Gun of Ashes

This place might have been extremely important once, but now it’s just the tombstone of the Demon Hunting Order.

The new Pope was silent all the way, walking down the familiar road to the end, pushing open the heavy door, and behind it came the fresh fragrance of flowers.

It was a sea of flowers, pure white blossoms blooming in this underground world, swaying slightly like a sea stirred by the wind.

No one knows when this was established, at least in the memories of some informed people, such warmth did not exist in the cold Static Holy Temple.

A warm white light was cast from above, creating a pure white mist that made it impossible to discern its original form.

”Your Eminence.”

The Gravekeeper came over, already accustomed to the frequent visits of the new Pope, as well as his new job; after all, guarding a grave is far better than going out to fight and kill.

The new Pope did not respond, instead, he walked slowly through the sea of flowers, as if only here could his restless heart find a moment of peace.

Everything was very quiet. With the surge of the floral sea, amongst the standing tombstones, unfortunately, no names were inscribed, only a series of forgotten numbers and codes.

Rust-covered sword blades were planted beside the tombstones, one after another, telling a tale of a past unknown to anyone.

”Your Eminence, the Heart Core Network is still hungry... we need to...”

After a while, the Gravekeeper couldn’t help but ask, but as soon as he asked, he began to regret it.

The steel mask slowly turned, and beneath the dark hollow he could sense those soulless eyes assessing him, like a body devoid of soul.

”They have already made their final sacrifice; the Secret Blood has been drained, the Silver Binding Bolt melted and forged into a new Nail Sword... Let those remains rest now.”

The voice was without inflection, like a machine’s recital.

”Moreover, you should remain sorrowful, child, for it is their demise that has prevented insanity from consuming the world.”

The new Pope stared at the sea of flowers, his voice devoid of emotion, as he stood like a statue.

The Gravekeeper did not dare say more, cautiously retreating.

He had lived long and served many great figures, but this new Pope was different from them all, very different, with a constant aura of contradiction and mystery.

Don’t invest too much emotion in weapons.

Everyone aware of the existence of Demon Hunters knows this phrase, so Demon Hunters have no names, only numbers, they have no past or future, only the constant battle of now.

This iron-blooded Pope could kill those in power without hesitation, ruthlessly suppressing all opponents, yet held compassion, even reverence, for those who had already passed.

The Gravekeeper couldn’t understand why, nor did he dare to speculate; sometimes knowing too much is not a good thing, often he felt like all of them were cursed the moment they knew of Demons’ existence.

It curses all informed ones, keeping them forever struggling against darkness fruitlessly, while it resides high above, mocking the mortals vainly trying to change it all.

The new Pope walked to a familiar spot and sat down, removing the mask, placing it on the nearby tombstone, and continued his long mourning.

Everything seemed to freeze, like a photo taken, all things stagnating in this moment, until a child who had left home finally returned here, staring blankly at everything, without recalling such a place in the Static Holy Temple or meeting any strangers.

The Ghost slowly moved forward, stepping over the moist soil and petals—all was so unfamiliar to him until he saw the man knelt in the sea of flowers.

”What is... going on here?”

Lorenzo clearly didn’t understand the current situation, realizing after uncontrollable sadness what his predicament was—he returned to the Static Holy Temple in a peculiar state.

Perhaps it truly was a state of ”Ghost,” Lorenzo reached out a hand trying to touch objects but could grasp nothing, nor could anyone see him, the sound he made unable to spread, as if isolated from the world.

Lorenzo, after all, is a detective, although relying more on guns and swords when solving cases, now was a good time to use his brains; he noticed the anomalies in this state, recalling everything about Lawrence.

Lawrence could invade others by traversing the [Gap], thereby controlling another, could it be that Lorenzo was in this state, only not having touched any living thing to trigger the invasion.

He cautiously approached the flower sea, but just then a voice arose.

”Is it... you?”

Lorenzo’s movement halted, unsure of the current situation; if correct, there were only two people here... and himself as a ghost, so to whom was this man speaking?

His heart entirely suspended, Lorenzo had left the Evangelical Church for so long, long enough for a change in Pope, the Demon Hunting Order was dissolved and rebuilt—surely more changes accompanying these, just unbeknown to him yet.

The Gravekeeper was equally clueless, unable to observe Lorenzo, completely unaware of what madness the new Pope was now in, yet dangerous summoned unaware to him.

Lorenzo wanted to understand it all; in the ghostly state, he couldn’t impact reality, cautiously approaching the Gravekeeper, a bold idea rose within him—it was the best opportunity to test this bizarre state.

He extended his hand slowly onto the Gravekeeper’s back, at the moment of contact, the ethereal body crumbled instantly, countless memories and emotions clashing upon Lorenzo’s mind, pain and madness coexisted, until the will ripped apart and reconstructed, the world gradually brightened.

Lorenzo pressed both hands onto the earth beneath, feeling soft and moist, at first stunned, then slowly lifting his hands, ecstasy and fear rising together.

He... succeeded, like Lawrence’s actions intersecting with another body through the [Gap], intervening in all matters within the Static Holy Temple spanning such distant range.

Lorenzo had no time to experience all, as the man in the sea of flowers stood up, picked up the mask and put it on, slowly turning around to look at Lorenzo... or the Gravekeeper.

”Of course, it’s you...” he said.

Lorenzo still didn’t comprehend; he wasn’t the Gravekeeper, utterly confused by the man’s words, but then clearly seeing the mask under the white light, that holy robe.

”Pope...”

Lorenzo never thought the man before him was Pope, yet soon this new Pope picked up the Nail Sword piercing beside the tombstone, the sound of air splitting arose, followed by a Nail Sword pitching right before Lorenzo’s eyes.

”I thought you wouldn’t return, but you were still afraid, weren’t you?”

The Pope questioned.

Holding the rusted Nail Sword, he was steadily advancing, as he neared, the pure white flowers withered, revealing black earth and desolate tombstones.

Lorenzo had no time to think, unclear of everything, how exposed and what the new Pope’s ”you” referred to.

Instinctively he picked up the Nail Sword before him, the crisis made him prepare, but at that instant of facing the new Pope directly, his heart seemed to cease beating.

Under that steel mask, in the dark eye sockets burned a blazing white flame, growing fiercer until the scorching fire cleansed away the rust.

The Secret Blood long lost boiled once again, Sainy Loter raised the Nail Sword, its tip aimed at Lorenzo, slightly lowered; it was a stance familiar to Lorenzo, one he would never forget.

”I will not give up, gentlemen, regardless of how many times you come to kill me, it will always be so.”

He declared, then brought thunder and flame upon them, the cold light sinking, imposing divine punishment.