The entire world had become a chaotic nightmare, as though an ocean had been overturned above the sky, pouring down upon the earth along with thunder and lightning, baptizing every soul beneath it.
Inside the Old Era Divine Armor, Lancelot slowly raised his head. A flash of lightning turned the Plague Doctor's figure into a pitch-black silhouette, while the Holy Grail Blood in his hand glowed an alluring crimson, like liquid rubies flowing beneath the storm.
"Have you made your decision, child?"
The Plague Doctor asked again. He did not seem to be in any hurry, remaining utterly composed.
To him, Lancelot was irresistible. He could hardly wait to uncover the secrets hidden within the boy. If Lancelot died, the Plague Doctor would even preserve his corpse in formalin and add him to his collection of precious specimens.
Lancelot remained silent. For a moment, his anger came to a standstill before the "miracle" the Plague Doctor had offered him.
He understood perfectly well that even if he survived, he would still become a test subject, sacrificing the remainder of his ridiculous life to save the royal family and unravel the King's Curse.
Even so, Lancelot held little hope for any of it. He did not believe that such a vicious curse could be escaped so easily. As a member of the royal family, he knew many things even Arthur did not, including the history of their research into the King's Curse.
He had heard the old men speak of it before. This was far from the first attempt to study the curse. Every Victoria Queen had tried to find a way to break it, but after all these years, the King's Curse remained, while their corpses had piled into a small mountain.
It was a road with almost no hope at all.
Then should he believe the Plague Doctor? This enemy, this unholy monster, the very culprit who had brought so much sorrow into his life?
Perhaps… perhaps there was hope.
Demons were the source of everything strange and evil in this world. Yet at the same time, humanity had extracted miracles beyond mortal imagination from those hateful creatures.
The Old Era Divine Armor. Secret Blood. Alchemy…
Every one of those "miracles" that surpassed ordinary humanity was intimately connected to the deepest darkness.
Perhaps… perhaps the King's Curse had also originated from demons.
A thunderous crack seemed to reverberate inside Lancelot's mind, and for a fleeting moment, he felt as though he had glimpsed something.
Yes.
Everything in this world made sense—except for the demons. They seemed to have appeared from nowhere, an evil that had abruptly forced its way into reality. Almost every supernatural power humanity possessed seemed to be connected to them.
Then… should he accept this mysterious Holy Grail Blood?
Lancelot had personally witnessed that brief experiment. Abigail had injected her own blood and Lloyd's blood into a white laboratory mouse. The King's Curse had been effortlessly overwritten, and under the influence of Secret Blood, the mouse had displayed an almost unnatural vitality.
This substance could indeed cure the King's Curse.
The only question was whether he could preserve his sanity while enduring the corruption of Secret Blood.
That sinister voice continued to echo inside his mind. His thoughts became completely consumed by the possibility, until a stream of icy rain seeped through the faceplate and trickled down his cheek.
The bone-deep cold made Lancelot tremble.
Then he suddenly realized how terrifying his own hesitation was.
He should have raised his sword and killed the Plague Doctor.
Instead, he was standing here considering the "miracle" his enemy had offered.
But… but…
What should he do?
Lancelot, should you die here for the sake of your honor, or descend into darkness for the freedom you have always longed for?
In a daze, Lancelot saw a field of luminous green grass. A boy was running freely across it, without a care in the world. He did not have to worry about the weight of his own body. He did not have to fear falling and bleeding endlessly. No curse bound him. He was simply an ordinary person, free to leave his footprints in every corner of the world.
It was a beautiful dream.
But was sacrificing his soul for that dream too high a price?
Beneath the curtain of rain, everything fell into a long silence. The stillness seemed to solidify into eternity.
"Are you truly… willing to give everything you have for this?"
The Plague Doctor suddenly asked.
His gaze behind the lenses remained fixed on Lancelot, as though he understood exactly why the boy was suffering.
"After all, what can your death really accomplish for this world? Do you realize how many people have already died fighting the demons? Enough to fill entire valleys. Whether there is one less person like you, or one more, what difference can it possibly make?"
He lifted his entire faceplate, exposing Lancelot completely to his gaze. He studied the boy's face. Those somewhat vacant eyes were filled with nothing but doubt and confusion.
"This is the tide of an age. Beneath it, an individual is nothing more than fragile grass. The current sweeps you up without mercy and carries you toward the depths along with everything else. You cannot change any of this. You are powerless. So why not be selfish for once?"
