A dense mass of police officers had blocked the bridge connecting the Flea Nest to the outside world.
Executors of the Heresy Inquisition Bureau poured into the different streets and alleys like a rising tide.
The Flea Nest was like a sleeping woman who had been roughly dragged out of her bed.
Her hair was in disarray as she cried out in loud pain.
The executors blew specially made iron whistles, kicked open the doors of underground money houses, casinos, and smuggling shops in every household, raised rifles at the people inside, and ordered them to stand against the walls.
The carriage that served as the command headquarters still stood at the crossroads.
A continuous stream of executors went back and forth between the carriage and the various districts, escorting the arrested suspects and the confiscated goods together to the front of the carriage.
“Still haven’t found the stronghold of the Dragon Worship Cult?”
Richard threw the wooden carving of a sheep-headed human figure in his hand onto the ground and crushed it underfoot.
“Sorry, Director. We are still investigating,” the executor beside him said with a bow.
Three days earlier, Richard’s residence had received an anonymous letter.
The letter stated that the Dragon Worship Cult would be delivering three thousand pounds of gold coins in the Flea Nest.
To Richard, this was naturally wonderful news.
As the eldest son, he had few other resources besides the Heresy Inquisition Bureau.
Even his position as director had been obtained through the favor of the Pope rather than the affection of his father.
Even if this suspicious letter might have come from vampires of the Northern Continent or from political enemies within the country, Richard had no room to question it.
He needed those three thousand pounds of gold coins more than anyone else to wage a true war of succession that belonged to him.
Moreover, the little sister especially favored by their father had transferred the city defense army to the Flea Nest today.
This greatly increased the credibility of that letter and made Richard determined to clear out the Flea Nest.
However, the progress of searching for the Dragon Worship Cult was far from satisfactory.
The executors under him had arrested a large number of suspects, yet none of them had any connection to the Dragon Worship Cult.
The bosses who operated illegal establishments exchanged meaningful glances with the inspectors and sheriffs standing to the side.
Richard felt several heated gazes coming from behind him.
He knew that the Public Security Bureau was one of the protective umbrellas of the Flea Nest.
Behind some of the suspects might even stand a northern dragon or a southern governor.
The Flea Nest was free soil that old Robert had tacitly permitted.
Their father of course understood the crimes and heresies hidden in this area, yet both the northern and southern countries would secretly send people to trade in the Flea Nest.
These transactions brought a flood of money and intelligence to Parisie.
The Flea Nest was a filthy mire, yet the nutrients born from that mire were exactly what Carolingia needed for its growth.
No plants would grow on hard stone ground.
Richard’s actions tonight had broken the political understanding regarding the Flea Nest.
He would inevitably offend many people because of it.
Although such things were not worth mentioning in the face of those three thousand pounds of gold, after two hours of clearing, he still had not even found the location of the Dragon Worship Cult.
“Where else remains unchecked?” Richard’s tone carried a trace of impatience.
“Only one abandoned building in the cemetery district remains. It is called the Ant Nest,” the executor said with a slight bow.
Richard knew that place.
Ordinary residents of the Flea Nest all cast contemptuous looks at the people living in the Ant Nest.
Only the poorest, those who could not even afford the basic taxes, would live there.
They were the lowest of the low, just like rats living in the sewers.
“Relay my order. All executors are to be transferred to search the Ant Nest,” Richard said.
The executor hesitated.
“That building has gathered several thousand people. A forced search might cause a riot. Moreover, if the entire bureau goes to search the Ant Nest, the waterways on the north bank of the Seine will be left unguarded… We do not have enough manpower.”
“Authorize the executors. They have the right to directly execute any who resist. As for the sewers… abandon them. Blow up the outlets outside the city!”
Richard’s voice was icy.
Richard understood that this had already exceeded the limits of the Heresy Inquisition Bureau’s enforcement authority.
Yet for the sake of those three thousand pounds of gold and his own claim to the throne, he could no longer care about so many things.
***
Claire and Ophelia walked silently through the underground corridor.
The narrow space was filled with a mixture of blood and incense that made one feel stifled.
After leaving the chapel painted with giant murals, Claire had remained silent the entire time.
Ophelia wanted to change the subject yet did not know what to say.
“The sound of water!”
