Chapter 747: Seeking Life Through Death

The dungeon was quiet for a long time, until Belicia spoke again.

"So, on the night you and Black Sword fought your final battle, what exactly happened?"

Lausanne the Second's eyes moved.

"They say you joined the Black Street Brotherhood. What, did Black Sword not tell you?"

"Black Sword keeps his mouth shut about that battle," Belicia snorted lightly. "As for other channels, Lanser's lackeys have nearly praised him into the heavens. They were only short of turning 'killed the Blood Bottle gang leader in battle' into 'killed the entire Blood Bottle Gang in battle.'"

At this point, the woman became weighed down with thoughts.

Besides, after that battle, Black Sword had rarely appeared again.

It was as if he had understood life overnight, drifted away, and turned into a reclusive legend who existed only in stories.

No matter how wildly the Black Street Brotherhood expanded, adding embellishments to his deeds and worshiping him like an idol.

Lausanne the Second frowned.

"So, is this what the important person outside the door wants you to ask, or what you want to ask?"

Belicia played with the unlit cigarette in her hand and glanced toward the wooden door.

"Neither," she said after a moment of silence. "In fact, this should be what you want to ask."

Lausanne the Second's eyes shifted slightly, sharp yet puzzled.

The woman revealed a mysterious yet helpless smile.

"If I had to guess, the greatest variable that night was neither Black Sword nor you, was it?"

Lausanne the Second's eyes changed.

"You are not guessing. What do you know?"

"That depends on what you experienced."

Under the dim lamp, Lausanne the Second remained imprisoned and unable to move, while Belicia sat sideways nearby with her arms around her knees, lost in thought.

In the heavy atmosphere, the two silently faced each other for several seconds.

"That rainy night..."

At last, Lausanne the Second spoke softly, and Belicia's eyes lit up.

"Black Sword had prepared in advance and waited at ease. His strength had also grown greatly, far beyond expectation," the killer narrowed his eyes. "Turnbull was the first to be hit and fell."

The battle became one-on-one between him and Black Sword.

Belicia curved her lips.

"But the odds were still in your hand."

Lausanne the Second glanced at her, his meaning deep.

Of course.

"At that time, I was at my peak, still in full condition. My heart was colder than at any other time, and my hand steadier than at any other time."

His sword, too, was crueler than at any other time.

Even looking back now, that remained true.

In fact, facing Black Sword, who had staked everything and fought with his life, facing such a rare opponent, he had gained no small harvest in that battle. He had progressed further, and on the path of the sword, made another breakthrough.

"Although it took more effort than before, I still won," the killer said faintly.

Just like the previous times, without a scratch.

No. Almost without a scratch.

Almost.

Thinking of this, Lausanne the Second's voice dimmed.

"I killed him."

Following the move Joaquin had taught, "Triumphal Strike," he chopped his sword into Black Sword's skull.

Belicia said nothing. She only quietly looked at the cigarette in her hand, her expression complicated.

Lausanne the Second gently closed his eyes.

"Then he made his move."

"He?"

"He. Turnbull."

It was him.

The vampire killer spoke hoarsely, his words hiding an almost undetectable sorrow and regret.

"Turnbull, who should have fallen long before and lost consciousness, stood up again."

The bottle contains no wine, only the people's blood.

Behind him, the legendary old gang leader silently picked up his opponent's fallen black strange sword.

And swung it at the killer he had once used best.

"I suppose he had only pretended to be defeated, waiting for me and Black Sword to wound each other."

Lausanne the Second sneered.

"Or in old Turnbull's words, I should have 'perished together' with Black Sword."

Belicia lowered her head and gave a relieved sigh that said, as expected.

"With your ability, you would not be taken in so easily, would you?"

Of course not.

"Because I knew you had been poisoning me in secret, I knew he did not trust me, and I had long been on guard against him," Lausanne the Second scoffed softly. "His first strike failed."

The chains on Lausanne the Second rang softly.

"I tried to tell him that no matter why he was doing this, he was old now. He was no longer... at least no longer my opponent."

The killer's expression was sad.

Even one chosen by the Supreme class would be dragged down by age and defeated by oldness.

Or, more terrifying still...

Would submit to fate.

Belicia said nothing.

"But he would not listen. He only continued attacking. So I began to counterattack."

The vampire killer opened his eyes, his gaze dead.

"And I underestimated... his determination to kill me."

