Like hell reborn, everything was twisted and chaotic. Under the influence of the hallucination, everything seemed to come alive. Countless faces sprouted from it, each bearing a different expression, screaming in agony.
The short figure looked just like a gaunt wraith. Under the hallucination, the straight rapier twisted like a living white snake.
This had once been an arena. The gladiators stood in the shadowy depths, listening to the cheers from above as the lift's chains tightened, bearing them up into the first glimmer of light.
Now, everything here was so much like it had been back then. The two of them were blood-soaked warriors, and only one could survive.
Without warning, the rapier came hurtling in. The swordsmanship was as incomplete as Sabo himself. Lorenzo could make out a few traces of technique, but it seemed more like something Sabo had stolen and then adapted with his own skills.
The blades clashed, their sharp ring rattling Lorenzo's eardrums. He gripped the hilt tightly, then slid his Cane Sword to one side.
This was a technique known in swordsmanship as a deflection. At the instant the blades clashed, you changed the angle of your blade to redirect the force. The opponent's blade would be knocked off course. Of course, the point of this technique wasn't just to defend; it was to build momentum while doing so. The opponent couldn't recover their blade's force, which slowed their guard, and the opening created by that delay was a deadly weakness.
Lorenzo saw that fatal opening. The rapier swept past his side, and his Cane Sword rose with it before crashing down in a vicious, powerful strike like the blade of a guillotine.
Sabo had no time to recover. His short body twisted forcefully, wrenching up the rapier, and sparks burst in a dazzling spray.
Sabo leaped nimbly backward and stared at Lorenzo, shaken. The enormous force had numbed his arm. It was hard to imagine that a detective could possess such strength.
The exchange ended in Lorenzo's victory.
Sabo lowered his eyes to his rapier. A clear notch marred the blade—that was Lorenzo's doing. If his Cane Sword had been a little heavier, like a regular sword, that strike would have taken Sabo's head along with his rapier.
"Do priests have to learn swordsmanship too?"
This was far beyond anything a detective should know, let alone a priest.
"In Florence, being a priest is essentially a social rank. It's like those Temple Knights. Most of them were priests before they were knighted."
Lorenzo slowly raised his Cane Sword, its tip lowered and pointed forward. It was one of the stances in swordsmanship.
"Courage, strength, skill, and... cunning!"
Few people knew that these were the four principles of swordsmanship: the courage to swing your blade, the strength to split steel, the skill to kill, and the cunning to strike treacherously. When all was said and done, swordsmanship was the art of killing. The so-called glory was nothing but a fig leaf people used to comfort themselves after a kill.
He strode forward, and his sword fell like a bolt of lightning.
It was the whistle of a blade parting the air. Twisted by the hallucination, it sounded like the wail of the soul about to die beneath it.
Sabo's short figure stretched into a gaunt silhouette. He knew he couldn't withstand this strike, but while he was still thinking, the white light came down.
A cloud of red dust exploded as the sword fell, and within it, the treacherous rapier struck.
The Cane Sword barely caught the attack, but the rapier was like a snake. When its first strike failed, it twisted strangely and stabbed Lorenzo.
The two fought in the disorienting hallucination, roaring like beasts.
The black suit was slashed open, and a large spill of blood followed. But after that strike, Lorenzo suddenly surged forward instead of retreating. In his distorted field of vision, he reached out and clamped a hand around the white snake.
Lorenzo had caught the swift rapier. Sabo was startled, seemingly surprised that Lorenzo could keep up with his blade under these conditions. But that was all. The blade's edge was a broken, saw-toothed mess. If Sabo pulled it free quickly, he could cut Lorenzo's palm clean off.
Sabo yanked hard, but the blade didn't budge in Lorenzo's grip. His weakness was his lack of strength, and Lorenzo clamped down on the blade with all his might. Then he raised his Cane Sword.
Before firearms and cannons dominated the battlefield, it had belonged to warhorses and knights clad in iron. Unlike in novels, where the slightest touch wounded and a single strike killed, knights' duels hundreds of years ago had been clumsy affairs. Two men would put on dozens of pounds of iron like metal cans and crash into each other.
With the smelting techniques of the time, sword blades couldn't pierce that heavy armor. Swords were mostly symbols of status; the truly useful weapons were blunt instruments that crushed your organs. But even in those days, there were people who devoted themselves to swordsmanship, learning how to break armor with nothing but a blunt sword.
This was one such technique: grab your enemy's weapon, accepting a cut to your hand in exchange for their life.
