Eve stared at the coin before her. She had never seen such currency—whether it belonged to some distant nation or was merely a commemorative token, she couldn't tell. Panic flickered in her expression, but it faded swiftly. Her pupils sharpened like the edge of a drawn blade.
Phoenix blood flowed in her veins—an anchor to her spirit. Eve knew with absolute clarity that she could not afford fear. She was destined to stand beneath the gaze of the Hall of Manifestation. The Phoenix Duchess—her journey was far from its end.
"May I?"
She picked up the coin and looked toward Lloyd, as though seeking permission. This wager was between him and Sabo—she was merely the dealer.
Lloyd nodded, then spoke to Sabo.
"No psychological tricks. No cheating. No technique beyond mortal reach. Pure, unfiltered luck. I quite like it."
"That's wonderful,"
Sabo also nodded, genuinely pleased that Lloyd accepted a gamble that seemed so absurd.
"One side is a shield. The other, a battle axe."
"I choose the shield," Lloyd said at once. He didn't even glance at Eve—his eyes remained locked on Sabo.
"This coin must be old. I seem to recall it's a currency that's been abandoned."
"Yes," Sabo replied, a hint of nostalgia shading his tone.
"It was minted more than a decade ago by the Viking Kingdom of Nobido. You know how Vikings made their fortune at sea—every port had its own coinage. This was the first currency to unify the Vikings under one banner. But it's rarely seen now—mostly kept by collectors."
As he reminisced, Eve flicked the coin upward. It spun into the air, dancing like a silver-white sprite under the light.
"It must mean something to you," Lloyd remarked.
"A relic of home, perhaps? You don't strike me as a collector. You wouldn't have kept it this long otherwise… would you?"
The sentiment was familiar—how soldiers long withdrawn from the battlefield still polish their medals, seeking a memory of the honor once earned.
"I don't miss that frozen wasteland," Sabo snorted.
"Being born there was the first mistake of my life. I only kept this coin because it was the first thing I ever won at the gambling table. I lost my first finger for it—so it's my lucky coin."
He rubbed his left hand where his pinky should have been. Only a twisted scar remained—an unhealed wound from a bargain struck and paid in blood.
"I still had four fingers then. I won against that bastard—but he was a coward. So I killed him. My first kill, I believe. Taking fate into your own hands…it's intoxicating."
There was excitement in his voice—this grotesque tale was far more legendary than one might imagine.
The coin descended. The girl caught it swiftly and slapped it onto the table. A game children might play—yet now it carried crushing weight.
"Reveal it."
At Lloyd's request, Eve slowly lifted her hand. The battle axe stared up at them.
Lloyd had lost.
"Who in the hell are you?"
Sabo stroked his scar again, hunger burning in his eyes. He truly wanted this answer.
"Lloyd Holmes. A detective."
Lloyd replied without hesitation—but Sabo shook his head sharply, dissatisfied.
"I mean who you were before Old Dunlin. What were you?"
He was no different from Berau—both haunted by curiosity toward this enigmatic man.
After a brief silence, Lloyd answered:
"A priest."
Even Eve blinked in confusion. No one alive could easily picture this deranged monster as a holy man.
"A priest? From the Holy Gospel Church?"
Priests were once common—back when the world still belonged to the Holy Gospel Papal State. They had sent countless clergy to nations across the globe, puppeteering governments through doctrine. But then the rise of steam technology shattered faith's monopoly—the roar of muskets and airships freed humanity from holy shackles.
Sabo laughed and did not press further.
"This time, I bet on the axe."
So Eve tossed the coin again. It soared, then fell. Neither man watched its arc; their gazes were locked on each other—calm voices concealing swords drawn beneath.
The coin landed.
The axe again.
Another win for Sabo.
"Why did you come to Old Dunlin?" he asked.
"Because this is Old Dunlin," Lloyd replied softly.
"A city of steam and miracles. The peak of human science. The City of Hope. The heart of roaring machines that have cast the old world into oblivion.
Back in Florenza, they say this place is filled with gold—opportunity and fortune waiting at every corner. Here, anyone can begin a brand new life."
His tone was steady, detached—as though recounting a story that had nothing to do with himself.