Ophelia frowned.
A vampire’s hearing was many times sharper than that of ordinary people.
She heard the sound of water coming from the direction of the sewers.
It was not the trickle of a water channel, but the sound of the sea rising with the tide.
“Does the Seine River have tides?” Claire finally spoke.
“No. Someone must have blocked the outlet downstream. All the hundreds of sewers in this city converge in the waterways of the Flea Nest before finally draining into the Seine. What we are hearing is probably the sound of accumulated water that cannot find an exit flowing back.”
“Flowing back… does that not mean the underground space of the Ant Nest will be flooded?”
“Yes. So we have to hurry,” Ophelia pushed up her glasses.
Ophelia lit the miniature wand in her hand, and the two of them quickened their pace through the light.
Suddenly, a sub-dragonkin corpse appeared in the illuminated field of vision.
It still bore wounds from being slain by a large weapon.
The crushed heart was still gushing a continuous flow of blood.
Its death had occurred within the past few minutes.
They were very close.
The killer was near them.
Claire and Ophelia exchanged a glance and extinguished the miniature wand.
A sharp aura permeated the narrow corridor, like an invisible blade.
Warriors called that aura “killing intent.”
It was something only those who had experienced life-and-death trials could sense.
It felt like walking through a forest while a tiger crouched in the underbrush stared at you.
Something was moving at the end of the corridor.
Claire abruptly looked in that direction and saw only the flickering candlelight of a cup of wax, yet that faint light reflected traces of steam.
Claire’s heart tightened.
She drew her pistol and stood ready.
Those were the traces of steam armor.
She was all too familiar with them.
“Class monitor, be careful! There is a Steam Knight!”
“I saw that thing. It cannot be steam armor.”
Ophelia pointed at the ceiling of the corridor.
The height was less than two meters, while even the previous generation’s Black Warrior model already stood three meters tall.
The empire’s current steam armor were all metal behemoths of four or five meters.
Ophelia lightly patted Claire’s shoulder and shook her head, signaling Claire not to interfere.
Claire did not stop her.
If it were a pure comparison of swordsmanship, Ophelia far surpassed her by many times.
The seemingly inconspicuous class monitor was actually the only graduate of that cohort at the Intelligence Academy who had mastered all Five Swords Under Heaven.
Previously, when Claire had heard that she was being ostracized by human colleagues in the military department, her first worry had been whether those colleagues had been turned into colleague fragments.
Ophelia walked ahead of Claire, raised her straight sword, and flicked the blade.
The sword body emitted a prolonged humming like a bee, lasting a long time.
That was the meaning of issuing a challenge between warriors.
Ophelia slowly raised the sword above her head.
The straight sword was only one meter in length, yet in her hands it seemed like a broad-bladed greatsword.
This was the Bright Moon Stance, one of the Five Swords Under Heaven.
It was a technique used against enemies whose forms far exceeded one’s own.
It completely abandoned defense, seeking only extreme speed and powerful force to cut the enemy, together with their scales or armor, into two pieces.
The killing intent grew tighter and tighter like a drawn string.
Just as it seemed about to snap, Ophelia’s red eyes flashed.
She suddenly swung the sword downward, cutting toward the shadow in front of her.
In that instant, a large amount of steam burst forth in the direction Ophelia faced.
Then two weapons collided and produced brilliant sparks.
In the flash of the firelight, Ophelia saw the iron-armored shadow within the steam.
The opponent’s weapon was a giant long-handled blade.
It had blocked the sharp Bright Moon cut head-on.
It was precisely this blade that had crushed the hearts of those sub-dragonkin.
This long-handled blade originated from the Twin Moons Khanate and was called a “Crescent Moon Blade” or “Half-Moon Blade.”
The strongest beast-race riders used it as a cavalry saber.
It had once become a nightmare for human knights with its effect of shattering both rider and horse.
Ophelia’s strike missed, and she immediately retreated.
This was the flaw of the Bright Moon Stance.
It left no room for oneself.
Once a strike failed, one might lose balance.
The opponent did not take the opportunity to pursue.
It was not out of mercy, but because when Ophelia retreated, the tip of her sword still pointed straight at his brow.
She retreated as swiftly as lightning and changed into the Wind Stance.
