The Divine Armor of the Old Century（Book 1）

Chapter 72

The cold wind and snow swept over Lloyd, leaving a thin layer of white on his clothes. A huge crack marred the ice before him, and amidst the shattered masses, people struggled as if drowning sinners in their final moments.

The man stood up, shaking off the snow and ice from his body. He walked across the floating ice with deliberate steps, casually stomping on dried-up hands or kicking loathsome heads with force.

"Do you want to try? It's quite stress-relieving," he said.

Despite the hellish scenery, the man seemed to be enjoying himself.

Lloyd shook his head, rejecting this macabre form of entertainment. He looked at the faces twisted in inhuman grotesqueness and asked, "Is this it?"

"Part of it. This is just its probing. Even after being locked away for so long, it never tires of testing the strength of its cage. It waits for the moment the chains show a crack," the man replied.

Lloyd's gaze pierced through the dark blue seawater, down to the deepest point where the chains coiled, beneath the shadowy sea floor.

"The real it is hiding there, gathering strength," the man continued, turning to Lloyd with a reassuring pat on his chest. "But don't worry, as the guardian of this demon, the jailer must always be stronger than the prisoner, right?"

He was always so confident. It was this confidence that eventually led to his death.

"And besides, Lloyd, it's time for you to leave," the man said, his demeanor turning serious.

"...Do you know what that thing is?" Lloyd asked one last time. If the man was a solitary soul living in his own memories, linked in some eerie way to Lloyd, then perhaps he knew something about what Lloyd had seen.

The man nodded but said nothing, wearing an enigmatic smile.

"What is it?" Lloyd asked again.

That thing—responsible for everything that had happened—the Sacred Coffin. Everything Lloyd had gone through stemmed from that mysterious object, and now he was just a hair's breadth away from it.

"You're better off not knowing. After all, you weren't part of that grand event back then," the man replied.

The broken pieces of the past began to come together. Lloyd didn't need an answer; the earliest dreams he had were now explained. Conversations with Father Laurence, the invitation from the Pope, the celebration of the Day of the Divine Birth, the death of the last demon.

Those were not Lloyd's dreams but the dreams of the man before him. Their wills had intertwined, meeting only now after many years in this liminal space.

The confusion cleared, and Lloyd looked at the man.

"It's truly a painful memory. I lost everything that night," the man murmured wistfully, but the fragile expression quickly vanished as he spoke harshly. "That thing is its remains, Lloyd. You know what that means, right?"

He reached out and patted Lloyd's shoulder. The aura of a demon hunter returned to him after many years, like a coronation ceremony in this desolate forgotten land.

Lloyd's pupils contracted, surprised but also feeling it was inevitable. The cold blood in his veins began to boil again. Whether it was a sense of duty or vengeance, he couldn't say—only that there was a fire burning inside him that needed release.

"This...is also why you dragged me into this space, isn't it?" he asked.

The solitary ghost from his memories had sensed it, and now, deepening their connection, they had finally met. This was not a sentimental reunion, but the start of another hunt.

The man nodded, burying all sentimental feelings deep inside. He became cold and imposing once more.

"Lloyd Holmes, our mission isn't over. The Night of the Holy Descent isn't over! Your final duty has come!" he declared with a maddening and hateful gaze that even made the drowning souls shudder in fear.

"Kill it, throw it into the furnace, burn it to ashes, sink it into the sea, and erase every trace of its existence so that it is forgotten forever!" he proclaimed.

This was the hatred of the gatekeeper, a wrath that had accumulated over time, never dissipating.

He leaned in close, whispering in Lloyd's ear like a child's dream-like murmur. "You haven't forgotten, right?"

Recalling the poem inscribed on his Winchester, Lloyd recited softly, "Do not go gentle into that good night; rage, rage against the dying of the light."

"Rage, rage!" he shouted, and with a wicked grin, the man kicked Lloyd into the icy water. Countless hands grabbed him, hoping to drag him into the deep darkness.

The suffocating cold overwhelmed Lloyd's senses, the lonely chill isolating him from the world, until a burning pain ignited his body. Then, the man's voice echoed like a curse in his ears.

"Go back to hell," he said.

And the world filled with light.

...

It was a tedious slaughter. Ed held Lloyd's head; from the moment the demon hunter had seemingly died, he stopped resisting, allowing Ed to attack him.

Perhaps it was because of that dream. It made Ed even angrier. This demon hunter had enjoyed a comfortable retirement, so much so that he couldn't even resist a simple corruption. It was a disgrace to all demon hunters.

The temperature in Ed's hand began to rise, slowly roasting Lloyd's brain to ashes. The surrounding demons anxiously waited, craving Lloyd's flesh and blood like wild beasts awaiting their master's command.

Amidst the light, Ed still harbored a sliver of hope. He wanted Lloyd to wake up; otherwise, it was like torturing a corpse—meaningless.

Time passed, and Ed suddenly laughed, his anger blinding him to the absurdity of being mad at a corpse.

He reached out to confirm one last thing: the alchemical sigil on Lloyd's back to identify his demon hunter lineage. As he tore at Lloyd's coat, his burning hand was suddenly seized.

He looked up sharply to meet a pair of equally fiery eyes.

A thunderous attack followed, so swift that Ed only saw streaks of blinding light. Then, the burning flames were slashed apart by a howling wind, metal covering his body shattered, and blood splattered in the air.

The sharp blade reflected in Lloyd's eyes, and the next moment, his Winchester roared, a heavy bullet piercing through the flames. The heat might melt steel, but it couldn't negate the bullet's kinetic force.

It was a well-executed series of attacks. Ed lost his balance under the assault of sword and gun, and Lloyd closed in like a vengeful spirit.

But Ed wouldn't give him another chance to attack. The purifying flames surged again, like a blazing sun, forcing anyone to retreat. But Lloyd charged forward, the black blade piercing the flames.

Ed looked in disbelief at the demon hunter before him. Black iron feathers covered his body like divine armor, protecting him. White flames seeped through the feathers, and Lloyd's grip tightened, covering the silver blade with darkness.

It was a power Ed had never seen, something no demon hunter branch possessed.

More black swords pierced him, like execution nails pinning him to the ground.

[Warning: Secret Blood awakening at 30%, critical level reached.]

[Silver Binding Seal disintegrating.]

[According to the Scabbard Treaty, you have 300 seconds to act. After that, please await retrieval by the Holy Knights.]

The annoying voice echoed in his mind. Lloyd seemed to despise it, knocking on his smoking head.

He looked at the terrified Ed with curiosity. "Your Silver Binding Seal must be just as noisy as mine, right?"

As if discussing an ordinary topic with a friend, Lloyd spoke while raising his black blade for another strike.