"Ah… how beautiful."
Kestrel stood amid the wreckage of Black Mountain Hospital, dressed in a black formal suit, gazing at the ruins as though they were something magnificent.
Puddles still covered the ground. Twisted remnants of steel rose from the collapsed buildings like the bones of some monstrous beast, while people moved through the rubble, working to restore the hospital. Sunlight poured down without restraint, sweeping away the long, oppressive gloom that had shrouded Old Dunling. Everything within sight was bathed in its warmth, gilded with a soft, radiant glow. Looking up at the clear sky he had almost forgotten existed, Kestrel couldn't help smiling.
As expected, people needed to get out more and spend time beneath the sun and open sky. Even the darkness in his own heart seemed to have been illuminated by their warmth.
With the storm finally dispersed and the rainy season drawing to a close, Old Dunling had at last found a rare moment of peace. Yet behind that brief calm lay an enormous mess waiting to be cleaned up. The sheer volume of rainfall had brought the city's drainage system to a standstill. Water had flooded the streets and poured into factories, forcing the entire city to shut down for several days. Now people were pumping out the floodwater and repairing buildings battered by the fierce winds. Like Kestrel, they looked up at the clear sky and marveled at its beauty.
It had been a disaster. And yet, amid the ruins left in its wake, there was a kind of beauty rarely glimpsed in this world.
"Clear skies over Old Dunling really are a rare sight… It's a shame so many people won't get to see them again."
Blue Jay approached and sat on a jutting piece of rubble nearby, lifting her head to gaze at the cloudless sky.
Perhaps she had lived beneath Old Dunling's oppressive gloom for too long. The brightness seemed almost unnatural to her. The sunlight was so dazzling that she could barely keep her eyes open, yet she stubbornly continued looking, unwilling to let the moment pass. She wanted to take in as much of this beautiful sight as she could, until tears finally welled up in her eyes.
"Yeah."
At Blue Jay's words, Kestrel's expression grew faintly sorrowful, but he forced himself to sound optimistic.
It was a miserable world, and this was a miserable line of work. The doctors were all working themselves to the bone, leaving no one with the time to sit down and help Kestrel sort through his own feelings. He would have to talk himself through it.
The torrential rain half a month ago had washed the filth from the city. But it had taken many people and many other things with it. They had vanished, as though they had never existed at all.
"It's starting. Come on, Kestrel. After all, you're 'Lucky Kestrel' now. Just seeing you is enough to lift everyone's spirits."
Blue Jay rose to her feet and handed him a white flower.
Kestrel scratched his head awkwardly before accepting it, muttering to himself, "When I think about it, it's actually pretty incredible. Does this mean I've become a hero?"
"Something like that."
Half a month ago, a localized war had erupted inside Black Mountain Hospital as various factions clashed. Demons, demon hunters, and all manner of other things had descended upon the place.
Everyone had thought they were going to die. Even so, they had continued throwing themselves into the fight, forcing a path to survival through the depths of despair.
To the survivors, anyone who had faced certain death and fought their way through it could be called a hero. Kestrel was one of them. During the final battle, he had fought like a man possessed, advancing and hacking down anything in his path. The Plague Doctor had ultimately defeated him with ease, but for an ordinary man, Kestrel had done more than enough.
That, however, wasn't what had made him stand out. A cursory examination of his mission records revealed that the man had escaped death more times than anyone could reasonably expect. Again and again, when a situation should have ended with his death, he had somehow managed to survive. This time had been no different.
Amid a field of corpses, the man had slowly crawled out of the floodwater, looking for all the world as though he had simply overslept.
"What was going through your mind when you charged in back then, Kestrel?" Blue Jay suddenly asked.
Remembering how Kestrel had thrown himself into the fight without hesitation, she still found it hard to believe. She had never imagined that such an unreliable fellow could have a moment of such utter recklessness.
"Were you fighting for honor? Some noble cause?"
"Do you honestly think that's likely?" Kestrel dismissed the praise without the slightest concern. Having clawed his way up from the slums, he had never cared much for that sort of thing.
"What was I thinking? I just saw that Lancelot was a kid. The kid had already charged in, so what excuse did I have to hang back?"
"So you charged in because of some strange sense of guilt?"
