Steampunk Era: Mad Abield
Chapter 49 - Forty-Four: Interlocking Rhythms (Part One)

Chapter 49: Chapter Forty-Four: Interlocking Rhythms (Part One)

Time rewound to twenty minutes earlier.

Watching the boy named Malin leave with others, Sara finally let out a sigh of relief.

The third daughter of the House of Brice had never feared a person like she did today; that boy named Malin Gaiate indeed discarded his glove with murderous intent.

She could feel it—the murderous intent swirling in the eyes of that tiny human figure when he tore off the lamp post.

It was a determination that if she dared to brandish a weapon, he would surely deliver a deadly blow.

So, Sara knelt very thoroughly and once again confirmed—not all rumors are true, but the rumors about this little guy were all indeed factual.

The lamp post was made of solid wrought iron, and that little thing tore it down with one hand; Sara felt as if her own giant bloodline was a farce, she couldn’t tear down a lamp post with one hand, let alone two. He truly lived up to the expectations of the esteemed Mr. Hoffman.

And to be honest... Malin was just so adorable.

Both were holders of the giant bloodline, so why was she so bulky and masculine, without any right to even pretend to be cute in front of boys she liked, while Malin was just so... Sara really couldn’t bring herself to use the word ’petite’ for a boy, but how else could she describe him? He appeared so frail and endearing, harmless like a small animal, yet he also displayed the ferocity of a berserker. Sara thought how wonderful it would be if Ailan Bobuka could have such power.

Unfortunately, life is always filled with various kinds of helplessness.

"Sara, let’s go," Bobuka called from the carriage.

"I’m coming." Sara quickly walked over and sat down in the back row of the carriage—the carriage compartment felt like a distant dream to Sara, one where she was only five years old, still small, yet somewhat cramped.

.........

Orlando Carter was still idle during the third day of the Harvest Festival. Watching the crowd, he noticed a Church Proxy, riding a horse but stuck in the sea of people.

"Over here, Your Excellency," Orlando waved to the Proxy, who noticed the space beside him and carefully yet resolutely steered his horse over: "Officer, what can I do for you?"

"Where are you headed?" the officer asked with a smile.

"North City District, I need to notify members of the Church of the War God to suspend their missions, as my commander believes there may be dangers they can’t handle." Maybe it was the smile that gave off an absolute sense of security, as the Proxy sighed in relief: "I was born in this city, lived in it for forty years now, and this is the first time I feel, how can Carterburg have so many people? How did they all get here?"

"Your Excellency, this is one of the rare days in the year when everyone can afford to be idle, it’s just tough on service providers like us," Orlando said with a laugh as he moved to the front. He put the whistle to his mouth and blew, signaling the citizens to pause: "Come, Your Excellency, I’ll take you over there. There’s a passageway currently designated for police use, leading directly to the gates of the North City District."

"Thank you." The Proxy thanked Orlando with a smile and also nodded his chest to the citizens who had stopped: "Thank you all, may your lives be joyful and prosperous."

The citizens recognized the uniform of the Proxy—both Church Proxies and Punishers had nearly uniform attire for the sake of uniformity and visibility, allowing ordinary citizens to identify them at a glance—of course, Punishers on a mission would not follow such conventions.

Two policemen stood at the entrance of the alley. Seeing Orlando with the Proxy from the Church of the Harvest Goddess, one of them clasped his hands in front of him and crossed his fingers in a tight grip, making the standard salutation of the Harvest Goddess’ followers: "Good day, brother in faith, what brings you here?"

"It’s the joyous winds of the harvest, brother. I have matters in the North District, and your colleague told me I could use this passage."

"Indeed, no problem at all, Proxy of the Church of the Harvest Goddess, please proceed," responded the other officer who, not being a follower of the Harvest Goddess, had remained silent until now. But this time, of course, he needed to express his stance—Orlando had brought the Proxy here, making his position clear; his colleague was a follower of the Harvest Goddess, with his stance naturally being represented by their association.

Therefore, he paid his respects, stepping aside just like his colleague.

"Thank you. May your life’s journey be blessed with abundance and shared joy," the Proxy said with equal courtesy, pleasing the officer who was a follower of the Church of Justice—followers of the Church of Justice didn’t quite like the Church of the War God, as the wars they waged were often a source of calamity; they as well held little fondness for the Church of the Sea God, for the sea was too capricious; similarly, the Church of Art and Beauty was not favored by them either, as its followers were often seduced by the Evil God, committing unforgivable sins.

But the Church of the Harvest Goddess was different; it was a neutral and benevolent Church. From deity to member, if they were not farming, they were praying for a bountiful harvest. In the eyes of the Church of Justice, it was regarded as the safest group of churches.

