The Divine Armor of the Old Century（Book 1）

Chapter 103

The iron serpent raced forward with the speed of a launched crossbow bolt. In the moment it clashed with the demon, Lancelot's firegun erupted in a blinding explosion. Scorching flames engulfed the monster, striking it like a hammer of fire. The resulting blast shattered the chains that bound Lancelot, and the rugged knight leaped forward with powerful strides.

His movements were swift as thunder, and the sharp steel sliced through the air with a piercing wail. When his heavy form collided with the ground, he decelerated with remarkable control, leaving deep furrows in his wake. As the dust settled, his fierce visage emerged from the haze.

This was the first time Lloyd saw the ancient God Armor so clearly. During the mission in End Town, the darkness had obscured everything, offering only glimpses of a shadowy figure. But now, Lancelot stood in the broken sunlight, each detail illuminated.

The God Armor was a masterpiece of refined craftsmanship, with intricately interlocking plates. Through its seams, one could glimpse the pulsating flesh beneath, protected steam conduits, and mechanisms. Indicator lights glowed a harmonious green, signaling the ancient armor was under control.

This was a perfect fusion of steam technology and demonic biology, a killing machine beyond the capabilities of ordinary design. Facing such a foe was an enormous challenge, even for a skilled warrior.

Lloyd was initially shocked, but then surprised by the armor's appearance. Contrary to his expectations of a towering behemoth, Lancelot's armor was lean and streamlined, stripped of excess protection to prioritize extreme mobility. Hooks extended from the back to the arms, with only a sword and the firegun as additional equipment. The azure paint suggested that, in action, he would move like lightning.

Before Lloyd could ponder further, the demon reappeared from the burning smoke, catching even Lancelot off guard. Despite the high-temperature blast, which should have incapacitated it, the creature seemed unfazed and continued its flight.

Lloyd gave chase, and the azure knight sprinted after, his hook shooting out to anchor onto a distant rail. A miniature motor retracted the line, pulling him forward at incredible speed. Drawing his razor-sharp sword, he closed in, sparks flying as the blade scraped the ground.

His movements were fluid and devoid of the clumsiness often associated with metal armor. For a moment, it seemed as though it was not an armored knight but a living person performing a lethal dance. Just as Lancelot was about to strike, the demon suddenly plummeted, causing his sword to miss and gouge a deep crater in the ground. The force of the blow shook the underground steam pipes, releasing scalding steam that seared the armor.

Lloyd arrived moments later, legs unable to match the speed of the hooks. He coldly observed the demon's disappearance point, a steam vent amidst the factory. Entering such a vent would mean near-instant death for any normal creature, yet the demon's resilience left him uncertain.

Lancelot remained silent but did not cease his actions. He retrieved his firegun and aimed it at the steam vent, preparing a devastating shot that could melt armor and flesh alike. But such an attack might trigger unforeseen consequences within the factory's infrastructure.

As Lloyd hesitated, the demonic presence he had been tracking vanished from his senses. He ordered, "Wait! Don't fire!" and pushed the icy barrel down. Lancelot, more likely to consider than obey, seemed to ponder briefly before lowering the weapon. Confirmation came from central control: the demon's signal had disappeared, and the Geiger index was returning to normal.

Emerald's voice confirmed the kill over the comms, bringing a reluctant end to the skirmish. Steam cleaner squads would soon arrive to recover the demon's remains.

"The bastard got steamed to death," Lloyd remarked with a bitter laugh, displeased that the chase had ended without a personal kill. He glanced at Lancelot, towering like a peak, armor sharp and imposing, concealing his true form.

Curiosity about Lancelot gnawed at Lloyd. Little was known about him beyond the strength of his will and the mystery surrounding his identity. Among the elite of the Purge Mechanism, only Arthur knew the true faces of the high-ranking knights.

More iron serpents arrived, and the cleaners began their work.

...

In a confessional within a dimly lit chapel, a man leaned against the wall, his eyes vacant. His body reeked of decay, dried blood smeared his face, and countless wounds marked his tattered clothing. As his flesh writhed and healed, expelling bullets, he stared blankly upward.

"I confess to you, my mentor," he murmured.

The voice behind the curtain was warm, like sunlight. "In the name of God, I absolve you of your sins."

The man's eyes glimmered briefly before dimming again. Tears welled up, and he lifted a trembling hand, seeing visions of countless angry faces.

"But... I've killed so many, in such brutal ways."

"They were sinners, were they not? You were enacting your justice. God will forgive these actions."

"Really?" His voice trembled with disbelief.

"Yes. Everyone has their own sense of justice. You know your essence. Only you can judge yourself."

Breathing heavily, he felt a sense of validation, something he had never received before. Struggling to rise, he winced in pain but ignored it. "I feel like I'm not myself anymore," he confessed, recalling how his once meek self had turned into a cold killer.

"Perhaps you've found your true nature."

The mentor's words echoed like a spell. "Don't stop, child. Your work isn't done. Justice hasn't been served."

Like a lost lamb given direction, the man repeated the words, feeling renewed purpose, though soon despair returned. "I almost died. They were so strong."

The curtain parted, and an old hand reached out, offering a few syringes. "You are God's child. We won't abandon you. If enemies are strong, we grant you the sword to enact your justice."

He stared at the syringes, hope igniting in his eyes. Grabbing them despite the pain, he clung to the mentor's hand, feeling a surge of determination. "Thank you, Mentor Laurence."

Blood seeped under the door, reflecting his twisted form as he stood resolute once more.