The Divine Armor of the Old Century（Book 1）

Chapter 172

The candle flames merged into a warm sea, seemingly stirred by an invisible wind, creating a faint ripple imbued with an eerie sanctity.

It was perhaps the most grotesque and twisted scene the plague doctor had ever witnessed. He had dismembered countless demons and created many strange, sinister creatures, but nothing compared to what he was seeing now.

It was like a sacrificial ritual, where the sea of surrounding candles served as the altar, and Bishop Lawrence was the unfortunate offering.

Bishop Lawrence's body convulsed in agony, as if something was draining his life force. His already aged body rapidly withered, his skin shriveled, revealing a network of blue veins. Blood flowed ceaselessly from his ears and nose.

The plague doctor knew something was terribly wrong with Bishop Lawrence, but he knew little about the "Gap" and had no idea how to help him.

Then, a tremendous pressure emerged. It wasn't like an erosion, but a pure pressure, as if someone was watching him. He saw a faint, ghostly light emanating from Bishop Lawrence's body.

These were paths of light that normal vision could hardly capture. The plague doctor could vaguely see them forming into a bizarre humanoid shape, as if it was Bishop Lawrence's soul being slowly drawn out of his body.

"Plague doctor!"

A voice suddenly rang out.

Bishop Lawrence's tightly closed eyes opened, bloodshot as if they were about to burst. He looked twisted and ghastly, like a demonic spirit.

"Plague doctor!"

He roared again. The plague doctor, amidst his terror, noticed that Bishop Lawrence's eyes were lifeless. He couldn't see him; his consciousness was elsewhere, driven by a terrifying will to survive, enabling him to operate on two fronts.

The plague doctor approached slowly, extremely cautious. Ever since he had known Bishop Lawrence, this mysterious demon hunter had constantly shattered his worldview.

Stepping on the still-liquid wax, just as the plague doctor was about to touch Bishop Lawrence, a faint light suddenly appeared in the bishop's lifeless eyes, like embers reigniting.

"Lawrence..."

The plague doctor called out hesitantly, but all the pain and grotesqueness vanished in an instant.

Something had happened, but the plague doctor hadn't realized it yet. He remained on high alert, his gaze fixed on the dangerous spot.

Bishop Lawrence looked at him calmly, a fleeting confusion in his eyes, which quickly cleared up. The atmosphere became subtle; the recent madness and grotesqueness seemed like an unpleasant illusion, now replaced by an almost unbearable silence.

For a brief moment, their eyes locked, sharing an eerie understanding. In the next instant, a sharp bone blade extended from the plague doctor's arm, whistling through the air as it slashed down fiercely.

It was a thunderous attack. Although he always appeared scholarly, the plague doctor was confident in his combat skills. This strike could decapitate an enemy instantly, causing certain death.

But death did not come as expected. Bishop Lawrence drew his spiked sword, blocking the bone blade at the last moment. However, the delay caused by the slow draw allowed the bone blade to press against the spiked sword, half-burying into his shoulder, with blood slowly oozing out.

"Is it here?"

A familiar voice sounded, yet it felt so foreign in this moment.

"Who are you!"