Steampunk Era: Mad Abield
Chapter 325: Truths Unwelcome: Part 223 (3)

Chapter 325: Truths Unwelcome: Part 223 (3)

"Not impressive, the lenses Southerners hype up are much clearer than this," Malin said, pointing to his target. "This thing here."

"You can find them in the four-level warehouse, they are everywhere. Although they seem useless, they are actually nice as gifts, after all, they look pretty nice on the outside."

"But yours are marked up so high," Malin deliberately said, while determining this guy was definitely lying. The lenses might be real, but he wasn’t telling the truth about this thing. He was also trying to rip Malin off, wanting to see if the kid knew how to use this thing.

If that’s the case, it all comes down to acting skills.

"Isn’t this proof of its reliability? Think about it, only stuff from before the great destruction would have such a tough shell."

"Then I’ll take these two," Malin indicated the lenses and a battery.

"The lenses aren’t included." As soon as he finished speaking, Malin didn’t say another word, dropped two hundred, grabbed the watch and battery, and walked away.

The other man fell silent for a moment, then stood up: "Stop!"

Malin stopped, turned around, the .50 caliber heavy snub-nose revolver he pulled from his waist was now pressed against the man’s chest: "Sir, business is always a pleasure, right?"

"Put down the watch, and you can leave," the middle-aged man said as the vendors beside him all stood up.

Malin looked at the people expressionlessly: "Sit down, nobody’s dying here."

Someone drew a gun, Malin turned the revolver, and sprayed the shop owner straight onto the wall.

The middle-aged man in front tried to grab the gun from Malin’s hand, but the next second, Malin’s left hand drew a dagger, the blade piercing upward through his skull, using him as a shield against the bullets coming from the other side, while extending the revolver and opening fire on the shooting shop owner, the bullets piercing through his chest, sending him flying.

Fio by this time had already hung one end of himself from the ceiling while entangling the other around a man’s neck; the latter struggled desperately but soon ceased to move, eventually leaving nothing but a dangling husk in everyone’s view.

At this time, Lorrin had finished strangling another, hanging the last standing half-human shopkeeper upside down from the ceiling.

Only then did the market’s enforcement troops arrive at a leisurely pace.

Seeing the guards draw their guns, Malin threw out his badge from the Church of Justice, and the captain who caught it changed colors before dropping it to the floor and reaching for his gun.

Malin’s detection Spell Formation activated.

The guards in front of him were mostly purple or red.

Adventurers who knew what was happening screamed out the Spell Formation Malin had cast.

In the captain’s moment of hesitation, Malin’s revolver fired, the last bullet turned the captain’s head into a part of history, and flipping the revolver, he threw it to knock down another guard aiming a gun.

Lorrin and Fio screeched as they dove into the line of guards, transformed into tree people, they swept through human bodies, and in a few breaths, all the guards marked as non-good alignments were struck down to the ground.

Malin looked to the only person still standing: "Send for your boss, and the Church of Justice people will probably arrive before them. None of this gets sorted out, nobody’s having a good day today."

Forced buying and selling, birds of a feather, truly, if you’re not kin, you don’t enter the same door.

"Uh, looks like today’s adventure is off?" Cohen’s somewhat troubled voice came from behind.

Malin turned, smiled at him and nodded, his smile somewhat apologetic: "I’m sorry, how about tomorrow?"

After all, your dumb friends have only managed to get halfway ready by now.

Cohen smiled bitterly and nodded: "Alright, no problem, I also think these guys deserved to die, just really didn’t expect even the guards to be involved."

At this point, he looked at the small badge that Fio brought back. "What’s that?"

"It’s from Faye," said Malin as he smiled at Cohen and then, with a slow motion, tucked it into the front pocket of his chest. "She said it could handle some fools who don’t know any better."

"Wow, I must admit I’m a bit envious and jealous," the young man earnestly exclaimed.

Malin smiled.

Right, that’s the talent an actor should have, Mr. Cohen.

Malin silently marveled at the youth’s expression of genuine, unspoiled mirth as he turned to watch several Patrolling Knights from the Church of Justice, armed with their tools, walk into the space.

They did not recognize Malin, but they knew Fio and Lorrin, so without needing an explanation from Malin, they started checking on the guards. One of them took off his helmet and approached Malin, "Your Excellency, could you please clarify what happened?"

Malin then thoroughly explained the situation, including his wit-matching bout with the middle-aged vendor—he mentioned how experiencing the thrills of a free market was an important part of life. Whether it led to a gunfight or hiring a hitman, that was another joy altogether.

The corners of the Patrolling Knight’s mouth twitched as he turned to glance at the headless corpse: "This must be the life with the least value I’ve seen this year."

Malin, too, forced a smile, but he didn’t quite agree with the knight’s comment about the life of least value.

Do you know how much three children are worth in a famine area?

Only fifty gold Mowish.

At this thought, Malin stood beside him: "No, Knight sir, everyone’s life is priceless at birth, but everyone’s actions will eventually prescribe a suitable price tag to each other’s lives. Everyone has to pay for their deeds."

The Knight was stunned for a moment, then smiled and nodded, "You are the owner of the World Tree Sapling, and you speak truly. Everyone does have to pay for their choices."

Then he turned and glared at the stallholders who were just there for the spectacle: "Sit down and don’t move!"

Unlike when Malin had spoken earlier, the stallholders obediently sat still.

Despite both him and the knight wielding those triggers that could suddenly make one’s parents’ efforts go in vain, why didn’t they fear Malin’s earlier warning?

Malin fell silent for a moment and glanced at the Revolver in his hand. It looked almost like a toy in Malin’s hand due to its oversized barrel having been shortened, while the knight’s Shotgun was so plain and unadorned, with its parallel long double barrels, an all-steel stock adorned with a jagged metal blade, and the 12-gauge rifled barrel.

...Next time, just bring a sawed-off Shotgun with a short barrel instead.

Thinking this, Malin then noticed the tardy policemen, and he reached out to pat the knight’s arm guard, "New guests are arriving."

"No matter, leave it to us," the Knight said as he strode forward.

Watching his figure, Malin suddenly thought of scenes from big-budget movies, but the reality was this gentleman just sent the high-hatted, blue-robed policemen away.

Such an unexpectedly mundane development.

Malin thought, his attention drawn to Cohen, who seemed to have a strong curiosity about the tool in Malin’s hand.

So, he offered the gun, handle first, to him, "It’s quite heavy."

The bullets were spent, the trigger heavy, the pull long—Malin was not at all worried.

As Cohen grasped the handle with both hands, and Malin let go, he watched Cohen’s back bend from the weight of the gun.

Cohen struggled to lift it, couldn’t manage, and finally let go. As he stood up, his eyes revealed a slight change when they met Malin’s.