The Divine Armor of the Old Century（Book 1）

Chapter 43

In the outskirts of the city, in the Iris District to the east, at 121A Cock Street.

It had been a week since that insane night, and during this time, no one had come knocking, and nothing strange had occurred. Everything seemed like a dream, fading away upon waking.

Lloyd had attempted to seek out the Brolaw, armed to the teeth beneath his dark overcoat, ready to wreak havoc upon the city. Yet, unfortunately, Brolaw seemed to have vanished, unaware of whatever had transpired, not showing his face for many days.

Lying in the bathtub, the warm water washed away the weariness from his body. Submerged in the comforting warmth, Lloyd savored the rare tranquility.

Madam Vandorf was napping, and his cheap roommate seemed to be working overtime at the factory, leaving Lloyd alone in their small house.

With the dim light overhead and the sounds of life drifting in from the street, he couldn't help but relax. He reached for a cigarette, drawing deeply. It felt rather good.

It had been years since Lloyd had dealt with creatures of the night. Despite his efforts to sever ties with the darkness, it seemed that grim shadow refused to release its grip, seizing him just when he thought he had forgotten.

Emerging from the bath, wrapped in a white towel, Lloyd made his way to the room. His wounds were slowly healing; apart from the more severe injuries, the minor ones had mostly closed, leaving behind faint, unrecovered crimson marks.

Since that night, neither Brolaw nor Eve had contacted him. Lloyd wasn't bothered by their absence. Currently, he was troubled only by a few unresolved questions.

It was confirmed that Worr was afflicted with some sort of demonic transformation, likely due to his involvement with the mysterious Sacred Coffer. This contamination likely extended to all aboard the Silverfish, meaning there were at least sixteen potential demons roaming the city.

The next mystery lay with the clandestine organization that attacked the catacombs that night. Lloyd remembered encountering a substantial amount of gastric chewing grass in the tunnels. Yet, after that night, there were no anomalies in the Old Dunling, suggesting that this mysterious group had expertly covered their tracks.

In Lloyd's estimation, this organization's scale couldn't be underestimated, likely rivaling the Monster Hunting Guild.

Troublesome indeed...

Things were gradually becoming clearer; it was a game between two secretive organizations, and he was the unlucky pawn caught in the middle.

The only unclear factor was Brolaw's role in all this. Lloyd had always thought of him as an underground emperor, earning his fortune through smuggling. But now, even Brolaw was shrouded in mystery.

With a sigh, Lloyd dressed himself, tidied up, and left the house.

His Winchester was concealed beneath his overcoat, snug against his body. He pulled down his black deerstalker hat, partially obscuring his gray-blue eyes. His sword cane had broken during the scuffle with Sabo; a new weapon was being forged by the blacksmith.

"Quite rare..."

Lifting his head, endless rays of light pierced through the somber sky. It was hard to believe that today Old Dunling was somewhat clear, though the clouds still lingered, they had parted enough to let the light through.

Lloyd had a new lease on life. He shouldn't have been involved in these matters. The best choice now would be to buy a ticket for a vacation somewhere and rest. But everyone should have a bottom line, even if Lloyd, being the scoundrel he was, struggled to connect with such terms. But it was certain he had one, just very low, perhaps five meters below ground level.