"True enough. The Church's power is fading. Kings tear down cathedrals one after another, relying on gunpowder to secure their rule. This isn't a century ago anymore—when priests like you could live comfortably on alms alone."
Sabo scoffed at the thought.
"So the infamous butcher of Red River once wore a cleric's collar? Aren't you afraid of divine punishment?"
Countless bodies fell during the Red River Massacre. The cruelty alone could make butchers blanch—and the architect of that bloodbath was the former priest standing before him.
"If divine punishment truly existed," Lloyd murmured,
"your little den would already be a blazing crater of thunder and flame."
The orchestra had long since fallen silent. They too had breathed in the hallucinogenic fumes, and now clung to one another, dancing in warped and twisted motions. Down on the dance floor, the scene was no different. People tore at their own garments—and their skin. Pale flesh was laced with dozens of fresh, bleeding lacerations. They screamed and moaned like beasts, voices stripped of all meaning. Human civilization had been utterly cast aside.
"Perhaps the gods are merely waiting to tally our sins after we die. This time, you go first."
"A shield."
"You're choosing the shield again? You've already lost twice," Sabbac questioned, confused.
"You've beaten me twice, which means your luck is running thin. The Lady of Fortune favors no one forever. Now it's my turn to win." His confidence was absolute.
Eve lifted her hand. And just as Lloyd had foretold, it was the shield—his victory.
"What exactly was in that shipment?"
That question gnawed at Lloyd more than anything. Tonight's nightmare had begun because of that mysterious cargo.
"The Sacred Coffin. They say it was dug out from a sunken wreck in the Ice Sea. Many have already died for it."
"The Sacred Coffin? What is it?"
Lloyd had never heard of any such artifact—not even in theology.
"I don't know," Sabbac admitted openly. "It's like a pronoun—like the God of the Evangelical Church. Do any of you truly know what that god is? A person? An object? Or something else entirely? Like the Holy Grail in scripture—it's merely a name, standing in for something that cannot be spoken of."
"Humanity cannot describe such things. So we crown them with holy names that sound noble."
Something about those words tugged at Lloyd's instincts. Something wrong. Something lurking.
The coin spun upward once more, flipped, and fell.
"Shield or battle-axe?" Eve asked this time—neither man had spoken first.
"Shield."
Sabbac declared abruptly—choosing Lloyd's emblem.
The coin was revealed. Just as Lloyd had claimed, the Lady of Fortune was fair—battle-axe. Lloyd won again.
But he did not rush to press his question. Instead, he drew a pocket watch and checked the time.
"You have business to attend to?"
Deep into the night, there was nothing urgent until sunrise, and dawn was a long way off. Sabbac couldn't understand what Lloyd was waiting for.
"Yes. Which is why this will be my last question."
"Winning and then leaving—there's no worse sin at the table." Sabbac's gaze chilled. Among gamblers, this was the act of the lowest of cowards.
"Forgive me. I've no choice."
Lloyd rose and stepped to the edge of the high platform. From here, the once-grand hall lay entirely exposed beneath him. Its earlier splendor had long since rotted away. On the carpet below, bodies were strewn—helpless, twitching. The narcotic had devoured all their strength. Their eyes were chaos itself.
Nobles—once so lofty—now lay like beggars stripped of dignity, reduced to livestock penned in a sumptuous cage.
"How do you usually deal with them afterwards?"
"Is that one of your wagered questions?"
"Of course not. Just curiosity… and I trust you'll indulge me."
He smiled politely at Sabbac—so sincerely curious it was unsettling.
"It's simple. We send them back where they came from—into the most luxurious hotels of the Inner City. They will wake on soft, clean sheets, washed of exhaustion. Outside waits the beautiful world of Old Dunling. And all of this—" Sabbac gestured at the carnage, "—will fade like a fleeting dream."
"A lovely ending, isn't it?"
"Sounds delightful," Lloyd nodded.
And then he asked his final question:
"What about them? The crew of the Silverfish. They carried the Sacred Coffin. And the ones who blocked my way that day—where are they?"
This was the last answer he needed. And Sabbac, ever candid, almost seemed like a man on Lloyd's side.
"They're all dead. And those who aren't… are wishing they were."
"All dead?"
Lloyd could hardly believe it. Then realization struck—his pupils narrowing.
"You killed them?"