Mr. Death in the Steam World

"The thoughts of gods are beyond the comprehension of mortals." The bespectacled man's voice carried a subtle hint of sarcasm.

"But whatever the reason she was chosen, one thing is clear—she did not give up her qualification."

Sidwin narrowed his eyes, as if he wanted to say something, but the woman in the black robe spoke first.

"Go and ask around. I heard those small mine owners have been scrambling to find out about their mines lately." She turned to look at Sidwin.

"Even a gossip like Mrs. Fallon knows what you've been up to. Do you think any woman wouldn't know that someone in Ironcrown City is investigating you?"

Sidwin's face darkened, but he did not refute her.

"So," the bespectacled man said, regaining control, his tone still exasperatingly nonchalant.

"Our advice remains the same: do not act rashly. If you take any action now, it will be like telling everyone where you are and what you are doing."

"I will continue to send people out—"

"Your men are worthless," the bespectacled man interrupted him. "Those mercenaries on the outskirts, they're dead, they're dead."

"But if you go out to chase that woman yourself, what if you fall into an ambush, or are intercepted by the Church on the way—who will complete the ceremony for you?"

Sidwin opened his mouth, only to find that he couldn't refute it.

His clenched fist tightened and loosened repeatedly, but in the end he gritted his teeth and swallowed his anger.

The bespectacled man seemed satisfied with his reaction and stopped talking about it, instead taking out a notebook from his pocket.

"Next, let's talk about the ritual itself. According to the documents we currently have, the selection ritual for the Vulcan agent follows an extremely ancient structure."

"Three candidate lines, one altar, one sacred flame. When the three people light the sacred flame at the same time, the sacred flame will naturally determine the true representative."

He closed his notebook, looked up, and stared directly into Sidwin's eyes.

"You only need to prove that you are qualified—qualified by Vulcan himself."

For a moment, only the humming of the flame runes flowing slowly along the cracks in the crystal filled the cave.

Sidwin stared at the shattered crystal, his pupils reflecting the dark red flames, the corners of his mouth slowly curving upwards until finally turning into an undisguised sneer.

"Qualifications?" he repeated the word, as if savoring a bad joke.

"I am the heir of the Ashton family. Who in Ironcrown City doesn't know my name? I've probably learned more fire spells from childhood to university than the other two spells I've ever seen."

"One is a foolish woman with no vision, and the other is a brat who has already fallen into my hands—you're talking to me about qualifications? The power of Vulcan should have been mine all along."

The woman in the black robe remained silent, and the man with glasses also fell silent.

Sidwin thought they agreed wholeheartedly, but in reality, the two simply couldn't believe that Vulcan would actually choose such a fool.

The bespectacled man never explained to Sidwin what "qualification" actually meant.

He knew that Vulcan never cared how much wealth a candidate had, how noble their lineage was, or how much they could talk about in social circles.

But he wouldn't tell Sidwin.

No need. Sidwin is just a tool, and tools don't need to know that much.

Tools only need to be in the right place at the right time, doing the right thing.

As for the fate of tools—that's not a concern of the Truth Society.

The woman in black robes said softly:

"I'll go to the stone tower to check on that little girl and confirm the status of the mark. Then we'd better find the third candidate as soon as possible—the longer we delay, the greater the chance that the Holy Church will discover us."

After saying that, she turned around and walked straight towards the exit of the cave.

The bespectacled man didn't follow immediately; he simply stood there and pushed his glasses up again.

"Young Master Ashton," his tone suddenly softened, "as an observer, I'd like to remind you of something."

Sidwin frowned as he looked at him.

"That little girl locked in the stone building, in your eyes she's nothing more than a wild child who rolled out of a cinder pile, but have you ever wondered—why did the God of Fire choose her, and not one of those loyal, capable, and well-trained fire magicians around you?"

Sidwin didn't speak, but the contempt on his face noticeably faded.

"I suggest you think about this carefully," the bespectacled man said slowly, then turned around and followed the direction the woman in the black robe had gone.

The cave fell silent again.

Sidwin stood alone before the altar, saying nothing.

The dark red light reflected on his face, distorting his otherwise handsome features.

After a long while, he clenched his fist.

"qualifications."

......

The woman in the black robe walked alone through the mine tunnel, which led to a passageway separated by an iron fence. At the end of the passageway was a heavy iron gate with only a small window the size of a palm.

She stopped in front of the iron gate without saying a word, but turned her head slightly and looked inside through the small window.

The interior of the stone building was even colder and darker than the mine tunnels, and a figure huddled in a corner.

She was a girl who was so thin she was almost unrecognizable, and looked no more than twelve or thirteen years old.

She was wearing a linen dress so dirty that its original color was unrecognizable, and had messy, dark short hair.

She huddled in the corner, hugging her knees tightly with her arms, her face buried in her arms, only her light brown eyes showing.

It stood out brightly in the dim light, its brightness clashing with the surrounding filthy environment.

The woman in the black robe's gaze fell on the girl's right wrist.

It was shaped like a flower, much like a blooming flame, just like the one on the back of Phils's hand.

The girl seemed to sense something and slowly raised her head.

The two of them just stared at each other through that tiny window, silently gazing at each other.

The woman in the black robe seemed unable to bear the girl's gaze, pulled up her hood, and turned to leave.

The girl listened as the footsteps gradually disappeared into the depths of the mine tunnel, then looked down at her wrist.

That mark had been with her for a long time.

She didn't remember when it started, only that it was a dream. In the dream, there was a huge temple, with flames and giants, and a young woman and a young man who were talking.

She couldn't understand what they were saying, but she felt very scared and wanted to leave.

When she woke up, she found herself still in that dilapidated shack.

The morning in the shantytown was the same as usual. In the distance, the blast furnaces in the mine roared, and the baby in the shack next door cried. Coal dust drifted in through the holes in the roof and landed on her face, as if nothing had happened.

But she now has a mark on her wrist.