"Not entirely. There was fear, too, and all sorts of other strange feelings. But if you're going to do a job, you might as well do it properly. If I could kill a few more demons before I died, at least I'd have done my duty. Don't you think?"
"So… the ones who wanted to live died, while the ones who didn't care whether they lived or died somehow survived?"
Kestrel's answer left Blue Jay marveling at the strange twists of life.
"Maybe. That's fate for you, I suppose. The way it plays tricks on people."
As he spoke, the final image from his fading memories surfaced in his mind: the face of a boy, filled with both terror and fury. He had wanted desperately to survive, yet in the end, he had still walked toward his doom.
Kestrel had always been a man with a thick skin. In this line of work, anyone who took things too much to heart would struggle to endure it. But now, as one familiar face after another disappeared, he was beginning to understand the pain. It was as though a sharp blade were cutting through his flesh, leaving behind an agony that went far deeper than he had expected.
"Still, at least the people I know didn't die… Even if they're not much better off than the dead."
Kestrel tried to console himself.
After the great battle half a month ago, the wounded had been transferred to temporary hospitals for treatment. Nearly all of them had suffered horrific injuries, but they had been saved. Most of them, anyway, had lost a limb or two in the process.
Night Owl was still unconscious in his hospital bed, having lost too much blood. The Knight Commander, Percival, was in even worse shape. Like Galahad, she had suffered severe corruption and was undergoing isolation treatment. And then there was Joey…
Of the few friends Kestrel had in this world, Joey was one of them. Even someone as thick-skinned as Kestrel couldn't help feeling a pang of sorrow at the thought.
When the cleaners had found Joey, he had been lying atop a demon's corpse. His breathing was faint, and mutations had already begun to appear across his body. According to protocol, he should have been executed on the spot.
Perhaps out of some sense of humanitarian compassion, the Cleanse Bureau had decided to treat him instead, attempting to restore reason to his corrupted body. Kestrel knew what the outcome would probably be. He simply couldn't bear the thought of Joey's end being so ugly. Perhaps Joey was still receiving treatment. Perhaps he would never wake again.
Somewhere in the distance, a deep, sonorous bell began to toll. Its notes rang out, solemn and far-reaching, lending an almost sacred quality to the golden warmth of the sunlight.
"Come on, Kestrel. It's time for the moment of silence."
Blue Jay patted him on the shoulder.
Kestrel nodded, took the white flower she had given him, and walked forward.
Black Mountain Hospital had a cemetery unlike any other. Most of those buried here were members of the Cleanse Bureau. In the aftermath of the storm, with the exception of those who had left specific instructions in their wills regarding the disposition of their remains, all those who had died that day had been laid to rest here.
More people came forward, each carrying a bunch of white flowers. There were no eulogies, no elaborate ceremonies. The flowers piled up before the gravestones, forming a vast white sea in which the names of the dead seemed to sway like shadows beneath the waves.
Robin sat in a wheelchair, clasping a silver cross in her hands as she whispered what appeared to be a prayer. Around her, people bowed their heads in silence. Even time itself seemed to have come to a standstill.
Gawain stood some distance away, gazing at the solemn scene. He looked terrible, too. Although he had succeeded in crushing the main force of the demon tide, he had been left covered in wounds. Fortunately, he had suffered little corruption. With one leg in a cast and a crutch beneath his arm, he had stubbornly insisted on standing as he watched the proceedings.
"Knight Commander Gawain."
A voice called out, and a man approached him. His cheeks were an unhealthy, almost sickly white, and he wore a genial smile. Yet there was something about that smile that Gawain found deeply unpleasant.
"Anakin? What are you doing here?" Gawain asked, his displeasure plain.
"Under the provisions of the royal statutes, I'm here to retrieve Ovis Victoria," the man replied.
"But he's already dead."
"The dead must be retrieved as well. Royal blood cannot be allowed to remain outside the royal family's custody."
Gawain's eyes gradually sharpened, becoming as keen as a drawn sword, as though he meant to carve Anakin apart with his gaze alone.
He said nothing. Yet that barely perceptible change was enough to make Anakin feel a pressure he couldn't quite describe. Whether it was nervousness or something else, his smile slowly stiffened.
As expected, the Cleanse Bureau was nothing more than an organization built on brute force—a legion of madmen. Even standing before Gawain, Anakin could feel a faint trace of fear.
