"You are one of the evil ones, deserving to be conquered!"

Another unexpected response for the man, who was quite satisfied with the night’s encounter.

"So, you mean to say that one day, you’ll kill me, the one who granted you a second life—with the power I bestowed upon you?"

York did not answer; he simply dragged the chains and stood up stubbornly. For a moment, the man almost didn’t recognize York.

Gami buried a kind yet foolish Priest alive, while the man dug out a monster filled with rage.

"I look forward to that day," the man said, immensely pleased, "As for my name..."

"You can call me Regent King."

...

In the shabby, dilapidated little house, Gami illuminated by the dim oil lamp, busily packed countless stolen goods into a bundle. Outside, thunder and rain poured down, his expression both tense and excited.

Gami had finally done it; he had finally killed York.

"Hahaha! Priest, I’ve wanted to do this for a long time," Gami laughed uncontrollably.

Gami hated York, and this hatred had almost turned into loathing. Gami detested the Priest’s sanctimonious demeanor, his ascetic lifestyle, and his attempts to dissuade Gami through various admonitions for the sake of charity...

"Hypocritical bastard!"

Cursing out loud, but Gami knew York was not hypocritical; his every word and action were as sincere as his devout heart.

Gami simply couldn’t stand York’s solar-like presence, under whose shine his own ugliness lay exposed.

Fortunately, as long as he left Gray Stone Town, Gami wouldn’t have to hide anymore.

Sooner or later someone would discover the Priest’s body. With the Priest’s prestige in Gray Stone Town, the sheriff would surely search with all his might. At that time, Gami’s situation would become exceedingly dangerous, and he must leave here overnight, and flee far away.

Thinking of the good life ahead, a smile crept onto Gami’s face uncontrollably, but when he thought of York, a pang from the remnants of his conscience still pricked his heart.

That night, for a moment, Gami truly wanted to repent sincerely, but he was fed up with the poverty-stricken days. To change his fate, he would do anything.

With the money pouch filled, Gami painstakingly hefted the heavy backpack, and at that moment a gust of wind blew open the door, cold, humid air invaded the room, followed by the rolling thunder, dividing the world into black and white.

Amidst the clamor, Gami heard another breath.

Gami decisively abandoned his burden, which would slow him down, turning to draw the Short Knife, brandishing it threateningly, while his other hand reached to his lower back, gripping the gun handle hidden there.

"Who!"

Gami looked at the open door, a thin ghostly shadow stood there. He couldn’t see the face, but in the gleam of the light, the Cross pinned to the chest was now emitting a shining glow.

"York... Priest?"

Gami felt his heart turn cold. He had smashed York’s head with a shovel and buried him alive in the ground, but why was he here?

How was he not dead?

The figure let go of the hand, accompanied by the clattering sound, thorn-like chains fell, disregarding Gami’s reaction, he grabbed the chain, winding it round and round his wrists and fists, thorns pierced through flesh, and shortly his fists were already blood-soaked.

Similarly, his fists were now covered with thorns.

The figure stepped forward, the extreme concentration brought fear which sounded the alarm in Gami’s mind. He decisively drew the gun, firing; the bullet struck the figure’s chest, bursting into a bloom of blood.

"What if you are again," Gami said frenziedly, "I just need to kill you one more time!"

Bullets hammered into the figure’s body like heavy punches, pushing him a step back, slight concaving of the body, but after a brief pause, he again stepped forward, with each step further compressing Gami’s sense of security.

Gami continuously pulled the trigger, emptying the bullets, and the figure’s silhouette seemed to be battered by successive punches, pausing several times.

Then continued forward.

As the distance lessened, the oil lamp gradually illuminated the face of the figure, and Gami saw York’s face once more, only unlike the kindly visage in memory, now York’s face was full of coldness and chill, along with a ghostly numb smile.

Gami swung the Short Knife, but York was faster, the chain whizzed by, striking Gami’s wrist brutally, the thorns tearing his skin apart, instantly leaving a mess of flesh and blood, under intense pain the Short Knife was knocked out of hand, lodged into a side plank.

"Gami."

York calling out Gami’s name, Gami clutching his wounded hand, tears streaming from the pain.

The wound of flesh and blood was perpetually sending a burning sting like being soaked in toxins, the twisted pain instantly consuming Gami’s entire arm, he was close to fainting from the pain.

A greater agony hit from the abdomen.

York tightened his fist, punching into Gami’s belly, thorns shredding his clothing, skin, flesh, violently pulling back to expose a bleeding intestine pouring out.

"You’re a Priest, York!"

Gami clutching his stomach, retreating repeatedly, stepping on his bundle, he fell, hitting the wall, the bundle tore open, countless gold coins and jewelry piling together, landing by Gami’s feet, stained with his blood.