Chapter 72 Lawrence, An Entire Circus

“Tick-tock, my friend,” Lawrence smiled, “Time waits for nobody, I’m afraid.”

As the stomps seemed to be coming in the general direction of that specific hall, he finally made his decision as he retrieved the ring of keys from his pocket, scurrying to unlock the door.

Though of course, he didn’t know which key it was that unlocked the cell.

Shit…! He thought.

The footsteps were growing faster; seeming suspicious of the jingle of keys now.

As he struggled, the clown-resembling man didn’t seem worried at all despite the boy holding the literal keys to his survival in his hands.

“Try the copper key, my friend,” Lawrence suggested.

“–” He gulped and nodded.

As he picked out the copper key, it slid into the lock perfectly, but the footsteps had grown even more rapid now just as he turned the lock and opened the door. The screeching of old metal from the cell being opened seemed to fully ignite the unknown figure’s suspicions.

“Time is of the essence,” Lawrence told him.

“I know…!”

He quickly got into the cell, rushing over as he now had to find the right key that worked for the cuffs around the man’s wrists.

The anxiety flooding his veins made him impatient and unsteady as his hands trembled, making it harder to rummage through the keys and try them out.

“Who’s there?!” A deep, gravelly voice boomed from down the corridor.

“–!” He began to sweat.

It was almost eerie just how calm the imprisoned man was; Lawrence wasn’t shaking in the slightest or exuding a single drop of sweat from his snow-white skin, simply watching the boy as he tried to unlock his cuffs.

By some miracle, he found the right key that slid right into the lock.

Yes! He thought.

Before he turned it, he looked up at the man’s right hand, noticing the symbol etched onto the back of his hand. The sight of it made his stomach drop, but he had already turned the cuffs, unlocking them by instinct as they fell from the man’s wrists.

It was a brand of one of the Ten Divine Styles: a horned jester with three stars around it.

A ‘Chaos God Style User’…Noble-rank…It’s the same style as that man–Rubert…! He realized.

More than ever, his heart rapidly thumped in his chest as his blood frequently switched from boiling to icy cold, unknowing of who he had just freed.

Did I…mess up? He thought.

As he was distracted by this discovery, he didn’t even realize the stomps had grown so close until just then, glancing back to see an enraged man rushing into the cell with a claymore in hand.

The man was dressed in oak-brown, leather armor with a bushy beard and eyes full of indiscriminate rage at the young boy.

“Who the fuck are you?!” The man yelled.

At that moment, his mind was at an impasse, not knowing what to do as he felt he had two enemies on two fronts.

But, he was surprised as the orange-haired, jester-like man stood up, moving between him and the hideout guard with a smile.

“Huh?” He let out.

“Many thanks, my friend,” Lawrence said, “–Allow me to enact my end of the deal.”

In a mysterious act, the enigmatic, snow-skinned man parted his jaw, opening it wide to both the surprise of him and the hideout guard. There was a muffled jingle of bells that sounded out, but its source was unknown.

He’s a Chaos God Style user, isn’t he…? If I remember, it’s the most unorthodox style there is–there isn’t anything like it, he thought.

And those thoughts were proven correct as surfacing from the man’s bowels and protruding from his throat, reaching out of his mouth, was the colorful handle of a sword.

The pommel was shaped like a “cap and bells”–the iconic hat of a jester with bells on each end of the pommel, jingling as the man wrapped his pale fingers around the rainbow-clothed handle of his regurgitated sword.

“What the–?” The guard let out.

But, before the claymore-wielding man could react, Lawrence drew the saliva-slick sword from his throat completely in a quick, unexpected motion, cleaving through the guard in a swift movement.

The blade itself was shaped abnormally; the steel curved like a wriggling worm, seeming impractical, at the very least.

“–” He watched, standing there like a statue.

It was done so swiftly that it took him a moment to register what had even happened as his mouth was left agape and the whites of his eyes on display from shock.

From the slash of the regurgitated blade, the hideout guard had stopped moving–slowly revealing the damage inflicted by the sword strike as his upper-body slid off from his waist, having been cleanly bisected.

“…Now, I was meaning to ask,” Lawrence looked down at him, still holding a smile, “What’s your name, my friend?”

Is he an enemy? He helped me…He’s a Chaos God Style user–are they all bad people? I was never able to find out much information on it. He seems weird, but…he doesn’t seem intent on fighting me, he thought.

“–” He was left speechless for a moment before finally responding, “Emilio.”

After hearing his name, Lawrence smiled before opening his mouth wide again, leaning his head back as he slid his wriggly, snake-like blade back down his throat, storing it away inside of his body in such an unnatural fashion.

What is this guy…?! Is he even human?! He questioned.

Lawrence let out an exhale before stretching his limbs as he cracked his knuckles, his neck, and bent in abnormally flexible ways–contorting his joints around in a disgusting fashion while the boy simply watched in awe and horror.

Once the clown-like man finished his stretches, he bowed down politely in front of him, “Allow me to properly introduce myself: I am Lawrence Vi Vavadago! A humble traveler of this delightful world!–Though, I found myself in quite the unsavory predicament, up until you, my friend, came and freed me from it. To that, I owe my utmost gratitude. My life is yours, Sir Emilio.”