The Eastern Kui Dragon

Thick dark clouds covered the moon. Old Dunling looked especially dark tonight, its tall buildings rising in clusters, like a vast, twisted forest silhouetted against the faint light.

The Zeppelin still patrolled the night sky. Its bright beams shone down, but refused to spare even a little light for the Lower District. It was so dark here that almost nothing could be seen.

Martial law was in effect tonight. Every road leading into the Lower District was strictly guarded, but the guards stationed there weren't mounted police. They were Royal Guards armed to the teeth. No one knew when they had arrived; by the time anyone realized, they were already there.

Iron boots pounded against the damp ground, their cold clatter echoing through the deserted alleys.

The soldiers wore red cloaks and carried the Mechanical Institute's new Dragon Roar rifles. They were heavy cannons disguised as rifles. Each time one fired, a three-foot flame burst from its muzzle. Then, amid a roar like a dragon's bellow, a heavy round shot out at high speed, capable of piercing an enemy and the deck behind him in one go. The weapon had originally been designed for breaching fortifications; under its volleys, brick barricades were pathetically fragile.

Iron Whistles hung from the soldiers' mouths. Every so often, a crowlike whistle sounded in the night, like a messenger of death.

"They won't enter the Lower District, will they?"

Shrike sneezed as he asked. It was cold up high. They were on a raised platform whose cover identity was the Steam Tower, but in truth it was Shrike's watchtower. From here, a commander could see the entire battlefield and issue orders.

Even with hot steam billowing around him, Shrike still felt cold. He wrapped his clothes tighter around himself.

"They're here to seal off the area. With those Dragon Roars, no one will be able to leave the Lower District before dawn."

A lot of things tonight couldn't be made public—not even to the Royal Guard.

Galahad gazed toward a faint glimmer in the darkness and spoke evenly. His expression was steady and solemn, as always.

"What if there are too many enemies? Can they hold out against a Fiend horde?" Shrike sounded worried. The Lower District bordered the Outer District; hell and heaven lay close together.

"This is Old Dunling. We can't let a single Fiend escape—not even from the Underground Palace."

Galahad knew exactly what would happen tonight. Not far ahead of them stood a cluster of ruined-looking buildings, but they both knew the feast of bliss was taking place beneath the surface. The people down there were lost in revelry, unaware that death was already at their door.

"This is the age of steam. A chorus of gunfire can destroy any enemy. Remember the Winged Hussars, still clinging to the old ways? They ranged across the continent, adjusting their armor as needed. They could fight as heavy cavalry or light cavalry. With their wings strapped to their backs, they looked like angels descending from heaven when they charged."

Galahad spoke with scorn, sneering at the old era.

"But in the end, all they could do was die alongside it. Their sturdy armor was worthless against black powder. The last Winged Hussars were wiped out by artillery as they charged. Only their commander made it to the platform, but he was just one man. The battle was already decided."

"Shrike, this is the dawn of a new age. We defeated even the heavily armored Winged Hussars. What chance do the Fiends have? They're relics of the old era. They should be allowed to die in peace."

Galahad's voice was as calm as ever. The faint light in the night glinted off his mask, and the smell of gunpowder clung to him.

"Looks like a lot of people will die tonight... I'm curious, though. Why did you choose to attack tonight? We haven't even figured out who that mysterious duke is. We're sure to scare him off."

Shrike looked down over his kingdom. It was a filthy garbage heap, and he was its rat king. He knew exactly how many people would die tonight.

"We're out of time. We discovered the Plague Doctor's whereabouts. He should be at the Feast of Bliss right now. You know what he'll do. If we wait, the situation will become impossible to control."

Shrike fell silent. He knew exactly who Galahad meant by the Plague Doctor. Besides, Galahad was in command tonight. Shrike was only there to assist.

"That great detective should be there too, right?"

"Yes. Without his intelligence, we wouldn't have guessed that Sabo was helping them."

Galahad glanced at his pocket watch. It wasn't time yet. There was still time.

"Can you still get in touch with that detective? If you can, tell him to get out of there. Tonight isn't something a detective should be involved in."

"You're going to purge the entire Underground Palace?"

Shrike's expression turned cold. This would be a massacre.

"No one knows what that Plague Doctor might leave behind. Arthur's orders are to root them all out."

After a long pause, Shrike sighed. He couldn't get in touch with Lorenzo. The fastest modern means of communication was something called Radio Communication, but it was currently issued only within the Purification Agency. The outside world didn't even know the technology existed.

Lorenzo couldn't hear Shrike calling for him. He was fighting alone.

"Looks like your great detective is going to die down there," Galahad said coldly.

"No. He's a menace. As people in the East say, a menace lives for a thousand years." Shrike grinned. He had complete faith in the great detective.

"A menace lives for a thousand years?"

Galahad raised an eyebrow. He didn't quite understand the Eastern saying. Even with the world made unimaginably small beneath the Midgard Serpent, the distant East remained little more than a vague notion to everyone.

Steam technology had sparked a revolution, and the dragon coiled in the East had awoken. After Inverwig ended the Glorious War, steam technology reached its peak. New steamships and war zeppelins appeared, along with all manner of powerful cannons. Just when everyone thought no one could challenge Inverwig's standing among the nations, the dragon from the East arrived.

