The Divine Armor of the Old Century（Book 1）

Chapter 111

A crisp, constant clattering echoed across the table, the books once settled on it now scattered in disarray. Lloyd sat in his chair, tirelessly working on the bullets in his hand, surrounded by shards of iron. From the case he carried, there was a piece of sacred silver he had taken when he fled from the Order. It had originally been stored in some equipment box.

As a demon hunter, Lloyd often encountered unexpected incidents, and due to their formidable individual combat abilities, each hunter was typically allocated an equipment box containing everything from medical supplies to weapon manufacturing tools, even precious sacred silver.

Over the long battles, Lloyd had been using the sacred silver from this piece. Though it wasn't large, it was sufficient for Lloyd's consumption over time. However, Lloyd didn't plan on using it lavishly. The technique for creating sacred silver was monopolized by the Gospel Church, and for him, this deadly metal against demons was irreplaceable, especially since sacred silver weapons were mostly plated and couldn't be recycled.

Loading the bullets into his weapon, Lloyd sharply pulled the guard ring, completing the loading process with a crisp click. The Winchester he used was loaded with buckshot, filled with large spherical lead pellets. After processing, he mixed in bullets plated with sacred silver, making the weapon extremely lethal against demons at close range. Low-level demons would be shattered into pieces with a single shot.

But Lloyd felt this still wasn't enough. If he were to face the demon responsible for the massacre, this firepower might not be sufficient to kill it outright.

As he caressed the gun, his fingers traced some engraved textures. Flipping the gun, he saw a line of poetry. For a moment, it was as if he was transported back to a long time ago, to a moment where someone like him caressed the Winchester and then engraved those words on its wooden stock with a knife.

Lloyd remembered the poem well. The man from the [Gap] cherished this little poem and had engraved it on his beloved gun before he died, passing it on to Lloyd. Lloyd had searched through many libraries but never found the source of this poem. The man had claimed it was his own creation, but to Lloyd, it seemed more likely to be a gift from the [Divine Baptism], a ceremony that had granted him many ghostly dreams, making it understandable how he knew poems that didn't exist in this world.

Shaking his head, Lloyd abandoned these thoughts. Dawn had already broken, albeit veiled by gloomy clouds. Taking up his cane and hanging the Winchester beneath his coat, he glanced at the time. Joey would be arriving soon to pick him up. Opening the door and descending the stairs, he heard the same footsteps below. Looking up, he saw Sieg climbing the steps.

Sieg, with dark circles under his eyes and a pale complexion, his hair in disarray, had clearly been out carousing all night again. The relationship between Lloyd and Sieg wasn't particularly good. Not wanting to involve others with demons, Lloyd maintained a cold demeanor toward everyone, even his neighbor. Sieg, on his part, viewed his mysterious roommate with suspicion and unease.

This neurotic detective had been living here for six years. During this time, Lloyd had inevitably encountered uncontrollable situations, sometimes returning with injuries. The infamous Mrs. Fran Wood could see through Lloyd's essence immediately, and given her own unruly nature, she wasn't afraid. But it was tough for Sieg.

Imagine being a diligent mechanic living next door to someone who seemed like a city assassin or gangster, with a Winchester under his bed that could pulverize someone through iron sheets, while all you had was a set of wrenches you could barely swing. Anyone would be nervous.

Despite this, the violent detective with the title had never brought his "work" home, much to Sieg's relief, allowing him to reluctantly continue living here.