CHAPTER 55: CHAPTER 41 POLLUTION

"You... you’re saying that I touched the Secret Blood a long time ago and became that so-called Qualified?"

Eve said incredulously. In her memory, her early life was so easy. She was the princess of Phoenix, and everyone in Old Dunling was waiting for her to grow up. Whoever married her would effectively have half of the great Phoenix family.

"Yes, that’s the only result. It seems that Old Dunling is more complicated than I imagined. Like I thought the Demons were all extinct, but after so many years, I actually encountered them in Old Dunling."

Lorenzo said casually. Such things, in his view, were not even an issue; at least people were still alive.

"The Demons were already extinct more than a decade ago. It was the most celebratory event in the history of the Demon Hunting Order. Everyone drank and got drunk while pouring burning Holy Water over the last Demon and watched it die in painful screams."

"To be safe, the Demon Hunting Order continued to monitor the world for several years to confirm the complete extinction of the Demons. There were no more prey in the forests for the Hunters to hunt, so I retired and came to Old Dunling to chase my dreams, like I said, I’ve always wanted to be a detective."

Chattering on like an old lady, Lorenzo was a very peculiar person. In his idle chatter, he outlined a grotesque and terrifying world, yet his tone sounded like he was teasing a big cat in a zoo. It’s unclear if he was used to it or if it was just his nature.

Optimistic?

Looking at that lazy, world-weary face, with warm sunlight shining on it through the glass, it was quite a beautiful scene. But his expression decidedly carried a look like others owed him millions; the previous cold ruthlessness was completely absent.

This... is just totally carefree.

"Wait, so you’re also that so-called Qualified?"

Only then did Eve recall that Lorenzo, like her, was also a Qualified of the Secret Blood, and he even knew more.

"Yeah, but it’s irrelevant now."

He seemed indifferent, slowly stood up, and looked at Eve.

"Eve, your situation is much more complicated than what we’re discussing now, but at least for the time being you seem safe. However, if necessary here’s my business card."

Seeing the card already soaked, Eve remembered that Lorenzo was still a detective. Although not top-tier, he was probably the best fighter among detectives.

"This detective handles everything from national secrets to catching cheaters, but if it’s related to the Demons, please pay double."

After combing his wet hair, Lorenzo picked up the Winchester nearby and prepared to leave.

"Where are you going?"

Eve asked hurriedly.

"Going home, of course?"

Lorenzo turned around. At some point, he had already managed to walk steadily, his vitality truly unimaginable.

"But... didn’t you ask that doctor for medicine?"

"I just wanted him to leave. After all, my ’friend’ here has had enough. Divorced in middle age, his only child doesn’t seem to live with him. Should I deepen his ties with darkness? Just spare this poor man."

Clearly, he had used a shotgun to break down Buscalo’s door, and now he pretends to be compassionate. Sometimes Eve couldn’t figure out what exactly was up with this detective.

He was like the wind, always acting before speaking, and before Eve could say anything else the door had already closed. Lorenzo had left.

Suddenly there seemed to be a sense of emptiness, like a hamster’s house had been overturned, filled with an inexplicable feeling everywhere. Eve knew very well that she had stepped into that darkness, with no choice but to move forward. Although somewhat afraid, at least the real world became clearer in her eyes.

Looking down, the soaked business card was printed with cheap ink, its characters already blurred, but the words could still be vaguely discerned.

"Outer City District, East Yilins District, Cork Street 121A."

"Lorenzo Holmes."

...

The sunlight poured through the glass window, completely dispelling the chilly wind before winter, and the body felt warm and extremely comfortable.

Bola opened his eyes with difficulty; above him was a familiar ceiling, covered with mythological paintings, where gods rained down flames in fury, driving the twisted demons out of the mortal world.

As Bola watched, he suddenly smiled. He thought if anyone painted again in the future, they should put some airships and cannons in it—those were far more useful than the illusory gods.

This place used to be a monastery but was later converted into a hospital, and every time he was injured and unconscious, he would wake up here again, as if restarting his life, though each awakening came with displeasure.

Bola tried to move, but his hands seemed to be bound and couldn’t move.

Just as expected...

"You’re awake?"

A familiar voice sounded from the other side, and Bola was somewhat dazed. Turning his head, he saw Bluebird lying on the bed next to him, his chest wrapped in bloody bandages, wearing a respirator. The sound was like a broken blower, with a loud wheezing.

"You’re actually still alive?"

Bola was somewhat happy yet incredulous; that sword should have been a fatal wound.

"Yeah, Galahad’s sword missed."

Bluebird glanced at Bola. Although his words were relaxed, his injuries were still severe, even turning his head seemed exhausting.

"It’s great to be alive. What happened in the end?"

"It was Nikola. You know the minds of those lunatics from the Perpetual Motion Pump can’t be guessed. They treated the operation as an experiment for the Armor of Original Sin, and the experiment failed. Galahad went out of control, and we had to use a lot of effort to subdue him. As for where he is now, I don’t know either."

Bola spoke slowly. Regarding the night from a dozen or so hours ago, he still felt fear. A dark Angel opened its embrace to him, and those sharp wings nearly sliced him apart.

"But what’s certain is that now he should be living a fate worse than death. After all, in the eyes of those from the Perpetual Motion Pump, we’re all just test subjects, without human rights."

Bola wanted to curse, but even speaking intensely caused his whole body pain; the feeling was genuinely unbearable.

"I hope you can understand them. They’re just a bunch of people trading ethics and morals for knowledge... great figures. Our society needs such people, though not too many."

Red Falcon walked into the ward. As the current Upper-Rank Knight stationed in Old Dunling, he felt it necessary to visit his two miraculous surviving colleagues.

"Thank this crazy world for needing them, or I would have locked those lunatics in a mental hospital until they died."

The weak Bluebird said from the side.

Red Falcon walked to the side of the pair’s beds. Although the injuries were severe, at least these two woke up. At that moment, a group of nurses came in, pushing a complicated machine.

Seeing this thing, Bola felt a headache coming on. He tried to escape the bed, but the nurses gave him no chance. The head nurse came over in strides and swiftly pulled Bola’s quilt away. Underneath was a white hospital gown and bandages, and his limbs were tightly bound with a mix of leather and linen restraints.

"Sir, please cooperate, this is procedure. We need to ensure you haven’t been polluted."

The head nurse said as she pulled the machine to Bola’s bedside, and the other two people watched gleefully.

The pollution from Demons was bizarre, and anything related to Demons could be a transmission pathway for pollution. With accumulated knowledge over the years from the Purification Mechanism, it’s discovered that pollution first affects the nerves, corrupting the will of a person, followed by the distortion of flesh, ultimately turning the victim into a new source of pollution.

To prevent such viral outbreaks from expanding, after each fight with a Demon, the Purification Mechanism performs a willed assessment of the participants. This method of assessment was invented by the people from the Perpetual Motion Pump, which made Bola want to kill them even more.

Red Falcon stood guard on the outermost perimeter, Bluebird’s injuries were too severe to endure any turmoil, so this assessment was conducted entirely for Bola.

Only to see the nurses expertly pick up scissors and cut off part of Bola’s hair at the back of his head, then gently insert a needle electrode into it.

"This might hurt a little."

The nurse said.

"I’ve done it before; I know how painful this thing is."

Bola said helplessly. Compared to the pain, what he couldn’t bear was something else, but before he finished speaking, the head nurse pulled the switch, and along with a few sparks that burst from the machine, Bola felt as if someone grabbed him, and his whole body began descending.

First, the soft mattress, then the concrete layer, and then deeper down, sinking into darkness.