Steampunk Era: Mad Abield
Chapter 465 - 314: Blind to You (Part 1)

Chapter 465: Chapter 314: Blind to You (Part 1)

Fate is a curious thing, Casaman had to admit, especially when he received his new mission, which was to stir up conflict between the refugees and the natives in Carterburg—not for the first time had he contemplated this.

He had also asked the Archbishop, because everyone knew that Carterburg was God’s Child Malin’s territory, filled with his spies everywhere. Whether they were refugees or natives, many children served him, and no situation could escape the notice of his little ears and eyes.

Besides, Carterburg had plenty of job opportunities. As long as refugees had some skills, there would always be food-earning work waiting for them, and even retired veterans could be absorbed by the city patrol—expanded city walls and broadened avenues needed patrols and maintenance, as did newly built districts and refugee estates that required protection.

They say it is almost like Heavenly Kingdom on earth, where almost every sentient being has a job. Those who aren’t mentally sound naturally find themselves accommodated by the gallows and asylums, each taking in souls with their own flaws.

Where could one instigate opposition when everyone has food on their plate? Who would care about so-called beliefs—in this increasingly transparent world, the things promoted in newspapers make the existence of the Chaos Cult even more difficult.

Perhaps it was time to end this long infiltration. After finishing the affairs here, he would seek out Mr. Malin to help him arrange things; even the evil Chaotic Believer Casaman deserved to die at the hands of justice’s Revolver.

Afterward, whether reborn as Jack or Mack, or even named Tracy, it would be a new life, wouldn’t it?

Thinking this, Casaman removed the cigar from his mouth and placed it in the ashtray next to the sofa. He rose, walked to the dressing mirror, shed his robe, and donned formal wear—this attire, trending from Carterburg, made every mannequin-esque human form appear more gallant. Casaman was to meet someone today.

The other party was the president of the Business Guild, and they had to discuss workers’ weekly wages—thanks to Mr. Malin’s ’blessing.’ His factory had absorbed so many workers, provided so many benefits, and yet still generated so much profit.

That’s why the guild was going to confront Mr. Malin today; they had to make him reduce the weekly wages, or else all the workers under everyone’s name would simply find a better boss for themselves.

Casaman’s identity was that of a lawyer from The Capital. He had a complete lawyer’s certificate, provided by the Church to stir up the conflict between both parties. Thus, with the help of the Church’s undercover agents, Casaman joined the meeting this afternoon as the legal advisor to the Business Guild.

However, Casaman had little hope that Malin’s corporation would back down—can you really expect a giant to bow his head to hear the whispers of a mosquito?

Clearly impossible, so Casaman estimated that the Business Guild was bound to break ties with the Malin corporation.

Then it would be time to stir up trouble, a moment when people would play the role of neutral and objective lawyers to speak for the citizens.

Someone would step forward to agitate the citizens and workers.

Someone from the refugee estates would also come out to cry out loudly.

If played well, it might cause unrest, maybe even lead to the death of many unlucky ones. The best scenario would be for the entire city to plunge into chaos. If that could indeed happen, it would mean the mission was more than accomplished.

Of course, by that time, those issues and troubles would no longer be Casaman’s to deal with.

Because once the meeting was over, he would choose to ’return’ to The Capital.

His mission was done, there was no need for him to linger and watch the excitement. What Casaman truly needed to think about was how to break away from the Church, a matter that required a long-term plan.

Taking a hunting cap from the rack, Casaman placed it on his head, picked up his pouch and pipe, and donned his spectacles. Before leaving, he pulled out a string of beads from his pocket.

"Will my enemies be waiting for me at the meeting?" Casaman asked his first question while divining.

The slender bead string swayed.

Of course, there would be enemies—the steward Mowish, who helped Mr. Malin take care of the group, and his think tank, their lawyer, the worker representative—everyone would be an enemy to Casaman.

"Will I be in danger at the meeting?" Casaman asked his second question.

The bead string remained still, which reassured Casaman—everyone was still civilized, at least they wouldn’t resolve the issues and the makers of those issues with a Revolver on the spot.

"Will Mr. Malin attend?" Casaman queried with his third question.

The bead string remained still, reassuring Casaman even more—Malin’s absence meant he had left the job to his steward team, which could be interpreted as his absolute unwillingness to take a step back.

