The thing of pitch-black pressed down upon the searing white flames.
The demons recoiled in fear, scattering and lurking at a distance like jackals, peering into the battle.
The inferno's heat could not shake it in the slightest.
Within the blazing white purifying fire, the lethal black sword stood out with cruel clarity as it pierced Ed through and through.
"So… were you toying with me all this time?"
This was the power that overturned the battlefield.
With the awakening of Lloyd's secret blood, Ed was left utterly incapable of resistance.
"No. I simply thought it unnecessary. If the secret blood awakens too deeply, the Gospel Church will notice. Just as you said—the Thirteenth Directive has never ceased. Until every trace of secret blood is reclaimed, the Templar Order will never stop."
To Lloyd, it was merely troublesome.
He had hidden himself well in Old Dunling—six years without discovery. In truth, no one had ever been worthy of forcing him to awaken his blood to such a degree.
The Demon-Hunter Order was dead, but the Gospel Church still endured.
In the name of faith, they had rallied an armed force known as the Templar Order. Every believer could become their hound. Secret blood was a priceless asset, and the Gospel Church would never allow such wealth to remain at large.
"Then what is this now?" Ed demanded. "Have I finally made you take me seriously?"
Ed tightened his grip on the black blade, the rising heat trying to melt it away.
Lloyd's face was completely hidden beneath his helm. Only the roaring flames surged out through its seams, flickering and leaving pale trails in the air.
"Not quite," Lloyd replied calmly. "There's simply something more worthwhile waiting for me. I don't have time to waste here, chatting with you."
He reversed his grip and tore the black sword free once more.
Burning blood sprayed through the air. In the next instant, Ed raised his mottled spike-sword and brought it crashing down, flames roaring in its wake.
Metal screamed as it collided, sparks exploding chaotically.
Ed fought like a beast of fire, his blade hacking in a frenzy. Upon his burning flesh, more metal began to precipitate outward, forming jagged protrusions like rising spikes. Blazing white and pitch-black slammed together, then staggered forward, plunging into the proliferating mass of blood and flesh.
Shrill warning tones filled his ears—cold, neutral voices, mechanical and merciless.
The silver-binding bolt.
That damned thing was screaming inside his head. A relic of the Order's technology. Demon hunters were hunting hounds—but every hound required its collar.
Ed had crossed the critical threshold.
Secret blood was multiplying wildly within him, spreading unchecked, flooding his body with power and dread alike.
Again and again he struck.
Ed could even see Lloyd clearly now—his mind reduced to nothing but the act of swinging. Every clash of metal filled him with pleasure. He was hitting Lloyd. If this continued, no matter how hard that divine armor was, it would shatter beneath his assault.
He was exhilarated—
not only because Lloyd had finally revealed his power, but because of its source. This was an authority Ed had never witnessed before. Perhaps it was connected to the Night of Holy Descent? He was getting closer and closer to that nightmare of an answer, closer still—
A sudden stab of pain shattered his reverie.
His swinging blade froze midair, like a machine jammed tight, locked in place, unable to move another inch.
"So… what is this supposed to be?"
He stared at the demon hunter before him. The pitch-black divine armor did not merely cling to Lloyd's body—it was expanding outward, like savagely growing branches, drooping from the core and sinking into the writhing flesh below. From the ground at Lloyd's feet, black thorns lashed upward, whipping Ed violently and carving broad swaths of blood across his chest.
Under a heavy blow, the visor cracked slightly.
Beneath it, a single gray-blue eye emerged—utterly devoid of emotion.
Lloyd's counterattack had begun.
It was like a simple turn-based game—until one side could no longer endure. The thorns snapped upward, like spears thrust forth, piercing straight through the flames.
Ed clenched his sword and met Lloyd head-on, slashing downward with all his might. In the blink of an eye, a howling shriek tore through the air, the atmosphere itself rippling under the force.
The burning figure charged forward a short distance, then slowly came to a halt.
There was no will to attack again. He stood alone, head lowered.
That blade had followed Ed through countless battles.
With the Order gone, this mass-produced spike-sword had become his sole connection to the past. For six years of madness, it had borne witness to everything Ed was.
Now, already webbed with cracks, it finally broke.
In truth, Ed had known this day would come.
A blade was a consumable—no matter how carefully he maintained it, it would one day shatter. Just like a demon hunter.
He turned slowly, the broken blade clenched in his hand.
Dozens of fine wounds riddled his chest, as though Lloyd had struck him dozens of times in a single exchange. That was inhuman speed—far beyond what Lloyd's raw strength should allow.
It was the black sword.
The dark blade hung low in Lloyd's grasp, wrapped in razor-edged thorns, coiling like venomous serpents along a stone pillar. It was that sword that had cut Ed in the instant of their clash.
"Stop, Ed," Lloyd said. "You can't defeat me. If you let the secret blood continue to proliferate, you'll trigger the meltdown of the silver-binding bolt."
From beneath the pitch-black armor came a heavy voice.
The iron shell seemed to encase a blazing white star. Faint flames seeped from the seams where the plates met, pulsing like breath—waxing, waning.
"No… it's not over yet."
Ed gripped the broken blade with all his strength, ignoring the frenzied warnings in his mind. More silvery-white metal precipitated from his body. Scorched by the purifying flames, it looked like iron cast fresh from a furnace. It flowed down his arm, bridged the broken blade, and solidified at the fracture into a newly formed sword.
[WARNING: Secret Blood Awakening at 67%. Critical threshold exceeded.]
[Silver-Binding Bolt Meltdown: 13%.]
[According to the Scabbard Accords, you have ninety seconds of operational time. After ninety seconds, disengage all armaments and await recovery by the Templar Order. Any resistance will be deemed hostile intent.]
The chattering voices would not stop.
A toxin called Holy Silver was spreading through his body alongside the awakening blood. Ed was dying—but he had never been stronger.
At this point, he no longer cared.
He wanted only the answer—the answer that had shattered every beautiful dream.
Ed had loved his comrades deeply.
They should have known honor and applause. Instead, they died in the shadows of history, nameless, unremembered.
[WARNING! WARNING!]
The purifying flames surged again, burning ever brighter.
Secret blood was born of demons, and now the part of Ed that was still human was diminishing. The effect called erosion took hold, followed by the mutation of flesh—until at last the blazing purifying fire burned together with his very body.
[WARNING! WARNING!]
[WARNING! WARNμπ&οξνρφ...]
As the final boundary was breached, that cursed voice finally fell silent.
The Black Knight gazed at the burning figure—
like a falling meteor, brightest in the final instant before it vanished.
"How tragic," he murmured softly,
then dove downward, sword and thorns carried with him.