Lloyd pulled Eve into that deranged revelry, and in an instant the truth unfolded before their eyes.
A long corridor stretched toward the depths, yet—like a spider's web—countless branching paths unfurled as they advanced. At every junction lay people with glazed, drifting eyes, as though they had drowned in dreams from which they would never wake.
"What… what is this…?"
Eve felt her breath seize; language nearly failed her.
"The Feast of Euphoria."
Lloyd answered with striking calm. The feverish air around them stirred not even a ripple within him—his blood felt cold, untouched by the frenzy. His gaze passed over the bodies strewn across the ground, tangled together in delirious embraces, united in their intoxication.
And this was only the outer ring. No one knew how many more slept beneath this vast underground palace.
But Lloyd didn't care. He tugged Eve forward, stepping over bodies that twitched and writhed like specters lost to their fantasies.
"What are they doing?"
"Dreaming. It's the only escape they have."
Lloyd kept his arm around her as they walked.
"You've heard of those hallucinogens ravaging the outer districts, haven't you? That's what they're using. Just a tiny dose is enough to flee reality for a long while. It's one of Sabo's favorite entertainments. Down here, they call gatherings like this a Feast of Euphoria. To them it's… a collective ascent to heaven."
His voice cooled, a subtle edge of disdain glinting beneath the calm—this method of escape had never sat well with him.
"But heaven never lasts long. The dream ends. And when they're thrown from that paradise back into the filth of the lower districts, most of them wake in tears."
Eve froze. She had witnessed only a sliver of the world's cruelty, yet it pressed on her like a stone.
"Why… why do they do this?"
Her question trembled—as though she were asking why these people didn't simply work harder, or love life more.
...
This was the age of steam.
Engines roared and churned, thrusting technology forward with merciless force. Yet the blessings of progress did not fall on everyone—not even here, in the old city of Dunling within the nation of Inlveig.
The entire city had grown twisted and sick.
Storm clouds swallowed the sky; zeppelins drifted high and never descended. Civilization's most advanced inventions bloomed in this furnace of industry, promising a bright and wondrous future.
But the cost was staggering.
Foul air churned inside every Inlveig citizen's lungs.
Forests from ancient days had been devoured to keep the furnaces burning; only barren lands remained.
And since the pinnacle of technology always served the military first, Inlveig had emerged victorious from a century-long Glorious War. The spoils of conflict and their unrivaled military innovations fueled their rapid rise. Under such warped development, the Serpent of Midgard stretched across nearly all their territory—silent tides of steel capable of crushing any nation that dared resist.
Yet the blackest darkness is always found beneath the brightest sun.
Public infrastructure lagged far behind. The Mechanical Academy could launch machines of war weighing hundreds of tons into the skies, yet it could not bring a single electric light into the homes of the poor.
And after "productivity" was liberated, an uncountable number were cast aside.
They became strays—driven out by their own nation, scavenging like feral dogs in damp sewers until despair consumed them.
"The entire old Dunling stands like a pyramid," Lloyd said, voice devoid of warmth.
"Layer upon layer of class pressing downward, until the powerless at the bottom are crushed into its foundation."
"Machines don't need wages. They don't need rest. But people do.
That's why they were discarded."
Eve remained silent. As someone from the aristocracy, she found herself without even the right words.
They endured the long passage, every sense assaulted by the delirium around them. When at last they stepped into the true ballroom, Eve exhaled in relief.
The doors closed behind them with a deep groan. Music swelled. Men and women writhed in the dance, as though the doorway had sealed the world away—keeping all that heat and chaos trapped inside this chamber.
A great chandelier—hung with countless crystals—scattered light across the vaulted ceiling, turning it as bright as day.
The hall was far vaster than the corridor suggested. Rows of steps rose upward like an ancient Roman arena. The splendor here was unimaginable—Eve would never have believed the lower districts could possess something so grand. It felt as though all the wealth from below had been poured into this single marvel.
"Do you dance?"
Lloyd bowed and took Eve's hand before she could answer, guiding her into motion.
"I'm… not very good," she murmured, though it was already too late—they were gliding through the dancers, weaving among shifting figures.
The band atop the dais played with intoxicated fervor, their music tugging at everyone's emotions.
"As a noble, you should learn," Lloyd remarked. "Perhaps you'll meet your future husband at a ball someday."
His movements were impossibly skilled; Eve felt like a marionette in his hands, swaying wherever he led.
"So why do you know how to dance? Do detectives need this too?"
He sighed. "Most affairs are caught right after the dance ends."
His tone turned dry, as if he regretted revealing yet another bit of his embarrassing past.
Eve's lips curled into a mischievous smile. For a moment, if she forgot why they were here, it almost felt like an ordinary evening.
"Keep your eyes open. We're here to find Sabo."
He spun her lightly; her skirt flared like a blooming lotus.
"You don't know what he looks like?"
"I'm just a detective. How would I? We have to find him before the night ends."
Though he spoke casually, his gaze flickered constantly.
"He's a Viking, right? Should be huge—easy to spot."
But Lloyd shook his head.
"He won't be on the dance floor. He's the host. And this is only the prelude. A host has no reason to appear so early."
His eyes swept the golden hall. If not for the mask, he would have looked exactly like a thief hunting for something to steal.
"This is his kingdom. And a king watches from the highest seat. No matter what happens, he must see everything first."
Eve's slender waist moved effortlessly beneath his hands as they glided and spun through the crowd, the music lifting them along.
"Just like the zeppelins—they stay above the clouds, watching all."
Lloyd's gaze finally fixed on a distant height. He leaned to whisper in Eve's ear.
"I think I've found him."
A raised platform loomed ahead. Nobles of greater rank sat there, conversing softly, savoring wine and delicacies, exchanging secrets meant for no other ears.
"You think he's among them?"
Eve turned during a twirl and caught sight of the platform herself.
"No. Higher."
Lloyd looked past the dais—toward a wall of radiant, jewel-like glass.
Though they were deep underground, that wall was lined with colored panes depicting scenes like those in a holy cathedral. Yet down here, no sacred light could ever reach them.
"That stained glass doesn't belong in a place like this," Lloyd murmured.
"There must be a hidden room behind it. He's there, watching us quietly from behind the glass."
"So what do we do? Shoot at it?" Eve blurted, reckless as ever.
"If we try that, we die here," Lloyd said flatly.
"This is underground. You saw how winding the path was. The only exit we know is the one we came from. It's a defensive choke point. One man with a fire-rifle could hold it against a hundred—against an army."
Just like Leonidas at Thermopylae.
Numbers meant nothing in such a narrow passage.
"Then what should we do?"
"Wait."
Lloyd's confidence seemed unshakable.
"There will be a chance."