He also underestimated how well Turnbull knew him.

Underestimated the price the old gang leader was willing to pay.

And underestimated...

The alchemy orb in his hand.

That precious alchemy orb, taken from who knew which major power.

"So I lost."

The killer's gaze scattered.

He protected his head, but the countless sharp fragments blasted out by the alchemy orb nearly shredded all his internal organs.

Lausanne the Second clenched his fist.

But he was not reconciled.

Truly not reconciled.

Belicia sighed softly.

"Then naturally, you used that source blood."

Unexpectedly, Lausanne the Second denied it flatly.

"No. At that time, half my body had been blown apart. I could not move even a finger."

He was already powerless to reverse heaven.

Much less drink the source blood and turn defeat into victory.

He could only lie helplessly in the mud, feeling his life and internal organs flow away with the torrential rain, never to return.

The killer's scattered gaze focused again and fell on Belicia.

"Instead, Turnbull, as the victor, searched that source blood from my wrist guard. It seemed he had known it should be there all along."

The vampire killer stared fixedly at her.

Turnbull's words seemed still to echo by his ear:

I will let you know, child... old age is no excuse... I will let you know who your opponent is... I will let you know exactly who can stand until the end...

Belicia, however, smiled without surprise.

"And then? You sprang up and bit the source blood out of his hand?"

Lausanne the Second kept staring at the woman for a very, very long time.

"Turnbull thought he had me."

The killer spoke faintly.

"But he forgot someone else."

Lausanne the Second narrowed his eyes, his breathing hurried.

At that moment, the killer seemed to hear again the patter of rain from that night.

Hey, uncle. That is my sword.

He seemed to see old Turnbull holding the black strange sword that did not belong to him, turning his head in disbelief, just in time to see that scene:

Black Sword, his face covered in blood and his whole body wounded, weakly and painfully crawled up from the muddy, stinking ditch of the abandoned house piled with corpses.

He used Lausanne the Second's sword as support, the sword that should have been embedded in his skull, and stood again, swaying yet still unstoppable.

This Lausanne the Second's sword does not really suit my hand.

Just as Black Sword had done countless times under his pursuit.

Belicia looked thoughtful, showing a hint of astonishment.

"Turnbull and Black Sword said things I did not understand."

I told you, brat. I once mixed with those traitors from the Tower of Eradication in the Great Desert... the Sin of Hell's River's effect is not that it keeps you from dying, but that it prevents you from truly living... why can you not be like those foolish companions of yours and die early, freeing yourself early?

Lausanne the Second clenched his teeth, resisting the pain from his wounds that went deep into the marrow.

Or perhaps the phantom pain in his memory.

Because they do not allow me to die... at least not to die this early... not to die... just like this... meaninglessly...

"It seems they were old acquaintances. Back when Turnbull was a mercenary in the Great Desert, fighting life-and-death battles in some hundred-man troop, they knew each other."

Lausanne the Second gave a cold laugh, trying to numb the pain with the sound.

"But their talk collapsed."

So the bloody battle rose again.

One old, one young.

The Brotherhood and the Blood Bottle Gang.

A duel between yesterday and tomorrow.

Remembering this battle, Lausanne the Second's eyes flickered.

As an expert long famous, Turnbull was very seasoned.

But seasoned was all he had left.

As the defeated man at the end of his strength, Black Sword was resolute and determined.

Because determination was all he had left.

"They both suffered terrible losses," Lausanne the Second recounted the past, recounting the miracle he had witnessed with his own eyes. "But in the end, Black Sword completed his work."

Under Belicia's astonished gaze, the killer's tone was calm.

Black Sword used a method that was nearly mutual destruction and pierced Turnbull's chest with one sword.

Ending that duel whose beginning had been like a tiger and ending like a snake.

At this point, Lausanne the Second suddenly laughed.

The laugh was faint, heavy, and sorrowful.

"Perhaps Black Sword's strike landed in the right place... after Turnbull fell, for one instant he seemed to sober a little, to understand something. He laughed loudly."

Lausanne the Second's smile slowly disappeared.

I understand... you were right, child. I should not have... should not have thought myself capable of playing their game...

As Belicia's expression grew more puzzled, the killer's eyes returned to deathly stillness.

"Old Turnbull, on the brink of death, crawled to my side and used the last bit of his strength."

Live, child. See clearly the ugly face of this world... live...

"He stuffed the source blood... into my wound."

