The snowstorm swept over the route of the train, a heavy gray curtain enveloping the cold ground, with a pitifully short visual distance and extreme low temperatures. Even breathing that bone-chilling cold seemed to freeze one's heart and lungs.

Fierce steam burst from the train's engine, condensing into ice crystals before dispersing. It was a new model Lorenzo had never seen, the train's combustion chamber was half open, and as it sped, endless sparks scattered along, akin to the only light in this cold night.

Only a few carriages could shield against the snowstorm. Most of this train's carriages were open containers, hidden under dark green waterproof cloth, unseen beneath it. Hard snowflakes flew like speeding ice blades, striking continuously as if a steel rain was descending.

Lorenzo's figure slowly appeared in sight, perhaps due to the strong winds atop the carriage. He seemed to sway unsteadily, and through the snow curtain, Lawrence could barely discern that gray shadow.

A crimson robe hung heavily with a wooden box on the back.

"You did well, child. I'm increasingly curious about who you are, there's no one named Lorenzo Holmes among the Demon Hunters."

Throughout this prolonged confrontation, Lawrence had already learned Lorenzo's name... But Demon Hunters are nameless, though it reminded him of someone from long ago, the age of this Demon Hunter didn't match, and he was quite intrigued.

"So who exactly are you?"

Lawrence's voice was absorbed by the raging snowstorm, but with a Demon Hunter's hearing, Lorenzo still heard it clearly.

"Just a mere survivor, randomly named... It carries no meaning, Dean."

In the gray-blue eyes, something pondered, Lorenzo's voice was languid, carried by the wind to Lawrence's ears.

The Demon Hunter casually glanced around, sometimes beginning to fancy himself. Making this place the battlefield of death was just too perfect.

A pitch-black python wandered across the pale earth, stirring snow waves several meters high, leaving gray trails. In such a terrifying snowstorm, these tracks would be covered in less than ten minutes, as if no one had ever been here.

It seemed like the whole world's snow was pouring at this moment, isolating Lorenzo and others from the world. Moonlight was obstructed by snow clouds, everything like the gray after death.

This was the train to the Netherworld, passengers were all those ghosts who had long since died.

The two stood atop the carriage. Due to the narrow area, they had very little space to maneuver laterally, only able to advance or retreat.

"Shall we begin then?"

Lawrence asked.

No vengeful fury, no hateful curses, he just calmly asked, as ordinary as daily greetings.

"Alright."

Lorenzo's response echoed in the wind.

Fury at its peak instead became an unrestrainable calm, without any pre-battle passionate roars. At this moment, besides action, no words could express the burning rage.

Like the ending of ancient stories, where the evil ghosts meet on a narrow path.

Lawrence gripped the Nail Sword tightly, the tip slightly downward, resembling a crouching tiger. As another storm passed between them, a deafening roar resonated through the blizzard.

The crimson figure was as agile as a leopard, the burgeoning Secret Blood inflating his body. Withered muscles revived, as if time was reversing on Lawrence.

The Nail Sword glimmered with terrifying cold light, tearing through countless snowflakes.

But beyond the fading snow curtain, a glimmer appeared. Then several aluminothermic bombs blazed through the snow curtain, aimed directly at Lawrence.

"This isn't enough! Lorenzo!"

The power of Shangdafeng surged, fine red lines had already appeared in Lawrence's eyes. He directly swung the Nail Sword. Metal collided with the burning aluminothermic bombs. Its immense force forcibly deviated the destined trajectory, the fire vanished into the snow curtain, his speed unaffected as he continued charging forward.

The gray shadow drew closer until Lawrence's Nail Sword cleaved out a terrifying cold light, splitting it directly in two.

But as the concealing snowstorm passed, he realized he had hit an aluminothermic rifle, and Lorenzo had already shifted position.

Then a dreadful future flashed in his mind, Lawrence desperately raised the Nail Sword, followed by the Folding Blade emerging from the blizzard, slashing downwards.

Steel clashed, and the scattered sparks vanished instantly.

Lorenzo feigned with the Folding Blade, attempting to deceive Shangdafeng's bizarre foresight ability. Meanwhile, Lawrence followed Lorenzo's feint, parrying the sword. But midway, Lorenzo suddenly shifted, slashing horizontally at Lawrence.

Without hesitation, upon realizing he was fooled, Lawrence simply went with it, counter-slashing at Lorenzo, attempting a mutual hit.

Weapons crossed paths, blood splattered.

No pause existed, the sound of splitting air erupted again, the Demon Hunters clashed in fierce combat.

Lawrence's aggressive intent continued pushing, repeatedly advancing and swinging the sword, the Nail Sword swept over his head, crashing down powerfully. Lorenzo instinctively retreated while slanting the blade, the sharp edges clashed, erupting in a sharp resounding clash. The descending Nail Sword slid along the Folding Blade's angle, and at that moment, Lorenzo directly slashed upwards, the icy sharp light drew a streak of blood.

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