"Be selfish…"
"Yes. Be selfish. You're still so young. You've served the Cleanse Bureau for so many years already… Though, come to think of it, does that count as child labor?"
The Plague Doctor laughed, his laughter carrying a warped and unsettling quality.
"Think about it carefully, Lancelot. There are still so many beautiful things in this world you have never seen. Power. Wealth. New continents… Even an unforgettable romance. There are countless things in this world worth being selfish for, aren't there?"
Lancelot's eyes widened, fine veins of blood spreading across his irises. He could not tell whether it was sweat or rain that slid across his eyelids, blurring his vision.
Severe blood loss and corruption were interfering with his judgment. His once-unshakable will had begun to weaken. As the Plague Doctor continued speaking, more and more images surfaced before his eyes.
At some point, Lancelot's entire world had become nothing but a wheelchair.
He had been imprisoned upon that ridiculous chair, requiring someone's assistance no matter what he wanted to do. He might have been the Knight Commander and carried the surname Victoria, but as the Plague Doctor had said, he possessed so little.
The King's Curse had imprisoned him. He had never traveled to the distant lands he dreamed of. He had never seen the beauty others spoke of, let alone experienced an unforgettable romance.
Yes.
The Plague Doctor was right.
The world had been too cruel to him.
Why not choose an easier path?
If he accepted this forbidden miracle, he could live. He could finally cast away that damned wheelchair and live like an ordinary person…
He wanted to…
He wanted so badly to set foot upon another continent with his own two feet, to see the things he had never been allowed to see.
Lancelot raised his head and looked at the Plague Doctor.
All he had to do was say the words.
All he had to do was beg this devil for a miracle.
"Orvis!"
Someone was shouting his name.
A sharp scalpel tore through the curtain of rain and struck the ground in front of the Plague Doctor. Eve had aimed for his head with everything she had, but the violent wind had thrown off her aim.
The massive elevator platform had reached the surface. All the survivors were here.
Seeing them, something suddenly twisted inside Lancelot's chest, and his consciousness cleared a little further.
"No."
He growled and tried to move.
Only then did he realize the state he was in.
Lancelot no longer had the strength to command the Old Era Divine Armor. His face was deathly pale, and the Geiger counter had long since turned red, emitting a high-pitched shriek.
"Oh? I thought you would accept it."
The Plague Doctor spoke with interest. He crouched down, Lancelot's pale face reflected in his lenses.
This was fascinating.
It had long since ceased to be merely research into the King's Curse. The Plague Doctor wanted to know whether human will could truly be trusted. When faced with the choice between life and death, would even a proud knight lower his head?
"Or perhaps you simply don't want to accept it in front of them? That's easy enough to solve. I can help you kill them all. Then no one will ever know that Lancelot betrayed the Cleanse Bureau."
The Plague Doctor seemed to understand Lancelot's thoughts. As he spoke, he moved, picking up the fallen scalpel and slicing open his own wrist.
Scarlet blood flowed down the surface of the Old Era Divine Armor and mixed with the water pooled across the ground. The blood seemed to possess a strange magic of its own. Its sweet scent drew the demons toward it, and the howls of the creatures once again erupted from within the rain.
"No! No!"
Lancelot screamed hysterically, his eyes bloodshot. He tried to stop everything from happening, but the thing he trusted most—the Divine Armor—no longer responded.
The steam engine had stopped at some point. Sharp scales had pierced through its seams, while rapidly growing demonic flesh had wrapped itself tightly around the core.
Lancelot felt cold liquid run down his cheek. He could not tell whether it was tears or rain.
His furious screams eventually sank into low, anguished cries.
He pounded helplessly against the armor until he finally pulled the valve.
A crack split open across the Divine Armor, and scalding white steam burst from within. Then, as though it had died, the towering armor collapsed, ejecting Lancelot onto the ground.
His body was covered in filthy blood, with strands of flesh clinging to him like chains, binding him to the Divine Armor.
A shadow fell over him.
The Plague Doctor stood high above, looking down.
The mighty knight had been reduced to this pathetic state. Everything he had once fought to uphold had been crushed into dust and scattered across the ground.
The Plague Doctor placed the syringe containing the Holy Grail Blood into the puddle before him, leaving Lancelot to make the final decision himself.
At the same time, the remaining demons began to close in.
There were only a handful of them, but for the exhausted survivors, even that was tremendous pressure.
