Mr. Death in the Steam World

Emily walked in, put the clothes on the chair, and deliberately moved very slowly.

She glanced at Phils, whose face was already red to her neck, then at Moen, and the corners of her mouth visibly lifted.

"Um..." Phils's voice was softer than ever before.

"I'm going back now, I'll come see you again tomorrow."

"Okay." Moen nodded.

Phils dashed out of the ward.

Emily turned around, crossed her arms, and looked at Moen with a "you better confess" look.

Moen raised his hands in surrender:

"Um, Miss Manluo, I know you may have misunderstood. Nothing happened between us."

"We were just talking when you came in."

"I know," Emily raised an eyebrow.

"I'm just a little curious, if I had come in thirty seconds later, would you have been doing more than just 'talking'?"

"Cough, you're overthinking it."

"Really?" Emily smiled meaningfully.

"Alright, I'm not teasing you anymore. I shortened that jacket a bit. Try it on and see if it fits. If it doesn't, I'll alter it again."

"Also, the soles of those boots came ripped, I sent them to be repaired, and I should be able to pick them up tomorrow."

"Thank you, Emily."

"snort."

Emily nodded in displeasure, walked out, and closed the door.

The ward fell silent again.

Moen leaned against the pillows, stared at the ceiling for a while, and then couldn't help but laugh out loud.

That scene was just so embarrassing. Phils's face was red to her neck, Emily's "I know, I know" smile, and his own stupid look of blankness for a moment.

All of these things combined create a picture that is both infuriating and hilarious.

Moen turned his head to look out the window. Dusk had completely fallen over Ironcrown City, with a lingering orange-red afterglow on the distant horizon, as if it had been dyed red by flames.

He thought about what Fils had just said.

"This is my choice, it's what I wanted to do."

Yes, although life is tough, life is still beautiful.

Although an unclear destiny awaits him, although the mystery of the twelve Olympian gods has not yet been solved, and although he hasn't even fully figured out his own cheat ability yet.

But at this moment, in the church ward, he did feel something long-lost, warm, something he wanted to hold onto.

The next morning, the attending physician came to make rounds with two interns.

After the old doctor removed the bandages, he stood there stunned.

"This is impossible." He looked at Moen's arm from side to side.

"The fracture has completely healed and has even begun to remodel."

"This speed... I've been a doctor in Ironcrown City for twenty-five years and I've never seen a physique like this."

"Mr. Marcus," the old doctor looked at Moen with the eyes one would use to look at a rare animal.

"Are you sure you haven't received any form of high-level healing magic? Or taken any prohibited potions?"

"I'm sure," Moen said without changing his expression.

The old doctor remained silent for a long time before finally writing on the medical record:

"The recovery speed is abnormal, far exceeding all known healing standards. Further treatment is recommended."

He paused here, glanced back at Moen, then crossed out that line and rewrote a new one:

"You have recovered and are discharged."

Moen smiled and nodded.

"That's monstrous regenerative ability."

He muttered something to himself, then stood up, put on his coat, and walked out of the ward.

The corridor was quiet, as is always the case in church hospitals.

White walls, white floor tiles, the smell of disinfectant permeating the air, and occasionally one or two nuns would pass by at the other end of the corridor and nod slightly in greeting.

Moen walked deeper down the corridor and stopped in front of the last ward at the corner.

Arthur leaned against the hospital bed, his priest's robe replaced with a patient's gown, and his gray hair had a few more strands of silver than it had a few days ago.

His face was still pale, but much better than the day he fell into a coma; at least his lips had some color in them.

Hearing the door open, Arthur looked out the window and saw it was Moen, so he nodded slightly.

"How's your arm?"

Moen exposed his forearm, where only a few thin pink marks remained on his skin.

"It's almost over. The doctor also said my recovery speed is unusual and suggested that I have a follow-up check-up, but I refused."

"Judging from his appearance, I suspect he wants to send me for dissection and research."

Arthur finally couldn't hold back his smile and gave a small laugh, though it wasn't a big one.

"You really should be dissected and studied."

"Likewise, Father." Moen leaned back in his chair. "You're lying down too."

Arthur snorted but didn't reply.

"Can you still control that thing inside you?"

"I won't die for now," he said casually, "I just don't know how long I can hold on."

"Take it one day at a time. If it really doesn't work out, I'll help you find a decent coffin shop. The wood in Ironcrown City is said to be quite good."

Arthur turned his head, a hint of helplessness in his eyes.

Are you trying to comfort me?

"I'm just giving you an alternative," Moen said seriously. "I'm a professional detective."

Arthur shook his head, and then the corners of his mouth curled up slightly.

"Any news from the Archbishop?" Moen asked.

"Yes." Arthur leaned back against the pillow.

"After the failed ritual in Sidwin, the altar deep in the mine has been sealed off by the church, and the crystals have been collected and said to be sent back to the church headquarters for research."

"Can I take a look after you've finished your research?"

"You wish!"

Suddenly, there was another knock on the ward door.

"Come in."

The door was pushed open, and Gary poked his head in, his round face showing a hint of excitement.

"Priest Arthur, the Archbishop sent me to inform you that he will be departing for the Church headquarters this afternoon and would like to see you before he leaves."

Arthur nodded. "Understood."

Just as Gary was about to close the door, he poked his head out again and added, "The archbishop said he also wants to see Mr. Marcus."

Moen raised an eyebrow: "See me?"

"Yes." Gary said seriously, "The archbishop specifically requested to see you."

After saying that, he shrank back and closed the door.

Moen turned to Arthur: "Do you think the Archbishop has taken a liking to me? Does he want to recruit me into the church?"

"Are you sure you don't want to interrogate me?"

"I don't care if you interrogate me, as long as you provide food and lodging."

Arthur sighed, "You really are..."

Before he could finish speaking, footsteps echoed down the corridor.

Moen stood up and gave a proper bow.

"archbishop."

Cecil's gaze fell on him, looking him up and down, before he sat down on the chair next to Arthur's bed.

"Mr. Marcus," his voice was deep and steady, "how is your arm recovering?"

"I'm fully recovered, thank you for your concern." Moen moved his right arm.

Cecil's eyebrows twitched in surprise, and his gaze shifted to Arthur.

"Priest Aldridge"

"exist."

"I have already reported your physical condition to the Holy Church headquarters."

"The headquarters' response was: 'Closely monitor the situation and initiate purification procedures if necessary.'"