Veil of the Devil’s Hour

Blade was still on the road.

The sun above was hot, but the wind bit cold. Dust kicked up beneath his boots as he finally reached the headquarters building.

It looked clean now, renovated like a fancy government lab. Almost like nothing bad had ever happened here.

He stepped through the massive doors.

Inside, the halls gleamed white and silver. Too quiet. He passed a few familiar faces—people who once knew the old Blade.

They didn't say a word.

Neither did he.

"Room 12... Where is it?"

He turned a corner, scanning the hallway.

"Hey! You lost, little boy? Want me to take you to your parents?"

A voice behind him—familiar and annoying.

Blade turned slightly.

Ava grinned and stepped beside him. "Didn't think I'd be your tourist guide today."

"Always with the bad jokes," he muttered. "Didn't even recognize the building after the whole ranching mess. Looks... different."

"Yeah. After that portal incident, they rebuilt the place. Security's tighter now, too."

They walked side by side, the silence between them half-friendly, half-tense.

"Do you know why they're holding this meeting?" Blade asked.

Ava shrugged. "I heard it's about the Cleaners. And you. They want to question you, so... be careful."

She stopped in front of a black door:

Room 12.

She turned to him. "You ready?"

Blade didn't answer. Didn't look. He just opened the door.

Inside was a long, heavy table—thick wood, polished clean.

Important-looking people stood around it. No one sat. No speeches. No introductions. Just silence.

Every eye in the room locked onto them the moment they stepped in. Judging. Measuring.

Blade didn't flinch.

He walked in and sat down without a word. Ava followed and leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

The room was too quiet.

Every face at that table turned to look at him. Old suits. Sharp eyes. No smiles.

They weren't relaxed—they were tense, watching him like some beast on a leash they didn't trust anymore.

Blade recognized most of them.

Yeah... these people used to nod when he passed by. Some even owed him their lives.

Now they just stared.

But someone was missing.

Michael.

The head of the Cleaners. The so-called Custodian.

Tch. Of course he wasn't here. A snake like him only shows up once the blood's already been cleaned.

Still… this whole meeting reeked of him. His fingerprints were all over it.

A loud slam of footsteps hit the floor. The door burst open.

Four people entered for the meeting—

The Red Unit Captain Jack and the Gray Unit Vice Captain.

Then, as the shadow of a third person crossed the threshold, everyone in the room felt her ominous present.

"She's coming..."

"Her? Now it's serious."

Blade watched trying to stay still.

She walked through the door like she owned the damn building. Her white hair shone under the bright room lights, and her blue eyes scanned everyone like they were ants. Her smile barely polite.

The tall figure was the head of the Devil Hunters.

General Angel Sereth, Supreme Commander of the Devil Hunters Army.

Every person in the room raised two fingers and covered their right eye.

A silent gesture. Uniform. Absolute.

Not one dared move out of sync.

Not one dared speak.

She hadn't even fully entered yet.

Then, like a shadow, came Michael, the Custodian—tall frame, freaky posture, soulless eyes. A faint smile cut across his face.

He and General Angel took their seats.

General Angel leaned forward slightly, her fingers laced on the table. Her voice came soft—almost kind—but every word struck like a blade sliding across glass.

"Let's not waste time."

She glanced across the room. Calm. Composed. Cold.

"We've all read the reports. We've all heard the whispers. But I'm not here for stories. I'm here for facts."

Her gaze lingered on Blade—then on Michael.

"There are questions that need answers. And silence, from this point forward... will be treated as guilt."

The air tightened.

She leaned back in her chair, voice still smooth.

"Let's begin."