Mr. Death in the Steam World

Moen's pupils contracted slightly.

Church, pastor.

This was the first time he had heard these words since he transmigrated.

He subconsciously searched through the original owner's memories, and in those fragmented images, the content about the church was blurry and scattered.

To put it bluntly, the original owner didn't have a very good impression of the church.

In the original owner's mind, the people in the church were a bunch of charlatans dressed in black robes, chanting that God loves the world, but holding the offerings of believers in their hands.

They neither cure diseases nor save lives; they only make people kneel down and pray.

This is the general attitude of ordinary citizens in Kansas City towards the church: they are distant, distrustful, and keep their distance.

But Phils said that the person was a surgeon, and Phils herself was a magician, so someone she would approve of and recommend couldn't possibly be the kind of person who was just pretending to be a magician.

Besides, Clara's safety is more important than anything else.

If he missed the chance to save Clara because of the original owner's prejudice, he would never forgive himself for the rest of his life.

"Okay," Moen said. "Take me to see him."

Phils blinked, seemingly surprised that he agreed so readily.

"Now?"

"Now."

Phils glanced at the darkening sky outside the window, then at the uncompromising expression on Moen's face, and finally nodded.

"Wait for me a moment, I'll change my clothes."

She got up from the bed, walked to the full-length mirror in the corner, and gently tapped the frame three times.

A ripple spread across the mirror, and the image of the room that was originally reflected began to undulate like the surface of water, before slowly splitting into the shape of two doors.

Moen couldn't help but raise an eyebrow.

Phils opened the mirror door and went inside. After she changed her clothes and came out, the mirror closed again, returning to a normal reflection.

"Let's go, the church isn't far from here, it should only take us a little over fifteen minutes to walk there."

The two went downstairs, crossed Third Street, and turned onto the main road leading to the city center.

Dusk had fallen, and gas lamps lit up both sides of the street, casting dim yellow spots of light on the stone pavement.

There weren't many pedestrians on the road. Occasionally, a few figures wrapped in scarves would hurry by, and one or two of them would let out a suppressed cough as they passed by.

Moen's gaze followed the coughing figures for a few seconds before he looked away.

"Miss Ignis," he asked as he walked, "what's the name of the person you're talking about?"

"Arthur," Phil said, "Arthur Aldridge."

"What kind of person is he?"

Phils paused slightly, as if considering her words.

"He..." she thought for a moment, "He's not quite like the priest you imagine."

"What do you mean?"

"You'll see when you meet him." Fils' expression was somewhat subtle. "Anyway, whatever he says, don't take it too seriously."

"That's just how he talks; he's not targeting you."

As we walked, the street ahead suddenly widened.

The buildings on both sides of the road have changed from dense apartment buildings to stand-alone stone buildings with intricate carvings on the porches, exuding an old-fashioned solemnity.

At the end of this street stands a gray-white church.

The church is not particularly large, but its proportions are extremely balanced. The spire on the front is towering, and the cross on top of the spire gleams with a cool light in the twilight.

Phils walked straight to the side door of the church, pushed it open with practiced ease, and entered, with Moen following behind her.

Stopping at the door at the end of the corridor, Phils reached out and knocked.

"Arthur, it's me. I brought someone with me, and I need your help to take a look at them."

There was a moment of silence inside the door.

Then, a man's voice came from inside, with a lazy and gentle tone.

"Ignis, knocking on the door of a celibate priest late at night with a strange man, your confession material is getting richer and richer."

Phils blushed instantly.

"This is no time for jokes!" She flung the door open. "This is serious business!"

Moen followed her into the room.

Behind the desk, a man dressed in a black priest's robe was holding a teacup, scrutinizing them with his grey-green eyes.

He looked to be in his early thirties, with his dark brown curly hair neatly combed back, revealing his well-defined forehead and cheekbones.

He had a high, straight nose with a very thin old scar on it, and a faint, almost invisible beauty mark under his left eye.

Anyone could tell that this priest must have been extremely handsome when he was young. If he took off his priest's robe, no one would think he was a priest.

The man put down his teacup and extended his hand to Moen.

"Arthur Aldridge, a priest of the Holy Church and an amateur surgeon. Young man, what's your name?"

"Moon Marcus, an ordinary private investigator."

The two shook hands briefly.

"I just brewed a pot of black tea, Ignis, go get two cups from the cupboard."

Fils seemed used to being bossed around, and turned to walk towards the cabinet in the corner.

Arthur sat back down in his chair, picked up his teacup with one hand, and pointed to another chair opposite the desk with the other, gesturing for Moen to sit down.

"What is it? Speak." His voice softened, and his grey-green eyes appeared focused and gentle in the candlelight.

"Start from the very beginning, don't miss any details."

Mo En could clearly describe the process from taking his sister to school, to noticing something was wrong with the people around him, and finally, his sister starting to cough herself.

After listening, Arthur lowered his head in thought and said softly:

"Marcus, you've explained it in great detail, but unfortunately, it's not what I need."

"I think instead of letting you waste your time describing me here, you should just take me to see your sister."

Moen hesitated. Although the other party seemed reliable, he was, after all, a stranger.

"Don't be nervous, friend." Arthur seemed to sense his hesitation, a calmness in his grey-green eyes.

"If you wish, my diagnosis can also be made without physical contact. If I can't see the problem, I won't charge a penny; if I can—"

He paused, a very faint smile appearing at the corner of his mouth.

"Then you owe me a cup of tea."

Moen wasn't sure if Arthur was joking or serious, but the kindness in his words touched him.

He turned to look at Phils, who nodded slightly at him.

"……OK."

He took a deep breath and finally made a decision, which was the best option he could make at the moment.

"I'll go too." Phils looked very enthusiastic. "If we need any magical assistance, it's better for me to be there than not."

The gas lamp cast long shadows on the stone pavement, and the footsteps of three people echoed and overlapped in the empty alley.

Soon, the sign for the Marcus Detective Agency came into view.