Gun of Ashes

Shermans advanced on the soft grass, leaving shallow footprints, his pace slow enough for Yage, who was leaning on a cane, to keep up with him.

”But it seems he failed, otherwise he would have returned here long ago.”

Shermans said somewhat regretfully.

No one wants to leave their homeland, or rather, once they leave, they never return. He was the same. Miguel once remarked about him, saying Shermans was the most unambitious Cardinal, only wishing to stay in that sacred church until he died, and it would be even better if he could be buried alongside the Popes of past generations.

Shermans rarely rebutted this, nor did he ever express his thoughts aloud.

After all, the so-called Cardinal is just a believer in power, so what’s wrong with being a believer who is devout until death?

He couldn’t understand, nor did he understand why power was so enticing, enough to make Miguel still try to oppose the new Pope to this day.

They are individuals with different reasons, just happening to have a common enemy that unites them.

”Haven’t the people from the Purification Mechanism left yet?” Shermans suddenly asked softly.

Yage pretended as if nothing had happened and answered quietly.

”They left only a few people, saying it’s to assist us in communicating with the headquarters, but it’s also another form of surveillance. However, they have indeed given us sufficient freedom... at least on the surface.”

”One should not completely trust the Purification Mechanism.” Shermans tightened his coat and continued to step forward.

”We are still unclear what promises Florence’s mission would bring, and maybe tomorrow, the Purification Mechanism will hand us over to the new Pope for greater benefit.”

The old man wore a grim expression. Although a devout believer, it didn’t mean all his thoughts were occupied by faith.

The Evangelical Church is a complex organization, uniting humans under the so-called God; some are sincere believers, while others are puppets of power, each with their own ambitions. Without a bit of vigilance, Shermans wouldn’t have become a Cardinal so easily.

”Would they really do that?” Yage found it hard to believe.

”Don’t underestimate the power of profit. If not for these, how would the Holy Hall Knight Order betray us, and how would Anthony become our enemy? Although it’s unclear what the new Pope promised them, it did indeed move them, for which they see us as heretics and continue to hunt us down even after all this time.”

”I only hope Miguel doesn’t let me down.”

Shermans sighed and turned to look at Yage, his murky gaze carrying a hint of sadness.

Yage, though somewhat dull, had long ago been alerted to the true situation by his intuition from years back. He hesitantly asked.

”In truth... we’ve been abandoned, haven’t we?”

This was a doubt about everything at the moment, but Yage couldn’t help but ask, even though they were well hidden, collaborating with the Purification Mechanism felt too sudden and abnormal.

”What Miguel needs is an army capable of counterattacking the Seven Hills instead of an old believer close to death. We have long been of no use to him.”

Shermans was well aware of his position. At that time, he didn’t want to go down this path, but he had no other options.

The new Pope wouldn’t spare him, and Miguel beside him was his only hope. It was an agonizing decision, like a drowning man, even if the thorns would leave his hands bloody, he would still cling tightly to it.

”And the only use of an old fellow is to test errors, which is why we are the ones negotiating cooperation with the Purification Mechanism. This is just a probe. Even if we die, it won’t affect Miguel’s plans.”

Yage’s expression became unpleasant. These were things he wasn’t supposed to know and, if leaked, could lead to internal division within them before the Purification Mechanism even acted, yet Shermans still spoke out.

Suddenly, Yage felt that being trusted wasn’t a good thing, for if he weren’t informed of these, he might still be immersed in the ecstasy of hope instead of this sudden worry.

”What should we do?” Yage asked.

”What should we do? Just maintain the status quo.”

Shermans seemed indifferent to any of this, his gaze turning to the other side where the paddock lay; a few white horses were enjoying the grass, and his expression appeared as if he longed to gallop wildly.

”Are you sure... this is really okay?”

Yage couldn’t understand how Shermans could accept all this so easily. Miguel was using his life as a probe.

”What else can we do?”

The old man laughed maniacally, for a moment, Yage couldn’t discern the old man’s intentions.

”We have been Ingwig’s enemies for decades, centuries, and the Evangelical Church, with the Demon Hunting Order’s martial threat, has loomed over nations craving liberation from our bind. Now Ingwig has succeeded, the Purification Mechanism stepping into our view... do you think they will truly help us?

After all, their help now is just to oppose the new Pope. They won’t destroy the Evangelical Church, just keep it in perpetual chaos, never again presenting a threat to him.”

Shermans had lived long enough, to a time when he was of the same era as Cardinal Medici, witnessing the end of that great Golden Era.

Although merely a devout believer, Shermans somewhat understood those so-called strategies and conspiracies.

”No one will truly help us, except Miguel... though he merely wants to become a Pope, at least our goals overlap somewhat, and we are on the same path. Who else can we trust but him?”

Shermans’ tone suddenly turned vicious, his elderly body brimming with anger.

Yage, for a moment, was at a loss for words, the coldness of the post-rain wind sending shivers through him.

”Ah, perhaps life is just this way; I no longer seek something better, only hoping for a peaceful death.”

The old man suddenly appeared vulnerable again, his aged face with deeply sunken eyes.

He reached into his bosom and drew out a finely crafted flintlock gun.

Almost like a piece of art, its mahogany frame intricately patterned with gold, brass barrel engraved with Holy Words, seemingly weathered by time. Although Shermans maintained it meticulously, its flaws, however subtle, were still visible.

The old man’s gaze was filled with nostalgia as he gently caressed it, recalling the glory of that Golden Era from it.

”In fact, I’m also an old stubborn soul, always rejecting new things. Obviously, those new-style pistols are much more practical than this one, but I just can’t bear to abandon it, along with its past.”

With its low accuracy and cumbersome reloading, as a weapon, it was laughed at as an art piece on a display stand. Yet, long ago, it once dominated the battlefield, with Shermans using it to execute one heretic after another.

But now, he was old, and with age, his dried hands trembled when reloading, and the weapon, like him, had been cast aside by time.

Shermans took a long look at the horses still grazing before slowly turning towards the manor, this time not waiting for Yage. Yage struggled to keep up, leaning heavily on his cane.

The sound of a train whistle came from afar, railways covering every corner of Ingwig’s territory like a web enveloping the land, heavy steam pouring from the moving machinery. A man stood atop the train, gazing at the manor at the end of the lush green grassland.

The air still held a misty residue, pattering against Lorenzo’s face, the icy sensation somewhat revitalizing him. He then jumped down, the wind lifting his coat, revealing the gun and sword beneath.