Gun of Ashes

On a street corner late at night, under the dim yellow light, the atmosphere inside the tavern was very calm, with only the strong reek of alcohol echoing through the air.

This was a newly opened tavern; probably because it hadn’t been advertised much and was in a remote location, there were very few patrons inside. There was almost no conversation either; everyone sat in their own patch of shadow, tasting the spirits, then, once rested, stepping back out into the wind and rain.

Lorenzo sat by the bar. The sword bag filled with Nail Swords hung at his side, exposing a cold, gleaming corner that struck fear into anyone who noticed it.

Today he seemed to have done nothing at all, yet felt as though he had gone through many things.

Lorenzo stared at the liquor in his glass; on the deep-space-colored surface, his face was reflected back at him.

He drained it in one gulp. Lorenzo felt hardly any drunkenness; the Demon Hunter’s physique allowed this kind of numbness to last only a very short time. He couldn’t even manage to truly let himself go.

"You look very troubled."

The bartender leaned over. With so few customers, he was quite free.

"It’s not that bad, I just keep feeling that something is off, like when I lost myself back then."

Lorenzo answered lazily, lifting his head and giving the bartender a hint of a smile.

"The new place isn’t bad, Heracles."

"I think so too. It’s a bit out of the way, but at least it’s far from the Lower City District." Heracles stood with his hands on his hips, looking at his new place with satisfaction.

"The Lower City District is a jumble of all sorts, easy to make money in, but trouble’s constant. Those bastards brawl in the tavern every now and then, sometimes a few even end up dead. It’s really too much of a headache."

Feeling the harmony in the tavern, with the phonograph slowly playing a soft tune, Heracles savored the quiet beauty.

"What about the old place?" Lorenzo asked.

"Sold it to someone else."

As Heracles spoke, he picked up several bottles, pouring them back and forth. Different-colored liquors mixed together in a glass, fine bubbles constantly rising to the surface. The color was an inky green, like the drool of some monster.

Once he finished, Heracles pushed the glass toward Lorenzo. Lorenzo glanced at it; though he really didn’t want to, for the sake of the free tab Heracles was offering, he still accepted this "whatever happens".

"So, Mr. Holmes, surely you didn’t honor me with your presence just to scrounge a few drinks?"

Heracles inquired, and at that moment, the sound of light, tiny footsteps came. Very faint, but they couldn’t escape Lorenzo’s ears.

Polo leapt up in a single bound, landing on the bar. Lorenzo tried to reach out and grab it, but it sprang again, hopping onto Heracles’ head.

It let out a series of squeaks, as if mocking Lorenzo.

"Damn rat."

Lorenzo cursed under his breath, then looked at Heracles and said, uncertainly.

"I keep feeling... like I’ve forgotten something."

"The Memory Palace. I taught you that," Heracles said.

It was a wondrous palace, with countless corridors and doors. The bookshelves in its rooms were piled high with volumes that meticulously recorded every event of one’s life, awaiting their master’s perusal.

Lorenzo had retrieved his lost memories with Heracles’ help.

"No, this is a bit different. At the World’s End I encountered an Anti-Meme. At the time I was also trying to use the Memory Palace to avoid these..."

Lorenzo’s voice gradually faded, as he recalled that illusory scene in his mind.

The splendid palace, under the influence of the Anti-Meme, kept collapsing and crumbling. Lorenzo sprinted along the paths of memory and found the room related to Froki Willgardson, but the walls there were utterly blank, and the door ahead had long since been erased.

"The Anti-Meme can erase even the Memory Palace—erase it completely."

There was a hint of fear in Lorenzo’s voice. This power had no ferocious physical form, nor did it bring tormenting pain, yet its insidious nature was enough to keep anyone awake at night.

"Take you, for example, Heracles—if you were erased, every memory I have of you would vanish, and anything that could prove you ever existed would be distorted, like an author with a single mighty stroke wiping a character completely from the book."

Heracles’ expression turned cold. From just these few sentences he could already grasp how terrifying this power was, but what mattered most was Lorenzo’s reaction.

"At first I thought I hadn’t been affected by the Anti-Meme, but the longer I stayed in Old Dunling, the more I could feel that faint sense of something off. It’s like... my life isn’t supposed to be like this. I feel like I’m missing something, but I can’t remember."

Lorenzo spoke, his expression tinged with pain.

Something had been forgotten by him, something important, immensely important, yet no matter what Lorenzo did, he simply couldn’t recall it.

"Are you sure you haven’t been affected by the Anti-Meme?" Heracles asked.

"I... I haven’t been affected."

Lorenzo hesitated for a moment, then steeled himself. At the World’s End, he had been continuously injecting large doses of Florun Potion; to avoid forgetting anything, he had remained on constant alert.

He once more revisited the past, images whirling before his eyes.

"Then could it be that you made yourself forget these things?" Heracles wondered.

"I made... myself forget them?"

Listening to Heracles’ words, Lorenzo’s expression grew slightly distant.

"Yes. I don’t know exactly what you went through, but it’s very possible, isn’t it? Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve done that."

Heracles wiped the glasses clean and then hung them on the rack above.

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