Lausanne the Second finished softly.

As his words fell, the former overlord of the Blood Bottle Gang, once able to shake the world, silently fell in the story.

"He?"

Only after a long while did Belicia recover from her disbelief and press loudly.

"Impossible. That sinister old bastard who feared death? Him? He gave the source blood, the only chance of escape, to you? You?"

Lausanne the Second did not answer her doubt. He only took a deep breath and spoke with difficulty amid endless contradiction and confusion.

"And so..."

Lausanne the Second's gaze was icy.

"Relying on the second chance you gave me..."

And also the second chance Turnbull gave him.

He submitted.

In the cold rain, he submitted to fate.

"I cheated, and stood up again."

The source blood melted when it met blood. It spread through his veins, grew through his tissues, supplied energy, and replenished what was lacking.

From a body on the verge of death, it awakened flourishing blood and vitality.

It made him ignore the summons of the Prison River's ferryman, completely escape dangerous and fatal wounds, and return once more to his full condition.

It revived the dead and restored flesh to bones.

Lausanne the Second clenched his teeth.

"I faced Black Sword again."

The battle restarted.

His mind wandered, as if Black Sword's sorrowful and helpless words echoed once more by his ear:

Come, killer. Fight. Before your gang leader, finish what we left unfinished.

No matter what these meaningless struggles and killings are for, or what meaning they have...

This is the only thing people like us can do for those who have gone.

"This time, he became stronger, did he not?"

Belicia folded her arms, her expression indifferent.

Lausanne the Second's gaze was faint.

"There is gossip that each time he dies, that ancient demonic sword rewards him and grants him more strength," Belicia turned her head and snorted disdainfully. "Truly unfair."

Each time he dies...

Ancient demonic sword?

More strength?

"Yes, that strange sword that gave him his nickname. I believe it must have left a deep impression on you. Over the years, many people have had designs on it. I hear some even succeeded. But their ends..."

Lausanne the Second paused.

His expression turned dazed, and he recalled again that destined enemy from his second life.

Every duel. Every detail.

Black Sword.

Mediocre and weak Black Sword.

Wounded all over Black Sword.

Swaying on his feet Black Sword.

Black Sword at the end of his strength.

Black Sword, pressing forward without turning back.

Black Sword, viewing death as homecoming.

Black Sword, exhausting everything.

Unique Black Sword.

Unmatched Black Sword.

Black Sword.

And that... sword of his?

"No!"

Amid hurried breathing, Lausanne the Second returned to reality, his gaze focused again, his tone firm and certain.

"It was not that sword."

Nor was it his unique Power of Eradication.

Much less some treasure or technique from a knight novel that could remake one's body and overturn heaven against fate.

Lausanne the Second's attitude grew more certain.

He knew.

Because he had crossed swords with that person, fought with his life, and resisted with death.

That was why he knew. That was why he was certain.

Compared with external objects, external strength, or other people...

"That was him."

The Supreme-class killer spoke decisively, allowing no doubt.

Only him.

Only Black Sword.

Simply Black Sword.

That was all.

"What? What do you mean, himself?" Belicia did not understand.

But Lausanne the Second did not answer. He only stared fixedly at the pitch-black ceiling.

Others would not understand.

Even those who were likewise Supreme-class experts would not understand.

Lausanne the Second's gaze was resolute.

But he could understand.

The killer suddenly smiled.

"I do not know whether he became stronger because of that."

Lausanne the Second continued.

His expression returned to calm. His tone returned to indifference, as if recounting something that had nothing to do with him.

"But unlike before, when we fought again this time, my hand was trembling, and my sword was wailing."

His heart, meanwhile, withered again, shattered, grew chaotic, and became lost.

And finally went out.

Belicia frowned.

"Why?"

Lausanne the Second slowly raised his gaze.

"No reason."

He did not answer directly. He only looked at Belicia before him, at the reflection in her pupils.

"A very, very long time later, after I had nothing left and picked up the sword again, I finally understood."

The Supreme-class killer was incomparably calm.

"That night, I was destined to lose."

"Whether or not you poisoned me. Whether Little Blade and Ferg betrayed us on the perimeter. Whether Red Viper fled at the critical moment. Whether Turnbull viciously turned on me. Whether Black Sword made a breakthrough in battle and performed beyond himself. Whether my hand trembled when I thrust the final sword. Whether that drop of rain struck my face. No matter how many excuses there were outside so-called 'true strength'..."