It was a misty morning. The sailors were checking their ships as usual, preparing to set sail, when wave after wave of water surged up and battered the fishing boats, as if a storm were coming.

Everyone looked up and saw a colossal vessel emerging from the thick fog. It was so enormous that it seemed like a monster from ancient myth.

It was a direct clash between two cultures. Many sailors were stunned into silence on the spot. They had never seen a ship so large. Even Inverwig's royal flagship looked like a child beside it. More astonishing still was its construction. Steamships had been around for nearly a century, yet the great vessel seemed to have sailed straight out of history. It was built without a single piece of iron, assembled entirely from sturdy timber, and looked as if it had been carved whole from a world-tree.

It was the great ship known as the Kui Dragon.

Its towering sails blotted out the sky, embroidered with coiling Eastern dragons. Hundreds of cannons jutted from both sides of its hull, and a ferocious dragon's head adorned its prow. No one had ever seen a creature like it. They thought the end of the world had arrived.

What was even more despairing was what they saw at sunrise. The damp mist dissolved in the sunlight, revealing the sea clearly. Only then did people see the ocean behind the great ship: hundreds of vessels just like it. Hundreds of banners waved in the wind, like a migrating flock of redbirds, a rain of fire setting the sky ablaze.

It was a fleet that had crossed the world.

Panic and despair swept through Raindona Port in an instant, reaching all the way to the Platinum Palace in Old Dunling. The fleet from the East was decades behind in weaponry, yet no one believed they could win that war.

It was the first time the people of Inverwig had seen anyone from the East. They had expected them to be as terrifying as the legends said, but General Zuo Zhen brought no war. Wearing his armor, he walked into the Platinum Palace and said he had come bearing the Emperor's decree. He left gifts from the East, and the Queen returned the favor with knowledge from the Mechanical Institute. Then the Easterners departed with steam technology, and for decades, they never appeared on that horizon again.

"Good people don't live long, but menaces live for a thousand years. That's the full saying. It means that people bound by their own moral principles usually don't live very long, while unprincipled, despicable scum tend to survive to the end."

Shrike wrapped his clothes more tightly around himself. The steam had stopped billowing, and the condensed droplets were bitterly cold.

"You think he's despicable scum?" Galahad asked, surprised that Shrike would judge him that way.

"Yeah. Only scum need a new life to escape their past, and Lorenzo Holmes is one of them."

Shrike answered indifferently.

"But it's exactly that kind of person who survives to the end. Don't worry about him. Go ahead with the attack. That detective will definitely make it out alive."

Thinking back to the first time he'd met Lorenzo, Shrike could hardly imagine what the wretched man before him had endured. Nearly rotten wounds, hollow eyes... It must have been a darkness beyond measure. Yet even that hadn't killed Lorenzo, so tonight's events were nothing to worry about.

"Beep—beep—"

A sound suddenly rang out. In the darkness, the communicator on Shrike's chest flickered with a faint light. It was new technology from the Mechanical Institute, called Radio Communication. With one of these devices, people could receive messages even if they were on opposite sides of Old Dunling. It was faster and more mobile than a telephone, and would change the battlefield—but for now, it was issued only within the Purification Agency.

As Shrike listened to the message coming through the communicator, his expression grew increasingly grave. Though the night was dark, Galahad still sensed the change in him.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Four groups of mounted police tried to enter the Lower District, but the Imperial Guard stopped them."

At this hour, only the mounted police on night patrol should have been on the streets. Four groups appearing together was highly unusual.

"Has Suaran Hall been corrupted too?" For the first time, Galahad's voice carried anger.

"No. It's that bastard."

Shrike was clearly even angrier than Galahad. He cursed furiously.

"Hold the attack. There's an important target in the Underground Palace."

"What important target?"

Galahad was in command tonight. He couldn't understand why Shrike had suddenly overstepped his authority.

"That bastard Lorenzo. He told me I'd have no trouble dealing with Sabo alone. I thought he had some clever plan. You know he caused the Red River Massacre. He's a detective who can see through everything—and he can become the perfect criminal."

"I finally know where that bastard gets his confidence!"

Shrike explained, angrier than he'd ever been. He reached for his revolver, but remembered halfway through that Lorenzo had it. Now he was already regretting not killing Lorenzo.

"Half an hour ago, Suaran Hall received an anonymous letter. An address and a name."

As he spoke, Shrike took a silver-white rifle from the darkness. It had an elongated barrel, a high-powered scope, and a long, slender body lined with sharp protrusions. When necessary, it could also be used as a strange kind of sword.

The weapon came from the Mechanical Institute. It was a powerful prototype that couldn't be mass-produced because of its cost. It rarely appeared on the battlefield because its owner was Shrike, the underground king. When the king drew his blade, it meant a war that would decide everything.

"The address was the Underground Palace managed by Sabo in the Lower District—the battlefield tonight. The name was Eve Phoenix."

At the sound of that name, Galahad froze. For the first time, something besides calm appeared on the knight's stern face. He put a hand to his head and stood silent for a long while before finally speaking.

"Arthur is going to kill us all."