Gun of Ashes

Not only that, Lorenzo began to ponder whether consciousness could serve as a carrier for anti-memes.

He suddenly stood up, like a madman, picked up a pen and ruler, and Lorenzo began measuring the distance between Old Dunling and the Seven Hills. Given the current surveying methods, the error was bound to be significant, but this error was negligible when traversing the Gap.

Lorenzo calculated the maximum range of his erosion effect and considered how long it would take him to reach the Static Holy Temple if he ventured alone.

He was unclear where this strange feeling he sensed originated from, and Lorenzo lacked the courage to place all his hopes on this blind notion. He needed to take the initiative himself so that, at the very least, when disaster struck, he would have the ability to remedy the situation.

”So, all you need is a carrier, right?”

Lorenzo gazed at the black cube, a glimmer of white light flashed briefly in his eyes.

Perhaps... Lorenzo could do this when necessary.

It was a somewhat insane move, and it would be Lorenzo’s trump card to deal with any sudden situations.

”As long as Roger appears, then Edlen will certainly appear too... No, he might also guard the Well of Ascension to avoid being lured away.”

Lorenzo looked at the red triangle, and in reality, there was a fourth corner, which was the missing Roger. When he appeared, all the points would connect, playing together in a maddening opening act.

However, in certain situations, perhaps there would be a moment when the Static Holy Temple was unguarded.

Lorenzo’s heart was restless.

This thought didn’t last long, and once he figured everything out, Lorenzo rolled up the map and placed it aside properly.

He picked up the suitcase next to him, filled with a change of clothes, his weapons, and various other random items.

Arthur suggested that Lorenzo should move into the Purification Mechanism, as it was too much trouble to have to find him every time, not to mention that in this current situation, actions would be difficult if any emergencies happened.

Lorenzo understood Arthur’s intention, which, on the surface, seemed to be surveillance of Lorenzo to prevent him from doing anything crazy and taking the story in a different direction.

Furthermore, this guy was genuinely worried about Lorenzo.

Although Arthur didn’t want to say it, the fact was that Lorenzo was presently one of the top single fighters and also the keeper of the Echo of the End. What if one night he unexpectedly met his end in the office?

For all these various reasons, Lorenzo had not moved in a long time, just staying for a short period, though he was quite reluctant to leave.

Carefully thinking about it, aside from fighting demons, it seemed Lorenzo’s only wish was to hole up here until he died, and now being forced to leave was somewhat unbearable. But thinking that if a fight broke out here, the office could be flattened in minutes, Lorenzo hesitated less.

Rather than seeing his own home flattened, he might as well let the Purification Mechanism take the hit since they requested it.

Most of the needed items were packed, and as for the Holy Silver brought by the Red Falcon, there was more of it within the Purification Mechanism, so there was no need to bring it along.

Putting on his hat, Lorenzo pulled his suitcase and was just about to leave the office when he recalled something, turned around, and climbed atop a table, stepping on a chair.

”Yo, my little darling.”

Lorenzo took it down, rubbed it against his face, vigorously brushed the wooden stock like a big dog grasping its favorite bone.

”Do not go gentle into that good night.”

His fingers traced the engraved ridges. The craftsmanship was superb. Based on Lorenzo’s description, even minute details were crafted.

This was no longer the original Winchester, but Lorenzo wasn’t too picky, still treating it as brand new, just like Heracles’s Polo, only the next iteration.

In subsequent battles, due to his own strength, Lorenzo seldom used this weapon. It became more of a memento, commemorating the various past experiences.

Originally, Lorenzo wanted to leave it in the office, but upon stepping outside, he didn’t want to do that anymore. This time, Lorenzo chose to bring it along, seemingly to not feel so alone.

”So... I think there should be one more person.”

Lorenzo stood on the table, looking around at this not too small, not too large office.

He knew well that he was somewhat solitary by nature. In leisurely daily life, his greatest hobby was lounging on the sofa to pass time. Yet Lorenzo always felt... the place shouldn’t be this quiet.

Lorenzo always felt there should be someone else beside him, but glancing at the room’s layout, there wasn’t space for a new roommate. So, where did this illusion come from?

Headache.

He couldn’t remember the forgotten ”roommate.” Stepping down from the table, carrying his Winchester and suitcase, Lorenzo locked the door, his figure gradually receding, vanishing at the street corner.

...

Gaulunaro, Maruri Port.

Since the Night of Suffering, this place had become the frontline of the Gaulunaro war, countless warships lined up on the sea, and within the city’s ruins, the priests of the Orthodoxy passed through, spreading the radiance of faith.

Under Lawrence’s means, the Orthodoxy had deeply rooted itself among the populace and, with Maruri Port as the core, spread outwards in all directions.

On the streets under the night, the priests of the Orthodoxy were visible everywhere, holding lantern candlesticks, advancing as they prayed.

The atrocities committed by Lorenzo and the others had ignited the entire underground supply system of Maruri, and the lines were completely buried. Now, people could only use candlelight for illumination, as if everything was regressing towards the past.

The priests walked among the patrolling soldiers, praying the Holy Words, their whispers rising and falling, merging with distant sounds, like a nameless hymn swirling over the city.

From a high vantage point over Maruri, one could see endless candlelights rising in the streets, intersecting to form a burning web. The light at the edges was somewhat dim, but as one moved towards the core of the web, the radiance grew more intense, to the extent that its center was dazzling like daytime.

At the center of this sea of flickering candles was the expanded Hearn Cathedral, which Lawrence, as the Orthodox Pope, had established as his residence, with countless priests surrounding it, blood coursing with the forbidden.

Melted wax permeated the long steps like solidified blood.

Liya walked up the crimson steps, expressionless, moving forward. The youthful playfulness of the past was gone, leaving only a coldness that even the candlelight couldn’t warm.

She overcame layer upon layer of obstacles and, in the core of Hearn Cathedral, saw a vivid red figure.

He stood with his back to Liya, beneath the enormous pipe organ inside the cathedral, his hands caressing the keys, seemingly intending to play a tune, but for some reason, hesitating to start.

Liya walked towards him, holding a secret document in her hand and then stopping by his side.

”Your Eminence, you have a letter from Old Dunling.”

”Old Dunling?”

Lawrence turned his head, a cold mask reflecting a similarly cold face, and a hoarse laugh echoed.

”A letter from Old Dunling?”

”That’s right.”

Liya nodded, indicating she wasn’t joking. The situation at the White Tide Strait was dire, and there was virtually no interaction between the two countries. Yet now, a letter that shouldn’t have appeared here had arrived.

”It seems it was urgently sent here through some special channels,” Liya said. ”I also had someone inquire about the postman; he knew nothing.”

”Is that so?”

Lawrence was somewhat intrigued. A personal letter from Old Dunling at a time like this piqued his curiosity.

Receiving the letter, his sharp fingertips like blades easily sliced open the envelope, extracting the paper within. Beneath the not-so-neat handwriting, Lawrence found the familiar name in the corner.

”Lorenzo Holmes.”