The Divine Armor of the Old Century（Book 1）

Chapter 59

It felt like plunging into the deepest ocean, where no matter how much you struggle and scream, your voice only echoes within the abyss, unheard by anyone. You keep sinking, endlessly, until even memories fade into oblivion.

Lloyd slowly opened his eyes. In front of him was a quiet street where people dressed in elegant attire held hands, smiling and enjoying the tranquility under the moonlight. Poets sang on the street corners, strumming their instruments and recounting old, forgotten tales.

Feeling exhausted, Lloyd turned his head. He was draped in a white robe, a silver cross hanging from his chest, and the people around him regarded him with respectful gazes.

"Sleeping here will give you a cold."

A voice broke the silence. A white-haired man sat beside him, his face showing the weariness common to middle-aged men. Like Lloyd, he wore a clerical robe, but his was a bright red, signifying divine favor. Passersby looked at him with reverence, bowing slightly and whispering prayers.

"Father Lawrence?"

Seeing this familiar figure, Lloyd felt a strange emotion. He hadn't expected to see him again after so many years.

"Wait... is this Florence?"

Suddenly realizing his surroundings, Lloyd stood up, holding his head. He looked around, trying to recall the place, and found a faint sense of familiarity among the buildings. This was where he was born. He had left this place long ago, but now, somehow, he was back where it all began.

"You seem to have had a very long dream, one that almost made you forget yourself."

Father Lawrence seemed to see through Lloyd's confusion. As the leader of the Demon Hunters, he was a servant of God, and he immediately pinpointed the source of Lloyd's bewilderment.

"You mean... a dream?"

Lloyd tasted the word, still finding it hard to believe.

"Yes, you have been blessed by the Divine Baptism. You should have gained something from that holy rite. As I told you before, memories that don't belong to you will follow you, some beneficial, others that might cloud your judgment."

Father Lawrence smiled faintly, always giving an impression of a gentle sage. Even without the distinctive red robe, one would instinctively recognize him as a wise man.

"I, too, have had dreams so vivid they blurred the line between reality and illusion. Like you, I was once lost, but time provides answers to every problem."

"Like that absurd 42?"

Listening to Father Lawrence's comforting words, Lloyd remembered a story from a film embedded in his memories. The ultimate answer to everything being 42—a number both meaningful and meaningless. Lloyd couldn't understand it all and chose to see it as a nonsensical tale. He didn't know if other blessed ones had similar experiences, but at least he had learned about the universe from those fragmented memories.

"42? You mean something from your personal memories?"

Father Lawrence chuckled. Every Demon Hunter had undergone the baptism, and only this divine blessing could enhance their will to resist demonic corruption. However, it also brought side effects, such as foreign memories. No one knew their origin, and the church had no definitive answer.

"Probably... So, Father, what did you dream of?"

Lloyd asked nonchalantly. He couldn't remember much about the blessing ritual, just a vague recollection of stepping into a glowing pool and emerging with new memories and resistance.

"Many things, but I'm old and have forgotten most of them."

Whether he truly forgot or chose not to answer, Father Lawrence avoided the question.

"When I was young, I longed for the world in those memories. It was entirely different from ours, free of demons and wars, a place of peace where everyone could have what they wanted."

He spoke of those faded memories with a touch of nostalgia and sentiment.

"But as I traveled far and wide, I realized it was just an illusion, a comforting yet unrealistic dream."

Lloyd nodded, trying to memorize the familiar face of his old friend.

"Alright, enough thinking. Today is the Great Day. The Pope awaits us at the Seven Hills for the execution of the old era. Every Demon Hunter must attend."

Father Lawrence patted Lloyd's shoulder. As he ended the conversation, a luxurious carriage pulled up in front of them. The door opened, inviting them in. Without much thought, Lloyd joined Father Lawrence in the carriage.

The Seven Hills lay outside Florence, the heart of their faith, admitting only believers and churches. Its basic sustenance depended entirely on Florence, like a parasite on the city.

The Tiber River flowed by as the carriage sped along the bank. Inside, it was spacious, more like a mobile office. Piles of documents were organized neatly on a desk by an assistant.

"Do you know about that northern country?"

Father Lawrence asked, adjusting his thick glasses as he perused the documents.

"The north? You mean England?"

Lloyd immediately thought of the city where he had spent six years in his dreams. Everything had felt so real, as if he had just been there moments ago.

"Yes, after their war with Gaul, their steam technology has advanced significantly. To avoid being isolated, Queen Victoria generously shared the technology with other countries, binding them together on the steam chariot. Now, steam technology is rising in other nations, even the mysterious Nine Summers have received their technological aid."

Father Lawrence set the documents aside, looking directly at Lloyd with a cold gaze.

"They all fear the Church and aim to use steam technology to surpass us. While we maintain a delicate balance now, no one knows what will happen next."

Lloyd sensed an underlying message and asked cautiously, "What... does the Church intend to do?"

"That's what we're discussing tonight."

Father Lawrence wore a mysterious smile, hinting at something beyond.

"But isn't tonight..."

Lloyd's eyes widened as he remembered the significance of the night, the long-awaited celebration.

"Isn't it a good day?"

Father Lawrence smiled, his eyes hiding a fervor beneath their coldness.

"To end an old era and usher in a new one."

Lloyd finally recalled the events of the day. The rumors had circulated within the Demon Hunters for months—they had captured the last demon and would execute it tonight, marking the end of the old era and the dawn of a new one.

"What about us?"

Lloyd looked at Father Lawrence, his eyes filled with unprecedented confusion.

"If the last demon dies, do we still have a purpose?"

He whispered, questioning not just Father Lawrence but himself, contemplating the final choice of this uncertain path. Death gave life its value, and light offered hope against the dark. All things depended on their opposites, but what about Demon Hunters? When the demons were gone, where would they go?

"There's always a path."

Father Lawrence said meaningfully.

"No matter how times change, we will survive, like sparks ready to ignite again."

Gradually, the rising murmurs and prayers filled Lloyd's ears as the grand and imposing city loomed larger. It seemed to breathe with life, the fervent prayers of countless believers filling the air, their warm breath rising together as if the city itself was breathing.

Tall Templar Knights guarded every corner, clad in fine armor, swords at their waists, and massive, heavy muskets at their chests. A direct shot could easily pierce steel plates. As the carriage sped past this familiar sight, it traveled forward, over a long red carpet, to the most sacred center.