although he spoke lightly, his injuries were still severe, and even turning his head seemed like an effort.

"It's good to be alive. What happened in the end?"

"It was Nikolai. You know that the minds of those lunatics at the Perpetual Motion Pump are impossible to predict. They treated the operation as an experiment for the Original Sin Armor, but the experiment failed. Galahad lost control, and it took a great deal of effort for us to subdue him. As for where he is now, I have no idea."

Shrike said slowly, still feeling fearful about that night over a dozen hours ago. The dark angel had opened its arms to him, and those sharp wings had nearly shredded him to pieces.

"But one thing is certain: he's probably wishing he were dead right now. After all, to those people at the Perpetual Motion Pump, we're all just test subjects with no human rights."

Shrike wanted to curse loudly, but speaking with such intensity caused pain to flare throughout his entire body. It felt truly lethal.

"I hope you can understand them. They are just a group of... great men who trade ethics and morality for knowledge. Our society needs people like that, of course, just not too many of them."

Kestrel walked into the ward. As one of the few high-ranking knights currently stationed in Old Dunling with time to spare, he felt it was necessary to visit his two colleagues who had narrowly escaped death.

"I'm grateful this crazy world needs them, otherwise I would have sent that bunch of lunatics to an asylum to rot until they died."

Robin, lying to the side, said weakly.

Kestrel walked over to the two hospital beds. Although their injuries were severe, at least the two of them were awake. Just then, a group of nurses walked in, pushing a complex piece of equipment.

Shrike felt a headache coming on the moment he saw the device. He tried to scramble out of bed, but the nurses gave him no chance. The head nurse strode over and whipped off Shrike's blanket in one motion, revealing his white hospital gown and bandages; his limbs were firmly secured by restraints made of a mix of leather and linen.

"Sir, please cooperate. This is standard procedure; we need to ensure you haven't been corrupted."

The head nurse said this while pulling the instrument to the side of Shrike's bed, while the other two watched the scene with schadenfreude.

The corruption of demons was bizarre. Anything related to demons could become a vector for infection. Based on the knowledge accumulated by the Purification Agency over the years, they discovered that corruption began with the nerves, first corrupting a person's will, followed by the distortion of flesh, until the victim eventually became a new source of corruption.

To guard against this viral-like expansion, the Purification Agency conducted a willpower assessment on all personnel after every operation against demons. This method of assessment was invented by the people at the Perpetual Motion Pump, which only made Shrike want to kill them even more.

Kestrel had been on the outer perimeter during the defense, and Robin's injuries were too severe for him to endure the process, so this assessment was conducted entirely for Shrike.

The nurses skillfully picked up scissors and clipped away a patch of hair from the back of Shrike's head, then gently inserted a needle electrode into the spot.

"This might be a little painful."

The nurse said.

"I've done this before; I know exactly how much this damn thing hurts."

Shrike said helplessly. What he couldn't stand more than the pain was something else entirely, but before he could finish his sentence, the head nurse pulled the power switch. Accompanied by a few sparks bursting from the instrument, Shrike felt as if someone had grabbed him, his entire body plummeting downward.

First through the soft mattress, then the concrete floor, then deeper still, falling endlessly into the darkness.

Another interview failed; I don't want to work anymore. Please, everyone, add to your collections and vote. Once it's officially released, please subscribe, okay? Being unemployed is so annoying.