Lorenzo gripped the blade and pulled it toward himself, then raised his Cane Sword. It was a guaranteed hit—unless Sabo abandoned his weapon. But once he did, those few remaining fingers of his would be no match for Lorenzo. With a hand like that, he couldn't even fire a gun.
The short figure looked like a child. The Cane Sword came down with a mournful whistle, landing with perfect precision—but striking the ground.
Confusion lingered in Lorenzo's mind for only an instant. He realized the hallucination had misled his judgment. A moment later, the blurred black shadow rolled away. Sabo's grip on the rapier loosened, and he abandoned the weapon.
That was no good sign. Though Lorenzo had known him for less than an hour, he already understood what kind of man Sabo was. Sabo had nearly lost all his fingers just to win. A desperate man like that wouldn't give up. If he let go of his rapier, it could only mean he had another weapon.
Sabo spun rapidly. He might have been deformed, but at close quarters, his short stature was now lethally effective.
A searing pain tore through Lorenzo's back. Just as he'd suspected, Sabo had another weapon: a blade fixed to his elbow. He had no fingers, but he still had joints, and every one of them was deadly.
"You'd have a brighter future as a swordsmanship instructor than as a detective."
Sabo praised him, but his attacks were merciless. Like a spinning whirlwind, he left several wounds on Lorenzo in just a few breaths.
"No need. Swordsmanship is nothing but a relic of a bygone age."
Lorenzo's voice was cold. He showed no hint of fear.
He suddenly remembered a night in Florence long ago. His swordsmanship instructor had been drinking and weeping. When Lorenzo asked what was wrong, the man said he was thinking of his own teacher. By then, firearms had been modified again and again until they were devastatingly powerful. The old master had told him that the age of swordsmanship was over, that firearms and cannons would rule the battlefield, and that swordplay would become no more than entertainment for the nobility.
Bearing the pain in his hand, he raised both swords and slashed down hard. He swung in a wide arc, forcing Sabo backward through the warped hallucination. Then Lorenzo hurled the rapier in his hand, trying to pierce Sabo.
"Why? It'd be such a shame for a skill like that to die out."
Sabo still thought he could kill Lorenzo. To him, Lorenzo's move had been a mistake. With the few fingers he had left, he easily hooked the rapier as it came flying. He spun it through a few flourishes, and the sword returned to his hand. Only then did Sabo notice that Lorenzo had raised his weapon.
Blood poured freely, soaking the short grip of the Shotgun. Whether because of the hallucination or something else, the weapon seemed alive, drinking Lorenzo's blood. Its intricate patterns seemed to come to life.
"Because the times have changed, Sabo."
Lorenzo's voice was hoarse. To get a clear shot at Sabo, he had first thrown away the rapier. As it flew along its trajectory, he struggled to correct his aim, then pulled the trigger.
The times had changed. The old age was gone for good. You either accepted your fate or died.
A cone of buckshot burst out like a rain of arrows. A flash of fire flared at the muzzle, like a red dragon breathing flame. Sabo threw himself to one side with all his strength, raising his rapier to protect his heart. As long as his heart kept beating, he could keep fighting.
But it was all in vain. No matter how fast a person ran, they couldn't outrun bullets propelled by gunpowder.
After the deadly exchange, half of Sabo's body was drenched in blood, with blood welling from multiple bullet holes.
The force of the pellets stopped him in his tracks. His movements slowed.
Lorenzo pulled the trigger again. Thunder roared again and again until Sabo's body was torn to pieces. His already ruined body teetered as the bullets' impact drove him backward. At last, he leaned on his rapier, barely managing to stand at the edge of the platform.
"Looks like I win after all."
Lorenzo had emptied the Shotgun. He slowly lowered it, his gaze cold.
Sabo hung his head and coughed up blood. The real pain kept him frighteningly clear-headed. Though he was on the verge of death, he suddenly let out a hoarse laugh, his voice infused with an indescribable, uncanny quality. He looked at Lorenzo.
"This isn't over yet, detective," he said like a stubborn child.
"But you're about to die."
The figure looked so wretched that Lorenzo couldn't imagine him surviving.
"Yeah. That's what makes it so terrifying, isn't it? Death is far from the end of the story."
He struggled to straighten up. As Sabo moved, even more blood poured from the bullet holes. It was hard to imagine a human body could hold so much blood. It seemed endless.
"Run, great detective. Facing it is like flipping a coin."
Behind that strange steel, his eyes were filled with madness. He studied Eve nearby. Terror filled the girl's eyes as she clutched the coin tightly.
"One side is death, the other madness."
Insomnia really is brutal.
Before you continue