Mr. Death in the Steam World

Moen stood below the altar, looking at Phils.

Arthur leaned against the cave wall, a slight smile on his lips.

Emily knelt down in front of Melina, blowing away the remaining bits of the mark from her wrist.

Melina stood behind them, her light brown eyes reflecting the last embers of the altar.

Vera stood alone in the shadows at the cave entrance, saying nothing.

Phils stepped down from the altar and walked up to Melina.

"Melina."

Melina looked up at her.

"Come with me." She held out her hand.

"I won't say things like 'From now on, we'll be your family.' That's not something you can do just by talking."

"But I can guarantee that with you by my side, you will never be locked in a stone building again, never be treated as a tool, and never feel inferior."

As Melina looked at the hand, she suddenly remembered a long time ago, when her mother was still alive.

At that time, they lived in a slightly decent shack on the edge of the shantytown.

Winter was cold, and the light from the kerosene lamp was dim. My mother would mend her clothes under the lamp, the stitches crooked and uneven.

She was too young then to remember what her mother looked like.

But she remembered the hand holding the needle and thread in the light of the kerosene lamp.

Melina took Phils's hand.

Warmth passed from Phils's palms, gradually warming Melina's icy fingers.

"Sister Phils."

"Um?"

"Your hands are so warm."

Phils paused for a moment, then laughed.

She released her grip and instead put her arm around Melina's shoulder, leading her toward Moen.

"Let's go, it's time to go back."

Moen watched them approach, a slight smile playing on his lips.

"Congratulations, Agent."

Fils rolled her eyes at him. "Don't call me that, it sounds weird."

"What's his name? Lord of Flames? God of the Hearth? Terminator of Winter?"

"Shut up."

Arthur straightened up from the rock wall, sheathed his longsword, and scanned every corner of the cave.

"This matter isn't over yet. The Truth Society members are still up there. We need to go up and check on the situation."

At the very moment Phils completed the ceremony, the battle on the periphery continued.

As Moen and his group returned to the surface along the mine tunnel, the sight before them made them all stop in their tracks.

The night sky above the mine was torn to shreds by countless magical beams of light.

Holy light and magic clashed fiercely beneath the clouds, each encounter accompanied by a deafening roar.

The air blast poured down from the sky, scattering gravel and slag on the ground.

"Damn it." Arthur looked up at the two figures locked in combat in the sky, his brow furrowed. "The Archbishop is still fighting him."

Moen remained silent, his gaze sweeping across the battlefield toward the outskirts of the mine.

There, the Church's fighting monks are battling the remnants of the Truth Society.

The sounds of swords clashing against magic filled the air as wounded soldiers were dragged off the front lines one after another, the air thick with the stench of blood and burning flesh.

He turned to look at his teammates behind him. Phils had just completed the ritual, her magic was greatly depleted, and her face was frighteningly pale.

Melina was shielded behind her, her light brown eyes filled with fear.

Emily crouched beside them, using her magical senses to scan the situation on the battlefield.

"You guys stay here," Moen said. "Arthur and I will go over there."

Fils opened her mouth as if to say something, but in the end she just nodded.

Moen and Arthur exchanged a glance and simultaneously rushed towards the battlefield.

Moen regretted it after running only a few steps.

In the sky, the bespectacled man suddenly broke free from the archbishop's control.

His meticulously tailored black robe was torn in several places, revealing the rune-covered magic armor underneath.

His gaze swept down from the sky, passing over everyone on the battlefield, and precisely locked onto Moen.

"you--"

The bespectacled man's voice came from above, carrying an undisguised anger.

"You're the one who messed up my chessboard like this."

Moen's pupils suddenly contracted.

He could feel a magical power far beyond his capacity gathering at the bespectacled man's fingertips.

That force wasn't very strong; the archbishop's restraint prevented him from going all out.

But for a first-order magician, that's more than enough.

There's no escaping it.

Moen's intuition was screaming wildly, but his body couldn't react in time.

He gritted his teeth and made a decision in that instant.

"Deep in the mine," begins.

A dense darkness exploded from beneath his feet, like ink dripping into clear water, spreading wildly in all directions.

The bespectacled man's vision was completely taken away in that instant.

Not only sight, but also magical perception, heat perception, and even spiritual intuition—all the ways of perception that could lock onto a target became blank in that darkness.

His technique paused for a moment at his fingertips.

That one moment was all that Moen needed.

"Local deformation".

Magic surged wildly from the magic circuit, spreading rapidly along the bones and muscles of the arm.

In that instant, his right forearm underwent changes that would normally take decades for an average person to experience—his skin became rough and hard, his muscle fibers rearranged, and his bone density increased dramatically.

The entire forearm transformed into a mineral-like texture, gleaming dimly in the darkness.

The procedure on the bespectacled man was finally completed.

A slender, dark purple beam shot from his fingertips, piercing the darkness and striking Moen's raised arm with pinpoint accuracy.

There was no loud noise, no explosion.

The dark purple beam of light, upon contact with Moen's arm, eroded his defenses like an invisible termite.

The mineralized skin cracked rapidly under the beam of light, and dark red cracks spread outwards from the point of contact, crawling all over his forearm like a spider web.

A sharp pain shot through his arm, and Moen felt as if his bones had shattered into pieces in that instant.

He groaned, knelt on one knee, and cold sweat beaded on his forehead.

The beam of light lasted only a short while before the archbishop's holy light crashed down from the sky, dragging the bespectacled man back into the battle and denying him a chance to finish him off.

Arthur rushed to Moen's side and grabbed his shoulder.

"Are you crazy?" His voice was filled with suppressed anger. "You actually dared to take that kind of attack head-on?"

Moen gritted his teeth and looked down at his arm.

Although the surgery was stopped, the forearm was no longer recognizable as it used to be.

My entire arm has completely lost sensation.

"If I hadn't caught it, I would have died." Moen's voice was a little hoarse. "Thanks to the Archbishop for restraining me. If he hadn't weakened that attack, my whole arm would be gone."

Arthur opened his mouth, but ultimately said nothing.

He turned his head and looked at the Truth Society members who were still resisting on the battlefield.

The archbishop held off the bespectacled man, while the combat monks were locked in a fierce battle with the enemy, resulting in a stalemate.

But he knew this stalemate wouldn't last long.

Although the bespectacled man was not as strong as the archbishop, his spells were unpredictable and varied, making it difficult for the archbishop to control him.

If the ground enemy cannot be defeated quickly, and the archbishop's side shows any weakness—

Arthur closed his eyes.

The demon's voice immediately rang in his mind.

"Oh? You finally remembered me, Arthur?"

"Shut up," Arthur's voice was calm. "I need your power, demon."