Mr. Death in the Steam World

The room was silent for a few seconds.

"Someone who doesn't want to die?" Emily raised an eyebrow. "Who is it?"

No one answered her question; in fact, it was the same question on everyone's mind.

Seeing no response, the group decided to leave it for the time being, and Arthur took out another piece of paper from his pocket.

"This is a secret letter from His Holiness the Bishop." Arthur spread the letter out on the table; the handwriting was neat and solemn.

"Priest Aldridge:

Your report on the situation in Ironcrown City has been received. After an emergency consultation among the church's senior leadership, the following decision has been made:

First, Archbishop Cecil will lead two sixth-rank bishops and twelve combat monks to arrive at the outskirts of Ironcrown City before the evening of August 1st, responsible for containing any high-level combat forces that the Truth Society may deploy.

Second, if our forces launch a large-scale invasion of the mining area, the Truth Society will consider it a declaration of war on an equal footing, at which point a full-scale conflict between the two sides will be inevitable.

Third, therefore, the task of breaking into the mining area and stopping the ritual must be completed by you. The Church will provide intelligence, supplies and support for the wounded on the periphery, but will not directly participate in the core area operations.

Fourth, this decision is not an abandonment, but a trust.

May the gods protect you.

—Benedict Gray, Diocese of Kansas

August 1st is tomorrow, and the church's plan coincides with theirs.

Arthur folded the secret letter again and put it back in his pocket.

"It's a bit of a shame, but it's alright." Moen leaned back in his chair. "We weren't really expecting the church to help us fight Sidwin anyway."

"That's you," Emily scoffed. "That's what I've been counting on."

But Arthur smiled mysteriously:

"That's what you don't understand. The bishop's wording was quite sophisticated—'not directly involved in core area operations'."

"That means if the high-level combatants of the Truth Society actively appear on the outskirts of the mining area, and the church's people 'happen' to be there, then it won't be considered that we've breached the contract."

The two were dumbfounded, deeply feeling that the world was going to the dogs and that people's hearts were wicked.

Arthur ignored her teasing and pointed to the line of scrawled handwriting on the note:

"By the way, do you think this statement is believable?"

"There's no harm in remembering it, so I might as well keep it for future consideration. What if what they said is true?"

The group looked at each other, shrugged, and realized they couldn't confirm the other person's identity at the moment, so this was the only option.

"However..." Moen fell into thought.

Whether the note is real or fake, the only person with the motive to send it to them is someone within the Truth Society.

If the contents of this note are true, then the other party's status and position are definitely not low, which reflects many issues.

"What's wrong?"

Emily looked at Moen curiously, but Moen shook his head, keeping his guess to himself.

Whatever the other party's intentions, they will appear naturally when the time comes.

......

Everyone went back to their rooms to rest and recharge for tomorrow's battle.

Melina sat blankly on the edge of the bed, staring at the mark on her wrist.

The red halo resembled a wound that would never heal.

"Sister Phils."

"Um?"

"Why did that giant choose me?"

"I have nothing. I have no home, no money, and not even the most basic magic you talk about."

Fils thought for a moment:

"Yes, I think you have courage and wisdom. You escaped from bad guys all by yourself, which is something many people can't do!"

Melina nodded, her light brown eyes sparkling in the candlelight.

Phils smiled slightly and reached out to pat her head.

"Get some rest, you have things to do tomorrow."

Melina obediently huddled under the covers and closed her eyes.

Phils blew out the candle, tiptoed out of the room, and closed the door behind her.

In the hallway, Moen was leaning against the wall waiting for her.

"Is she asleep?"

"Hmm." Phils walked over to him and leaned against the wall as well.

"Mr. Marcus, I'd like to take her with me on tomorrow's mission."

Moen turned his head to look at her.

Are you sure?

"I'm sure." Fils said calmly. "First of all, although we have a map, it's always good to have someone who knows the way."

"Secondly, the condition for the ritual is that all three candidates are present at the same time. Controlling Sidwin is not very realistic. The only chance is to take her along to find an opportunity."

"Finally..." she paused, "the child said she wanted to see what the altar that had brought her to this state looked like."

Moen was somewhat surprised, not by her request—it was the first time he had seen Phils with such a serious expression.

"Then take her with you."

Just then, there was a rapid knocking on the door downstairs.

Moen and Phils exchanged a glance and then walked toward the stairs at the same time.

The proprietress had already opened the door, and a man in a gray coat was standing at the door, his hat pulled low so his face couldn't be seen.

"I'm looking for Mr. Mohn Marcus." His voice was soft, with a hint of urgency.

"That's me."

The man in gray took out an unsigned letter from his pocket and handed it to Moen.

"Someone asked me to give this to you."

After saying that, he turned and disappeared into the night.

Moen tore open the seal and pulled out the letter.

The handwriting on the paper was neat yet unfamiliar.

Mr. Marcus:

I've heard you're investigating Sidwin Ashton. As a member of the Ironcrown Miners' Guild, I might be able to offer some assistance.

Tomorrow morning at six o'clock, at the old mill in the south of the city, I have a business deal I'd like to discuss with you.

Whether you come or not is entirely up to you.

—A person who shares your goals

Moen handed the letter to Phils, who read it and frowned slightly.

"Could it be a trap?"

"Possibly." Moen folded the letter and put it in his pocket.

"But it's also possible that it's true. We've caused such a commotion in the shantytown that everyone in Ironcrown City who needs to know should already know."

"Are you going?"

"Let's go together. I want to see what kind of plasters these people are selling."

......

The old mill in the south of the city.

The mill has been abandoned for many years, its exterior walls covered with withered vines, and the windmill blades creak and groan in the morning light.

Moen looked around, and the "Eye of Death" quietly activated, revealing no residual magic in his field of vision.

"Either there really is no trap," Arthur said in a low voice, "or the person who set the trap is far more skillful than us."

No sooner had he finished speaking than the mill door was pushed open.

Walking in front was an elderly man with gray hair. He was not tall, but had broad shoulders and was leaning on a cane.

Following behind him was a middle-aged man in a uniform.

Moen recognized him at a glance—the steward of the owner of the Brad Mine.

The old man's gaze swept over Moen and Arthur, then he nodded slightly.

"Mr. Mohn Marcus, I've heard so much about you. I am Brad, the owner of Brad Mine."