It's truly an indescribable emotion, the ecstasy of revenge intertwining with anger, along with the hatred of betrayal.
Though Lorenzo only glanced at that man, and even his face was blurred due to high-speed movement, Lorenzo recognized him in that instant, the man who should have died on the Night of the Holy Arrival.
"I never thought you'd still be alive, Dean Lawrence."
The voice beneath the armor was devoid of any emotion; it's as if the knight beneath it was edging towards something inhuman, sinking into the depths of darkness.
Eve behind him seemed to recognize this fearsome body and exclaimed.
Selyu's expression changed slightly; she clearly heard Eve's words. She hardly dared to connect this terrifying figure with the person in her mind, yet when he turned his head, although his features were unclear, the inexplicable familiarity confirmed his identity.
Eve shouted at him, the pressure from Dean Lawrence far surpassed the various encounters before, that was someone truly carrying death with them, confronting him would only leave misfortune.
But Lorenzo shook his head, his voice sounded.
"You go, I must stay."
Yes, how could Lorenzo flee? He must stay, carrying that mysterious weirdness for many years. Sometimes he even thought he might die in the mediocrity of Old Dunling, yet now as everything gradually awakens, he finally grasps a corner of the truth.
It's truly a fated reunion; after the Night of the Holy Arrival, Lorenzo thought he would never have the chance to learn the full truth again, yet the person who should have died long ago appeared before him.
Lorenzo believed in Dean Lawrence's might; before the Demon Hunting Order dissolved and before the Night of the Holy Arrival erupted, he was the dean of the Order, the cardinal of the Evangelical Church, a demon hunter who has lived through countless ages.
Due to the uncontrollable nature of demon hunters, they are destined not to become authorities, but Dean Lawrence was an exception, the gray between black and white, the medium connecting the two.
Lorenzo was well aware of the gap between him and Dean Lawrence; although he had aged, the Secret Blood within him doesn't age with time.
He was still a sharp sword, at most the sheath covering the blade had aged. ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʟᴀᴛᴇsᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀᴛ n͟o͟v͟e͟l͟f͟i͟r͟e͟.net
No intention of fleeing at all, not just for revenge, regardless of Dean Lawrence's purpose here, it seemed only Lorenzo could firmly hold him at this moment. He felt no fear, Lorenzo had often recalled that Night of the Holy Arrival; if given a second chance, he would definitely choose to die there rather than live on as the last one alone.
The blazing white flames rejoiced, setting the verdant lawn ablaze, embers floated in the warm evening breeze, gray dust surged and dissipated beneath the night sky.
Amidst the ruins, Lawrence slowly stood up, looking at the pitch-black armor, Lawrence and Lorenzo were equally surprised; to him, all Medanzo demon hunters had long died, yet in this distant Old Dunling, they met once again.
"How could it be? You were supposed to be dead."
Lawrence said with disbelief, but there was more joy on his face, like an unexpected delight.
On that final night, the Seven Hills sealed, the Holy Hall Knight Order was deployed fully, blood flowed like rivers overnight, yet even so, someone managed to struggle out of the pile of the dead, there was the dead Ed, and the angry Lorenzo now.
Lorenzo stepped through the burning sea of fire, approaching Dean Lawrence, a hard-to-describe fear engulfed him, Lorenzo now seemed to become the demon itself, emitting oppressive erosion.
Indeed, Watson did not deceive him; Dean Lawrence was still alive, perhaps others, those who should have died, were still living.
Turns out all he had done was still futile, nothing changed, but... there was still a chance to make amends.
The silhouette of the knight left a ghastly shadow in the blazing white flames, as he advanced, the eerie armor grew and spread, like countless serpents coiling around him, finally crawling towards the Great Sword, twisted and entangled together, rendering it sharp and sturdy.
Actually, it's not Lorenzo who was most impacted this moment, but Dean Lawrence who held the Nail Sword; steady as a beast, yet for the first time was shaken, looking at the figure walking through the flames, his thoughts churned wildly, but he still couldn't fathom how a Medanzo demon hunter could survive.
They stood guard at Saint Nalos Cathedral; when the Night of the Holy Arrival event burst forth, they were the first to die. Although Dean Lawrence defected from the Evangelical Church afterwards, he clearly remembered that they should be dead on that night.
"How is this possible?"
The Black Knight before him seemed like the Death God crossing the Nether River, after so many years of separation, this wandering ghost finally found his enemy for revenge.
"Repent, while you still have time."
The Black Knight said, the Secret Blood reaching its threshold, this was Lorenzo's limit.
"No... you're not a demon hunter of the Medanzo branch, you're not!"
Suddenly, Dean Lawrence said in a deep voice, he had lived too long, searched through many memories, recalling the details of that night, then lifted the Nail Sword, his eyes filled with endless doubt.