Steampunk Era: Mad Abield
Chapter 404: Section 269: Replay (Part 1)

Chapter 404: Section 269: Replay (Part 1)

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"Are you all fools!? You actually handed Malin over just because he demanded it!?" Bishop Maiseer Schmidt of the Church of the War God looked at the lady before him with furious anger: "That child is a Magic Warrior! Do you know how many years it takes for our Church of the War God to produce such a treasure!?"

"Then why did you let your people teach him a good lesson?" The lady asked without lifting her head as she trimmed her fingernails with a nail clipper.

"That’s because that little brat Maiseer did something wrong! If you do something wrong, you have to be punished! But even if it’s punishment, it has to come from us! We must not let an outsider like Malin do it!" Bishop exclaimed, roaring, "It’s been three days! Why haven’t they returned? Could Maiseer have died!? Has Malin fled in fear of his crimes?!"

"Maiseer, what kind of person do you think Mr. Malin is? Even if he killed Maiseer on the spot that day, what could you do to him, challenge him to a duel?" The lady sighed and pointed to another mentor of the Goddess of Harvest Church sitting across from her: "You old fellow, can’t you maintain your composure in the face of calamity like the young girl from the Goddess of Harvest Church?"

"That’s called a poker face!" Bishop Maiseer exclaimed with an extremely exaggerated expression.

......

"Three days! Our communication with the North has been cut off! No one knows what’s happened up there! Dammit, why is this happening!" The Archbishop of the Goddess of Harvest Church, Sydney region, stood in front of the little girl who was obviously confused with a blank expression.

But he had to complain. Malin Gaiate, in the eyes of the higher-ups of the entire Goddess of Harvest Church, was a crucial figure. The safety of this child weighed heavily on many hearts.

The Mowish family had been inquiring about Malin’s whereabouts for two days in a row.

The Elven ambassador offered to send a Ranger squad of eight to try and rescue people at the Northern front line.

The Dwarves cursed daily at Sydney’s Department of Foreign Affairs, and the Archbishop was somewhat confused as to why the Dwarves would come to the Department of Foreign Affairs—they would be better off looking for the unfortunate scapegoats there than at the Church of Justice.

Then the younger brother of the Sayer family gave him an answer—the Dwarves didn’t dare to curse in the halls of the Church of Justice.

"Enough. Although Malin looks like a child, he’s actually an adult," said Mentor Emet Selk, slumping in his chair.

"Shut up! If something happens to Malin, who was entrusted to you by Old Hoffman, let’s see how you die!"

"Heh, if something were really to happen to Malin, I’d be dead long before that old man could kill me," Emet Selk said with disdain.

At that moment, everyone turned their heads to the corner where, under their attention, more than a dozen tree roots emerged from the ground, forming a door. Then, the doorway’s azure reflection rippled as Malin emerged with Maiseer.

"See, I knew they’d be all right. It’s just you old folks always clucking around like broody hens," Emet Selk complained as he was smacked to the ground by an Archbishop’s Psychic Palm.

"Always yapping, you bloody brat from the Sayer family!" After smacking him, the Archbishop quickly approached: "Three days, what happened in the North?"

"Chaos Spirit Tide. The original plan was to take this kid for a round on the battlefield, but after the Spirit Tide came, we were trapped in the North, non-stop for three days." A somewhat travel-worn Malin extended his hand to shake with the Archbishop, then turned to the old man approaching from the Church of the War God: "I’m returning Maiseer to you, safe and sound. The lad did okay on the battlefield and has earned my forgiveness."

After speaking, Malin turned and said farewell to Maiseer, then headed for the exit.

"Malin! Where are you going?"

"Going to take a bath. Oh, and consider this a gift from this junior to you, old man." Malin threw something over his shoulder, which the Archbishop caught. It was a string of finger bones.

"The purified finger bones of a Chaos Priest?" The Bishop from the Church of the War God examined the war trophy in his companion’s hand: "There must be at least twenty Chaos Priests here; quite a heavy gift indeed."

"Of course. I haven’t killed that many Chaos Priests in my lifetime. He’s a good kid. Old Hoffman is truly blessed," the elderly Archbishop said, laughing contentedly. He turned to his colleague: "Bishop Maiseer, it seems your Apprentice also has something to give you."

So, Bishop Maiseer of the Church of the War God turned and saw the boy before him. Having not seen him for three days, he barely recognized him—this kid with shoulder-length hair now had a shaved head and scars on his scalp and face. His apprentice robe was clean, but Bishop Maiseer was not foolish enough to think this boy had survived three days in the North wearing such unsuitable clothes for the battlefield.

While he wanted to berate him, considering Malin’s words and the long, cloth-wrapped object in the boy’s hands, Bishop Maiseer still nodded at him: "Maiseer, my child, do you have anything else to say?"

"During the three days in the North, I realized more than once how foolish my previous thinking was. Bishop Maiseer, please forgive my foolish and impetuous behavior during the competition, and you too, Archbishop of the Goddess of Harvest Church, please forgive this foolish child. It was Mr. Malin who made me see that the self-esteem I had on the tournament field could one day kill me on the battlefield."

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