The hound…
Loyd stood by the window in full armament, his figure half-swallowed by shadow. This was the highest point of the manor—a vantage from which the entire exterior could be surveyed at a glance.
The dominion of House Stuart lay in the south. Within Old Dunling, they held no formal fief. Thus, the residence where Selyu lived was a manor in the inner city—once a temporary lodging for the Duke of Stuart during his audiences with the Queen. Owing to the delays surrounding succession rites and other formalities, Selyu had come to reside here for an extended time.
Loyd had always believed that the ancient manors scattered across the wilderness made the perfect stage for horror. In such terrains, interior and exterior existed in a sealed tension—like a locked room… albeit one vast beyond reason.
But now, the story was to unfold in the inner city.
Run inward, and one would reach the Imperial Guard's garrison. Run outward, and there was Cork Street. Run faster still, and Loyd could even drag along this rather optional investor to visit the company she had funded. Within that fortress-like mechanical institute, forget spectral hounds—any demon foolish enough to appear would be melted into nothingness in a heartbeat of gunfire.
He picked up the Winchester resting beside him, feeding rounds into it one by one. The soft metallic clicks echoed faintly in the dim room. A single, solid projectile—cast entirely of sacred silver—was kept close to his body.
That was his true weapon.
As he prepared, Loyd reviewed his remaining arsenal.
The nail-sword had been destroyed in battle against demons. Judging by tonight's circumstances, there would be no time to return to Cork Street for a replacement. In truth, the weapon itself mattered little—the essence lay in the sacred silver. The nail-sword's uniqueness had never been more than a coating of that very substance.
And that substance… was running out.
This mysterious metal, capable of suppressing demons, was dwindling with each use. Loyd could not help but feel the pressure mounting. Merlin was attempting to analyze its composition, hoping to replicate it—but Loyd held little faith in that endeavor.
The relics of the Gospel Church always gave him an uncanny impression.
As though they could not be imitated.
As though they possessed some core principle—some hidden technology—and until that secret was grasped, all imitation was nothing more than a crude parody.
After checking his firearms, Loyd reached for a knight's sword.
In the age of modern rifles, such cold weapons had long since become symbols of status rather than tools of war.
But against demons—
They would never grow obsolete.
"So… are you done making noise, Loyd?"
The voice came suddenly from the darkness.
There was someone else in the room.
Selyu lay on the bed in her nightclothes, her voice edged with fatigue as she addressed him.
"I'm protecting you."
"I also need sleep."
Her reply was simple.
Her face bore exhaustion. As drowsiness crept in, the cold mask she wore seemed, at last, to loosen. She was only human.
Not like Loyd.
As a demon hunter, his will allowed him to endure relentless days and nights of combat. Knowing that something lurked nearby, he felt no sleepiness—only a rising thrill.
It was instinct.
As a man salivates at the scent of food, so too does a hunter stir at the trace of demons.
After a brief discussion, Loyd had decided to stay and confront the mysterious hound. To ensure nothing went wrong, he would remain here for the night.
"Fine, fine… just don't sleep too deeply."
He set his weapons aside and stood.
Yavi was patrolling the manor with a hunting rifle. Loyd would remain close, guarding Selyu. The curse that lingered carried with it a maddening illusion—no one knew if the hound would truly come, nor how it would manifest.
No one knew.
So they waited.
Loyd melted into the darkness of the room, silent as a fading breath. Were it not for the faintest trace of another breathing presence, Selyu might have believed herself alone.
He knelt upon the floor, Winchester and sword laid across his knees. Closing his eyes, he expanded his perception outward—
Like floodwaters spilling from a broken dam, it seeped across the wooden boards, through the cracks of doors and walls, inch by inch… stretching to its furthest limits.
And after silence—
Came sound.
Steam hissing through pipes in the streets. The ticking of clocks. Yavi's heavy footsteps. Selyu's soft breathing. The rhythm of her heart.
"Loyd?"
Her voice broke the dark once more.
"What is it?"
He opened his eyes. She hadn't drawn the curtains; faint light from outside outlined her form.
"I suddenly can't fall asleep."
"…Don't tell me you want a bedtime story."
He frowned.
She laughed softly.
