The heavy clouds obscured the moon, making Old Dunling appear exceptionally dark tonight. The towering buildings rose like clusters, seemingly twisted and grotesque under the faint glow, like a vast, formidable forest.
The Zeppelin Airship continued to cruise above the night sky, casting its bright lights below yet refusing to spare any illumination for the Lower City District. It was so dark here, deep to the point where nothing could be seen.
Tonight, the city was under curfew, with all routes leading to the Lower City strictly guarded. But the ones stationed there were not the mounted police; instead, they were the heavily ard Royal Guard. No one knew when they had arrived, and by the ti people noticed, they were already there.
Iron boots struck the damp ground, the cold clang of tal echoed in the deserted alleys.
The soldiers wore red cloaks, equipped with the latest "Dragon Roar" rifles from the chanical Institute. These were heavy artillery described as rifles, and every ti they fired, a three-foot-long fla would rise from the muzzle, followed by a heavy bullet that roared out with the sound of a dragon’s roar at high speed. It could pierce through enemies and the deck in front of them; its initial design was for sieges, and under its volley, stone brick cover was futile.
An iron whistle was clamped in their mouths, and from ti to ti, the caw of a crow-like whistle would sound in the night, as if it were a ssenger from Death.
"They won’t enter the Lower City, right?"
Bola sneezed and asked. The height was chillingly cold; here on a high platform misrepresenting as a Steam Tower, it was Bola’s watchtower, where the commander could see everything happening on the battlefield and issue commands.
Even though there was scalding steam surging around, Bola still felt cold, wrapping his clothes tightly.
"They’re responsible for the blockade; under the Dragon Roar, no one can leave the Lower City before dawn."
Many things tonight couldn’t be disclosed, not even to the Royal Guard.
Galahad glanced at the faintly flickering light in the darkness, speaking calmly, his gaze steady and cautious, as was his nature.
"What if the enemy is nurous? With so many demons charging, can they hold their ground?" Bola expressed so worry, as the Lower City was adjacent to the Outer City District, with Hell and Heaven being so closely connected.
"This is Old Dunling, we cannot let a single demon escape, not even allowing them to leave the Underground Palace."
Galahad understood well what would occur tonight. In the near distance is a stretch of ruined buildings, but both knew that the Banquet of Bliss was currently underway beneath that surface, where people lost themselves in revelry unaware that Death was already at their door.
"Now is the age of steam; the synchronized gunfire can destroy any foe. Rember those winged cavalryn still nostalgic for the old days? They traversed the continent, flexibly altering their armor, becoming either heavy or light cavalry. They bore wings at their backs, appearing like descending angels during their charge."
Galahad spoke derisively, sneering at that bygone era.
"In the end, all they could do was accompany the old era to the grave. Their sturdy armor ant nothing before black powder. The last unit of winged cavalry was annihilated on the charge path by cannon fire, with only their commander reaching the high ground, but he was alone, and the battle was already decided."
"Bola, this is the dawn of a new era. Those once clad in heavy armor winged cavalry have fallen at our hands, let alone those demons; they are relics of the old tis destined to perish properly."
Galahad’s voice remained as calm as ever. The night’s glow illuminated his mask, and the scent of gunpowder lingered on him.
"It seems many will die tonight... I’m curious why you chose tonight to attack, considering we haven’t yet uncovered the identity of that mysterious Duke. Now, it’s undoubtedly alarming the snake under the grass."
Bola looked down at his kingdom; it was a dirty heap of garbage, and he was the Rat King. He was acutely aware of how many would perish tonight.
"It’s too late; we’ve discovered the whereabouts of the Plague Doctor. He should be at the Banquet of Bliss now; you well know what he’ll do and how irreversible things will beco."
Bola fell silent, fully understanding who the Plague Doctor Galahad ntioned was and also recognizing that tonight, Galahad was in charge, with his role just assisting.
"That great detective should be there now, right?"
"Indeed, without his intelligence, we wouldn’t have realized Sabo helped them."
Galahad checked the pocket watch in his hand; the ti had not yet co; there was still ti.
"Can you still reach that detective? If you can, tell him to leave quickly; tonight is not a night for a detective to get involved."
"You’re planning to purify the entire Underground Palace?"
Bola’s expression turned cold at the thought of such a massacre.
"No one knows what that Plague Doctor might leave behind. Arthur’s intention is to eradicate it all."
After a prolonged pause, Bola sighed; he could not contact Lorenzo. The fastest modern communication thod, radio, was a thing currently equipped only by the Purification chanism, and the outside world wasn’t even aware of its existence.
Lorenzo couldn’t hear Bola’s calls; he was fighting alone.
"Looks like your great detective is going to die there," Galahad said coldly.
"No, that one is a nace. The Orientals often say that a nace lives for a thousand years," Bola replied with a confident grin regarding the renowned detective.
"A nace lives for a thousand years?"
Galahad raised an eyebrow, not quite grasping the phrase from the Orient. Despite the world shrinking under the Midcourt Serpent, the distant Orient remained a sowhat vague term for everyone.
