Steampunk Era: Mad Abield
Chapter 469 - 317: Blind to You (Part 4)

Chapter 469: Chapter 317: Blind to You (Part 4)

```

Donald was counting down the minutes of his life.

Even though there were no gunshots from downstairs at the moment, and the streets were still bustling with people, he instinctively felt that the enemy had reached the second floor and was sweeping room by room.

This safehouse wasn’t just for the Guild; beneath its facade lay a world teeming with the strong and the sly, thieves and con men. The occupants of this inn enjoyed the safety it provided and were naturally expected to make the necessary sacrifices for Guild members when required.

Each guest was merely a pawn.

Now they were being put to full use.

As Donald held his rifle, the countdown reached zero. He didn’t see the signal from across the street, nor did he see the target enter the scene.

Damn it, where was Casaman?

He began to count anxiously—if no one came by sixty, he would have to leave, or else when the battle mages arrived, he would truly be trapped with no way out.

The only thing awaiting him was a dead end.

The first ten seconds passed, and the potted plant by the window was still there.

The second ten seconds passed, and the damn potted plant was still there.

In the third ten seconds, a carriage entered the scene.

Donald zoomed in with his scope and then saw Malin smiling at him.

Damn! Damn!

Donald quickly stood up. He discarded his rifle and didn’t even bother to grab his satchel; instead, he ran swiftly towards the neighboring building.

Malin had arrived, and this guy was smiling at him; Malin knew he was on the rooftop.

This was not normal!

Donald swiftly leaped over the small building and then heard an explosion from the square. He turned his head just in time to see the fireworks being set off in the plaza.

At the same time, the explosion from behind was masked by this noise.

There were no screams; it was an old adversary. They knew about his assassin identity and his backup plans, which is why they used a decoy explosion.

Donald neared the edge of the alley, looked down, and saw the Church of the War God’s carriage—damn it, it was the Church of the War God.

Glancing at the building across the alley, Donald spotted the rope strung between the two buildings—an aerial passageway prepared by the Guild long ago.

He leaped onto the rope and dashed swiftly across the alleyway. When he landed, he rolled to avoid injury and, while getting up, he turned and saw someone climbing up to the rooftop of the inn.

Casually sliding under a table, he evaded the searcher’s gaze and heard someone shouting loudly.

"There’s still warmth on the platform! He couldn’t have gone far!"

As Donald’s mind raced, deciding between hiding under the table or fleeing, the assassin noticed the swaying rope and heard someone shouting, "That rope is moving without wind!"

Crawling out from under the table, he jumped across the gap between buildings amidst gunfire, into the blind spot of the firing line. Donald grabbed the rope on the table, attached one end to the chimney, then grasped the other end and leaped into the alley.

As he neared the ground, the rope tensed, and using the recoil, Donald safely landed. He ran quickly towards another safehouse.

What in the world was going on?!

Rushing out of the alley, Donald glanced around. A police officer was receiving a message from a messenger, and members of the Church’s Patrol Team were listening to something.

Donald charged into a ready-to-wear shop, and before opening the door, he was a tense man, but when he emerged, a man with a genteel smile on his face said to the shopkeeper, "Good afternoon, madam."

"Good afternoon, sir. You look quite out of breath."

"Apologies, madam, sometimes we young men need to run to catch up with happiness." While speaking, Donald took out hair pomade and a comb, approached the mirror, swiftly styled his hair into a pompadour, then placed the comb and pomade on the nearby stand. After washing his hands, he picked up a trench coat, a deerstalker hat, pioneer trousers, and a handsome leather belt.

The elderly lady watched the young customer enter the dressing room and smiled indulgently—the young man reminded her of her husband, who was just like that in his youth, bringing the scent of pomade and his youth to her side.

Those were the good old days when everyone was young, unlike now, when many friends were no longer with them, including her husband, who had left two years ago.

"Our era has passed."

The lady sighed to herself and then noticed the police officer entering the door: "Sir, what can I do for you, or perhaps, you’d like to buy some new clothes?"

"No, madam, sorry to disturb you, but I’d like to know... Has any peculiar customer visited?" The officer had a flushed face, apparently unable to control his love for alcohol, but at least he was still a clear-headed adult.

"No, the only people who come here are young men chasing love, not middle-aged men with a month-long beard growth." The old lady replied with a smile.

A police officer with obvious Thanan heritage laughed behind the middle-aged officer: "Madam, apologies, my colleague just had his child’s betrothal drinks."

"Ah, I see, forgive me, sir. Perhaps I should offer you a voucher for my indiscretion." The old lady remarked with a sigh, while extending an olive branch.

"No problem, madam. I know I’m not very popular right now..." As he said this, the officer noticed Donald coming out of the dressing room.