...
"Orvis…"
Eve stared at the fallen Divine Armor. The sound of wind and rain prevented her from hearing what they were saying, but from the situation before her, it was obvious that Orvis had lost his ability to fight.
"So Lancelot's real name is Orvis? And he's just a kid?"
Kestrel could not help shouting as he swung his folding blade and hacked down an approaching demon.
Right now, Kestrel felt incredible.
He was like an overloaded machine, brimming with power while standing on the verge of collapse.
"This is unbelievable…"
Kestrel exclaimed, twisting his wrist and severing another demon's arm with his folding blade.
Eve looked at him suspiciously.
Even beneath the dome, this bastard had never displayed this kind of combat ability. Yet now he seemed to have undergone some bizarre awakening, unleashing everything he had.
"So you were holding back before?"
This obviously unreliable man had actually been saving his strength?
Eve found that difficult to believe.
"To be precise, it's an overwhelming desire to survive!"
Kestrel screamed.
"The situation was so hopeless back there that I figured, if I died, I died. It wasn't like I could change anything. But who would've thought I'd actually survive? I finally crawled out of hell! I finally had a chance to live! And now more demons show up!"
Kestrel hacked his way forward while trying to approach Lancelot.
"So I realized something—I'm actually terrified of dying! I've already seen all the colors this world has to offer. Even if I have to live for all that ridiculous, messy, wonderful stuff, I'm going to survive!"
His folding blade came down again and again.
For a moment, Kestrel was as fierce as a god of war.
Eve did not quite know how to describe him.
He had no grand ideals. Nothing noble had carried him this far. What supported him was nothing more than a collection of ridiculous reasons.
"So hang in there, Lancelot! The commander is coming to save you!"
Kestrel continued toward Lancelot.
Behind him, the survivors were protected by Robin and the others. Everyone was exhausted beyond measure, but they could still hold out against the demons for the time being.
He had already imagined what would happen next.
First, he would cut down that bizarre Plague Doctor.
Then he would rescue Lancelot.
As for what came after that, Kestrel had not figured it out yet.
Of course, Kestrel was only human. An utterly ordinary man, and a man who was still very afraid of death.
But right now, Arthur had appointed him commander.
Sometimes, a title really could give a person an astonishing amount of strength.
But more important than that was what Kestrel demanded of himself.
Lancelot was only a child, yet he had fought this desperately for everyone else to survive.
How could Kestrel simply stand by and let death take him?
He hacked down another demon.
Then his footsteps stopped.
His hands had gradually lost all sensation from the cold and the endless fighting. He tore off a strip of cloth from his clothes and tightly wrapped it around his hands and the folding blade, binding the weapon directly to himself.
"He's trying to save you?"
The Plague Doctor looked toward Kestrel, who was struggling to approach them.
The human figure looked so tiny beneath the raging storm.
"He's just an idiot."
Lancelot whispered.
The Plague Doctor turned his gaze toward him.
Lancelot was kneeling in the flooded ground, both hands lifting the syringe filled with Holy Grail Blood.
Beneath the beaked mask, the Plague Doctor's face had twisted with excitement.
"This really is an excellent observation of human nature. He wants to save you, yet he has no idea that you are preparing to betray every one of them."
The Plague Doctor's laughter twisted into something grotesque.
Truthfully, he enjoyed this feeling—the sensation of dragging someone into despair. It was almost like a perverse game played purely for amusement.
Lancelot remained silent.
He answered with action.
He wiped his arm.
Then, without the slightest hesitation, like a cold machine, he drove the needle beneath his skin.
The Plague Doctor was delighted.
Once again, his theory had been proven correct.
Humans were nothing more than creatures riddled with base instincts. Once their anger faded and they were forced to recognize the cruelty of reality, even the most noble person would make the most despicable choice.
That was why humanity needed evolution.
A great evolution.
They needed to cast away their countless base instincts and ascend into something better.
His gaze shifted toward Kestrel.
The man's hands were wrapped tightly in strips of cloth, the folding blade bound to them. He was already gasping for breath, yet he still looked like some savage demon.
The Plague Doctor began walking toward him.
The battle here should end soon.
He still did not know where Lloyd Medici had escaped to, but as far as the Plague Doctor was concerned, this operation had already yielded considerable results.
The distance between the two men steadily narrowed.
Kestrel suddenly broke into a desperate run, charging straight into the killing ground.