This was a sword technique evolved from staff methods, specifically used to counter long-handled weapons.
It did not pursue speed yet possessed vigorous power.
The straight sword and the Crescent Moon Blade intersected once more.
In this exchange, Ophelia did not withdraw her sword at all.
The straight sword cut out again along exactly the same trajectory, striking the same position on the body of the Crescent Moon Blade.
Then came the third cut, the fourth cut…
With every cut, the Crescent Moon Blade trembled violently, and the opponent retreated a step along with it.
This was not a fixed form of the Wind Stance.
Rather, Ophelia was continuously cutting with the same motion and the same angle, forcing the opponent to clash swords with her and see whose stamina would be exhausted first.
This was quite a wise tactic.
From the characteristics of the weapons alone, a one-handed sword could almost never overcome a Crescent Moon Blade through technique.
Yet Ophelia had transformed this battle into a pure contest of endurance, and vampires far surpassed humans in physical capacity.
Ophelia had once used this move in a swordsmanship elective class to defeat the instructor.
Claire and Liz had even joked that the class monitor’s move should be named the “Tree-Chopping Stance,” which had made her so angry that she could not eat dinner for an entire night.
Because this set of continuous cuts was monotonous and repetitive with no aesthetic sense at all.
Yet at this moment, the Tree-Chopping Stance was actually forcing the suspected Steam Knight to retreat step by step.
Claire could not help but want to applaud the lumberjack class monitor.
However, in the gap between the next cuts, that Crescent Moon Blade fell to the ground with a sound.
The opponent suddenly stepped forward and slammed his iron-armored elbow toward Ophelia.
She pressed the straight sword against her own chest and forcibly took that blow.
Ophelia felt as if she had been struck by a siege ram.
If she were not a vampire, that single blow might even have stopped her heart.
Claire rushed over to catch Ophelia and disperse the force, yet the two of them were still forcibly driven back by that violent power.
Dense clouds of steam sprayed out once more from behind the opponent.
He was about to bend down to pick up the Crescent Moon Blade, yet in the next moment he lost his balance and, carrying enormous inertia, knelt onto the ground.
He realized that something was pressed against his metal helmet.
Only when he turned his eyes to the side did he see Claire pressing the Can Opener against his forehead.
“Sorry, class monitor. I interrupted your elegant mood, but we do not have time to waste with this fellow,” Claire said coldly.
Ophelia nodded and lit the miniature wand in her hand.
The opponent was completely exposed in the light.
It was indeed not steam armor.
From its external appearance, the opponent was wearing a set of black plate armor.
Although the helmet was already severely worn, one could still tell that it was shaped like a long-maned lion’s head.
Different from traditional plate armor, the joints of this plate armor were connected by interwoven pipes that linked to a backpack on the back.
Inside the backpack was machinery for producing kerosene steam.
Ophelia recognized this type of plate armor.
It was one of the few research results of the Muni Institute regarding steam armor.
Although its weight and size were far inferior to true steam armor, the energy supply of kerosene steam allowed the plate armor to achieve one-fifth the performance of steam armor.
She used the tip of her straight sword to lift the coarse cloth cloak covering the opponent’s chest, revealing the intersecting twin moons engraved on the black iron.
That was the emblem of the Twin Moons Khanate.
“A Kheshig of the Twin Moons?” Ophelia raised an eyebrow and asked.
Claire had also heard the term Kheshig before.
Five centuries ago, the Kheshig army had been the most elite personal guards of the Great Khan Aslan, striking fear into the hearts of the kings of the Northern Continent.
After the Twin Moons Khanate had been incorporated into the United Kingdom, the new Mane-Chief Hulegu had created a new-style army for Dragon King Heath.
It was a unit that rode dragon-blood warhorses and wore imitation steam armor, named after the Kheshig army.
Claire removed that lion-head helmet.
It was a middle-aged man with the clear facial features of a steppe nomad.
“You are vampires of Cerberus. I did not expect that after so many years you would only now come to hunt me. But this is not the time. I came here to save my daughter… May I apply to you for asylum?” The man’s voice was weary.
Claire shook her head. “Wait. We did not come specifically to capture you. First explain why a Kheshig of the steppes has appeared in Parisie.”
“I was once a member of the Kheshig army. Now I am a deserter.”
