From the very beginning, the Purging Order had underestimated the power that crept out of the darkness. The entire town of Enderfall had become a breeding ground for demons. Every resident was dragged into the same shared dream, sinking into visions of beauty until they themselves transformed into monsters known as fiends. And now, they poured forth in a single, overwhelming tide.
The power of the Divine Armor reinforced Barlow, leaving no room for delay. He hadn't even caught a glimpse of the mysterious Sacred Coffin yet. At this moment, the only thing he could do was fight—fight with everything he had—and leave as many demons here as possible.
The thermal blade came down in a burning crimson arc. The Purging Order possessed no holy silver, but through science they had achieved its effect. Every wound left by the blade was completely carbonized—blood and flesh dead beyond recovery, even solid bone collapsing under the heat, as if struck by flowing magma.
Demons burned as they died, and more immediately surged forward. Encased in the Divine Armor, Barlow now stood over two meters tall. To reduce the burden on its core systems, the second-generation armor incorporated extensive mechanical structures and layered plating. Those heavy defenses, however, now became shackles, making his movements clumsy and slow.
Razor-sharp claws raked across the armor, spraying brilliant sparks and deep gouges across the metal surface. Fortunately, the more delicate inner mechanisms were shielded by layers of demon flesh. With the armor's tenacious self-repair systems at work, the damage remained superficial.
Through the narrow slits of the visor, Barlow could see nothing—only endless blackness rushing toward him. He couldn't even tell which direction he was facing. Surrounded by hundreds, thousands of demons, all he could do was swing his blade in futile arcs.
It felt like walking into the sea. Black tides crashed against him again and again, each wave making it harder to stand, until finally he would fall—swallowed completely by the surging water.
Each swing of the sword grew heavier than the last. Only now did Barlow truly understand what Galahad must have felt inside the Divine Armor. It was nothing short of a nightmare.
Dreams, demons, and the armor itself—three forces gnawed at his will simultaneously. On the armor's status panel, the green indicator that measured mental stability began to flicker erratically, as if it might turn red—out of control—at any second.
Perhaps this was humanity's tragedy: not only fighting demons, but fighting one's own will at the same time.
The steam engine in his chest released a low, growling roar. Scalding vapor surged through brass conduits, erupting outward with immense output. Barlow seized a demon by the throat. With only a slight squeeze, its fragile bones snapped in his grasp.
The creature went limp, hanging in his hand like a broken puppet, its muscles twitching grotesquely. He hurled it aside, knocking down several more demons that had been charging at him.
The tide continued to rise. He felt like a man standing on a beach at high tide, seawater creeping higher and higher over his body, carrying with it fragments of hallucinated memories and washing them onto the shore.
Killing gradually became instinct. The thermal blade released its final surge of heat before the connecting cable was bitten through by a demon. Even without its thermal output, the weapon remained a massive greatsword. The sheer momentum of its swings was enough to crush demons to death.
Technique no longer mattered. On this battlefield, only efficiency counted. Barlow swung the greatsword with brute force, spinning like a windmill, grinding every demon within reach into pulp—until his thoughts dissolved into chaos, his grip loosened, and the blade slipped from his hand, crashing into the ground and throwing up clouds of dust.
Beneath the visor, Barlow's face was deathly pale. The moment he had donned the Divine Armor, fine electrodes had extended from its spinal column and pierced into his flesh, binding human will to a monstrous body.
At first, he had been able to remain rational. But as time passed, his resolve crumbled—like a sandcastle on the shore, helpless against the rising tide.
Memories of Berhans flashed before him again and again, like the final moments of a life replayed while standing before one's own grave.
He saw his brothers and sisters. His adoptive father. And then, his grandfather.
The old man—aged, yet still brimming with vitality—had raised him. At first, Barlow hadn't wanted to come to Old Dunling. Berhans was his home, filled with everything familiar. But one day, his grandfather found him and told him that he had grown up—that he was no longer a child, but a man.
He said Barlow should see a bigger world. He might get hurt. He might make many enemies. Hell, he might even stumble into a damned romance. But whatever happened, it would all be part of living—and that alone would be enough.
So Barlow came to Old Dunling and gained everything he had now. If fate allowed, his retirement would have been spent back in Berhans, lying on familiar green fields, watching dark clouds roll out of the industrial zone as the blood-red setting sun painted the world in chaotic beauty.
But he probably wouldn't make it back.
That was why he had written a letter to his family at the station.
Damn it.
