Mr. Death in the Steam World

Melina closed her eyes and pressed her thumb on the mark on her wrist.

The flame flower vanished silently.

She opened her eyes, looked at her empty wrist, and remained silent for a long time.

Then she lowered her head and began searching for another flame on the altar.

She lived in the shantytown for twelve years, where she saw the torches lit by the miners, the furnace fires that burned day and night in the blast furnace, and the kerosene lamps in her neighbor's shack.

But not a single flame was lit for her.

She tried to find in her memory the fire she had lit for others.

The younger siblings the neighbor helped take care of, the half-bread of black bread given to Sai, the maps drawn in the stone building, the scratches etched on the walls day and night.

But she discovered that none of them were fire.

Fire is warm, bright, and can dispel the cold.

The things she gave away were too cold.

It was so cold that even she didn't feel it was warmth.

Melina stood on the altar, remaining silent for a long time.

The ritual determined that her mark had irreversibly disappeared.

This also means that she has lost her eligibility to be a candidate.

Melina turned around, stepped down from the altar, and walked step by step to Phils.

She looked up, staring blankly at Phils's face, then stepped back behind her, lowered her head, and remained silent.

Phils felt her eyes stinging. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but Melina just shook her head.

"Sister Phils," she said, "now that Sidwin and I have both lost our chance, you have to keep going."

"I wish you..." she pursed her lips, "I wish you success."

Phils bit her lip, took a deep breath, and turned to face the altar.

The fiery inscriptions on the crystal are still burning, awaiting the response of the final candidate.

She looked down at the flame flower mark on the back of her hand.

When was that fire started?

Was it in the labyrinth of Wonderland, when Moen stood in front of her and pulverized the Nightmare Cards one shot at a time?

Was it on the night the demons descended that she awoke from her coma and saw Moen sitting by her bedside, guarding her for a whole day and night?

Was it in the alley of Ironcrown City, when those drunken thugs blocked his way, and Moen punched one of them to the ground, saying, "I didn't gain power so that I could swallow my pride in front of those clowns?"

Still in the fire, the golden-red chain of light connected them, his magic flowed into her body, and her exhaustion flowed to him.

Maybe even earlier.

Perhaps that fire was already burning from the moment she first mustered the courage to place her hand on his back and guide him to perceive the magical circuit.

She just didn't know that at the time.

She raised her hand and looked at the flame flower on the back of her hand.

It had terrified her. She didn't want to be any kind of agent, and she hadn't begged to be chosen. Why should she be dragged into this kind of thing?

All fear is "me", all resentment is "me".

But now, looking down at the back of her hand, she suddenly smiled.

At some point, that mark had transformed from something that terrified her into something she wanted to protect.

It's not the mark itself, but the determination it represents.

She had been waiting for this moment for a long time.

Phils raised her right hand and gently ran her thumb across the back of her hand.

As gently as turning off a light.

The flame flower mark silently scattered into golden fragments of light, dancing for a moment on her fingertips like fireflies before vanishing into the air.

There was nothing left on the back of my hand.

She raised the same hand, palm up.

A tiny, orange flame ignited in her palm.

The flame was very small, not much bigger than a candle flame.

But it is warmer than all the flames in the world.

That was not a gift from Hesfield.

It wasn't obtained in a dream.

It wasn't given to her by anyone.

That was her own fire.

In the fire, she awakened the "Guardian Flame"—a flame that sought no reward but only to protect others.

The moment the flames rose, the ancient flame-shaped characters on the crystal lit up simultaneously.

This time, they didn't go out, they didn't flicker.

Like lit fuses, they spread in all directions from the surface of the crystal, along the patterns of the altar, along the twelve stone pillars, and along the cave walls, burning all the way.

The firelight illuminated the entire cave and the faces of everyone present.

Phils stood in the center of the altar, the flames in her palms burning ever brighter.

She looked up at Hesfield's eyes, which were made of flames.

"I extinguished it and then ignited it again. I did it."

Hesfield lowered his head and looked at the girl standing in the center of the altar.

What was reflected in those eternally unchanging fiery pupils?

Perhaps it was the first time in all these long years that a new flame had been seen.

Warm, bright, orange light.

Like the sunrise at dawn.

Hesfield raised his right hand.

A beam of fire shot from His fingertips, passing through the cavern's dome, through the rock strata, through the ruins of the mine, and through the smoke and dust of the shantytown.

It broke through the thick clouds above Ironcrown City and bloomed in the sky above the entire city.

A radiant glow.

The citizens of Ironcrown City leaned out of their windows, squinting as they gazed up at the unprecedented light in the sky.

The shareholders of the mining association put down their ledgers and looked at each other in bewilderment.

The refugees from the shantytown stood on the open ground to the east, some covering their mouths, some kneeling down.

The proprietress of the Swallow Inn stood at the door, still holding a mop in her hand, looking up at the orange light in the sky with her mouth wide open.

Old Sidwin stood by the window on the second floor of the manor, his hands resting on the windowsill, gazing at the light above the mine, and remained silent for a long time.

Catherine sat in the carriage, lifted the curtain and looked up at the sky, a relieved smile appearing on her lips.

Brad stood at the entrance of his mine, took off his hat, and bowed slightly in the direction of the light.

The light lasted for a long time.

It was long enough that everyone in Ironcrown City could clearly see its color.

Then it slowly closed up, like an upside-down flower, shrinking back from the sky into the depths of the mine, back into the cave, back into Phils's palm.

Hesfield's figure began to blur.

His gaze fell on Phils's face, and in those fiery pupils, He uttered His last words.

"My agent, may your flame never be extinguished."

The moment the words left his mouth, Hesfield's figure transformed into countless tiny sparks and vanished into the air.

The cave fell silent again.

Only the cluster of orange flames in the center of the altar remained burning.

It was small, bright, and warm.

Phils looked down at the fire in her palm and suddenly felt something swirling in her eyes.

She blinked hard, took a deep breath, and gathered the flame back into her palm.

He flashed a bright smile at everyone.

"Friends, I think I've succeeded."