Gun of Ashes

This is a curse, an incredibly malignant curse, an unending curse.

In the darkness, the Yega Grand Theater has become an ancient dueling ground, where monsters drift in its dimness, clashing and battling, unleashing pent-up hatred and fury in this moment, burning everything away.

The wandering candlelight outlines rapidly moving figures, and to the average eye, their forms are unrecognizable, resembling the thunderous sound of swords that follows them like galloping lightning, never pausing for a moment.

Impact, separation, gathering strength, crashing together again, sword blades crossing.

Two pairs of blazing white eyes gaze at each other, letting out deafening roars that collide, and now the battle between them no longer involves any skill — it is merely pure brutality, venting pure anger.

The blades sliced into the dense Black Armor, unleashing a piercing screech and shredding the rigid material, causing blood to gush from the cracks in the Armor, yet a similarly deadly gunshot fired the trigger, the bullet pierced the scarlet robe, hitting the wall behind, leaving a trail of bullet holes and bloodstains.

The wounded duo seemed to briefly lose their strength, falling from their sprint into the boundless darkness, silence descended.

They seemed to have died, but quickly, silence was shattered by the heavy sound of breathing, and in this tranquil world, the heartbeat resounded like war drums, growing louder as the sound accelerated, resembling rapid drumbeats, finally reaching its peak.

Rising flames ignited everything around, the dead monsters awoke once again.

All of this is like the legends of the Vikings, brave warriors gather in the Heroic Spirit Hall, clash, die, awaken, and plunge once more into the endlessly repeating battle.

”You’ve become much stronger than before, Lorenzo Holmes.”

The metallic voice echoed through the darkness as Lawrence climbed up from the shattered ruins.

He looked terribly battered now, covered in scars, blade strikes almost tore his body apart, but fortunately, the powerful vitality of the Demon Hunter connected the severed limbs with crimson threads, which grew more numerous, like sewing lines, rejoining the broken torso.

”Not bad at all, Lawrence, didn’t expect I’d have another chance to kill you again.”

On the opposite end of the darkness, Lorenzo appeared slowly in view, carrying the heavy cello case.

The pitch-black Armor had already shattered beyond repair, but during this breathing time, more dense rigid matter filled in the broken sections, like shedding skin, pitch-black Scale Armor peeled off the Armor, turning into dust that scattered away.

Lorenzo glanced at the Nail Sword in his hand, although made of Pine Iron, under this high-intensity combat, it had become warped, with a clear crack running through the sword body, as if one more strike would completely shatter it.

”Such a calm reaction? I thought seeing me again would make you... more excited.”

Lawrence discarded the Broken Sword in his hand, drawing another Nail Sword from the sword bag behind, just as during their deadly duel on the train.

”Yes, more excited, like before, swinging your sword angrily, questioning me about the deliberately concealed story.”

Lawrence laughed loudly.

In his eyes, Lorenzo had changed — not as if he was a different person, but he had become more composed.

He could clearly feel the rage emanating from Lorenzo, but this time, Lorenzo was no longer reckless; there was still rationality tightly held within the frenzy.

Of course, he noticed some finer changes too.

Within the seams of the Armor, hot flames surged, far stronger than the Purifying Flame a normal Demon Hunter could arouse, and beyond that was Lorenzo’s terrifying vitality.

Lawrence recalled the deadly duel on the train where Lorenzo had no ability to resist, yet now he not only withstood his attacks but was even faster and stronger than him.

”What exactly did you experience, Lorenzo Holmes?”

Lawrence questioned, but no one answered him.

Yet he already knew the answer.

Beneath the twisted visage of the mask was an evil anomaly of a smile, smelling a nauseating scent in the air, the essence of a Silencer.

Lorenzo, like him, had implanted the flesh of the Silencer, and over this long period, their Secret Blood was gradually refined by the flesh, evolving into a purer Secret Blood.

The blood of the Holy Grail.

Lorenzo Holmes had also embarked on that forbidden shattered path, and Lawrence’s journey wasn’t lonely.

Slowly moving forward, approaching each other while vigilantly examining each other.

Lawrence suddenly halted his steps, raising the Nail Sword, the flames beneath the mask lightly flickered, confirming something at last.

”So you’re not Lorenzo de’ Medici? As expected, that guy ended up dead after all?”

Lawrence had once thought that Lorenzo de’ Medici, like him, finally found the Authority named Gabriel and relied on someone else’s body to survive. To confirm all this, he commanded the Plague Doctor to incite the partial war at Black Mountain Hospital.

But now, observing Lorenzo so closely, his response, his past, Lawrence reached this conclusion.