The old wooden steps creaked under Gehrman's feet as he slowly made his way down the spiraling staircase. It always annoyed him that he had to go up an elevator only to go down some stairs. Of course, such a thing was inevitable. Hunters were still a secret at this time. It wouldn't be for a couple more years before they went public with the Church Hunters.
Even though the Cathedral Ward–or rather the space below the place hidden under it–was still new, there was still a grandeur that permeated throughout the building.
However, on the path Gehrman was on, this feeling of awe would eventually turn to eerie wonder. The scent of carpet and pristine air started to give way, and the stone started to grow darker as he approached his old home. Gehrman's face tightened as the mixture of familiar aromas started to cut into him.
The wood of the workshop, the oil of the machinery, the ash from the fires.
This place had been his home for many, many years.
He planned to go straight to his room. A cozy nook hidden under the Workshop. But he couldn't help but take a peek.
Especially after he heard the sounds of metal scraping coming from within the wooden workplace.
He pushed open the heavy doors, and a place out of a dream hit him. Despite the smells of sweat and tears being the most prevalent, it was the flowers that choked him. Their delicate sweetness strangled him and brought tears to his eyes.
It reminded him of his first time entering this room.
He had chided Laurence during the climb down. He mocked the decadence of the cathedral and the statues of the false idols he played at worshiping. The clean man had simply smiled and showed him through the doorway that he stood in now.
Back then, he had cried as well.
No more would he be confined to a shack that was far away from his peers. Now he was given a full house, tools of the finest quality, and an impossible garden that grew during the night.
Gehrman leaned down now and plucked one of those flowers from the dry dirt. Its pale color was magnificent, but Gehrman knew the truth now.
The floral scent had been an extract.
These flowers' vibrant colors were painted on.
It always struck him as odd. Why had Laurence made this garden? It didn't serve any practical purpose. Though it was pleasant to look at and the smell was intoxicating, both of these things would be drowned out when one was actually in the Workshop.
Perhaps it was a reminder, Gehrman thought. A reminder that Laurence was the ultimate authority who could make the impossible possible.
Such a show was certainly not meant for Gehrman. He and Laurence were the closest of friends after all. No, it was likely a sign to the new Workshop Hunters who were disciples. A sign that they were now serving not just Gehrman, but a Church of distinct power that had enough resources to create even frivolous things like this.
This perspective was not something Old Gehrman would have dreamed up. It had likely come from Johann's skepticism and hatred of the Church. After all, it had led to the destruction of a city that he was forced to clean up.
But these thoughts were pushed away as he climbed the steps to the true Workshop.
It was just like the one in the Hunter's Dream that Johann had experienced. However, it had an indescribable depth to it. The cracks and tears in the floorboard were fresh. The shadows cast by the lamps were deeper. And of course, there were other people in it.
Gehrman had expected to see one of his disciples (no one without a Workshop badge could even enter the staircase that would lead here); however, what he saw was a groomed head of straight white.
This figure with a straight back and a distinguished gate was not one of his proteges. But he was a Hunter.
"Gairm," Gehrman said the man's name by way of greeting.
"Gehrman," The Hunter of Hunters replied. The man did not look up to greet him, but he was also not surprised by his presence. Indeed, this man was one of the few who could see through Gehrman's natural stealth.
"Did the blades I gave you have issues?" Gehrman asked. He was referring here to the Blades of Mercy, one of the two siderite weapons that had been forged from a meteorite. They were also some of his finest works.
"No. They are as sharp as ever. Truly a weapon from the heavens," Garim murmured. "It's that prototype that Laurence and some of his associates have been working on. 'The Repeating Pistol,'" he said mockingly. "I don't know why he bothers with any other craftsmen besides you. Anything those scholars come up with is doomed to be impractical and flawed."
Gehrman approached the workbench that stood before Gairm. The Repeating Pistol was indeed one of the Healing Church's weapons. It was used sparingly, however. By the time Johann came around, only a few of the remaining Church Hunters used it. Ultimately, Ludwig's Rifle became the more popular option.
