The sound of waves, people, machinery, steam... It seems this world has always been like this, the ceaseless noise blending together. The Plague Doctor does not find it disturbing; instead, it feels like the breath of life, a world full of vigor, rather than lifeless and dull.

"Did you hold back your hand? Given your abilities, I had no chance to kill you... even if it was just one of your many bodies."

The Plague Doctor looked towards the northern intersection of sea and sky, beneath his brown coat were dense protrusions. As Secret Blood surged through him, his Self-Healing accelerated, and the empty sleeves were starting to gain some support.

"I suppose so. How does it feel to kill me? Is there a sense of achievement?"

Lawrence sat on another chair, separated from the Plague Doctor by a small table. He still wore that pitch-black mask, seeming calm and unhurried.

The two sat together, in peace, like old friends who hadn’t seen each other for a long time.

This transformation indeed felt somewhat abrupt and eerie. Clearly, they were locked in a life-and-death struggle minutes ago, and now it’s as if they’re sharing afternoon tea, the bloody battle seemingly just a casual scuffle.

"A sense of achievement? Impossible."

The Plague Doctor laughed self-mockingly. Were it not for Lawrence’s overly serious tone, he would have thought this guy was mocking him.

"It feels awful. Despite my efforts and tricks, even with you holding back, I killed you through a sneak attack," the Plague Doctor said, shaking his head, his voice full of helplessness. "I’m really only suited to be a Scholar; such fighting is not for me."

Apparently, Lawrence was driven to desperation, but the Plague Doctor knew well that if he took it seriously, fought with the intent to kill, he would not have walked out of that dark underground.

"But... did you let me go, Lawrence?"

He turned his head to look at Lawrence beside him. The pitch-black mask resembled the Abyss, from which blew a breeze carrying the scent of blood.

"I don’t know what made you change your mind, but at some moment before, you must have considered killing me, right?"

The Plague Doctor asked.

Lawrence stared ahead, thick steam rising from the Iron Armor ship. Soldiers lined up on it, waking the slumbering giant of steel, as it spewed smoke and raging fire roared beneath its iron body.

He didn’t rush to answer the Plague Doctor’s question but remained silent for a long time. Only when seagulls flew by and sea breezes brushed his face did he slowly say.

"Yes, in the beginning, I wanted to kill you. In some sense, you are stronger than me. With the knowledge in your mind, you could easily create a terrifying army."

His voice was as serious as before, Lawrence wasn’t joking. His sense of humor was virtually non-existent, almost pathetically sparse.

"That’s perhaps the difference between a Warrior and a Scholar—a Warrior can only solve the present, but a Scholar can forge the future..."

In the view soldiers walked to and fro, the entire Hearn Cathedral was strictly guarded, and Lawrence could easily become any one of them.

"Previously, when you stood with me, this army was under my command. But once you leave, it’s hard to ensure you won’t build such an army for someone else, like Ingwig; if they possess such power, coupled with steam technology, Gaulunaro would be defenseless."

Listening to him, the Plague Doctor felt a headache.

"You’ve always found it difficult to trust others, Lawrence. Your paranoia has turned you into this, making it difficult for those around you."

The Plague Doctor added.

"Well, come to think of it, you don’t have many people around you, so I guess I’m quite unlucky."

He thought for a moment and asked again.

"What made you change your mind? If you wanted, you have many ways to keep me there forever, instead of having this conversation here."

The Plague Doctor recalled the heart-stopping battle just now, he was practically dancing with the Death God, the slightest mistake would have turned him into the corpse falling into darkness.

But for some reason, Lawrence ultimately gave up. He let the Plague Doctor kill that body, and here he prepared clothes and Secret Blood, setting the chairs for a rare leisure chat together.

The Plague Doctor wondered if it was some sort of loyalty test. But why test one who’s about to leave? Shouldn’t it be at the time of joining?

"Probably it was your words at that time. No matter how slim the hope, you wanted to try. So it seems we are somewhat alike, essentially of the same kind."

Lawrence said, taking off the mask. Since he put it on, he barely removed it, making him seem rather ordinary now.

Indeed, under the mask the face had become irrelevant, for what truly represented Lawrence was the mask itself. Now removed, underneath was a plain face, one the Plague Doctor vaguely remembered. He recalled he was roughly one of the soldiers in the army, but now he was Lawrence.

The army is Lawrence, and Lawrence is the army.

"What, you developed empathy for me? A monster empathizing with another monster?" The Plague Doctor shuddered, "Wow, that’s terrifying, like an absurd tale."

Lawrence remained expressionless and was not joking.

"More importantly, it’s what you said before. You thought you would die..."