Mr. Death in the Steam World

"Three people, an altar, fire." Moen muttered these words to himself. "What do you think this means?"

"The ritual." Fils opened her eyes; the firelight deep within her pupils had dissipated, but her expression was more solemn than ever.

"The god of fire said that he would choose one of us to act on his behalf. And the condition for starting the ritual—I think—is that all three candidates gather at the altar at the same time."

She paused, then added:

"There's one more thing. In that dream, I could sense the direction the woman was heading. Although I didn't know the exact location, the direction was very clear."

Moen lowered his eyes and pondered for a while.

"You can sense direction, which means three things."

"First, that woman is still alive."

"Secondly, her candidacy status remains valid."

"Third, the connection between you transcends the magical resonance between ordinary magicians."

"This could be a good thing or a bad thing. The good thing is that you know her location, which means we can actively find her."

"The bad thing is, since you can sense her—he can most likely sense you too. Sidwin probably already knew you were in Ironcrown."

Phils nodded with difficulty.

"That woman doesn't want to die," Phils suddenly whispered.

"She was kneeling in the corner, repeatedly saying, 'I don't want to die.' Mr. Marcus, when she said that to me, she probably wasn't just talking to herself; she wanted me to hear it."

Moen was silent for a moment, then stood up.

"This shows that she is in a very bad situation, a candidate controlled by the Truth Society, which is not a charitable organization."

"She might be used as a tool, or she might be sacrificed at any time—in any case, she's more anxious than we are. You rest first, and we'll do it again when Arthur comes back."

Phils nodded, and Moen poured her a glass of water and placed it on the bedside table before turning and leaving the room.

He returned to his room, spread out the map, and focused his gaze on the area marked with a mine symbol on the west side of Ironcrown City.

Arthur returned later than expected. When he pushed open the door, he was carrying a package wrapped in brown paper, and his resolute face showed a rare hint of fatigue.

He recounted all the information he had gathered that day.

Through the introduction of the Ironcrown City Church, he came into contact with three small mine owners, all of whom were rivals of the Ashton family who had been suppressed for many years.

They were initially hesitant to speak until Arthur showed them the insignia of the Church of Christ and revealed in the conversation that "the Church is keeping a close eye on the recent movements of the Ashton family," at which point they began to open up.

"There are three lines of defense around the mine in Sidwin. The outermost layer consists of ordinary mercenaries, mostly retired soldiers with no magic or only a weak magical reaction, numbering about thirty."

"The middle ranks are mercenaries specially recruited by Sidwin. There are not many of them, but their combat power far exceeds that of ordinary mercenaries. There are probably eight to ten of them."

"No one knows what's going on inside, because no one has ever come out of the innermost layer alive."

He paused, then added, "It should be noted that Sidwin's own troops are never mixed with mercenaries from the periphery."

"They are stationed inside the mine and only take orders from Sidwin himself. As for that senior deacon of the Truth Society, the small mine owners have never seen him in person."

"But a scout from one of the mine owners said that he saw a bespectacled man come out of the mine's side gate in the early morning, followed by two men in black robes. They walked towards Ironcrown City and disappeared into thin air not long afterward."

"Disappeared into thin air?"

"Teleportation spell." Arthur's tone was calm, but there was no hint of a smile in his eyes.

"A teleportation spell that can only be cast by a mid-level mage or higher—that bespectacled man, whether he's a high-level mage or not, is not someone we can handle."

Moen leaned back in his chair, rearranging all the intelligence he had gathered that day in his mind, and slowly exhaled.

"So the current situation is like this—Sidwin himself is probably around the third tier, he is in the open, and he has a group of fire-attribute mercenaries by his side."

"The Truth Society sent at least three people: a high-ranking deacon, a woman, and a black-robed man of unknown identity."

"They were secretly using Sidwin's resources to prepare some kind of ritual deep within the mine."

"The third candidate, that woman, was the one sent by the Truth Society to Sidwin's side. She was the initial bait, but in the eyes of the Truth Society, she was probably just a tool to control Sidwin."

"With this kind of sorting out, everything will make sense."

"The Truth Society wants the position of Vulcan's Agent. Their strategy is extremely simple: control Sidwin and make him compete for it. If he succeeds, they will use Sidwin as a puppet. If he fails, they will at least get the candidate's data."

"As for that woman, whether Sidwin succeeds or fails, she will be disposed of."

Arthur was silent for a few seconds, then stood up.

"Now that we know the conditions for starting the ritual, our strategy is simple—we must never allow three candidates to appear in front of the altar at the same time."

"But if Fils can sense the woman's direction, Sidwin might be able to sense Fils' as well. If they use this to their advantage and come looking for her—"

"Then let's strike first and rescue that woman before they do anything," Moen said calmly. "She doesn't want to die; perhaps we can help her."

Arthur glanced at him, a hint of surprise flashing in his eyes, then smiled slightly.

"That's a good idea. We'll discuss the details of the operation when Emily gets back."

The next morning, Arthur was cornered at the stairwell by the landlady.

"Father!" the proprietress called out in her booming voice.

"It's freezing cold in Ironcrown City this morning, how can you wear so little? Here—take it!"

She pulled two hard-boiled eggs, still warm, from her apron pocket and shoved them into Arthur's hand.

Then, as if by magic, she pulled a small packet of herbs wrapped in brown paper from another pocket of her apron and handed it to Arthur.

"This is a family recipe passed down from my mother's family. Steep it in water and drink it; it will ward off the cold. You've been running around a lot these past few days, don't catch a chill!"

Arthur was a little embarrassed, but he still responded in a low voice:

May the gods bless you.

Moen stood behind Arthur, watching the scene expressionlessly. Only after the proprietress swayed back to the front desk with a satisfied smile did he reach out and pat Arthur on the shoulder.

"Father, it's time for us to set off."

Arthur glared at him, stuffed the two boiled eggs and the herbal packet into his coat pocket, and walked out of the Swallow Inn without looking back.