Gun of Ashes

In the depths of his eyes, blazing white flames surged as Lorenzo reached out his hand and pressed it against the remains.

Corrosion climbed onto Lorenzo’s body like a slithering snake, emitting a faint rustle, wrapping around him layer by layer.

Lorenzo didn’t resist much, only feeling an extreme cold creeping up his arm, followed by a slight sting, as if thousands of steel needles were piercing the skin.

He was eroded by Edlen; the intensity of the erosion wasn’t high, but it was enough to make his figure bright in the darkness, becoming a ”beacon” to guide Edlen.

Lorenzo’s heartbeat slightly accelerated. He didn’t know if what he was doing was right or wrong, but in the current situation, without allying with Edlen’s power, he truly didn’t know what to do.

Death Row might guarantee the survival of key personnel, but what about afterward? Surviving only to face a scorched land, unsure if the Purification Mechanism would still have the capability to fight, or if anyone would survive at all.

Lorenzo began to doubt.

The more he pondered, the more he realized the many flaws in the Death Row plan, but all of this was his creation. The chaotic and twisted feeling left him a bit at a loss.

However...there was no more room for hesitation.

Lorenzo returned to Red Falcon and the others.

”Did you find anything?” Red Falcon asked.

”Yes, but it’s not good. If I’m not mistaken, Edlen can barely hold on,” Lorenzo replied.

Red Falcon’s eyes brightened slightly. ”Isn’t that a good thing?” he said.

”No, it’s very bad. I was hoping for both him and Roger to be badly wounded, not for one to die and leave the other. In that case, Roger would focus all his strength against us, which would be much harder than facing two monsters fighting each other.”

Lorenzo’s expression was heavy.

”What’s worse, Edlen might not die, and instead he’ll be corrupted, becoming another Roger, another ’pathway.’

The words fell like a heavy hammer, fiercely striking each person’s chest.

...

In the deep darkness of the street corner, someone was gasping for breath, leaning against a garbage bin, his entire body soaked by cold rain, looking extremely pitiful, as if homeless for a long time.

Edlen breathed heavily, trying to calm his mind, yet the more he tried, the louder the noise in his ears became, countless whispers echoing, promising Edlen beauty, sketching a future.

Promising him one great sacred thing after another, if only he was willing to make a bargain.

Clenching his fists, gritting his teeth, his eyes filled with anger, those noises eventually somewhat diminished, granting him brief tranquility.

His gaze was hollow, as if he’d lost all his senses.

It had been too long, all his energy focused on resisting the dark whispers, his mind disturbed, under long torture, he could barely make any effective thoughts.

With his past strength, Edlen once had the ability to kill Roger, even if not kill, certainly seriously injure him. But the noise kept interfering, weakening him, shackling him more and more.

In reality, Edlen could also recklessly break all the shackles, but in doing so, he’d give the whispers a chance to invade. Edlen knew well that if he did so, he could completely eliminate Roger. He also knew that by doing so, he’d have a great chance of becoming the next Roger. More importantly, after killing Roger, who would come to kill him?

He didn’t think further, his weary will no longer supported such complex thoughts. Over these centuries, he had increasingly become like a cold machine.

Breathing heavily, not feeling well, but this kind of peace, in his long life, seemed extremely precious. At least for now, he wanted to enjoy this momentarily, even if he looked so miserable.

People passed by him, some ignoring Edlen, some casting a look of pity, some tossing a few coins to him, coins rolling on the ground, stopping by his feet.

Edlen wasn’t too sure about his feelings; in his fight against the darkness within, he rarely thought about anything else. Like other lost Watchers, Edlen gradually lost his emotions, with only the initial codes in his mind, like unbreakable rules imprinted in his will, driving him forward.

Yet after so long, sometimes if he didn’t deliberately remind himself, he almost forgot his original wish.

It’s ironic to say, the reasons that supported him were almost disappearing into the years.

There were footsteps approaching, Edlen turned his head vigilantly, guarding against Roger’s surprise attack. He knew well that this guy was still lurking in the city, just waiting for the battle’s reignition.

It wasn’t Roger who came, but an ordinary person. Edlen could sense, with the intensity of Roger’s presence, without relying on Holy Silver Armor, it was difficult to control his erosion from slightly leaking. The leakage wasn’t intense, yet in Edlen’s eyes, it was extremely noticeable.

It was a wretched bald old man, completely drunk, emerging from a tavern at the alley’s end, holding two bottles of alcohol, seemingly about to drink further at home.

Edlen didn’t think of anything, he rarely spent any energy on meaningless things, his vision directly ignoring the man’s existence, but that guy didn’t.

He saw Edlen, looking at Edlen’s disheveled appearance.

”Hey, friend, are you okay?”

Buscalo squatted down, picking up the coins scattered in the puddles one by one, then took Edlen’s hand and placed them in his palm.

Edlen remained expressionless. With just a slight move of his hand, he could kill Buscalo, in his eyes, no different from an insect.

”You look awful.”

Buscalo was drunk; he didn’t notice Edlen’s indifferent expression at all. To him, Edlen was like a beaten homeless person, in need of a kind-hearted passerby to save. Then he started rambling.

”Care for a bottle? My treat.”

He said, handing one of the bottles to Edlen, who remained unresponsive. Rather than Buscalo offering it, it felt like he forcibly stuffed it into Edlen’s hand.

”Come on, smile, friend, life won’t always be that bad, it will get better,” Buscalo hiccupped, ”I know a guy... well, sort of know him, your expression looks just like his, as if carrying some heavy responsibility, with a face of constipation.”

Recalling Lorenzo, Buscalo shivered, ever since interacting with that unlucky fellow, he felt he’d been unlucky. Because of Lorenzo’s appearance, his nightly drinking hours were adjusted to now, avoiding running into Lorenzo.

”I don’t even know if that guy is my friend... though during his disappearance, I was glad, but then, after some time, I got worried, wondering if he’d died,” Buscalo said, opening a bottle of alcohol himself and drinking, ”that’s when I remembered why I became a doctor.”

Seeing Edlen’s cold eyes, Buscalo assumed he was being questioned, understandably, as who would believe a drunkard claiming to be a doctor.

”Trust me, I really am a doctor!” Buscalo shouted, his voice then dropping, adding, ”I’m really afraid of death, my own and others’, what’s it called... kindness? Or something, anyway for these reasons, I became a doctor.”

”At that time, I was just hoping, hoping that bastard wouldn’t die. He’s no good, but death’s no better, no one escapes it, but it’s worth living longer, right?”

Speaking, Buscalo felt his stomach turn over, he tried to control it but ended up vomiting all over, with the vomit spreading to Edlen’s feet, even splattering on Edlen.

The scene was awful, Lorenzo might have screamed loudly if he were here. Buscalo dry-heaved a few more times, seemed to finish, wiping his mouth with difficulty, mumbling.

”So, hang in there, friend, keep at it.”

He clinked his bottle with Edlen’s, then staggered away.

Edlen watched his retreating figure, opened the bottle, took a long swig, and also rose to leave, heading in a different direction.