Many times the skill of killing can also be called art.
This was said by a friend of Lorenzo a long time ago. He was a very flamboyant demon hunter who wielded an elegant rapier, had a handkerchief in his pocket, wore clean white gloves, and sprayed a lot of perfume on his body after every action.
Lorenzo once thought that this guy was just a narcissist with mysophobia, but later he discovered that this elegant demon hunter was actually an artist. His sword fighting skills were superb. Watching him kill the enemies was like watching a dance. After the dance, the enemies fell down powerlessly, and the scarlet blood was like the red flowers sprinkled by General Guan, but there was not a trace of blood on his body, just like the wind.
Thinking of this old friend was not a revolving door before his death, but Lorenzo suddenly realized that he had also reached the level of an artist. Look at his instantaneous reaction and game just now. The situation was instantly reversed by Lorenzo's counterattack. If that friend was there, he would definitely applaud for himself.
Lorenzo pulled out the new spiked sword from the briefcase hanging at his waist. He looked coldly at the burning white flame, waiting for the figure inside to disappear.
But the expected scene did not happen, instead it was the beginning of a nightmare.
Amidst the boiling pure white, a dark figure slowly walked out. Such scorching white flames seemed to wrap around him like clouds. He pulled out the spiked sword from his chest and threw it aside casually. Ed looked at Lorenzo with a hideous smile, and then the pure white similar to that of the fireworks kept expanding in his pupils, like a raging fire in the abyss, burning fiercely, and finally overflowing from the dark cage.
"Does it hurt?"
He looked at Lorenzo triumphantly, then raised the blade in his hand.
The previous sword strikes were too fast, like white light that could be grasped, and Lorenzo could not distinguish his weapon at all. But at this moment he saw it clearly, and then a burning pain like fire came from the wound on his shoulder.
The self-healing of the secret blood was suppressed. It seemed that some force prevented Lorenzo from healing himself. The wound was hideous and terrible.
"It's... Holy Silver."
Lorenzo saw the sword clearly and was terrified by the terrible truth.
The sword in Ed's hand only had a blade and a hilt, like a long silver spike, just like Lorenzo's spike sword... or to be more precise, the spike sword of the Demon Hunting Cult.
It has been used by the user for many years. Due to proper maintenance, the blade is still sharp, but there are many deep and shallow scratches on the originally smooth blade. I don't know how many enemies it has killed.
"Holy silver is an alchemical product of faith. Every great saint will devote himself to a burning iron furnace when he dies. His dying body will sing prayers while the roiling liquid silver swallows him up. After cooling, it will be processed by the alchemist and become a product called holy silver."
The madness in Ed's eyes gradually faded away, and he stroked the blade lightly with nostalgia and a little sadness.
"Demon Hunter, although this weapon is a powerful weapon against demons, it is also deadly to us."
"I know."
Lorenzo interrupted Ed and finally faced the enemy in front of him with mixed feelings.
"We are demon hunters, carrying secret blood, which essentially comes from demons. This means that we are actually a group of demons that can control demons."