“A deserter? Was it because of the Kipchak conflict thirteen years ago?” Ophelia asked.
Thirteen years earlier, the usurper Robert had personally led Norman cavalry to break through Parisie, declaring the end of the Capetian dynasty.
The survivors of the Capetian family had sought aid from the United Kingdom.
Dragon King Heath had ordered the Twin Moons Khanate to send troops to receive the Capetian royal family into the country.
The ones responsible for the escort had been the newly formed Kheshig army.
At that time they had been regarded as a force capable of suppressing Steam Knights.
The Kheshig wore imitation steam armor and carried Crescent Moon Blades.
The dragon-blood horses they rode were nearly twice the size of ordinary horses and, like their riders, were draped in heavy armor.
A person riding such a horse was practically a moving fortress.
Yet the one pursuing the Capetian royal family had been a Steam Knight in silver armor.
The story after that was one Claire had once heard from a bard in the summer palace.
On the Kipchak grasslands, hundreds of dragon-blood warhorses more than two meters tall stood like a wall of black iron.
Yet the wind blew from the southwest, pressing down the long spring grass.
A white Steam Knight walked forward carrying a serrated greatsword.
The black-iron wall charged toward him accompanied by thunderous neighs.
Yet the knight suddenly accelerated.
A dazzling arc of light flashed and vanished in an instant.
When people could see clearly again, the holy knight had already pulled out that still-beating heart radiating heat and thrown it aside.
Behind him, the giant black-iron horses had collapsed with a roar.
The vision of the Kheshig dominating the battlefield had been snuffed out the moment it was born.
The battlefield was still ruled by Steam Knights.
“That dead horse was once my partner. I was scared out of my wits by that steam monster and fled into Carolingian territory on my hands and knees. After that I was taken in by a small fishing village and lived the life of an ordinary person. I married and had a child… Until a month ago, my daughter was abducted. Only afterward did I learn that it was the mongrels of the Dragon Worship Cult who did it. In the end I tracked them here.”
The man recounted his story in a distant tone, yet his voice was as calm as if he were speaking of someone else’s life.
Only when he mentioned his daughter did a trace of anger color his tone.
“It does not sound like a lie. Our enemies are all from the Dragon Worship Cult. Should we cooperate with him, class monitor?”
Claire withdrew the Can Opener pressed against the man’s forehead.
Ophelia nodded.
“You are willing to help a deserter like me?” The man was stunned.
“The statute of limitations for desertion has already passed, and you have not canceled your resident status in the United Kingdom. The Cerberus Bureau has the obligation to help you find your daughter,” Ophelia patted the man’s shoulder. “What is your name?”
“Talen. Talen Cyrus.”
Suddenly, the sound of gunfire and explosions came from behind the limestone wall of the corridor, like distant thunder.
“The people we are all looking for are behind this wall, yet I do not know how long it will take to go around,” Claire’s voice carried a slight urgency.
“There is no need to go around. Let me handle it.” Talen put on the lion-head helmet and waved for Claire and Ophelia to move away from the wall.
He pulled out the red plug on his chest.
That was the ballast switch of the pipe system.
Kerosene steam was not a safe and stable energy source.
Therefore, when the pressure reached a critical point, the ballast switch would force the fire to extinguish; otherwise there was a risk of explosion.
At this moment Talen had pulled the safety of a bomb.
Although it was dangerous, it could achieve maximum output in an instant.
He assumed a punching stance.
The backpack behind him began to chug-chug-chug as it operated, injecting high-pressure steam mixed with droplets of kerosene into the pipes throughout his body.
In the next moment, the plate armor around him let out a roaring boom.
A massive cloud of steam completely enveloped it.
What sprayed from the exhaust pipes was no longer steam, but blue-green flames!
That punch cut through the steam cloud like thunder and smashed heavily into the wall.
The limestone bricks cracked at the impact!
Talen punched continuously.
Every punch burst forth with dense clouds of steam.
The wall continued to shake.
The roaring booms repeated without end, like the great bell of a church.
Limestone was extremely hard yet poor in toughness.
Once the impact it received exceeded its limit, it would crack.
Now it was on the verge of collapse.
The brilliant lights of the casino shone into the pitch-black corridor.
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