Warhammer Divine Throne

He was old.

His body was no longer young, his movements had become slow, and just now he had missed the best chance to kill Belte. The Demon Hunting Master wasn't sure whether his own declining strength and severe blood loss would still give him another chance to kill Belte.

If he were ten years younger, he was confident that with his skills and strength, killing Belte would be a piece of cake.

But now... the pain and weakness from his wounds were impacting his nerves. Jacob's stamina was no longer what it was in his prime — the Demon Hunting Master knew his opportunities were few.

"Teacher, I'll give you one last chance to serve the Supreme Lord with me!" Belte's face was contorted with tumors from his injuries, which were worse than Jacob's.

The only answer was the sound of silence and angry breathing.

"It seems there's no other answer." Belte's blood-red leather jacket was already in tatters. "Do you really think Chayerin can escape, my teacher?"

"What?" Jacob's expression changed.

"Those mercenaries are just waiting outside." Belte's words seemed sincere, and he had no reason to lie.

Thinking about how Belte's faith was in the Blood God Khorne, Jacob's heart unexpectedly felt a sense of relief, despite it being quite absurd, but Jacob knew this was why Belte hadn't let everyone rush in at once; followers of the other three Evil Gods didn't care about numbers, only followers of the Blood God valued martial valor and survival of the fittest. That alone gave him the chance to duel Belte.

The flame flickered out, leaving only the crackling of ashes, with the remaining embers struggling to endure.

Just like the current situation of the Demon Hunting Master.

"Too much hot blood has been spilled, too many lives have been lost in the pursuit of you, how can the remaining people bear such hatred? So, it's now or never, Belte, let's end this." Jacob stood up, the Demon Hunting Master had made his decision.

"Come on, Jacob, let's continue our unfinished battle, my master requires an offering, and you are my gift to him."

"Come on!"

The embers of the great fire gradually dissipated in the air!

......

Marinburg, Shield Coin District, near the Ocean Church.

The bustling crowd filled the street, amidst the noisy sounds of buying and selling.

It's already mid-November, the weather becoming increasingly cold, and even Marinburg was seeing a decline in people flow. The cold weather led many well-off merchants and nobles to halt their current work and enter a holiday phase.

In the "Golden Dora" tailor shop, Laine was admiring the new outfit he'd bought for Veronica. It's a dark black enamel floral embroidered black rose dress, quite expensive, with one outfit costing dozens of gold coins. However, Laine's face showed no pain; instead, he smiled and said, "It's truly beautiful, Veronica, this outfit suits you perfectly, let's buy it!"

"Do you think this outfit looks good?" Veronica stepped out in slippers, turning in front of Laine.

"No attire can compare to your beauty; your beauty never changes because of clothing." Laine immediately realized the trap in her words, so he responded, "You just make this outfit look uniquely alluring, like the blend of coffee and milk, where the coffee is precious, not the milk."

"Haha~ how many girls have you deceived with your sweet words?" Veronica didn't express it directly, but her tone revealed that she was delighted, quite delighted indeed.

Laine was about to say something, but a burst of noise from outside the street reached his ears: "What's going on? It's been noisy outside for a while now?"

"It's like this, Mr. Laine, a Mercenary Corps was sued by a ship owner to the Ocean Church over a payment dispute, and now the Ocean Church has sent out Sea God Knights to handle the matter." The shop assistant whispered, "Please forgive the inconvenience."

"If they're going to argue, at least do it off the street!" Laine leaned his head out the window, only to be stunned by the scene before him.

Isn't that the female mercenary from the Blood Axe Mercenary Corps, Amelia?