Chapter 1443: 22: Story_2

Chapter 1443: Chapter 22: Story_2

At one point, he thought he could leave it all behind, but when the pressure came, only these old friends could share the burden with him.

The sensation of numbness gradually spread, easing his tense nerves. Looking out the window, there was a faint glimmer of light beneath the dark curtain of night.

A pure white glimmer emerged at the horizon’s edge, as if chasing after this train. As time went on, it grew larger, contending with the night, trying to push it back.

It was a beautiful scene, unfortunately, Lorenzo had no one to share it with.

For some reason, this reminded him of a story by Oscar; which book it was, he couldn’t quite recall. After all, this mediocre writer penned many unsellable trash books, changing his pen names repeatedly for a chance at publication.

The old hunter stood exhausted on the shattered ice, shouldering the big fish he’d killed, crying as the sun rose at the horizon’s edge.

He lived alone in the desolate countryside, a heavy snow had blocked all paths. Predictably, the old man wouldn’t survive this winter; he had no food, no firewood, nothing at all.

The old hunter didn’t care; he had lived a long time, tried many things, it seemed only death was left to experience. So he lay in his cold wooden house, quietly awaiting death’s arrival.

Logically, it should be like that… But one day, while he was starving to the point of dizziness, he vaguely heard something—some kind of animal howling, the sound was quite juvenile, like a beast’s baby.

The old hunter opened the door, finding that bedraggled cub in the distant snow.

Probably a wolf, or maybe a dog.

The old hunter wasn’t sure what it was either; his eyesight wasn’t as good as it was in his youth, even holding the hunting rifle was difficult; he could only tell it was a furry creature.

The cold wooden house welcomed a new guest.

Then… Then the old hunter wasn’t clear on the reason; in short, he began hunting again, to fill the cub’s belly, lest it cry incessantly through the night. He walked far through the snow until he caught prey.

From start to now, the old hunter kept pondering why he stepped out; he mulled over the reason, couldn’t figure it out, until now, gazing at the sunrise, he suddenly realized.

Besides death, there were other things he hadn’t experienced, like rebirth. Strangely, a blood-stained hunter would ponder rebirth, but as he neared twilight years, he genuinely started to think seriously.

Not his own rebirth; even the rebirth of a beast would suffice.

The old hunter continued forward; there were still several kilometers to his wooden house.

This was a somewhat strange story, sandwiched among a bunch of short stories. At the time, Lorenzo felt he understood something from it, yet also seemed to understand nothing.

Lorenzo was puzzled for a while over this, later he let it go. After all, Oscar was a mediocre writer, writing such things were suitable for a bathroom read without pondering too much.

Since then, Lorenzo often kept an Oscar book in the bathroom, fortunately, Oscar knew nothing of this.

Oscar… Oscar…

Lorenzo recalled his odd friend, a cheap tutor.

In the final farewell, Lorenzo didn’t see Oscar; maybe it was because Watson invaded his [Gap], which somewhat affected him, or perhaps the guy genuinely drank too much. Anyway, before Lorenzo boarded, the old man was still asleep.

Lorenzo thought it wasn’t so bad; he could imagine Oscar coming to see him off, probably holding a copy of a manuscript, boasting endlessly.

“This is my latest work, you know!”

The mind could already conjure Oscar’s lousy voice.

“In case you die out there, you won’t see this world-class masterpiece! So read it before you die!”

Sounds a bit absurd, but Lorenzo felt Oscar would certainly pull such a stunt.

Recollections nearly ended there; besides Red Falcon’s foot odor, Lorenzo could smell the oil fumes permeating the cabin, swirling with the scent of steel, continuously extending.

Logically, this train should be equipped with sleeping compartments for several people, but it’s not, because other things occupy those spots.

“You haven’t slept yet?”

The door opened, Merlin walked in, unexpectedly joining the journey.

“Couldn’t sleep, how about you? How’s the equipment?”

Lorenzo asked back.

This train carried not only them but numerous Armors of Original Sin.

This war wouldn’t end relying on Lorenzo alone; the mortals traveled with him, yet mortals also needed armor.

A large number of combat-ready Armors of Original Sin were loaded onto the train, since the situation was urgent, many weren’t fully calibrated. So technicians from the Perpetual Motion Pump also boarded, trying to complete the work on the journey.

“It’s alright, these survived the storm, largely unaffected; as for the knights operating the armors, they’re our elite.”

Merlin looked slightly troubled, sighed.

“After all, this war isn’t on our home turf, we can only deploy limited forces.”

Lorenzo listened, slightly nodded, then asked.

“Anything else?”

Merlin definitely had something to say, not just checking if they were asleep or not.

“Yes, how to say… The Flame Holder is too damaged, you likely won’t be able to use it.”

In the battle with Roger, the Flame Holder was nearly dismantled into pieces, avoiding dismemberment by relying on powerful demon flesh.

“It’s expected; if you at the Perpetual Motion Pump could fix it, I’d be surprised,” Lorenzo said.

“Well, it might… truly surprise you.”

Merlin pondered, gave such a mysterious reply.

“What do you mean?”

“Actually, we didn’t completely repair the Flame Holder… only half, roughly.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means the Flame Holder can’t be piloted; to fix it, we used excessive demon flesh, now it’s not too different from a demon clad in Iron Armor.”

Lorenzo roughly understood Merlin’s meaning, he said.

“You’re saying I can use the [Gap] to control it, right?”

“Yes, but generally speaking, not you, it’s Watson,” Merlin said. “You’re not proficient in [Gap] control, right? So I think, the Flame Holder should be handed to Watson; she’s quite adept at these.”

Merlin spoke, looked around, as if searching for something within the cabin.

“Yet her whereabouts are quite elusive, I thought she was here.”

Lorenzo shook his head, negating, “She’s not here.”

“Is that so… then when you meet her, help convey this message.”

Merlin sighed helplessly at this, showing great interest in Watson. After all, such an enigmatic presence was rare, not to mention her friendliness towards the Purification Mechanism.

Yet Watson was too mysterious; oftentimes, people would forget she existed among them, except for Lorenzo.

It’s as if Lorenzo was the only link between Watson and the world; only Lorenzo possessed an equal stance with Watson. Once Lorenzo vanished someday, the rest wouldn’t find Watson anymore.

“Alright.”

Lorenzo responded, eyes turning to the window. The rising sun drove away darkness, brightening most of the view, yet amidst the brightness, something felt amiss to Lorenzo.

“Where are we headed? This doesn’t seem like the route to Reindona port.”

Lorenzo asked Merlin, who appeared puzzled.

“You don’t know where we’re headed?”

Lorenzo shook his head.

“It’s not Reindona, that’s near the White Tide Strait, currently embroiled in conflict.”

Merlin gazed at the window’s other side, the dark side.

“We’re headed for Thunderous Cape.”