Lorenzo covered his face. He learned about these things from Red Falcon, a knight who kills demons both day and night. By all ans, he should be cold-blooded and efficient, but who knew he’s secretly obsessed with knight novels, even recomnding "Hawk Under the Night" to Lorenzo more than once.
Alright, alright, it’s not a big deal. Lorenzo has read so, too, after all, he loves reading books. Sotis he even wonders if he should write down the stories he obtained during his "Divine Favor Baptism" to make a fortune.
But... but...
"Have you fallen this far?"
Lorenzo pointed at "The Life of Oscar Wilde" and asked sowhat hysterically.
In his knowledge of Oscar, the writing is probably not anything serious.
"What do you an fallen? Traditional literature is indeed my ideal, but I also love these contemporary writings. I’m a very versatile person, don’t lump with those rigid old folks."
Oscar beca proud.
Silence, there was only silence thereafter.
How to defeat a maniac? Find soone who’s more insane.
Clearly, Oscar at the mont was that more insane person compared to Lorenzo. rely hours ago, Lorenzo had just survived a deadly fight, escaping with forbidden knowledge from the demon hunters, barely resting at Buscalo’s place, and hurriedly ca over to report Shermans’ death to Oscar.
But Oscar?
The old, undying man was busy autographing that damned book of everyday life.
It’s incredibly dissonant, just monts ago a cataclysmic desperate battle, and the next second turned into nonsensical banter in a hospital room with other patients.
"Thank you for your support! Thank you for your support!"
The old man bead while seeing off that guest, who then darted out of sight, unwilling to linger in people’s view for even a second.
To many, knight novels are sowhat frowned upon; people often say, "Who seriously reads this stuff?" Hence, many custors buy books secretly.
Lorenzo started to understand the weird vibe of this bookstore, alongside the surreptitious glances from passersby.
"Honestly, my knight novels are more popular than my official works; so even see as their idol."
Oscar stood up, apologized to the remaining custors in the bookstore, and then shut the store door.
A bit eccentric, Oscar knew that Lorenzo was akin to a Death God, never bringing good news in his visits, not to ntion the bulge resembling a knife handle under his coat at the mont.
A faint scent of blood lingered in the air, so intense that even the sll of books couldn’t mask it.
Lorenzo casually flipped through "The Life of Oscar Wilde" by the bookshelf, glanced at a few pages, and his eyes felt strained; the text was simply appalling.
Scanning a few passages, Oscar’s writing style was evident.
In the story, he’s still a writer, albeit one acclaid across four nations. Even Queen Victoria is his reader; due to so disagreents over plot points, she summoned him to the Platinum Palace for discussion.
After a brief read, Lorenzo could hardly recognize Oscar anymore. In his writing, Oscar himself seed like quite a man of legend, having sailed aboard Nordro’s ship to witness the winter of the Far North, walked the Land of Abundance, fought boarding actions with Viking pirates, and drifted across boundless seas.
"What is this? Is it ’The Life of Oscar Wilde’?"
Lorenzo wouldn’t believe the nonsense in the book.
"Honestly, I initially considered that title, but felt it might be too serious." He replied earnestly.
This guy genuinely contemplated the book’s title seriously.
The bookshelf wasn’t only filled with knight novels; Oscar’s works dominated the front spots. Excluding that bizarre fantasy autobiography, the rest were his traditional literary works. However, judging by the stock, Oscar really wasn’t that popular in this aspect.
They say books are oceans of knowledge, yet this ocean feels sowhat peculiar.
Lorenzo and Oscar sat opposite in the bookstore, after a long silence, Lorenzo sighed helplessly.
"So tired..."
Oscar laughed.
"Lorenzo Hols, your life seems too oppressive; why not find so fun?"
Lorenzo nodded, casually picking a book from the shelf.
Fun, Lorenzo didn’t reject these things, but he really couldn’t relax now; what he experienced earlier filled him with anxiety and fear.
"Oscar, the matter you entrusted with, I resolved it."
Lorenzo said, flipping open the book.
"You found Shermans?"
Oscar’s eyes lit up; though an unpopular writer, he was a mber of Nordro.
"Yes, I found Shermans, but before long he died."
Lorenzo said calmly.
Oscar froze, and his playful deanor gradually beca solemn.
"He died...?"
"Killed by the New Order’s demon hunters. There were too many; I couldn’t rescue him."
Lorenzo read the book casually while speaking to Oscar.
"I see..."
"Shermans had pledged allegiance to the Purification chanism early on. Miguel seemingly intended to have him act as a liaison between the Exiles and the Purification chanism, but his position was exposed and assassinated by New Order’s demon hunters."
Lorenzo omitted the notebook part; he didn’t know what the curse truly was, yet he was sure if it really existed, Oscar definitely wouldn’t handle it.
"I initially thought the Purification chanism exposed his position, agreeing with the New Order, but later found inconsistencies. If the Purification chanism abandoned Shermans, they should act themselves, not allowing the New Order to do so on Ingwig’s territory."
"Where do you think the problem lies?" Oscar asked.
"That letter."
Lorenzo pondered for a while before saying.
"The letter written with Secret Blood. The Purification chanism had no reason to send such a letter. We’re in Old Dunling; they don’t need to be sneaky. The New Order? After losing the ’Revelation’, they barely have any Secret Blood left, and what’s the point of sending it to ? Tempt to seek Shermans and then capture there?"
Lorenzo mused, "But if that’s the case, their primary target should be , not Shermans."
"Did you think of sothing?" Oscar asked.
"Secret Blood... inferior Secret Blood."
Lorenzo quietly said, recalling the post-Divine Birthday events, when he pursued those circulating inferior Secret Blood.
"Remnants of Lawrence..."
After the deadly battle on the train, inferior Secret Blood continued circulating secretly. If it weren’t for the sudden visit of the New Order, bringing mysteries about Lorenzo’s identity, he would have continued tracking those remnants.
They have reached a certain scale, gained so understanding of the ’Revelation’, and can mass-produce Secret Blood.
Sudden cold enveloped Lorenzo, he realized he was sowhat imrsed in conflicts with the New Order, neglecting the more grievous remnants.
"Damn it!"
Lorenzo cursed quietly, Oscar not understanding the sudden shift in Lorenzo’s deanor.
It was his negligence; an organization far deadlier than the New Order lurked within Old Dunling, and after such a long ti, how much inferior Secret Blood had they produced? How many demons could such Blood create?
Old Dunling was densely populated; once demons ran amok, the entire city might fall within a night...
Another Night of the Holy Arrival.
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