Mr. Death in the Steam World

Moen pulled the map wrapped in oilcloth from his pocket and unfolded it as he walked.

"The map the butler gave me marks the No. 3 old mining area," he said, his fingertips slowly tracing the fine lines on the map.

"Here, here, and here—the areas circled in red ink are the possible activity areas that the small mine owner guessed, about a forty-minute drive from where we are now."

Arthur glanced at the map, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"The No. 3 old mining area... those small mine owners also mentioned this number yesterday."

"After the collapse two years ago, Sidwin's father ordered the area to be sealed off, but after Sidwin took over, he reopened several mine tunnels."

He paused, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"The information from the small mine owner and the steward matches up."

"The enemy of my enemy is my friend," Moen rolled up the map again and stuffed it into the inside pocket of his coat.

"Although they helped us purely to use us as a tool to kill someone, the information itself should be genuine."

Arthur didn't reply, but quickened his pace.

The two walked along the slag road on the west side of Iron Crown City for about half an hour. The road surface under their feet changed from hard soil covered with coal slag to gravel, and then from gravel to a bumpy mine road.

In the distance, a row of rusty iron fences appeared, with a faded warning sign hanging on them: "Old Mine Area No. 3, No Entry".

The world behind the fence was completely different from the Ironcrown City area. There were no blast furnaces or chimneys, only a few bare coal gangue mountains and a barren slope riddled with holes from excavation.

Moen stopped in front of the fence, channeling a wisp of magic into his eyes, and the "Eye of Death" quietly lit up deep within his pupils.

The world in my field of vision changed color instantly. Countless fine magical traces appeared on the gray-black slag ground, mostly yellowish-brown, like long-dried bloodstains.

However, about a few hundred meters behind the fence, there was a small area that appeared to be an abnormal dark red.

"Over there," Moen pointed to the dark red area, "there's residual magic, its attribute is fire, and it won't stay there for long."

Arthur nodded and made the sign of the cross on his chest. Silvery-white holy light flowed from his fingertips, forming a thin halo around him.

"Let's go."

The two climbed over the fence and headed deeper into the old mining area.

The further you go in, the more desolate the surrounding scenery becomes.

The slag heaps along the roadside are as high as small mountains, and the hillside is barren.

After walking for about fifteen minutes, Moen suddenly stopped.

"What's wrong?"

"There's something there." Moen's gaze fell on a collapsed patch of ground not far ahead.

It was a depression about two people wide, with the rubble and soil around the edges charred black from being burned by high temperatures, and a crack about half a person wide in the very center of the depression.

The two approached the crack, and Moen crouched down, placing his palm on the scorched earth at the edge of the crack.

The touch from my fingertips was scalding hot, as if something underground was still radiating heat.

He raised an eyebrow, drew his Webley revolver from his waist, and probed the muzzle into the depths of the crack.

Arthur raised his hand in tacit agreement, and a ball of holy light rose from his palm, slowly descending into the crack like a small searchlight.

By the light of the holy light, one can see that below the crack is a man-made mine tunnel, about the height of a person, with clear pickaxe marks remaining on the rock walls on both sides.

Without hesitation, Moen braced his hands on the edge of the crack, slid in, and landed with a thud as his boots crushed the gravel at the bottom of the mine tunnel.

He straightened up and made a safe gesture upwards, and Arthur then rolled off as well.

The mine tunnel was very dark, with only a little bit of daylight filtering through the cracks barely illuminating the area a few steps ahead.

Arthur rekindled the holy light, and the silvery-white light extended along the mine tunnel to both ends, illuminating the dense chisel marks on the rock walls on both sides and the slag scattered on the ground.

Moen's gaze fell on a fist-sized piece of ore at his feet.

He bent down, picked it up, and weighed it in his hand. The ore was much heavier than ordinary stones and felt warm to the touch.

He handed the ore to Arthur, who took it and examined it for a few seconds, his brow furrowing slightly.

"Only raw ore that has been soaked in the magic of fire for a long time will exhibit this color."

"Similar cases are recorded in church documents. After certain high-level fire spells are cast, the surrounding ores will absorb the dissipated magic power and become what is known as 'fire-infused ore.'"

"These kinds of things can occasionally be found in temple ruins from hundreds of years ago, but to see them in a modern mine..."

He didn't finish his sentence, but Moen understood.

The residual fire magic deep within the mine is so concentrated that it can alter the properties of the ore, something that no ordinary fire mage could accomplish.

The two exchanged a glance and then fell silent.

As you walk along the mine tunnel, things that don't belong to the mine begin to appear on the ground.

Several broken hemp ropes, a flattened tin kettle, and half a charred wooden stick.

At the end of the mine tunnel was the wreckage of an iron gate that had been blown open. Behind the gate was a stone chamber much more spacious than the mine tunnel. Several torches that had long since gone out were embedded in the walls of the stone chamber, and a huge circular magic circle was drawn on the ground in the very center.

Moen's gaze fell on the very center of the magic circle.

There lay a skeleton.

The remains were in an extremely contorted position, as if struck head-on by a tremendous force, with the body falling backward and half of its body embedded in the wall of the stone chamber.

The lower half of the corpse had been completely mineralized, with the legs exhibiting a grayish-black crystalline texture, while the upper half retained the shape of a human skeleton.

Dark red lines spread upwards from the mineralized areas, wrapping around the ribs and spine like vines, emitting a faint glow.

The right hand of the remains was clutching a brass mining lamp. The lampshade was broken, and the wick had long since gone out, but the deceased held the lamp so tightly that the finger bones were almost embedded in the metal casing.

"Partial mineralization caused by the erosion of fire magic," Arthur crouched down, carefully examining the dark red patterns on the remains, his voice low.

"This way of dying is extremely painful. The flame magic burns the body from the inside, and the bones and muscles are gradually transformed into crystals, but the consciousness remains clear."

"The whole process could last for several hours, or even several days."

Moen didn't speak. His gaze fell on the brass miner's lamp. The Death Note in his mind suddenly trembled slightly. He slowly squatted down, reached out, and touched the cold outer shell of the miner's lamp with his fingertips.

The next second, the world spun around.

A cluster of lights appeared in the darkness.

The miner's lamp was trembling—no, it was the hand holding the lamp that was trembling.

It was a hand covered in calluses and scars, with large knuckles and coal dust embedded in the nail crevices.

"Dig a little further to the left, yes, right there."

A young voice came from ahead.

Moen—or rather, the owner of those hands—raised his head and, in the dim light of his miner's lamp, saw a figure at the end of the mine tunnel ahead.