Chapter 530: Chapter 113 Saint_3
"Thereās no chance anymore, Lorenzo. The Demon Hunters wonāt spare me, and I canāt leave now."
He said this, then coughed violently again.
"Perhaps this is the fate of the Borgia family, starting with poison, and ending with poison."
Only then did Lorenzo notice Shermansā face beginning to turn ashen, black blood oozing from his wound, emitting a foreboding air.
The explosive toxin has reached him as well; after all that has happened, the old man can finally hold on no longer.
"Iām dying, so allow me to speak a little nonsense."
Shermans said, taking out his notebook from his chest. Despite the intense battle, the notebook remained intact, the only flaw being some traces of blood on it.
"This is my notebook; it contains records of my... no, of the Borgia familyās entire account with the Evangelical Church. But be careful, Lorenzo, knowledge is cursed; when you touch certain things, something may lookout for you!"
Even on the verge of death, mentioning these matters made Shermans feel anxious and fearful, as if like fate, he touched these taboos today and so he dies today.
Lorenzo took the notebook; it was so heavy, like a boulder.
"Why is that?"
Lorenzo didnāt understand.
"How to put this feeling? Itās like a person is dying, yet he carries an immense wish, a wish so great that it allows a person to temporarily abandon all stances and good or bad, everything just for that wish...
Youāre not a good choice, Lorenzo Holmes. Youāre like Samuel, living for some so-called victory, you are also obsessed with living for something, otherwise, you couldāve hidden away after the Night of the Holy Arrival instead of meeting me here today."
Shermans sighed powerlessly.
"Iāve seen too many of your kind; for power, Miguel, the Evil Anomaly Sainy Lotar, even Lorenzo deā Medici who was obsessed with the Golden Era.
You all are such people, madmen fixated on something... But I canāt do it, Iām a Saint! I am destined for Heaven! How can I mingle with you devils?"
Having a final look at the notebook filled with secrets, Shermans felt satisfied, whispering softly.
"Actually... I donāt want to entrust these to people like you either, but only people like you can accomplish something without regard for the means."
Shermans said no more, using the last of his strength to drive the horse and slowly turn his head toward the manorās direction.
"My believers have already gone to their death; how can I abandon them? Moreover, only when they see my body will they give up completely."
"Besides, I have already fled for too long; I donāt have the strength to run anymore."
The horseās hooves pressed on the grass, Shermans slowly distanced himself from Lorenzo, who looked at the bleak back and finally couldnāt help but shout.
"Shermans! Shermans Borgia, you sacrificed everything for your God, everything indeed, do you truly believe it exists?"
If the so-called God truly exists, then how does that God permit the existence of that Evil Anomaly known as Demon? If God truly exists, why doesnāt God respond to the prayers of believers?
Shermans stopped, the curtain of rain separated him and Lorenzo, like the worlds of life and death.
"Mr. Lorenzo Holmes... This world is too cruel; life and death, the joys and sorrows, not to mention those eerie demons.
So people must believe in something to deceive themselves, right."
His old laughter came through the wind, Shermans no longer looked back, he bit hard on the cigarette between his lips, inhaling and exhaling heavily, the warhorse started to gallop furiously, and he was like a sharp sword slicing through all wind and rain, at this moment nothing could catch up with him, even his shadow was left far behind.
Time seemed to reverse; he roared like a young man, tears streaming down.
Gazing at the silhouette that continually blurred in the rain curtain, until at the end of this heavy rain a brilliant flame ignited. In the glow of the flame, Lorenzo saw that pitch-black silhouette charging toward the burning Celestial Kingdom like a Saint meeting his death.
"Henceforth, a crown of righteousness is reserved for you."
The nameless hymn came through the wind, offering its final mass.