The Divine Armor of the Old Century（Book 1）

Chapter 83

The warm, gray snow drifted on the wind. The plague doctor extended his hand, catching the fleeting ash. It landed in his palm, and with a gentle rub, it dispersed into dust, disappearing into the air.

This marked the end of an era, and the dawn of a new one.

The roaring white flames were clearly visible even from this distance. The blackened bones within seemed to struggle, swaying slightly in the flames, while faint wails echoed in his ears.

"It looks like it's all over."

The plague doctor looked down at the small boat being swallowed by the waves. The sea was furious. Had it not been for this steamship rescuing him, he would have been lying at the bottom of the ocean with that iron coffin.

Beneath the dark blue surface, the faces of the demons remained. They were still creatures at their core, and these partially transformed demons were completely bound by the waves, slowly sinking and dying at the ocean's floor.

"This isn't the end, merely a new beginning."

A man in a dark yellow raincoat walked over. Despite the violent rocking of the ship in the turbulent waves, he maintained perfect balance, as if walking on solid ground. He held a rope, dragging the heavy iron coffin across the deck.

"You look worn out. That must have been your last demon, right? It's no easy task to create so many."

The plague doctor turned to the man. These demons had been released by him. Without their interference, the steamship wouldn't have made it this far to escape the pursuit of the Dawn. That ship, hovering in the sky, was a giant eye. On the vast sea, there was no escaping it.

"The loss is negligible compared to what I've gained."

The man laughed lightly, and an unimaginable strength surged from his body. The iron coffin, which the ascetics had struggled to lift, seemed light in his hands as he dragged it to the plague doctor's side. The wind tore away the tattered cloth covering it, revealing the ancient, mottled surface.

"Ah... this really feels unpleasant."

The plague doctor took a deep breath, his voice weary and pressured. He averted his eyes, avoiding direct contact.

"You still can't get used to it, can you? It's actually quite docile. Just a bit of honey, and it behaves."

The man gently caressed the uneven surface. The cold metal seeped into his body, and hallucinations began to appear before his eyes.

Memories, delusions, and strange whispers overwhelmed his mind. Yet, he seemed unaffected, calmly raising his hand and cutting a deadly wound on his wrist. Blood gushed out.

The blood flowed along the coffin's seams, like a painting filling every groove. Finally, it formed a strange pattern on the ancient metal surface.

From the corner of his eye, the plague doctor saw it all. The disturbing sensation eroding his sanity disappeared, replaced by something even stranger. A tooth-aching tapping sound began, like serpents entwining and rubbing their fine scales together. The blood seemed to be entirely absorbed by the coffin, not a drop spilling out.

It seemed alive, and its feeding had brought it a moment of peace.

"So, this is how you contain it? With blood."

The plague doctor found it curious, not expecting such a bizarre entity to feed solely on blood.

The man shook his head, covering the wound on his wrist, and looked at the coffin with fascination.

"To be precise, it feeds on secret blood. This only satisfies it briefly. It will grow greedier until it requires a cruel sacrifice."

"But for now, keeping it quiet is enough. That demon hunter is out there, and I don't want any complications."