In fact, a millennium before the establishment of the Church of Justice, the Church of the Harvest Goddess was always considered the safest. Compared to the Church of Art and Beauty, where today a Bishop might fall from grace and tomorrow the followers might vanish after reveling in celestial delights, the Harvest Goddess Church had fewer than three cases of follower corruption every ten years, yet countless incidents involving Spirits running amok and incursions by different kinds were handled annually. They were certainly seen by the Church of Justice as the most reliable friends.

When the Proxy rode into the alley on horseback, the police officer turned his head for one last look, confirming that the Proxy, having turned around, was touching his chest in salute. The middle-aged man also smiled, raising his hat in a courteous gesture.

..........

The old man sitting behind the hotel counter was reading the newspaper, illuminated by the bright energy lamp that lit up the slightly gloomy corridor on the ground floor due to the absence of windows, as well as the newspaper before him. As he delved deeper into his reading, he began to smile, delighted by the newspaper’s joke column which had been getting better lately, until he heard the sound of the hotel’s main door being opened.

"Good afternoon, sir..."

He looked up from the newspaper he was facing and saw a man in a light grey overcoat and a stylish, tidy top hat. He was somewhat young, unfamiliar, but that was normal—every year, the Harvest Festival in Carterburg attracted followers of the Goddess of Harvest from the human kingdoms. After all, Carterburg was one of the top five parishes in the human world, and it was easily accessible—aside from sea travel, visitors could also travel from Cape Cavern in the East and head north to Carterburg, along safe routes past beautiful scenery and endless fields. Followers would come yearly in the autumn.

"Good afternoon, old sir, I need a room, one at the top, preferably with a window that overlooks the square. I’ve heard your street offers the most direct view of the nightly prayer procession in the square," said the middle-aged man, lifting his hat to reveal a slightly balding head, which immediately endeared him to the old man—this head was a sign of being one of his own.

He sat up straight, his shiny head reflecting the light from the energy lamp: "Indeed, there is such a room, but they are all booked."

"Money is not an issue, old sir," the middle-aged man said, smiling as he pulled out his wallet.

The elder took out a cigarette case and offered one: "Money is indeed not the issue, sir. The rooms are all booked, there’s only a small one in the attic. Although the view is excellent, I don’t think it’s quite suitable for a gentleman like yourself."

"In my younger days, I too was a child running through the fields. This time, I am here to fulfill a childhood dream, so I will take the room," the middle-aged man took the cigarette, lit it with a flint lighter, and then lit the old man’s cigarette as well: "How much will it be?"

"Three a day, as you know, the hotel prices have generally gone up these days." The old man arched an eyebrow; originally, he wanted to charge four but felt a kinship with this middle-aged man, so he lowered the price.

"I understand, five days," the middle-aged man took out two ten-dollar bills and placed them on the table. As the old man was about to give change, the middle-aged man, with a smile, picked up his luggage beside him. He reached out, and a key from the top of the rack flew into his hand. He smiled at the stunned old man, "My mentor said ’knowledge changes fate,’ and he was not wrong. Knowledge changed my fate, so keep the change. Happy Harvest Festival, old sir."

"Ah... ah, yes! Happy Harvest Festival! Your Excellency!" The old man stood up, watching the middle-aged man ascend the stairs, finally understanding why he had spoken of running through the fields in his youth.

He must have graduated from the Church of the Goddess of Harvest as a Transcendent Apprentice.

Thinking this, the old man happily put away the money. After placing it in his wallet, the smile vanished from the old man’s face. He took his place and spread out the newspaper, continuing his own reading.

Then he began to laugh, as the joke column in the newspaper was truly funny. He was very amused.

It was... too amusing.

.......... The middle-aged man went upstairs to the top floor, followed the staircase to a small door, opened it with the key, entered the room, and then gently closed the door behind him.

His facial muscles were twitching, and soon, a younger face quite unlike the one from before replaced the middle-aged man’s. The young man set down his suitcase, which automatically opened, revealing bottles and countdown devices inside.

The young man took an ivory white cloak from a compartment in the case, exchanged his overcoat for it, then his thick cloth shoes for the leather ones, and his tight pants for the loose-fitting trousers he had been wearing.

After slipping on a pair of arm guards, he opened the window and saw the little policeman as well as the Proxy staggering through the crowd.

The young man flipped his palm with a smile, and a slender blade sprung from the arm guard, the silvery edge covered in blessings and demon-slaying patterns.

Muttering to himself, he withdrew the blade and lifted both hands, pulling the cloak over his head.

The little policeman stopped the Proxy while the young man climbed out the window onto the rooftop.

"May the gods forgive the sins committed by your family."

Standing on the edge of the rooftop, he whispered.

"And I...will send you to meet them."