Thinking of that letter, Barlow forced himself to focus through the pain beneath the visor.
That damned letter was still on him. If he died here, who would ever find it?
A sharp jolt from the electrodes in his back snapped him into partial clarity. The metal compartment on the armor's back burst open. Locks disengaged one by one, revealing multiple sword hilts and gunstocks.
A portable armory.
Those who designed the Divine Armor had always intended this to be expendable. Knights, armor, weapons—none of it was meant to last.
He drew a broad blade, pale as lightning. It was a simple sword, needing no ornate design—only sharpness and strength.
An orange-red glow flared inside the steam engine as massive amounts of vapor burst from the cooling vents. Superheated gas struck the cold blade, instantly condensing into countless droplets. Driven by the armor's output, blade and vapor cleaved through demons at the waist, tearing open a curtain of crimson.
Power flooded his body.
It felt incredible.
Perhaps… merging with this warm tide wouldn't be so bad. Letting himself drift, swayed by storm and wave…
His heavy eyelids sagged. Blood splashed through the visor slits, turning his vision a blurred red. An overwhelming drowsiness took hold—unlike anything he had ever felt. If he closed his eyes now, he was sure he'd return to that familiar place.
Then thunder seemed to explode beside his ears.
"Wake up! Barlow!"
Someone was shouting through the cacophony. The next instant, a blood-streaked yet striking face filled his vision. Her hair was loose, her cloak in tatters, yet not a single wound marred her body.
Blue Emerald clung tightly to a raised section of the armor, crouched on his shoulder like a lithe lynx.
Like a drowning man sinking into the abyss, Barlow seized the hand reaching down from the surface at the final moment of consciousness—gripping it with everything he had, refusing to let go.
In that instant, many thoughts flashed through his mind. He couldn't die—not now. If he fell, Blue Emerald would never withstand such a horde alone. And behind them, aboard the Radiance, there were still soldiers.
Power surged back into the Divine Armor. His sluggish movements became swift once more. The blade carved through everything ahead like a meat grinder, while Blue Emerald danced along the edge of death itself. No matter how violently Barlow moved, she maintained an uncanny balance, firing as she went.
She stared into his eyes through the visor slit and shouted again.
"Barlow! Get the Radiance moving!"
If the Radiance moved, they could break through the encirclement—maybe even charge straight to the source of the corruption and finish the mission.
As if burning the last spark of fuel in his soul, Barlow answered with action.
His arm reached back to the weapon rack. He pulled down a massive fire-gun and, without hesitation, aimed it at the swarm ahead. He pulled the trigger.
It was like opening the gates of hell.
A single peal of thunder rang out. From Blue Emerald's perch, she saw a streak of advancing white light—then an explosion swallowed her vision. The blinding flash left her sightless for several seconds.
It was as if a mythic dragon had unleashed its breath. A roaming sea of fire erupted from the heavy gun. Molten metal and perpetually burning compounds flooded everything in view, spreading like beating wings of flame, scorching all life and carving a blazing path into the earth.
"What… is that?" Blue Emerald whispered, stunned even by her own standards.
From beneath the visor came Barlow's weak reply.
"A masterpiece from the Mechanical Institute. A Divine Armor fire-gun called Dragon's Breath."
A derivative of the second-generation Divine Armor. A knight was never meant to wield armor alone—he needed a gun capable of piercing any defense.
This was the Divine Armor fire-gun, usable only by armored knights. Not merely because of its impossible size, but because of its sheer lethality.
That single shot cleared a swath of the battlefield. The ground burned. Barlow stood amid the flames with Blue Emerald on his shoulder, and no demon dared step within.
He released his grip. The Dragon's Breath slipped from his hand. With a glance, Blue Emerald could tell it no longer resembled a firearm at all—it had blown itself apart the moment it fired.
The research institutes were infamous for their madness, but they never made unreliable tools. From the start, they knew such power would cause catastrophic failure. Rather than reduce the output, those brilliant lunatics simply turned the weapon into a single-use consumable.
Shaking molten metal from his arm, Barlow grabbed another fire-gun and sprinted along the burning path toward the front of the Radiance.
Surrounded by hellfire and devastation, Blue Emerald clung tightly to him. Strangely enough, she laughed. When you truly accept that death is near, fear seems to vanish.
Beneath her was a charging knight and a trail of fire. Around her, howling demons closed in.
And in that moment, Blue Emerald felt like a valkyrie riding across the battlefield.