Belicia's brow moved.

"I was going to lose."

Lausanne the Second closed his eyes.

"The moment hesitation arose in my heart and I was no longer decisive..."

"The moment I brought that drop of blood and began thinking how to use this second chance..."

The moment a swordsman began to consider a path of retreat...

The moment he possessed the privilege of "cheating"...

Compared with his opponent...

Lausanne the Second curved his lips, revealing a relieved yet helpless smile.

"I had already lost."

He was destined to slide down from the peak, destined to lose to Black Sword, who advanced without turning back, and become the stepping stone for his opponent to set foot in the Supreme class.

"And so I died."

Lausanne the Second spoke quietly.

For the second time.

Or... perhaps more than the second time?

That night, among the three people who went to the decisive battle, Turnbull thought of life.

And he, Lausanne the Second, was unwilling to die.

Only the third person, from beginning to end, faced death.

Only death.

Seeking life through death.

Belicia listened without saying a word. The killer who had experienced it remained expressionless.

So Black Sword won.

He won that bloody battle in which all three sides fought one against two, dueling back and forth, revealing every trump card, comparing not only will and technique, but testing spirit and endurance.

Even though he won by a hair.

Even though the price was heavy.

He killed all his competitors and subdued his own people through killing.

He became the only survivor who stood to the end.

Witnessing the curtain fall on the rainy night.

Witnessing the dawn over the abandoned house.

Witnessing the decline of the Blood Bottle Gang.

And the rise of the Black Street Brotherhood.

The lamp flickered. After an unknown length of time, Belicia sighed faintly and broke the suffocating silence.

"I suppose what troubles you is old Turnbull's incomprehensible betrayal that night?"

The woman rubbed the cigarette in her hand and looked at the captive on the ground.

"If it were me, I would certainly be curious too. Ambushing Black Sword and wiping out the Brotherhood should have been an operation initiated and led by Turnbull, one in line with the Blood Bottle Gang's interests. Yet he, as gang leader, was the first to turn against his own..."

"That night."

The dazed Lausanne the Second suddenly spoke, interrupting her.

"That night, before we set out to exterminate the Black Street Brotherhood, he did not tell all of us that story of 'the bottle contains no wine' for no reason."

The bottle contains no wine.

A country contains no king.

Every story has its meaning.

"I think, with Turnbull's personality, he must have planned it long ago. In fact, he had seen through it long ago."

Belicia froze slightly.

Lausanne the Second's gaze was sharp.

That night, he had long seen through the people present: Little Blade, Ferg, Red Viper, Barta... including many who were now dead...

He had seen how many subordinates had already betrayed him, how many more were preparing to betray him, or at least might betray him...

But...

The killer spoke quietly.

"He was certain that it would be the last time most of us saw him."

Belicia frowned at her old friend and probed.

"Then as for the reason he did this..."

Lausanne the Second paused and spoke in a low voice.

Emerald Palace."

The killer's gaze was deep.

Or rather, those colossi represented by Emerald Palace, or for whom Emerald Palace served as the representative.

Belicia was not surprised at all.

On the contrary, she was silent for a long time before sighing.

"So, you knew long ago?"

Lausanne the Second was dazed for a while, then shook his head with difficulty inside the shackles.

"I knew later. After that battle... after I woke."

The killer paused unnaturally, as if using the blank space to skip over certain unpleasant memories.

"After waking, I fled all the way toward South Coast Territory, fled to Archsea City, and found that rebellious little Covendier. By then, he was nearly about to be fed to the fish in the open sea."

"Federico?"

Lausanne the Second snorted softly.

"Like most nobles, that young master is an incurable fool," the killer said with a gloomy expression. "But he learned to work under his father very early, so he knew many inside stories."

Precisely because of that,

he allowed him to see certain truths clearly.

Certain truths that, once pierced, became unbearably absurd and laughable.

Belicia realized something and smiled coldly.

"Then you should not find the old gang leader's choice strange."

She lightly threw away the cigarette she had rubbed out of shape, broken, its tobacco scattered.

"Just as you said you were destined to lose to Black Sword that night..."

Belicia looked at the cold-eyed killer.

"From the moment he became involved in the internal fight of the iris, no, it should be said, from the moment he pledged loyalty to Sonar Covendier, or even from the moment he first rose to power, old Turnbull's fate had already been decided."