The Divine Armor of the Old Century（Book 1）

Chapter 181

A blizzard engulfed the train's route, a heavy gray curtain enveloping the frigid earth. Visibility was pitifully short, the air was bitingly cold, and even breathing that piercing chill seemed to freeze one's lungs and heart.

Billowing steam poured from the locomotive, freezing into ice crystals almost immediately. This was a new model Lloyd had never seen before. The train's combustion chamber was half-open, and as it sped along, countless sparks scattered into the night, like the only lights in the cold darkness.

Only a few carriages could shield against the snowstorm; most of the train's carriages were open containers covered by dark green tarpaulins, hiding their contents. The hard snowflakes struck like flying ice knives, hitting the train repeatedly, as if a steel rain was descending upon it.

Lloyd's figure slowly emerged into view. The strong wind on the rooftop made him appear unsteady, a gray shadow barely discernible through the snow by Lawrence.

A wooden box hung heavily on Lloyd's back, wrapped in a crimson cloak.

"You've done well, child. I'm more and more curious about who you are. There's no one named Lloyd Holmes among the demon hunters."

Throughout their long confrontation, Lawrence had learned Lloyd's name. But demon hunters didn't have names, though it did remind him of someone from long ago. Yet, the age didn't match this demon hunter, making him more curious.

"So, who exactly are you?"

Lawrence's voice was carried by the raging snowstorm, but with a demon hunter's hearing, Lloyd heard it clearly.

"Just a wretch surviving by luck. The name is randomly chosen... It means nothing, Dean."

Lloyd's gray-blue eyes were contemplative, his voice lazy, carried by the wind to Lawrence's ears.

The demon hunter casually looked around. Sometimes he became infatuated with himself. This was the perfect battleground for a death match.

The dark serpent slithered across the pale land, stirring up waves of snow meters high, leaving a gray trail. In such a massive blizzard, these traces would be covered within minutes, as if no one had ever been there.

It was as if the world's entire snow was pouring down at this moment, isolating Lloyd and the others from the world. The moonlight was obstructed by snow clouds, making everything as gray as death.

This was a train to the underworld, with passengers being the ghosts long deceased.

The two stood on the rooftop, with little room to maneuver left or right, only able to advance or retreat.

"So... shall we begin?"

Lawrence asked.

There was no vengeful fury, no hateful curse. He merely asked calmly, as if it were a daily greeting.

"Sure."

Lloyd's reply echoed in the wind.

At the height of fury, there is a difficult-to-control calmness. There were no enraged battle cries; at this moment, only actions could express the burning rage.

Like the ancient stories of demons meeting on a narrow path.

Lawrence gripped his thorn sword with both hands, the tip angled slightly downward like a crouched tiger. As another wave of snow swept between them, a deafening roar pierced the storm.

The crimson figure leaped forward like a swift leopard. The surge of secret blood augmented his body, causing his withered muscles to swell again, rejuvenating with strength as if time were reversing on Lawrence.