"There is no Ovis Victoria here," Gawain replied calmly.
"What… did you say?"
Anakin froze, unable to make sense of Gawain's words.
"We have only a Knight Commander who fell in battle moments ago. His title was Lancelot. He belonged to us, and he deserves to be buried alongside these honored dead, not sent back to that revolting graveyard to keep company with those useless departed souls."
Gawain's expression was utterly blank, as though his face had been frozen by an unrelenting cold. Even beneath the warmth of the sunlight, he radiated a chilling menace.
"But those are the royal regulations…"
Anakin tried to continue, but a shadow suddenly fell over him. Gawain had stepped closer, standing directly before him. Only then did Anakin realize just how enormous the Knight Commander was. Gawain's eyes were as cold as a mirror, reflecting Anakin's own growing apprehension back at him.
"Go back, Anakin. Forget the royal regulations. Don't make me angry. I'm already doing everything I can to keep myself under control."
A chill ran through Anakin.
Looking at Gawain again, he finally understood what he was seeing.
This wasn't indifference. It was anger—the kind of anger Gawain had never shown before, so fierce that even he could no longer fully contain it. All he could do was hold on to that frigid expression and keep the fury beneath it from spilling over.
"After this storm, we've lost too many familiar faces. Before it came, we were still drinking together, raising our glasses and laughing. Now they're nothing but cold corpses, buried beneath the earth."
"Get out of here, Anakin."
Anakin had nothing left to say. Instinct urged him to retreat, but in the end, he managed to compose himself again. Maintaining his polite smile, he answered Gawain.
"I understand."
…
Rows of inscriptions covered the gravestones, each containing little more than the deceased's name, date of birth, and date of death.
The moment of silence had ended. People began to disperse, gathering in small groups at the edges of the cemetery to speak softly and remember the dead.
Kestrel stood before one of the gravestones, gently running his fingers over its cold surface. Though he was surrounded by warm sunlight, he could feel an unyielding chill beneath his fingertips, a coldness that refused to melt away.
"What are you looking for?"
Nearby, Swallow crouched down to examine the gravestones, searching for something in particular.
"The patients. They may have been insane, but in the end, they came back to help us. I thought their names might be here, too."
Those cheerful patients had been so delirious that they couldn't tell the difference between fear and demons. Eve had managed to fool them completely with just a few lines of utter nonsense.
And yet, in the end, those same people had charged forward, shouting some bizarre slogan and wielding thermite rifles they had scavenged from somewhere, blasting the demons into bloody ruin.
At the memory, Kestrel found himself unable to suppress a laugh. He immediately clapped a hand over his mouth, hoping no one had noticed the disrespectful outburst.
"Found them!"
Swallow's voice held a note of delight. Her bandaged finger traced the surface of a black gravestone.
"Cole… Gavin… Deren…"
One familiar name after another. Strangely, Swallow showed no sadness at the sight. If anything, there was a hint of joy in her eyes.
"Looks like you won't have to look after them anymore," Kestrel said, assuming she was happy to be relieved of the burden of caring for those patients.
But Swallow's next words caught him off guard.
"It's good… They were able to die with dignity in the end."
"Dignity?"
"They were all once members of the Cleanse Bureau. But because of corruption and other factors, they became patients and lost their sanity."
Swallow worked primarily at Black Mountain Hospital, and Kestrel knew little about some of the things that went on within its walls.
"Most patients like them spend their lives in a daze until they eventually die of old age here at Black Mountain Hospital. It's like living on the very edge of Hell. The moment they lose their reason, their deaths are already decided. Yet for reasons of humanity, perhaps, or something else entirely, they're left to live like walking corpses until the day they finally die."
"It's an incredibly long death, isn't it?" Swallow murmured.
"They were once knights and soldiers just like us, facing demons without fear. I think if they had still possessed their reason, they would have chosen a clean, decisive death rather than this kind of half-life. At least they died fighting demons on the battlefield in the end. Compared with growing old and dying in a hospital bed, that must have been a far better fate for them."
"To die with honor."
Kestrel offered no reply. He simply stood there, gazing at the scene before him. His eyes passed beyond the gravestones in front of him to the countless others standing behind them, stretching toward the horizon like a frozen forest of stone.