Gun of Ashes

”Is he your friend?” the Plague Doctor asked.

”Not quite, just someone who makes me feel a bit... surprised,” Lawrence replied.

As he spoke, Lawrence recalled his time with the Evangelical Church, reminiscing about the visage of an old man, recounting the past.

”He is a descendant of the Borgia family, that notorious clan of poisoners. We thought he would be as tyrannical and insane as his ancestors. Strangely enough, he turned out to be a devout believer, almost to the point of insulting the Borgia name.

I once asked him, and he said he could become as tyrannical as his ancestors, ruthlessly using Cantarella to kill one enemy after another. But then he said, ’Caesar Borgia did just that, but tyranny offers no answers. Why not try devotion?’”

As Lawrence narrated, a slight smile appeared on his face, followed by a sigh.

”He’s dead too... It’s not a good feeling. Almost everyone from my era is dead, leaving me as if I’m a phantom living in this world alone.”

”But you killed him. Had you not sent those two letters and intentionally linked Lorenzo with the new Order, Shermans would not have died.”

”Yes... but one can’t be overly sentimental if they want to accomplish something,” Lawrence said.

Though he said this, Lawrence’s face bore an odd expression, as if caught between laughing and mourning Shermans’ death.

His expression was complex, so much so that even Lawrence found it hard to explain to others.

The Authority of Gabriel is a double-edged sword. The more Lawrence intruded into others’ minds, the easier it was for him to lose himself. And now he was deeply enmeshed, unable to extricate himself.

”Where did you just go?” the Plague Doctor asked.

”Some pawns. I need to ensure they act as planned.”

Hearing this, the Plague Doctor shivered involuntarily, but the bird-beaked mask helped conceal it.

Lawrence had many pawns. Through erosion, he could easily intrude into a person’s mind without them ever realizing, perhaps dismissing it as a strange hallucination.

The Plague Doctor found Lawrence terrifying, as if he knew how everything would unfold. In that deadly struggle, he feigned death to escape everyone’s notice, then secretly manipulated his pawns to achieve what he wanted. Neither the Purification Mechanism nor the new Order realized it.

”Now the conflicts have been triggered, and with Shermans’ death, the Exiles won’t easily let it go. All we need is to escalate the situation further.”

Lawrence closed his eyes, envisioning the next steps in his mind.

The entire Old Dunling was a perilous vortex, with the Purification Mechanism, new Order, Exiles, Lawrence, and Lorenzo—all the hatred and desire, blood and iron swirling within, and no one could remain untouched.

”Is the Secret Blood ready?” Lawrence suddenly asked.

”It’s ready, but once used, it will only maintain lucidity for a very short time before transforming into a Demon,” the Plague Doctor said.

”That’s sufficient.”

Lawrence said as he looked out the window. At the end of the rain curtain loomed the pitch-black tower of Dunling, where lightning blazed and numerous crows flew in the storm, wailing.

For some unknown reason, countless crows always perched on the entwined cables of Dunling Tower, circling and never leaving.

”Are you triggering a Demon tide in Old Dunling?” the Plague Doctor guessed.

”Who knows?”

Lawrence feigned mystery, not wanting to reveal all his thoughts.

”We just have to wait for the right opportunity, Plague Doctor, a precise moment when all the gears mesh perfectly...”

Lawrence picked up a letter opener and, with a wave, pierced it through the wooden table.

”Old Dunling is an impregnable fortress, but only at that precise opportunity will we have the ability to break through them.”

”...You plan to destroy everything? Including the Purification Mechanism?” the Plague Doctor was shocked by Lawrence’s mad idea.

”How could I? It’s a good city. Although I’m not particularly fond of it, it’s better than letting Demons take over,” Lawrence said. ”It’s not Old Dunling or the Purification Mechanism I intend to break, but him. Only then will I have full confidence...”

He said, then turned his gaze to the Plague Doctor, asking,

”By the way, where’s Lorenzo?”

”He escaped, but I don’t know where he went,” the Plague Doctor replied, puzzled.

Lawrence seemed overly focused on Lorenzo, secretly searching for his information, planting his spies all over Cork Street. Perhaps Lorenzo never realized that all his actions were under Lawrence’s watch.

”Why are you so concerned about this Demon Hunter? Just because he ’killed’ you?”

”Of course not...” Lawrence shook his head and then added, ”But do you really think an ordinary Demon Hunter could kill me?”

”As you said, Plague Doctor, after killing me, he should have almost died too. But that bizarre Armor of Original Sin appeared, it killed the uncontrolled Holy Grail Flesh, and in a strange way, brought Lorenzo back to life... His body harbors the Holy Grail Flesh.”

As he spoke, Lawrence raised his hand, staring intently at the young, vibrant flesh. Not long ago, he was barely clinging to life in a dying husk, but now he was as driven as a young man.

”Do you know the price I paid to merge with the Holy Grail Flesh? To stay conscious, I drove nail sword after nail sword through my arm, trying to let the intense pain keep me awake. Yet even so, I almost died, losing my sanity and transforming into a frenzied Demon.”

Recalling all of it, Lawrence felt a chill of fear, the creeping sensation consuming and eroding him bit by bit, like sinking into a calm deep sea where everything was dead and gray.

Lawrence then turned his eyes to the Plague Doctor, the darkness behind the lenses impenetrable, making it uncertain what kind of face lay beneath the mask, or if it was even human.

”But Lorenzo survived, blending the Holy Grail Flesh into his body calmly even when unconscious. Even I couldn’t do that, let alone a mere Demon Hunter; this can only mean he’s not ordinary...”

At the end of that deadly battle, beneath the fiery rain, a face roared furiously at him.

”It’s him.”

Lawrence murmured.

”Who?”

”My most prized student,” Lawrence said.

”The Demon Hunter labeled as Medanzo, or rather... 047.”

The Plague Doctor was still somewhat puzzled and asked again.

”So? I remember you said the Medanzo Demon Hunters all perished during the Night of the Holy Arrival, but he survived...” the Plague Doctor said, letting out a cold laugh, ”Did he flee under the terror of death as their leader? Continuing to hide in Old Dunling to this day?”

Lawrence’s expression was hesitant. He shook his head, then subtly nodded, unclear about what he meant to convey.

”I... have a suspicion. Even though it’s merely a suspicion, it’s enough to make me wary.”

”What?” the Plague Doctor grew more confused by Lawrence’s words.

Lawrence sat upright, directly facing the Plague Doctor’s thick lenses, trying to find his eyes within the darkness.

”It’s a story, not very long, about everything I’m currently suspecting and cautious of.”

”Go ahead,” the Plague Doctor said after a brief hesitation.

Outside, the sky remained the same, rain pattering down as countless raindrops fell from the heavens, bringing a chill and, like scattered tides, also bringing back the past.

Lawrence sighed with a sense of nostalgia, but more of reverence.

”His story, the story of Lorenzo de’ Medici.”