How could Shermans forget these eyes, these eyes rolling with a blazing white storm, like eternal day.
"Demon Hunter..."
For a moment, it was as if he was back in that seemingly endless night, with burning rage and uncontrollable despair. Shermans immediately pulled the trigger, thick gun smoke rose, and with a brief flash of fire, lead bullets shot out from the muzzle.
The pungent smoke was a little unbearable for Shermans and obscured his vision.
He was not a warrior. In the final analysis, he was just an ordinary man with a fanatical belief. He was old, had no guards around him, and had only an outdated flintlock rifle in his hand. Not to mention that Shermans had already fired, and this damn weapon was extremely troublesome to reload. Facing the demon hunter at such a close distance, he had no chance to fire a second shot.
Shermans suddenly felt annoyed and regretful. Yager had also advised him that he should change to a more advanced pistol. Although he was his own bodyguard and would ensure his safety, some unexpected situations were inevitable.
But Shermans rejected all of them. He couldn't explain what this feeling was. Shermans just didn't want to give up this weapon. Although it had many disadvantages, sometimes he felt that this thing was just like himself, an old thing that was out of place in this new era.
The next moment, the sharp spike sword pierced through the rising smoke, and the witcher came with a sword. He was very light, but Shermans was already blinded by his old age, and the shot just now did not hit him at all.
Looking at the brave demon hunter, for a moment Shermans thought he was back in the Cathedral of St. Naro, reciting the sacred prayer under the protection of the demon hunters.
The intense pain brought Shermans back to his senses. The spiked sword scratched his arm, causing him to loosen the flintlock in his hand. It seemed that he did not want to kill himself, otherwise the sword would have pierced his chest directly.
"Demon Hunter... Why are you here?"
Shermans took a deep breath. As an honorable cardinal and a believer protected by everyone, he had not felt the so-called pain for a long time. This pain was so intense, yet it made him feel that he was alive, truly alive.
The witcher was obviously not prepared to answer Shermans' words. He did not continue to attack, but just looked at him coldly.
"Is it the Purification Agency..."
Shermans whispered that there was only one situation in which the Demon Hunters appeared here: the Purification Agency gave up cooperating with the exiles and turned to work with the Evangelical Church, and he was undoubtedly the best bargaining chip to exchange for benefits.
"No... I won't accept that."
As Shermans spoke, he reached out to grab the pen on the table.
Everyone is bound by his own will, abides by the iron rules he sets for himself, and is willing to sacrifice his life for them.
The same was true for Shermans. He could endure exile and Miguel's crazy plans, but the only thing he could not tolerate was the man under the crown. He would never allow a man like Seni Lothair to become Pope, and he would never fall into his hands.
Although he had a strong will, his body was already old. Before Shermans could stab the pen into his throat, the witcher stopped him with a punch. Tormented by the pain, he twisted weakly on the ground.