"Well, he did show me the design before he started development. It could be very useful in certain situations…it would probably be very effective against other Hunters as well. I imagine he made the gun with you in mind."
"I doubt it," he said. He did not explain.
Gehrman looked over the man's shoulder and studied the pieces of the gun. It seemed that Gairm had taken it apart, searching for whatever flaw had caused him to come here in the first place.
At first glance, Gehrman was unable to identify any issues. And since the Hunter of Hunters did not ask him for assistance, Gehrman decided to leave him alone.
Taking a step back, Gehrman started to walk away, but he stopped at the door.
"Why are you working on this in the middle of the night?"
Gairm did not look up. He had not for the entire conversation. "Why do you work so early in the mornings?"
"So my disciples don't interfere with my work. And so I can make sure that every tool is safe to use."
"You have answered your question."
Gehrman did not show any reaction to this curt response. Gairm was not much of a socializer. Since he was a foreigner, he talked with an accent that was still prominent. Gehrman was under the impression that speaking the language of Yharnam annoyed him, which was why he talked as little as possible.
He was odd, even among the Hunters.
But Gehrman chose him to be the Hunter of Hunters for a reason.
The man's concentration never broke, and his will never wavered. In the decades to come, he would not falter under his duties.
He never failed to execute his mark.
…
Gehrman awoke in his bed as the sun was rising. Despite his exhaustion, it was apparent that only a few hours of sleep were needed. This was the power of the [Anti-Clockwise Metamorphosis] Rune.
He did not yawn. He did not stretch. He simply opened his eyes and started to change out of the smock he slept in.
Within five minutes, he had fully woken up and was climbing the steps back to the Cathedral Ward proper.
As he did so, he once again passed the Workshop. Even at this hour, it was bustling. He heard the clanging of metal and the crashing of wood against wood. Gehrman peeked his head in, but did not interfere.
To the far side, past the metal gate and in an open clearing, four of his students were present. Two were sparring, they were a young Ludwig and Eileen. Seeing the young girl was actually more of a shock. Though they were both teenagers, coming up on their twenties, he could still recognize them easily. And though Ludwig had been more impactful in Old Gehrman's life. Eileen would end up being one of the very few people whom Johann could call a friend during his Night of the Hunt.
At that time, she was the current Hunter of Hunters. She wound up being the third Hunter of Hunters, only getting this title later in her career. After Gairm had disappeared, it went to a man named Brador. But after he became a Church assassin, the title was finally given to Eileen.
She became a cherished friend to Johann, and her death was perhaps one that hurt the most. She had been gutted by the mysterious Hunter known as the Bloody Crow of Cainhurst…that man had been the cause of many deaths on Johann's end. That blood drunk Hunter was a true menace, it was only near the end of the night when he was finally able to finish off the inhuman fiend.
…And it did no good. Eileen still died.
Yet here she was, getting thrashed by Ludwig. Her expression was pained, but very much alive. Passion was burning in her, and she still harbored a love for the thrill of the Hunt.
It was an unfair matchup.
Ludwig had come from a family of warriors and had been trained from a young age. Eileen, on the other hand, lacked his natural talent and training, but she was perhaps the most determined of the bunch. This was the reason why she was chosen in the first place.
Two other Hunters sat on the sidelines, observing and offering tips. Though they were not much older (and only a tad more skilled), Henriett and Henryk could still give helpful advice to the two burgeoning talents.
Meanwhile, someone else was in the workshop. By the sounds of it, it was a big project…probably Otto, he was one of the few who would wake up this early. The man (or rather, the boy at this point) was a unique talent. Instead of having a gift in battle, he held a fascination and talent in craftsmanship and invention. He would even go on to found his own offshoot Workshop when The Healing Church turned public.
Perhaps he could supply me with Bolt Paper, Gehrman thought. He hesitated, considering going in, but he decided against it.
He had something more pressing at the moment.
It was time to see his old friend once more.
And hopefully get some answers on why he was in the Hinterlands at the start of this Nightmare.