Mr. Death in the Steam World

Chapter 150 Langdon's Slow Realization

Winterhold, temporary command post.

Langdon Clive stood in front of the map, his brow furrowed.

"What did you say? Say it again."

"Several villages in the northern district are empty." The messenger was panting, clearly having run all the way back. "When we went there yesterday, there were still more than a dozen households, but when we went back today, there wasn't a single person left."

"Where are they?"

"I don't know, but judging from the footprints in the snow, they should have gone north."

Langdon stared at the northern area on the map, his fingers unconsciously gripping the edge of the table.

To the north, that's the direction of the far northern wilderness.

"Impossible." Langdon shook his head, banishing the absurd idea from his mind. "What kind of trouble could he possibly cause in that godforsaken place?"

""

The messenger shrank back and didn't dare to reply.

But in the following days, similar news followed one after another.

A hunting family in the eastern district disappeared, and two herding families in the southern district vanished.

Even the few residents who had been "rescued" and placed in the temporary shelter left during the night.

They were nowhere to be found, neither alive nor dead.

Langdon's face grew increasingly grim. He sent his men to follow the footprints, but they turned back at the edge of the far north.

"The snowstorm over there is too severe; we can't get in at all."

"And—" the messenger hesitated for a moment, "I always felt that those snowflakes were deliberately blocking our way."

"Nonsense," Langdon interrupted him coldly. "How can snowflakes block the way?"

'

The messenger opened his mouth, but ultimately said nothing more.

But he knew in his heart that it wasn't an illusion.

The snowflakes were indeed deliberately avoiding the direction he was heading.

No matter which way he walked, the snowflakes would form an impenetrable snow curtain in front of him, like an invisible wall, keeping him out.

Meanwhile, deep in the far northern wilderness, in a safe zone.

Moen stood on the camp's lookout tower, watching the figures that were faintly visible in the wind and snow in the distance.

"Another batch is coming," he shouted down, turning around. "Get ready to receive them!"

The camp immediately sprang into action.

Some people went to boil water, some went to empty the igloos, and some ran to the camp gate with animal skin blankets to wait.

These figures are residents who voluntarily came to Winter City from the past few days.

Some of them were forcibly taken away by Langdon and his men, and unable to bear being treated like merchandise, they escaped under cover of night.

Some came here on a whim after hearing that there was a "safe zone untouched by wind and snow" deep in the far north.

Others simply got lost in the wind and snow and were guided here by the snowflakes.

Whatever the reason, they came, so Moen accepted them.

"Mr. Marcus!" Allen ran over from the camp gate, his face beaming with undisguised excitement. "How many people came today?"

"Still counting." Moen jumped down from the lookout tower, brushing the snow off his clothes. "At least twenty."

""

"Twenty?!" Allen's eyes widened. "Including the previous ones, our camp now has almost two hundred people, right?"

"almost.

""

"Isn't that more than Langdon and the others?"

'

Moen smiled but didn't respond.

Chloe was sitting in the corner by the fireplace, holding a two- or three-year-old child in her arms, humming something softly.

The child was already asleep, his little hands clutching Chloe's collar, drool all over her shoulder.

Chloe didn't notice, she just gently patted the child's back, again and again.

Hearing the door open, she looked up, a smile playing on her lips.

"You're back?"

"Hmm." Moen sat down next to her, stretched out his legs, and let out a long breath. "Quite a few people came today."

"I know." Chloe lowered her head, looking at the peaceful sleeping face of the child in her arms. "Snow told me."

"They said that the snowflakes guided them to this place."

""

Moen turned his head and looked at Chloe's profile.

The firelight from the fireplace danced on her face, casting a warm glow on her pale skin.

"Did you do this?"

Chloe nodded slightly. "They need help," she said. "The snow just—showed them a way."

Moen was silent for a moment, then reached out and touched her head.

"Thank you, Chloe."

Chloe was a little shy, so she buried her face in the child's hair.

Time ticked by, and Langdon finally couldn't sit still any longer.

His men, sent out to track him, returned empty-handed one after another, while the city’s population was decreasing at a visible rate.

He personally led a group to follow the footprints to the edge of the far northern wilderness, where they were stopped by the wind and snow.

He tried to force his way through with magic, but the snowflakes seemed to be alive, forming an impenetrable barrier around him.

No matter which direction he rushes in, he will be blocked.

"Damn it." Langdon gritted his teeth and slammed his fist into the snowdrift next to him. "How did he do that?"

No one could answer his question.

He finally realized that sending Moen to the far north had not eliminated him from the competition, but instead given him a stage that no one else could reach.

There, there was no fighting, no infighting, and no surveillance from the higher-ups of the religious order.

He can build a truly safe zone little by little, at his own pace.

And what about yourself?

Langdon glanced back at the makeshift containment site behind him.

The shacks were low, and cold winds blew in through the cracks. Several residents huddled in a corner, their eyes vacant.

They were indeed "saved," but they were not grateful.

Langdon clenched his fist.

It can't go on like this!

He had to find a way, even if he couldn't directly take action against Moen, to at least stop more people from heading to the far north.

But what can he do?

Internal strife among fellow members is a major taboo in the Order. If discovered by the professors, he will not only lose his eligibility to compete for the top spot, but may also face severe punishment.

But if they do nothing, the top spot will only be Moen's.

Langdon took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down.

He needs time. He needs to find the loopholes in the rules.

Until then, he could only do one thing—speed up the relocation process.

"Everyone, listen up!" he shouted, turning to the people behind him. "From today onwards, the rescue area will be expanded to a radius of fifty miles around Winterfell!"

"Bring back every resident we can find, no matter what means we have!"

"Remember, as long as people are alive, nothing else matters!"

Over the course of a few days, the number of residents brought back by Langdon's men had indeed increased considerably.

But this doesn't mean he caught up with Moen in total score, because the points deducted are also increasing.

Forcibly dragging someone will result in a point deduction; disregarding the resident's wishes will also result in a point deduction. Causing injury to a resident will also result in a point deduction.

His score dropped instead of rising, sliding from the bottom of the list into an even deeper abyss.

Some of the residents he forcibly brought back escaped under cover of night after staying at the resettlement site for less than half a day.

They would rather brave the wind and snow to escape to the far north than stay in that place that, while providing shelter from the wind and snow, offered no dignity.

Langdon stood at the entrance of the shelter, watching yet another resident escape into the snowstorm, and felt a headache coming on.

He suddenly began to doubt whether he had chosen the wrong path from the very beginning.

No, I will never accept this outcome!

Langdon's eyes sharpened, and he quietly activated a barrier to shield the outside projections.

I need to contact my foreign teammates!

As he moved, a single eye, with only the whites showing, slowly opened in the shadows.

On the judging panel, several professors were silently flipping through classic texts when they suddenly paused, but quickly resumed their normal activities.

No one noticed.