```

He curled the corners of his mouth, then bid farewell to the shop manager’s wife, while his colleague smiled, doffing his hat, "Madam, may your business prosper."

"Thank you, you Thananese are always so understanding." The old lady smiled as she saw off the two officers, then turned to Donald, "Sir, you now look like a knight fully armed for a marriage proposal."

"Thank you, madam, your craftsmanship is excellent, the clothes fit perfectly."

"No, this is readymade clothing from Malin’s textile factory, you see, the label here. I’m an old lady with blurry eyes and can no longer personally tailor clothes for each customer like I did when I was young. It was Mr. Malin who continued my dream as a shop manager. This shop my husband and I opened in our youth, being able to keep it open until the last day, has always been my dream." She pointed to an old man armed with a picture frame behind her.

Donald nodded, paid, and then left the readymade clothes shop.

His heart had settled down—his looks had definitely not been exposed; since Lord Malin had smiled at him, he surely wouldn’t sell him out to the police, the small bounty on his head wasn’t enough for his expenses.

At the same time, he was vigilant—just how vast were Lord Malin’s holdings, to what terrifying extent had his group expanded over the years, and what fearsome opponents he and his comrades... might ultimately face.

Approaching the crowd, Donald lit a cigarette for himself.

Now that the danger had been eliminated, it was time to start the review.

Firstly, the first question, why Casaman didn’t show up.

Donald already had an answer to this question in his mind—Casaman must have heeded Malin’s alert, he certainly took another route not passing through the square to the meeting site.

Secondly, the second doubt, why didn’t the workers who were supposed to signal give a signal.

Three possibilities;

One, they got scared and ran away... that’s impossible, the workers who could afford to hire an assassin, their rage and hatred had already surpassed their reverence for the law, if they dared to use such means to kill Casaman, they definitely couldn’t have fled at the last moment.

Two, they were discovered by Casaman and then pursued him on their own... that too is impossible, if that were the case, there was no need for Mr. Malin to appear in his sniper scope, which is a very dangerous move; without sufficient confidence, Donald didn’t believe that he would expose his head under a gun.

Therefore, the only possibility was that they had been cleaned up by Lord Malin’s subordinates.

This was the only plausible answer, and also the third question that disturbed Donald the most internally.

There were many rumors about Lord Malin, but his mercy towards innocent mortals was universally acknowledged, even if those workers had hired an assassin, in Malin’s eyes, they should be considered just guilty before the act was carried out.

But the reality was... they had been dealt with.

So, the final question came—why did Lord Malin choose to kill those guys.

Standing on the street corner, a gust of wind hit Donald, and a shiver went through his mind—they were fakes!

The guildmaster had been deceived! These supposed ’workers’ were never really workers from the beginning! Only then would Mr. Malin not hesitate to kill them! And if they could be killed without hesitation, there was only one possibility... they were devotees of the Mimicking Bird.

Donald was somewhat undecided, because he couldn’t confirm whether the guildmaster and the inside of the guild had been infiltrated by the followers of the Mimicking Bird.

If there had been infiltration, and Donald went to the safehouse in the north of the city, the people waiting to silence him might already be there.

If there hadn’t been, if Donald chose to go to Malin to explain everything at this time, he would certainly cause the death of many comrades.

In the end, Donald found a small post office, wrote a letter about the matter, and decided to inform Malin of his suspicions, but he wouldn’t reveal any details about the organization.

If I never return, the Assassin’s Guild has been infiltrated by the Mimicking Bird.

If I go and come back... well, perhaps we could still make a deal.

God have mercy.

After sealing the letter, Donald walked out of the small post office, then whistled at a little Apprentice by the roadside.

The latter looked around and then pointed at himself.

Donald nodded.

"Sir, what do you need?" The kid approached.

Donald crouched down, "I know you are one of Lord Malin’s little minions."

"Eyes and ears of Malin, sir, ’minions’ is a derogatory term," the kid, though he bore the traits of Eastern Kingdom blood, spoke with a perfectly fluent Carterburg accent.

"Sorry, then, little eyes and ears, could you deliver this letter to Lord Malin for me?"

"Who are you?"

"Tell him, it’s from an old friend he met in Regensburg, Donald." After speaking, Donald handed the letter and five Mowish gold pieces to him.

The kid pushed the money back, "If your news is truly worth this much, Mr. Malin will pay me, and if your news isn’t worth it, then I shouldn’t take your money either, that’s discipline," the kid said.

Donald was momentarily stunned, then nodded emphatically.

He had begun to respect Malin’s managerial skills profoundly.

Search the lightnovelworld.cc website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.