The Divine Armor of the Old Century（Book 1）

Chapter 33

"Oh, then how was I exposed?"

On the dimly lit dock, the final game unfolded. It was a seemingly fatal blow, yet Lloyd managed to evade it. The other person was surprised; they hadn't expected Lloyd to remain wary.

"Because I, too, have just realized everything," Lloyd said, slowly turning to face the distorted figure.

"The design of this palace was initially a hot spring fort. It was so easy to conceal secrets here. Even without deploying troops, just relying on those demons would be enough to resist everything."

He covered his wound. Though no blood flowed, the pain was still acute.

"But you left a way out here, as you said, 'no one survives.' You said this included you. But this hidden river exposed you. You didn't want to die, so your earlier appearance was just feigning death, wasn't it?"

Looking at the transformed Sabo, Lloyd spoke, unable to suppress his astonishment. It was evident he, too, had been corrupted, but he hadn't become a mindless monster. He still maintained his sanity, despite inhabiting a monstrous shell.

The previous dwarfism was gone. Limbs had elongated grotesquely, fingers had become thick to grip the sword more securely, and muscle-like tissue akin to tendons grew on the mottled dagger, as if imbued with a strange, frenzied vitality.

"Yes, I can't die... No one can make me die," Sabo's voice carried a hoarse echo. He was almost inhuman, yet retained his final shreds of rationality.

"I'm a misbegotten Viking. Odin abandoned me from the moment I was born. My mother left me in the wilderness. She probably thought I would die, but I survived."

His eyeballs were pressed together by the barbaric growth of tumors. Beneath the dark red veins, his weak gaze fixated on Lloyd.

"Mr. Holmes, I'm a man born forsaken by the gods, but I'm also one born to resist. The northern winds couldn't kill me, nor could a miserable life crush me. It took me three fingers to buy a ticket to England."

"Many have tried to kill me, but they've all failed. I will live longer than anyone."

Like a terrifying sermon, thick liquid oozed from between his sharp teeth. Sabo was born to fight for survival; life was his only wealth. How could he be abandoned so easily because of a doctor's words?

"Speaking of which, I'm still a believer of the Gospel..."

Thinking of the past, Sabo chuckled hoarsely.

"You used to be a priest, so, Mr. Holmes, were you also abandoned by your god?"

The murky eyes held a hint of sadness, almost unbelievably, Lloyd felt a sense of sympathy emanating from the monstrous being.

"I never believed in gods. I was born in Fecamp, where there are only two kinds of people: believers and priests."

His gaze turned icy. "Believers not only have to worship, but also have to pay to the church. But priests are different. We only work on Sundays. When we run out of money, we take some from the collection box. Life was very comfortable."

Though he had been a priest, even a Templar, Lloyd had no reverence for the so-called gods.

"Why did you leave then?" Sabo asked.

"As a lunatic, you seem to talk too much," Lloyd coldly rejected, and then the body displayed movement completely inconsistent with its injuries.

The shotgun suddenly raised and fired, but this time it missed. Sabo's slender body moved with an agility never seen before, a speed that his malformed shell could never achieve. He easily dodged the fatal shot, then swung down his sharp blade.