Gun of Ashes

The terrifying Nightmare and reality intertwined, and at this moment, Cornel found himself in the midst of chaos, his mind brutally shattered in an instant.

He wasn’t afraid of this sudden disaster. As a member of the Iron Law Bureau, he had also experienced life and death situations, and these things weren’t enough to break him. What truly scared Cornel was Ivar’s purpose.

War, a war that ignites the sea and the earth.

The King of the Ice Sea within the distant Viking lands made the most important decision of his life.

This time, for the wish he promised, he plans to plunder a nation.

From the very beginning, Ivar was intentionally captured, from the very start this was his plan, everyone was deceived, poisoned by this bloody and cruel conspiracy.

Amidst the roaring impact, Ivar ultimately failed to grasp Cornel’s throat, only leaving streaks of blood across his neck; the two were separated by the violent air currents, everything in sight dissolving into murky chaos.

Cornel passed out amidst the violent impact.

The duration of this unconsciousness was unknown; gradually, Cornel awoke, enduring the pain in his body, and slowly crawled up.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been unconscious, but as he crawled to the window, he saw that the theater square had rekindled with candlelight, and the sound of prayers rose again.

A brief analysis suggested his unconsciousness hadn’t lasted long, probably just a few minutes, as the aftermath of the explosion had passed and the crowd below had reorganized.

The sun had set. The recent explosion had shattered everyone’s spirit; now, all around was an impenetrable darkness, with the sound of a beast’s breathing emerging from it.

Cornel drew the handgun from his waist, slowly leaning against the wall, lowering his breath.

He must warn Corey; from the very beginning, the Viking lands never intended for peace talks. What they wanted was war, a war against Gaulunaro.

Indeed, perhaps this explosion was one of the Viking lands’ conspiracies, or maybe in the distant open seas, the Viking warships were already prepared.

Thinking this, his hand began to uncontrollably tremble.

To Cornel, all of this was too sudden, too heavy.

This was the prelude to war; war was coming. This word was often mentioned by people, but Cornel always felt it was far away, yet now it was coming, unstoppable, almost within reach.

Though Gaulunaro was also preparing for war under Corey and Lawrence’s operations, when all of this truly arrived, the only feelings Cornel had were endless panic and confusion.

This was not the careless writing on paper; it was real blood, real flesh, real death.

He was too cowardly, compared to a madman like Corey, he really wasn’t suited to make such cruel decisions.

But this wasn’t a reason to retreat. Cornel had Garel’s blood flowing within him, and from a certain perspective, his struggle with Ivar seemed like a microcosm of the war between Gaulunaro and the Viking lands.

He couldn’t just let all this unfold unchecked.

Recovering his strength, Cornel tried to seek out Ivar’s silhouette in the darkness. He didn’t know the cause of the explosion, but at least he had to subdue Ivar... That guy absolutely couldn’t die here.

The thick air carried the scent of blood, so sweet, filled with the breath of life.

The sound of gurgling water emerged, as if something liquid was flowing.

Then the sound gradually became clear, thin and complicated, like something being torn apart bit by bit, like cold metal slowly slicing through a throat.

Cornel raised his handgun, advancing cautiously, but he didn’t walk far before he felt something strange underfoot. Looking down in the dim light, he barely made out what it was.

It was blood, a pool of fresh blood, warm, still slowly flowing.

He suddenly turned the muzzle, only to discover not far away lay a headless corpse, a guard.

Cornel was well aware of these guards’ strength; they were members of the Choir, infused with Secret Blood, their power far exceeding ordinary people. Yet such individuals were quietly slain, their heads severed before they even had time to transform into Demons.

More intense, acrid scent of blood wafted over.

He couldn’t make out his surroundings, the only light was the residual glow of candlelight from outside; everything in Cornel’s eyes was a hazy silhouette, these silhouettes now portending ominousness.

What happened? What exactly happened during Cornel’s dormancy?

Cornel held his breath, stomach acid churning, as if boiling, about to surge from his throat.

Shredded flesh and broken limbs, innards and fresh blood, though he couldn’t see, the nauseating smell and the grim silhouettes all indicated this. As if a brutal beast had dined here, playfully smearing flesh and blood onto the walls to terrify others.

”I hate Hebdo; that guy always mocks my deformity.”

A voice came from within the bloody darkness, like the whisper of a ghost.

”But he’s my best friend.”

Ivar said contradictory words.

”You find it a bit hard to understand, right? Actually, Erin didn’t quite understand when I told her, but it’s true.”

The voice came from the dark all around, echoing in Cornel’s ears, exacerbating the invasion of fear.

”That guy said a deformed one like me is destined not to receive the favor of God Odin, nor die standing like a brave Warrior, and thus reach the sacred Heroic Spirit Hall.”