The Divine Armor of the Old Century（Book 1）

Chapter 146

It was still the same custom-designed room, but now the atmosphere was oppressive and heavy. The alarms had ceased, and the locked door had been reopened, yet the sealed heart remained shut.

Ovis stared blankly at the ceiling, his mind a chaotic mess, confused yet empty. Suddenly, he wanted to move. He didn't want to lie on the bed any longer. His slender arms struggled to prop himself up. It was difficult, but he managed. He mustered all his strength to rise from the bed, his trembling legs finally touching the ground.

Breathing heavily, even such simple actions exhausted him. A slight sting came from his joints, but it was still bearable. Ovis wanted to go out and see the world. He realized he had been in the Ever-Pumping Engine for so long without ever really seeing it, just staying in this room and going out only for missions.

Speaking of missions, that was perhaps the only time Ovis felt truly happy. Hidden inside the divine armor, he was free. He was no longer the frail body but Lancelot, capable of tearing through steel. But now, he was no longer that.

Clutching his head, a sharp pain pierced through his mind, as if something was tearing his skull apart, like a worm burrowing and gnawing, trying to break free from his brain. The demonic corruption continued to erode his will, not just from his time in the divine armor. The overwhelming corruption from Lawrence the High Priest in the final moments was something even a demon hunter couldn't resist, let alone a mere mortal like Ovis.

This intense corruption accelerated his decline, as if countless demons were screaming in his ears, their sharp claws repeatedly slicing through his body. Ovis collapsed weakly to the ground, struggling. When the pain reached its peak, it gave way to complete tranquility. Sharp buzzing filled his ears, followed by the sound of approaching footsteps.

Tap, tap, tap...

The steps were clear; someone was coming. It must be Ovis's caretaker, perhaps alerted by the sounds inside. But then he noticed something strange—there was no sound of the door opening.

Barely lifting his head, he saw a face he never expected.

"You...!"

The nightmare had broken free from his mind and descended into reality. That person made no effort to hide his intentions. The tattered crimson robe fluttered without wind, the aged white hair hanging down, and the sharp nail sword glinted, reflecting Ovis's face.

"How... is this possible..."

Ovis tried to stand but fell again, powerless, until the man stood right before him.

"Ovis? Or should I call you Lancelot?" Lawrence the High Priest asked with a smile, his wrinkled face twisted like an old tree.

"No... how could it be?"

Ovis couldn't understand how he was here, inside the Ever-Pumping Engine. How had he managed it?

"You're wondering how I got here, aren't you?" Ovis's eyes widened, his pupils dilated, and his breathing quickened.

"You know what I'm thinking?"

His entire heart turned cold, as if entwined by a poisonous serpent.

Lawrence the High Priest still wore that gentle smile, nodding slightly. One hand gripped Ovis's throat like a vise, while the other raised the nail sword.

"Yes, child, I know what you're thinking. After all... I came from here."

The cold tip of the nail sword pressed against Ovis's forehead, and with a slight push, it pierced his skin.

The sound and pain were magnified a hundredfold. Ovis could clearly feel his skin splitting, blood flowing, the cold metal inching into his brain, finally touching his skull. Then, he pushed harder.