Honestly, Casaman thought that if he was a young man just entering society, facing such a boss, he would be utterly content to follow him—imagine, working in such a great and vast corporation, his wife could have a job as a laundress, and with both spouses working hard each month, they could receive various provisions, meat cans, and other consumables. Their child could attend school for free, and if they showed talent, might even be recommended to the Church of the Goddess of Harvest or the church of their belief to become an apprentice. And when the couple got too old to work, they would receive special rewards—a monthly living allowance that increased each year based on the workers’ tenure in the group.

If his wife and child could live like that, Casaman felt he would be thoroughly content, even if it meant selling his soul to the devil.

It’s a pity that a person like him didn’t deserve happiness; he could only lurk day after day, seeking retribution against Chaos and its hounds for the happiness he had lost.

His last question "Will I die?"

After asking, Casaman laughed heartily, so much that tears almost came out—no man is immortal, every Mortal will face this day eventually. He tossed the bead string onto the rack, turned his head, and looked at the portrait of a girl on the wall.

"May Chaos and its hounds meet their deserved end."

Malin picked up the work bag by the door, pushed it open, stepped out, and closed it behind him.

The strings of beads hanging on the rack first shivered in the breeze, then gradually began to spin until, finally, the beads came to rest on another hook of the rack, their movement ceasing without further wind.

......

The old man kneeled before the eerie statue, his eyes closed, listening to the footsteps approaching from behind.

The footsteps stopped a distance away from him, "Your Excellency, Carterburg has sent word that the negotiations between the Trade Guild and the Malin Group will begin in one hour. The meeting has been rescheduled and relocated at Malin’s request, and our action team could not get there in time."

"No matter, the Saint Heir of that false god is a cunning and powerful adversary; our brethren cannot defeat him. Besides, we do not need to kill him this time, just to engulf his group in a vortex of troubles, something neither we nor our friends wish to see him continue to enlarge." The old man said with a smile, "By the way, where is Casaman?"

"The Holy Envoy Casaman has already joined the meeting. He will represent the Trade Guild and misguide them into proposing even harsher conditions," replied the voice behind him.

"How about the Assassin’s Alliance?"

"They have accepted the task. They think it’s the workers from The Capital who have raised the money to kill Mr. Scab, who used to be a worker like them but turned his back on them after becoming a lawyer. After all, that is indeed Mr. Casaman’s original identity—it cannot be faked."

"Go now, and inform me as soon as there is new intelligence. Also, tell all the action groups that if Casaman arrives at their location, they should kill him."

"Yes, Your Excellency."

The footsteps and their owner receded from the Meditation Hall, and the old man raised his head to gaze at the statue and mutter to himself.

"Casaman is a traitor. The last time, we sold his intelligence to the newly established Homeland Security of that kingdom through an undercover operative in Sydney. It was meant to be a test of loyalty, and even if he were captured, they would have ways to rescue him."

With that, the old man looked down, "But he escaped. He claimed it was his sixth sense that warned him, and the detectors did not indicate he was lying... Yet such a lucky survivor from the Church’s annihilation seems to have been too fortunate."

According to the mole’s intelligence, someone must have informed him.

Who could have warned him? Only he and a few old cronies knew about it—they wouldn’t have told him. So who else could it be?

Could it be... someone from Homeland Security who warned him?

Or perhaps another player?

In any case, this man cannot be spared. Our sacred sect has no need for men with such ambiguous identities.

So, the old man had devised a perfect way for him to die—a lawyer in the service of the guild, killed by thugs, nothing could serve as a better spectacle.

A squad directly under his command would steer this assassination case toward the Assassin’s Guild and those so-called workers. When the time came, some in the Lawyer’s Guild would come forward to demand blood debts, while newspapers in service to the sect would also join the fray.

To tear the entire nation apart over a single event, to turn unity into history, to breed hatred among one another... that is the power of knowledge.

Sometimes, to kill a man, you need not wield the knife yourself; for the times have changed, the Noble has become a gentleman, and even when consuming raw meat, he uses a knife and fork.

Though that so-called God’s Child named Malin was the old man and his sect’s greatest enemy, he did get one thing right.

Times have changed, and everyone needs to adapt more flexibly in the new era.

So devious, so crafty, so vile... It’s a pity he’s not one of us.

If he cannot be the messenger of the True God, then he must be an enemy.

If Malin were to fall into his hands, he would grant him a merciful and swift death.

After all, this is the fee he pays with his knowledge.

The True God favors knowledge and rejoices in all knowledge, even if it comes from an enemy.

May the Lord have mercy.

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