Gun of Ashes

”I attended the Orthodoxy’s holy communion, then took a stroll to find the most convenient escape route... Speaking of which, I think we can use the gas street lamps to blow up the street; the outdated transportation here would definitely buy us a lot of time.”

”Great minds think alike! That’s exactly what we’re planning!”

Eve chimed in from the side. She finally caught that damn big rat, held it in her arms, and rubbed it vigorously.

”Also, Lorenzo, I heard that melody at the communion.”

This information spurred Heracles into motion. Ignoring everything else, he dragged a chair in front of Lorenzo and sat down.

”Yes, that’s the melody.”

Heracles clumsily mimicked the tune Liya had hummed back then. To be honest, he had no sense of music, and his exaggerated expressions made the whole scene quite comical.

But nobody could laugh.

Even though Heracles hummed the tune in a distorted manner, Lorenzo still recognized the vague melody. His expression shifted from cold to stern, his gaze filled with murder and unease.

Lorenzo had heard this melody many times: from Lorenzo de’ Medici, in the memories of 047, and in every corner of Saint Nalos Cathedral...

No one knew its origin, nor its name. There was no sheet music recording this melody, relying solely on people’s memory to be passed down. If forgotten, it would be lost forever.

This is why the old man who had long since passed away stubbornly hummed it. He was too old, his memory unreliable, so he kept repeating it over and over, firmly embedding it in his mind to pass it down.

”The melody comes from a crimson-robed Cardinal of the Orthodoxy, who wore a black mask... I think this melody has something to do with your Evangelical Church, right?” Heracles asked.

After a long silence, Lorenzo stiffly nodded and slowly recounted the story of the melody.

”This is an unnamed hymn, passed down only through people’s memories. Throughout the long years, parts of it have been forgotten or altered, but it’s not something important, just a tradition within the Evangelical Church.”

As Lorenzo spoke, he recalled the already dead old man, Lorenzo de’ Medici, and in the memories of 047, he saw Lorenzo de’ Medici’s speculations about the melody.

He thought this seemingly insignificant melody might actually be very important. It’s just that at some point in history, those who knew its significance either died or their knowledge was forgotten over the years.

It was truly important, but no one remembered why it was important. People could only stubbornly tell and sing it to this day.

”Who else knows this melody? If we exclude and deduce, maybe we can find out who the opponent is.”

Heracles looked at the solemn-faced Lorenzo, thinking Lorenzo might already know who the enemy was.

Miguel?

In the memories of 047, it was clear that all he ever desired was power. Faith meant nothing to him, so remembering such an old melody seemed unlikely, especially since he had no reason to wear a mask in the first place.

Others?

The spread of this melody was actually quite limited, only circulating among the upper ranks of the Evangelical Church. Other Cardinals? Some died on the Night of the Holy Arrival, some submitted to the new Pope, and the rest followed Miguel.

The most pious, Shermans, was dead, and the others were merely tools of Miguel.

So who could it be?

An unsettling answer slowly rose from the depths of Lorenzo’s heart. He had vaguely guessed it during his conversation with Watson, but even as more evidence pointed to this fact, he still felt fear and anger.

”I think I know who he is.”

Lorenzo took a deep breath as he looked at his trembling hands, which shook not out of fear, but excitement.

”Lawrence.”

A devoted yet frantic Dean, the being known as Lawrence.

”Lawrence? Isn’t he dead?”

Upon hearing Lorenzo’s words, Red Falcon almost jumped up. He knew all too well how powerful Lawrence was, and the despair of facing such a person.

The Purification Mechanism and Lorenzo had barely managed to kill him, and now he appeared again from Lorenzo’s mouth.

In these matters, Red Falcon knew very well that Lorenzo wasn’t joking, meaning it was true: that monster was still alive, resurrected just like Lorenzo.

Teeth chattering, Red Falcon immediately swore.

”I knew this job was cursed! Let me go back to Ingwig; I don’t want to die here!”

But swearing offered only momentary relief, and Red Falcon soon fell silent, his face blank.

”Lawrence...”

Eve was also stunned when Lorenzo mentioned that name, frozen in place. Polo, the rat in her arms, wondered why it wasn’t being petted anymore and nudged Eve’s hand.

That despair-inducing scarlet figure—Eve had almost died at the hands of Lawrence, and it was during that time that Lawrence’s fear deeply embedded itself in her heart.

”Lawrence? Who is he?”

Unaware of any of this, Hebdo was filled with confusion and pressure; anyone taken so seriously by Lorenzo must be a terrifying monster.

”One of the Cardinals of the Evangelical Church, the Dean of the old Demon Hunting Order.”

Lorenzo shed his previous flippant demeanor entirely. He stood up and walked to the large cello case, taking out one Pine Iron Nail Sword after another and meticulously wiping them down.

For Lorenzo, preparing weapons was a great way to alleviate stress.

”If this is true, I suggest that all of you be prepared to die.”

Lorenzo drew sword after sword, driving them into the wooden table, and with the last one, he pointed it at Eve.

”This is just your internship. There’s no need for you to go all out. If I call for you to retreat, you must retreat, understand?”

Eve wanted to say something, that she could handle it too. But recalling Lawrence’s overwhelming force, she knew she would only be a burden to Lorenzo in such a situation, as would everyone else.

”I understand.”

Lorenzo nodded, satisfied, then his sword swept over the others as he continued,

”You too, wherever you are, if you hear my voice ordering a retreat, do it immediately. It doesn’t matter whether you’re rescuing Ivar or assassinating the Pope; you must retreat from Maruri and return to Ingwig immediately.”

”And what will you do, Lorenzo?”

Hebdo asked with difficulty; the heavy atmosphere nearly overpowered him.

”Me? If Lawrence truly survived, then that was my failure, and I must rectify my mistake by thoroughly killing him.”

Lorenzo understood Hebdo’s concern and continued,

”You must know that Lawrence’s value far exceeds Ivar and the Pope. If I can kill him, I will have completed the mission. If my guess is wrong, then we’ll proceed as planned.”

”And you...”

Finally, his sword pointed towards Heracles.

”What’s the matter?” Heracles had never seen Lorenzo like this before—both scared and excited.

”Heracles, this matter originally had nothing to do with you. You were pulled into this halfway through, and I appreciate your contribution for letting me know about this potential threat in advance... If this is true, and we only discover it during the operation, the consequences would be unimaginable... I might get all of you killed.”

Lorenzo’s words paused for a long time before he spoke again.

”Heracles, buy a ticket for the ship back to Ingwig tomorrow. There won’t be any more schemes or tricks, only a clash of iron against iron.”

Heracles’ eyes followed the blade up to Lorenzo.

”Are you casting me aside?”

”No, no, no, you can’t do that, Lorenzo. After all, all we have now about Lawrence is just speculation, right? I understand your worries, but fleeing ignominiously based on mere speculation doesn’t suit my stature.”

There were skeptical glances from all around.

Heracles blushed and exclaimed immediately,

”I am the Rat King, after all! I am still a king!”

He continued to explain,

”I know I lack combat abilities, but I believe there’s a place suitable for me in all of this.”

Heracles paused, then said confidently,

”I presume you probably need someone to help with the getaway, right? The one responsible for operating the boat, facilitating your escape.”