Heracles raised the hunting rifle, aiming it at the secret chamber door behind the wardrobe. A whimpering growl erged from within, as if so monster was imprisoned, forcefully crashing against the cage, causing the entire wardrobe to shake, seemingly able to regain freedom any second.
Swallowing nervously, Heracles was extrely tense, while the chinchilla nad Polo was completely oblivious to the seriousness of the situation, running around wildly, thinking Heracles was playing so kind of ga with it.
Heracles was a cautious person; ever since that shipwreck, he acquired this eerie power, and with superhuman intelligence, he was aware of his own dangers, so he had been staying behind the scenes for a long ti. Everyone knew of the elusive Rat King, but no one saw Heracles, the puppeteer.
He was powerful, but not physically strong. Heracles hesitated whether to escape through the secret passage now, but leaving Lorenzo in this state here made him uneasy.
Suddenly, those crashing sounds ceased, everything fell silent.
A ghostly singing erged in the silence that no one dared to touch, echoed from behind the door, hoarse and scratchy. Following a vague lody from mory, he humd, seemingly unfamiliar after not singing it for a long ti, lightly recounting the ancient tune.
Heracles was in no mood to listen to those sounds. He gripped the hunting rifle tightly, and right after the ancient singing, there was a violent shaking from behind the door again. The door was pushed open, moving the heavy wardrobe aside, revealing the dark gap beneath it.
His forr identity as a police officer enabled Heracles to maintain calm in extre tension, fixating on the dark gap, ntally prepared: if a monster erged, he would pull the trigger; if Lorenzo walked out, he would fiercely kick him, asking what madness he was up to.
But the person who finally walked out was unexpected. It was a lost soul, humming a strange song, with upper body covered in bloody scratches, hands dyed in scarlet. He glanced at Heracles, then leaned against the door fra and slowly sat down.
This bizarre scene continued for a while until Lorenzo finally humd the tune from the depths of his mories.
"Sorry, I scared you," Lorenzo said.
Heracles didn’t mind these things, slowly releasing his grip on the hunting rifle, sensing Lorenzo’s difference at this mont.
"What happened?"
Browsing the mory Palace, Heracles never felt like Lorenzo did, even when recollecting the cruelest and darkest mories, it was only lancholic, far from madness.
"I... My mory is faulty."
Lorenzo suddenly realized the issue at hand but didn’t delve deeper with Heracles.
Past mories gradually beca clearer, a part of them completely unfamiliar erged.
According to Lorenzo’s mory, he and 047 beca danzo Demon Hunters together and never separated. But in the recent mory, he saw that old man, the one nad Lorenzo de’ dici.
They have the sa na... Wait...
Lorenzo’s eyes widened suddenly, bloodshot veins filled the whites, he slowly trembled, unlike previous madness, Heracles could detect the fear perating the air, emanating from Lorenzo’s fear.
Heracles’ heart suddenly chilled—what could make Lorenzo scared? So profoundly, so oppressively.
"Damn! How could I... how could I forget?"
Lorenzo clutched his head, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t find the answer in his mind, his face distorted, prompting Heracles to tighten his grip on the hunting rifle again.
"No... who am I, Heracles?"
Lorenzo raised his head abruptly and questioned.
"Lorenzo... Lorenzo Hols."
Heracles tremulously answered.
"Yes... Lorenzo Hols, this na, this na is a wish..."
He whispered repeatedly, chanically repeating. When Lorenzo lifted his head again, sudden relief replaced the fear in Heracles’ heart.
Heracles felt no fear, only overwhelming sadness mirrored on Lorenzo’s extrely sorrowful face. He didn’t know what happened, only heard Lorenzo incessantly speaking.
"How could I forget? I can’t recall...
Heracles, it’s a wish, but I can’t rember what I wished for."
Lorenzo de’ dici, that old man appearing in his mory.
They had the sa na. Lorenzo believed there must be so connection between them, yet when recalling why he nad himself "Lorenzo Hols," he couldn’t rember, terrifyingly realizing he couldn’t recall.
Aside from a few escort actions in his impression, Lorenzo had no further connection with the old man.
The long-held wish by that Lorenzo, shining like Venus in the dim starry sky, now Lorenzo suddenly discovered was also illusory, the wish forgotten, uncertain when he abandoned it, or perhaps it never existed, purely his imagination.
"No... this isn’t right."
Lorenzo refused to succumb, quickly reviewing every clue he could utilize.
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