The revolution sparked by steam technology even awakened the dragon dormant in the East, and after the end of the Radiant War, Ingwig’s steam technology reached its peak. New steamships and war airships, various newly presented powerful cannons made their debut. Just when everyone thought no one could challenge Ingwig’s dominance among nations, the dragon from the East arrived.
It was a foggy morning, as crew mbers checked the hull as usual, preparing to set sail, but just then, endless waves surged, battering the fishing boats as if a storm were approaching.
They looked up, and everyone saw the enormous ship erging from the thick fog; it was so massive that it seed like a monster from ancient mythology.
It was a direct collision between two cultures. Many crew mbers were so frightened that they were rooted to their spots. They had never seen such a large ship, even the Royal Flagship of Ingwig looked like a child in front of it. What shocked them even more was its construction. Steamships had been around for nearly a century, yet this great ship seed to have sailed out of history, without any use of steel, built solely from sturdy wood, seamlessly integrated as if carved from so great world-supporting tree.
This was a great ship called Kuilong.
The towering sails blocked out the sky, embroidered with coiling Oriental dragons. Hundreds of cannons protruded from the sides of the ship; its bow was the face of a ferocious dragon. No one had ever seen such a creature, believing it to herald the end of days.
Despair ca when the morning sun rose; the damp fog dissipated with the sunlight, the sea beca clearer, and people saw the ocean behind the giant ship, with hundreds of equally large vessels, hundreds of flags flying, like migrating red sparrows, a fiery rain burning the sky.
This was a fleet crossing the world.
Panic and despair swept over Reindona’s port in an instant, reaching all the way to the Platinum Palace in Old Dunling. Even though this fleet from the East was decades behind in weaponry, no one thought they could win this war.
This was the first ti the Ingwig people saw those from the East, and they expected them to be as terrifying as legends, yet the general nad Left Garrison did not bring war. He walked into the Platinum Palace in armor, saying he ca with the Emperor’s decree and left gifts from the East. The queen then returned the gesture with knowledge from the chanical Institute, and so these Easterners left Ingwig with steam technology, not to be seen on that horizon until decades later.
"A good person doesn’t live long, while a scourge lasts a thousand years. This is the full expression of the saying, which roughly ans that those shackled by their moral principles often don’t live long, whereas those lowly scoundrels without principles live to the very end."
Bola said as he wrapped his clothes tighter, no steam escaping, the condensed water droplets especially cold.
"Do you think he’s a lowly scoundrel?" Galahad felt a bit surprised, not expecting Bola to judge him like that.
"Yeah, only those scoundrels need a new life to flee the past, and Lorenzo Hols is one of them."
Bola said plainly.
"But it’s precisely such people who can live to the end, don’t worry about him, attack at will, this detective is surely going to survive."
Recalling the first ti he saw Lorenzo, Bola couldn’t quite imagine what this wretched man before him had gone through, nearly putrid wounds, hollow eyes... That must be imnse darkness, yet even so Lorenzo had not died, let alone tonight’s happenings.
"Beep–Beep–"
Suddenly a sound arose, in the darkness, the communicator on Bola’s chest flickered with a faint light. This was new technology from the chanical Institute, called wireless communication. With this device, even if two people were separated by the entirety of Old Dunling, they could receive ssages, faster than the telephone, more mobile. It would change the battlefield, but for now was only equipped within the Purification chanism.
As he listened to the ssages from the communicator, Bola’s expression gradually grew serious. Though it was pitch black, Galahad sensed Bola’s change.
"What happened?" he asked.
"Four teams of mounted police attempted to enter the Lower City District but were stopped by the Forbidden Guards."
By rights, only the patrolling mounted police should appear on the streets at this hour, but four teams of mounted police appearing together seed rather unusual.
"Could Suyalan Hall have been corrupted too?"
Galahad’s tone showed anger for the first ti.
"No, it’s that scum."
Bola was clearly more exasperated than Galahad, swearing angrily.
"Halt the attack, there’s an important target in the Underground Palace."
"What important target?"
Galahad was tonight’s commander, and he didn’t understand why Bola suddenly overstepped.
"That scum Lorenzo, he said handling Sabo alone was no problem. I thought he had so novel plan. You know, he orchestrated the Red River Tragedy; he’s a detective that peers into everything and can also beco the perfect criminal."
"I finally know where that bastard’s confidence cos from!"
Bola explained, anger he’d never felt before, and as he spoke he wanted to draw his revolver, only to rember midway that Lorenzo had it. Now he regretted not killing Lorenzo.
"Half an hour ago, Suyalan Hall received an anonymous letter – an address, a na."
Bola spoke, pulling from the darkness a silver-white rifled gun, with an elongated barrel and high-powered lens. The slender gun had sharp protrusions, and in tis of need, it could serve as a peculiar sword for battle.
This weapon ca from the chanical Institute, a powerful but cost-prohibitive conceptual weapon that rarely appeared on the battlefield because its owner was Bola, the underground king, and when a king draws his blade, it’s a war that concerns everything.
"The address is the Underground Palace managed by Sabo in the Lower City District, tonight’s battlefield, and that na is Eve Phoenix."
Hearing that na, Galahad paused, for the first ti showing an emotion other than calm on his stern knight’s face. He held his head, paused a long ti before slowly saying.
"Arthur will kill us all."
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