Steampunk Era: Mad Abield
Chapter 145 - One Hundred Fifteen: Arrival_2

Chapter 145: Chapter One Hundred Fifteen: Arrival_2

Pamir City has been anything but peaceful recently, and now it seems that the robbers are no longer satisfied with just raiding caravans. Should we contact headquarters and call for a detachment of Punisher Knights to come and loosen the muscles of those foolhardy robbers around Pamir City?

"No, we had a fight with the City Guard," the Assistant Priest said, "Seventeen of them died."

The two Bishops cocked their heads, feeling as if they had heard a joke.

"This joke isn’t funny, what happened?" the Bishop of the Church of Justice frowned, "Where is Mr. Malin?"

The Assistant Priest pointed to the carriage behind him, and then the two dignitaries saw Malin push open the carriage door and pull out the City Prefect of Pamir City, who was bound into a motionless package by bandages and splints.

"What happened, Your Excellency the City Prefect, how come you are here?"

"Um... it’s a long story..." The Assistant Priest thought for a moment, and then told the story of what he had encountered.

Constance felt as if he had heard a colossal joke: "City Prefect Jamie... wants to duel with Malin?"

"Yes, he threw down the gauntlet, a duel to the death," the Assistant Priest said with an embarrassed face, "Mr. Malin knocked him down with one hit. The City Guards wanted to interfere with the duel ritual, and we had to fight them to stop them; they all drew their blades."

"Well, at least they knew not to use firearms," the Bishop of the Church of Justice clicked his tongue, "But why did seventeen die?"

"By that time we had finished fighting with them. Because we only used knives, there were no deaths on the spot, but then a pair of Burrowing Dragons charged over, we severely injured four, and the City Guard was not so lucky. Later, it was all thanks to Mr. Malin for blocking them and driving them away." The Assistant Priest looked at his own Bishop as he said this, "My Lord, the reality is far more formidable than the rumors; it’s my first time seeing a child being able to physically contend with a Burrowing Dragon."

"Now I’m a bit curious about how Jamie of the Shilling family hasn’t died yet," the Bishop of the Church of Justice pursed his lips.

"He probably didn’t want to kill him, I would guess," the Assistant Priest said, his smile quite forced.

...

Malin tossed the zongzi he was holding to the Church’s healing team.

This madman, who knows what craziness he’s caught, other people’s first move is always to ask, ’Do you need any help?’

But this one, without a word, just throws down his glove, saying something ridiculous—"Let’s duel! You villain!"

Malin endured and knocked him over with patience—after all, he had just arrived in Pamir City, where everything was new to him; he also didn’t know what madness had possessed this young man, what if after killing him someone told Malin that this was a welcoming ritual between men in Pamir City?

Then the City Guards brought by this young man fought another battle with the Church Knights, and it took Malin half an hour to break up the fight.

After finally separating the two groups, before he could take a breather, two Burrowing Dragons burst into the scene. Malin barely managed to control the one charging at the Church Knights, while the other charged into the ranks of the City Guard.

Afterward, when they did a headcount, more than a dozen City Guards had died.

What a mess.

The only piece of good news was that the Burrowing Dragon left behind by Malin, upon Miriam’s verification, was the female she needed, so that dragon wasn’t killed either but had its legs broken and was brought back to Pamir City.

Malin was still sulking, but he remembered the task his mentor had entrusted to him, took out the small bag, and handed it over to the Bishop of Pamir City.

When the latter received the bag, he frowned: "This is quite substantial, have you been carrying it with you the whole time?"

"Yes, to be honest, it’s not that heavy for me," Malin spoke the truth.

The old man nodded: "Since old Hoffman had you bring it here, it means you should receive that item from me."

That item?

Malin had always thought delivering this thing would be paying off a debt to old Hoffman; he never expected to receive anything from this man.

"Saseem, you arrange the healing sequence, and remember not to forget our Jamie Shilling, the City Prefect."

"No problem, Your Excellency the Bishop."

The old man arranged his work, then took Malin and intended to head to the back hall.

"My companions..." "Let them come over, that thing isn’t such a big secret."

So Malin, followed by the girls, caught up with the old man, and the fact that the Bishop of the Church of Justice was also coming along without being stopped by his own Bishop was beyond Malin’s expectations.

This made Malin extremely curious, but also full of vigilance towards the unknown.

Passing through the corridor of the back hall, following the old man into the small door that led to the basement, Malin entered the storage room and saw the objects before him—weapon racks filled with various swords and knives, gun racks with standard rifles, and the old man walked up to a separate gun rack, lifting the cloth covering it.

In front of Malin appeared a lever-action large-caliber Shotgun.

Malin’s face was full of question marks.

"See, this is my favorite Shotgun, a legendary Firearm made seventy years ago by the greatest gunsmith of the continent, a four-chamber, 12-gauge." At this point, the old man paused as he looked at the four-barreled Shotgun that Malin had brought out: "This is... yours?"

"I made it, using 8-gauge Shotgun shells, double triggers, double hammers, capable of firing two shots at once." Malin finished speaking and tossed the thing to the old Bishop.

The latter caught it, considering its plain and unadorned exterior and weight that was almost too heavy to lift before looking again at the Shotgun on the rack, which was full of gorgeous carvings from the stock to the barrel, all engraved with sacred inscriptions.

"Old Hoffman, where did you find such a monster?" Carefully juggling the gun in his hands, the old Bishop then handed it back to Malin: "How about this, leave the gun with me, and I’ll engrave a blessing inscription on the barrel for you, what do you say?"

"Won’t it affect the barrel wall, I’m afraid it might burst." Malin expressed a trace of unease.

"The inscription itself carries a blessing and reinforcement Array." The old Bishop snorted.

So Malin tossed the gun back to the old man: "Then I’ll leave it in your hands."

Perhaps because it was thrown a bit hastily, the old Bishop almost dropped it.

"Right, do you want this gun?" The old Bishop asked, pointing to the lever-action Shotgun on the rack.

Malin nodded, took the gun, and tossed it to Jessica: "Now it’s yours."

......

Walking out of the storage room, Malin noticed Logan was gesturing to him, so he walked over: "What’s up?"

"Miriam dragged the Burrowing Dragon into the back hall’s operating table and is now dissecting and sampling it with the local chief medical officer."

"Speaking of which, we’re pretty lucky, I thought we would have to find them on the grasslands." Jessica was holding the gun with both hands, looking very pleased with her new gift.

"Indeed, Burrowing Dragons usually appear deep in the grasslands, our luck is really good this time." Faye spoke while observing the situation in the medical area: "That guy woke up."

Malin turned his head and saw that the City Prefect had sat up.

"Should we talk to him about why he threw your white glove?" Lillim was full of confusion when she brought up this issue: "I don’t think Mr. Malin has offended him, why challenge him to a duel?"

"Maybe it’s because of jealousy over Mr. Malin’s interactions with Sister Faye." Clovis said while yawning: "I really want to find a soft bed to sleep well now."

"Me too, after walking in the wilderness for more than a week, I’ve almost forgotten the scent of the sun on my pillow." Maya yawned widely while speaking.

Malin was silent...he was thinking whether to tell his sister that the scent of the sun on the pillow was actually just the smell of little bugs that had been sunned to death.

After thinking it over, Malin kept silent.

Some things are better left unsaid.

After all, the last person who said that is still over there, wrapped up like a zongzi.