The Divine Armor of the Old Century（Book 1）

Chapter 62

Many times, the art of killing can also be considered a form of artistry.

That was what one of Lloyd's friends, a rather flamboyant demon hunter, used to say. This hunter wielded an elegant rapier, carried a handkerchief in his pocket, wore pristine white gloves, and doused himself in copious amounts of perfume after every mission. Lloyd had initially thought this guy was merely a narcissistic clean freak. However, he later realized that this graceful demon hunter was indeed an artist. His swordsmanship was exquisite, watching him in combat was like witnessing a dance. Enemies would fall helplessly after his final flourish, their blood blooming like red flowers in the aftermath, while not a single drop stained his body, as if he moved like the wind.

Recalling this old friend wasn't a flashback from the brink of death; it was simply that Lloyd had suddenly realized he had reached a similar level of artistry himself. Reflecting on his recent swift reflexes and tactical maneuvers, how he had turned the tables in an instant, Lloyd knew his friend would have applauded his performance.

Drawing a new nail sword from the case hanging at his waist, Lloyd coldly stared at the burning white flames, waiting for the figure within to vanish. But the expected scene didn't unfold; instead, a nightmare began.

From the boiling white emerged a pitch-black figure, the intense white flames swirling around him like mist. He pulled the nail sword from his chest and casually discarded it to the side. Ed, with a grim smile, looked at Lloyd, his eyes reflecting the blazing white, expanding like a fire ignited in the depths of an abyss, burning fiercely until it overflowed from the darkness.

"Can you feel the pain?"

Ed's mocking eyes bore into Lloyd as he raised his sword. The previous strikes had been too fast, like grasping white light, making it impossible for Lloyd to discern his weapon. But at this moment, Lloyd saw clearly, feeling the searing pain from the wound on his shoulder.

The secret blood's healing was halted, as if some force was preventing it. The wound was ghastly and terrifying.

"It's... holy silver."

Lloyd recognized the sword and was horrified by this grim reality. The sword in Ed's hand had both blade and hilt, resembling a long silver nail, much like Lloyd's nail sword—the demon hunter's weapon. Despite years of use, its well-maintained blade remained sharp, though now it bore numerous nicks and scratches from countless battles.

"Holy silver, an alchemical creation imbued with faith. When great saints pass away, they offer their bodies to the burning iron furnace, singing hymns as molten silver consumes them. After cooling and alchemical refinement, they become the substance known as holy silver."

The madness in Ed's eyes dimmed, replaced by a nostalgic and sorrowful look as he gently stroked the blade.

"Demon hunters, while this weapon is deadly against monsters, it is also lethal to us."

"I know."

Lloyd interrupted Ed, finally acknowledging his enemy, feeling a mix of emotions.

"We are demon hunters, endowed with secret blood, which essentially originates from monsters. In other words, we are merely a group of controllable monsters."

"Indeed, so the holy silver that kills monsters can also kill us."

Ed whispered, then madness swept over him again. He held the nail sword, its tip slightly lowered in the stance of the Bologna sword technique, a posture familiar to Lloyd.

"So what does this mean? The dragon slayer becomes the dragon?"

As if mocking fate, Lloyd looked at the demon hunter before him and smiled wryly.