The crisp sound kept coming from the table, where books that should have been placed there were pushed aside, leaving a ss.
Lorenzo sat in his chair, continuously working on the bullets in his hand, with iron filings scattered everywhere.
From the suitcase he carried, there was a block of Holy Silver he had taken when escaping from the Order, originally stored in so equipnt box.
As a Demon Hunter, one often encounters unexpected events, and given their powerful combat abilities, almost every Demon Hunter is allocated sothing similar to an equipnt box, covering everything from dical supplies to weapon crafting, including a distribution of the precious Holy Silver.
Lorenzo had been utilizing the Holy Silver removed from that block throughout the battles for so long, and although the block itself was not large, it would still last quite a while for Lorenzo, considering his consumption rate.
But Lorenzo didn't intend to use it lavishly; the Holy Silver production technique was monopolized by the Evangelical Church, and to him, this tal, deadly to Demons, is diminishing with every use. Moreover, Holy Silver weapons are mostly plated, not even allowing for tal recycling.
Loading the bullet into the weapon, Lorenzo sharply pulled the guard ring, completing the loading with a crisp sound.
The Winchester used was loaded with Deer Bullets, filled with large spherical lead bullets, and after processing, he mixed in Bullet Heads plated with Holy Silver. At close range, this weapon is extrely lethal to Demons, with so lower-class Demons being blown to bits in one shot.
However, Lorenzo still felt it wasn't enough; if facing the Demon responsible for the massacre case, this firepower seed insufficient to kill it directly.
Gently brushing the gunstock, as Lorenzo pondered, his fingers brushed over so rough textures, flipping the gun over. It revealed a line of poetry.
For a mont, it was like being transported back to a long ti ago, to a similar person back then gently brushing the Winchester and then picking up a carving knife to inscribe words on the wooden stock.
Lorenzo rembered this poem, as the man left in the Gap loved this little poem very much and had it engraved on his beloved gun before he died, leaving the gun in Lorenzo's hands.
Lorenzo had searched through many library books but hadn't found the source of this poem. The man claid he thought of it himself, but for Lorenzo, this seed likely a gift from the Divine Favor Baptism, having received many nightmarish visions from the baptism, understanding so poems unknown to the world then made sense.
Shaking his head, Lorenzo abandoned those thoughts as daylight broke, though the overcast clouds made the scene sowhat oppressive.
Picking up his cane, Lorenzo hung the Winchester under his coat, thinking Joey was about to co pick him up shortly. Pushing the door open and walking downstairs, but matching footsteps sounded below, Lorenzo looked up and saw Hig ascending the stairs.
Hig bore dark circles under his eyes, his face pale, his hair ssy, having spent another night in God knows what haunt.
The relationship between Lorenzo and Hig couldn't be described as very good because Lorenzo didn't want to burden others with any association with Demons. To so extent, Lorenzo maintained an icy deanor toward everyone, even with his neighbors. However, Hig didn't see his roommate as any kind of decent guy.
This sowhat neurotic detective had lived here for six years, during which Lorenzo inevitably encountered uncontrollable situations at tis, returning ho with injuries. The blackened past of Mrs. Van Rudd allowed her to see Lorenzo's nature at a glance, and given her unruly character, she was unafraid. But Hig bore the brunt of it.
You're a diligent chanician, living next to a guy who seems like so underworld killer, a soldier king, his Winchester capable of turning a person into pulp through a steel plate, while you only have a set of wrenches you might not even swing properly. It's unsettling for anyone.
However, over the past six years, this thug with a detective title hadn't brought his "work" ho, which eased Hig considerably, making it tolerable to stay until now.
There was little intersection between him and Lorenzo. Seeing Lorenzo, Hig hesitated for a mont, then dryly said.
"Good morning."
Lorenzo coldly nodded, this being the usual way he and Hig communicated. Despite Lorenzo's private thoughts, his roommate, a chanician building good karma, was pathetic enough. He didn't want to drag unlucky Demons onto him.
In essence, Lorenzo did appreciate his roommate and friends, lanting having to ensure those who knew him well were few and far between because mingling much with soone like him promised no good outco.
The two stepped simultaneously, with Lorenzo slightly sidestepping to let Hig pass, but in that crossing mont, he seed to detect a familiar scent.
Reaching downstairs, Lorenzo glanced up at where Hig had disappeared, an eerie sense of familiarity swept his perception, yet he couldn't quite recall, and there seed to be a scent of blood in the air, sparking his curiosity about what was happening.
Reflecting everything at this mont was a mirror nearby, where Watson sat on the first-floor sofa, smiling at Lorenzo. She seed aware of sothing but said nothing, only wearing a peculiar smile, which Lorenzo ignored.
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