The angrier he became, the happier the Plague Doctor was.
He desperately wanted to see the expression on Kestrel's face when he realized that the Lancelot he had come to save was standing on the opposite side.
With that thought in mind, another set of running footsteps suddenly sounded beneath the rain.
It seemed the owner of those footsteps had not run at full strength for far too long. His steps were uneven and stumbling.
A pale hand reached from behind and seized the Plague Doctor's mask.
Then the scalpel plunged into his throat.
"Good job, Lancelot!"
Kestrel roared.
His two blades struck at once, driving directly into the Plague Doctor's chest. Then, like a frenzied butcher, he unleashed a storm of slashes, carving through flesh and sending blood and chunks of meat flying.
The momentum was overwhelming. For an instant, even the sinister Plague Doctor was forced backward beneath the assault.
But they were still human.
A monstrous strength surged through the Plague Doctor.
He simply reached out and caught the descending folding blade.
No matter how hard Kestrel pushed, the blade would not move. It was as though he had driven it into solid iron.
Then the Plague Doctor seized Kestrel and hurled him away.
Kestrel rolled across the ground several times before collapsing into the flooded earth without another sound.
Around him, the bloodthirsty demons slowly turned their heads toward him.
"So what exactly are you trying to prove, Lancelot? And who are you trying to prove it to?"
The Plague Doctor turned toward Lancelot.
With the King's Curse inside him, Lancelot possessed almost no ability to fight in close quarters. That surprise attack had been the absolute limit of what he could accomplish.
The Plague Doctor pulled the scalpel from his throat and violently slammed Lancelot onto the ground.
Lancelot no longer even had enough blood left to vomit. He curled into himself, dry-heaving helplessly.
The terrible wound began healing rapidly.
At the same time, the Plague Doctor's body began to twist.
Something grotesque seemed to be moving slowly beneath his clothes.
"Are you angry, Plague Doctor?"
Lancelot's voice was weak.
"You stand above us and treat us like ridiculous laboratory mice. But the mouse didn't follow your script. It bit you instead."
The Plague Doctor said nothing.
He grabbed Lancelot by the head and lifted him high into the air.
The boy's eyes had already begun to lose focus. He was about to sink into a deep sleep when the scalpel suddenly sliced open his eyelid, forcing him to look forward.
There was Kestrel.
He lay in the flooded ground in a ridiculous position, surrounded by demons slowly closing in.
At this moment, the two men no longer needed words.
The Plague Doctor intended to crush Lancelot completely.
He wanted Lancelot to watch as Kestrel was devoured by the demons, torn apart until his flesh was scattered across the ground, his organs and bones reduced to scraps.
But then Lancelot smiled.
No one knew what he was thinking.
In fact, there was no need for some damned psychological explanation.
He clenched his fist one final time.
A shard of broken glass pierced his palm, and crimson blood began to drip.
"I am… Lancelot."
He whispered.
The Plague Doctor smelled it.
Every demon smelled it.
That burning blood.
That boiling blood.
Blood containing a miracle.
The demons that had been attacking the survivors and preparing to tear Kestrel apart all suddenly stopped.
Then their hateful heads turned toward the Plague Doctor.
Holy Grail Blood.
Driven by an overwhelming desire, the demons suppressed their instinctive frenzy.
Like a pack of wolves, they surged toward Lancelot, drawn only by the liquid miracle they desperately wanted to taste.
The situation reversed in an instant.
The Plague Doctor was surrounded by a tide of demons. They lashed out with claws and fangs like a wave of death.
Yet even that was not enough to kill the powerful Plague Doctor.
It could not even force him back.
Then, from the far end of the curtain of rain, a blazing trajectory erupted.
It burned through the storm like a dragon descending from myth, unleashing its furious breath upon the wicked.
The fire illuminated Lancelot's face.
It illuminated the darkness within his heart as well.
In the end, he had betrayed something.
But he had not betrayed his humanity.
He had betrayed his own desire.
He had chosen to utterly destroy the thing he had longed for most.
For some reason, Lancelot suddenly thought of Merlin.
That alchemist had cared for him for a very long time and had told him many of his thoughts about life, including something he called the "Cliff of Reason."
At the time, Lancelot had assumed those words were simply the sort of insane nonsense peculiar to alchemists.
But now, he understood them, at least in part.
Lancelot, who longed for freedom, stood upon the Cliff of Reason.