"What, from you? 'The Demon Hunter and the Seven Damned Monsters'?"
She teased.
"A hunter chasing seven poor demons? No, Loyd. I'd have nightmares."
"Then how about something else?" he replied dryly. "A little demon looking for its mother."
He pinched his throat, forcing out a shrill imitation:
"'Hey! Are you my mommy?'"
He shifted tone:
"'No, child—I'm your demon-hunting uncle!'"
"'Then do you know where my mommy is?'"
"'Of course I do. Come here—I'll send you to her.'"
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
The story was atrocious.
Utterly tasteless.
The air fell into awkward silence—
Until suddenly, a burst of laughter escaped from across the room.
Though he couldn't see her clearly, Loyd was certain—she was rolling on the bed, laughing uncontrollably.
What was wrong with children these days… finding humor in something like that?
He shook his head, feeling a vague pessimism toward the future of Inervig.
This girl… was she truly to become the Duchess of Stuart?
"Loyd… you know, sometimes you're actually funny."
"Credit goes to my acting instructor."
He found himself recalling those days auditing classes at the Royal Academy of Arts.
"The man was a playwright—a fanatic for comedy. In his class, if you could make him laugh, you got top marks… Honestly, I always felt like we were being treated as performing monkeys."
"What was his name again…"
He couldn't quite remember. Something like Oscar.
That classroom had been absolute chaos.
"That sounds nice," Selyu murmured. "He must have been a happy person."
Silence fell again.
Then—
A shadow crossed the faint light from the window.
Selyu instinctively reached beneath her pillow, gripping a short dagger.
"Are you afraid?"
Loyd now stood beside her bed, close enough that darkness no longer hindered his sight.
"Not really."
She answered casually, lowering the blade. From her practiced motion, it was clear this habit was not new.
"Selyu… have you ever heard this saying?"
"What?"
"A healer cannot heal themselves."
Before she could respond, Loyd suddenly sat down on the bed. Startled, she clutched the blanket, ready to call Yavi—
But a hand reached through the darkness, gripping her face with precision.
Firm.
Unyielding.
As though crushing through her defenses.
Pain stole her resistance.
"Isn't this better?"
He studied her expression in the dark.
"You laugh. You cry. You even tell terrible jokes… It's far more tolerable than that icy mask you wear."
As though settling an old score, he pressed further.
"You see through others so easily… but do you understand yourself?"
"Because of demons, I may be somewhat 'inhuman.' But you—why are you like this? People your age are far happier."
He thought of Eve—so close in age, yet so different.
"Or is that shadow from your childhood so heavy… that not even the glory of House Stuart can erase it?"
Selyu trembled.
She knew exactly what he meant.
"Yes—I taught you this: without attachments, enemies have nothing to exploit. The colder you are, the harder you are to read… But that applies to demon hunters."
"So why you?"
"You are the mistress of House Stuart. Thirty-two great families stand behind you."
"What are you afraid of?"
He lifted the dagger. Its blade shimmered faintly in the dark.
A Duchess would not hide weapons beneath her pillow.
Only a child of the streets would.
"Just as I taught you—grasp whatever you can. Even a stone might shatter your chains."
"Are you trying to break the fear of the unknown?"
He saw through her.
As though tearing open the sky, dragging her soul into the light—laid bare, transparent.
"I… I just…"
Her voice faltered.
Words froze in her throat.
She struggled to explain, as though defending herself from some unspoken humiliation—but language abandoned her. Only broken murmurs escaped—
Until—
A dog barked.
Everything fell still.
Selyu turned slowly.
At some point, the door had opened.
A freezing wind rushed in, carrying shards of snow like blades.
She lunged toward Loyd—
But grasped only air.
She fell forward, hands striking cold, muddy ground. Shattered ice reflected her disheveled face like fractured mirrors.
The barking came again.
Closer.
Relentless.
Death, in pursuit.
She turned—
And recognition struck.
This place…
She would never forget it.
At the far end of the ruined alley, where the sound came from—
A stray dog stood, watching her.
Its eyes burned crimson, as if blood might drip from them at any moment.
Its teeth curled upward—
Layer upon jagged layer—
As though it were smiling at her.