The Divine Armor of the Old Century（Book 1）

Chapter 126

The once flourishing manor now lay in ruins. The vibrant lawn had been baptized by fire, leaving only dead ashes scattered across its surface, stirred up by the passing winds. A somber grey of death hung over everything, casting a melancholic pall over the scene.

Two monstrous figures stood apart, gazing at each other with cold indifference or burning fury.

"Archbishop Lawrence, where did you go that night?" the ghostly figure demanded once more. He was a survivor of the Night of the Sacred Descent, a survivor who should not have existed.

The cold was bone-chilling, like seeing a familiar face beneath a frozen lake's surface—a face you knew to be dead, yet one day, as you walked upon the ice, you saw that stubborn visage again. Dead, yet determined to break through the ice and drag you down.

Some things never let go, whether they be memories, duties, or vengeful spirits filled with burning rage.

"The Night of the Sacred Descent—what did your group do?" the eerie voice echoed again. A burning knight crossed the charred grass, flames roaring behind him as if bearing the scorching sun upon his back. The voice became distorted and overlapping, as if countless souls were questioning him at once—those of all the fallen demon hunters.

Few knew the full extent of the Night of the Sacred Descent's catastrophe, which engulfed the Seven Hills in horror, even resulting in the ambiguous death of the revered Pope.

Lloyd only had a vague idea of what had transpired, with many details eluding him. He recalled conversations with Medanzo, a guardian of the St. Nalo Cathedral who perished in that chaos. Medanzo's spirit now lingered in the void between worlds, a shadow of his former self.

Lloyd's memories were fuzzy, only recalling how dull his job as a cathedral guard was, back when few dared challenge the holy site. Life had been dull, which in retrospect, was a blessing. No demons, no battles—just an ordinary guard with secret blood coursing through his veins, living a simple, serene life.

Once, he had asked Medanzo what he planned to do after retiring, given his excellence. Perhaps Medanzo could replace Archbishop Lawrence and don the red robes. Medanzo had said he was not interested in such a life. When asked about his own plans, Lloyd had said he dreamed of being a bard, traveling the world, and reading the varied stories of life.

"Sounds like you," Medanzo had replied. "I might open a detective agency with her."

Medanzo had wanted to be a detective, a wish that now lay unfulfilled as he was forever gone, and Lloyd had become the investigator instead. No one could have predicted such an end, much like how Lloyd never foresaw becoming who he was today.

"You don't look like him," Archbishop Lawrence observed, ignoring Lloyd's words, preoccupied with the eerie familiarity of Lloyd's presence.

Lawrence then smiled, his eyes burning with the same intense light. He had lived too long, his memories clouded by time, unable to recall clearly who Lloyd was beneath his armor. But did it matter? Even the noblest of men, like the Pope, perished, while someone like him survived. No one was worth remembering.

To be forgotten was to be dead. Just like no one recalled what had once stood upon the sands—it was meaningless.

"Stop wasting breath, child. It's all just for different interests," Lawrence said calmly, looking up at the descending spotlight. The purification squads had surrounded them. Sky cavalrymen hovered above, their flamethrowers glowing in the darkness, ready to fire at any moment.

Iron rails trembled in the distance, as if a steel behemoth was rushing towards them.

"Hatred is for children's words. Adults remain silent and pursue their desires," Lawrence continued, smiling, aware that tonight's mission had failed. He hadn't captured Eve and was now impeded by this unexpected demon hunter.

"You're actually lucky to be alive. If I were you, I'd hide away somewhere the Church would never find, forget about the secret blood and demons, and live peacefully... I've yearned for such a life but never had it."

"Do you think I'd choose that?" Lloyd asked.

After a long silence, Lawrence laughed.

"Of course not. Just like I gave up a peaceful life at your age... or maybe a bit older. Back then, I had a fire in my heart, a thirst for justice and brotherhood. Youth makes unexpected choices, like different stages of life prompt different decisions. But they're our choices, no need for regret."

Lawrence's gaze was icy. He had once been young, his heart aflame, but now he was old and the fire was out, leaving him a cold, calculating adult who would stop at nothing for his goals.

"If you're a demon hunter, I must've taught you to always hide your intentions. Weapons have no thoughts."

"I've heard that a million times."

"And yet, haven't you failed to learn?" Lawrence's wrinkled face contorted, resembling a true mentor. Lloyd didn't initially grasp his meaning, but soon his anger gave way to clarity, and he gripped his sword tighter.

"Those inferior secret bloods were your doing, weren't they?" If Lawrence had stolen the "Apocalypse" and developed inferior secret bloods during his mysterious disappearance on the Night of the Sacred Descent, it made sense. But how had he known a "Messiah"-level containment breach would happen? Unless he orchestrated it all, much like tonight's chaos to mask his true intent of capturing Eve.

Lloyd's anger faded as he realized the full scope. Lawrence had manipulated events from six years ago to now, weaving a grand scheme in the shadows.

"Child, we are all chased by the carriage of fate," Lawrence laughed. "Some escape its crushing wheels, others are ground to dust."

As his laughter subsided, he raised his broken nail sword, looking at Lloyd with loss. "You thought you escaped, too, didn't you?"

Silence fell, the wind rose, and flames solidified into tangible force. In Lawrence's eyes, a fierce power gathered, and his red robe billowed in the nameless wind. For a moment, Lloyd saw only a streak of crimson and the sound of thunder as the broken blade aimed at him.

"You're still just a child," Lawrence sighed. Lloyd raised his sword to intercept, but the thunderous strike veered slightly, bypassing his blade and striking behind him.

"Hide your intentions until the weapon falls. A belated lesson," Lawrence's voice echoed. Fear gripped Lloyd as he saw the broken sword cut through ash and smoke, bypassing ruins and flames. Lawrence's target wasn't him.

Thermite rifles fired, weaving a burning net in the sky, cutting off Lawrence's escape routes. But at that moment, an ancient power surged, opening the cathedral doors. The aged beast stepped out of its cage, and Lawrence, the thunder incarnate, dodged the bullets effortlessly as if he knew their paths.

Lloyd was paralyzed, remembering tales of Lawrence, once called Shanda Fong, an archangel of demon hunters. Every move had been anticipated. Eve saw the approaching light, knowing nothing could stop him. Lawrence descended like a meteor, and the night exploded into chaos.