And then he leapt.
...
The searing torrent of fire instantly evaporated the cold rain. The heatwave was suffocating.
The Plague Doctor was completely engulfed by the pillar of flame, and the air filled with the smell of burning flesh.
Heavy footsteps sounded.
A sinister figure slowly emerged beneath the torrential rain, his broken silhouette reflected in the flooded ground.
A man's steady breathing came through the communication channel.
He discarded the half-melted Divine Armor firearm and took a new weapon from the rack behind him.
In his other hand, he dragged the enormous corpse of a demon, lifting it before himself like some grotesque shield.
Rain hammered against the iron armor covering the corpse.
This had once been a demon hunter of the Medanzo Hunters, transformed into a monster.
Now it was dead.
Its entire abdomen had been melted by extreme heat, its internal organs burned to ash. Only a few scraps of living flesh remained, twitching weakly.
"Plague Doctor."
Gawain's voice was utterly devoid of emotion.
Steam rose from the seams of his armor.
And behind him, more equally fearsome figures emerged through the rain.
The defensive line against the demons had never collapsed.
Quite the opposite.
Gawain had annihilated every demon in the mild-symptom sector, even when faced with such troublesome creatures clad in iron armor.
None of it had been a problem for Gawain.
He simply shoved the muzzle of his Divine Armor firearm into a demon's wound, allowing the creature to tear at his own body.
If one shot did not kill it, he fired a second.
Then a third.
He kept firing until the scorching heat completely incinerated the demon's internal organs.
Then he lifted the corpse and used its iron armor as a sturdy shield, cutting his way through the demonic tide.
The heavy rain washed the filthy blood from his Divine Armor.
Gawain continued forward in silence.
Amid the endless flames, the Plague Doctor's figure finally emerged.
The lethal heat had failed to kill him, but it had burned much of his clothing away. Holes had appeared throughout the fabric, revealing grotesque flesh slowly writhing beneath.
The Old Era Divine Armor surged forward.
They were damaged, but they still had enough strength for one more battle.
The iron greatsword tore through everything in its path, cleaving apart the demons that were still alive.
Amid the flying blood, the Plague Doctor's body was thrown backward.
He tried to stand.
Half his body had been split open by the strike, exposing twisted organs and deformed bones to the air.
"It really never ends…"
The Plague Doctor looked at those figures and finally began to laugh.
Humanity truly was a peculiar species.
The Plague Doctor believed his research into them was already comprehensive, yet they always managed to produce fascinating surprises.
Such fragile bodies.
Such fragile wills.
And yet they always insisted on pretending to be gods and demons.
Flesh began to proliferate.
Even such devastating wounds could not kill the Plague Doctor.
But the same was true in reverse.
He had reached his limit.
The Old Era Divine Armor stood like a wall, shielding the survivors behind it. If the battle continued, more reinforcements would eventually arrive.
"Lancelot… Lancelot…"
The Plague Doctor repeated the name again and again.
After his immense fury finally faded, something seemed to release inside him.
An even greater delight surged through his mind.
He tried to find his notes and record his thoughts, only to remember that everything had been burned away by the flames.
Humans really were fascinating…
"Keep going, humans."
The Plague Doctor thought for a moment before murmuring the words.
Then he turned and walked away.
He paid no attention to the attacks falling behind him.
Incendiary rounds tore through his chest. Sharp fragments cut into his body.
None of it could kill him.
In the end, Gawain raised a hand and ordered the others to stop.
As the Knight Commander who had hunted the Plague Doctor for so long, Gawain could sense it.
The Plague Doctor had not given up.
He simply no longer found the battle interesting.
It was the same way he had dealt with the incidents caused by the Plague Doctor before. He could have unleashed disasters on a far greater scale, but the moment he realized his research could no longer advance, he would simply abandon the entire affair.
More importantly, no one knew what other powers the Plague Doctor possessed.
That nearly immortal body alone was terrifying enough.
"Is that Lancelot?"
The Old Era Divine Armor turned around.
Amid the corpses scattered across the ground, Gawain saw the frail figure.
He was somewhat surprised.
He never would have imagined that the person inside that Divine Armor would look like this.
Nor had he expected that the first time they met face-to-face would end this way.
In the crimson water, Lancelot lay upon a meadow of green grass, gazing up at a cloudless sky.
The heavens stretched endlessly overhead.
The clouds were vast and free.
The wind whispered like a song.