Eve stared at the coin in front of her. She had never seen such currency—whether from a foreign nation or a mere commemorative piece—and her expression flickered with panic, though she quickly composed herself, her pupils sharpening like blade edges.

  Blood of the Phoenix family coursed through her veins, a spiritual anchor. Eve knew she could not falter: she was destined for the Hall of Eminence, the Duchess of the Undying Phoenix; this was not her end.

  "Shall we?" Eve picked up the coin, glancing at Burton. This was his gamble with Sabo, but her role felt like that of a dealer in this grim game.

  Burton nodded, addressing Sabo. "No psychological warfare, no cheating, no underhanded skills—just pure luck. I like it."

  "Perfect." Sabo nodded, genuinely pleased Burton had agreed to the absurd wager.

  "One side’s a shield, the other a battle-axe."

  "I’ll choose shield." Burton didn’t look at Eve, keeping his gaze locked on Sabo.

  "This coin must be old. I remember it was phased out," Burton said.

  "Yes—currency issued by the Viking Kingdom Norbido over a decade ago. Vikings rose to power as pirates, so they had countless currencies. This was the first to unify the Vikings, but it’s rare now—mostly in collectors’ hands." Sabo spoke with nostalgia as Eve flipped the coin. It soared like a silver sprite in the light.

  "Must hold meaning for you. Nostalgia for home? You don’t seem like a collector. Why keep it so long?"

  "Sentimental attachment, perhaps? Like soldiers who polish old medals."

  "I don’t miss that frozen hellhole. Being born there was a mistake. I keep it because it’s the first thing I ever won at a gamble. I lost my pinky for it—it’s my lucky coin." Sabo rubbed his left hand, where only a scar marked the absent pinky, a reminder of a poorly healed wound.

  "I had four fingers back then. I won from that bastard, but he was a coward, so I killed him. First time I ever took a life. Controlling my own fate felt… incredible."

  His voice tinged with excitement, the monster’s history was more legendary than imagined.

  The coin landed; the girl caught it swiftly, slapping it facedown on the table. A child’s game, yet weighted with mortal stakes.

  "Reveal it."

  At Burton’s command, Eve lifted her hand: the battle-axe faced up. Burton lost.

  "Who are you?" Sabo rubbed his scar, eyes hungry for truth.

  "Burton Holmes. Detective."

  Sabo shook his head, dissatisfied. "I meant before Old Dunling. Your real identity."

  Like Boro, he was obsessed with the detective’s past.

  After a pause, Burton said, "Priest."

  Even Eve froze. No one could connect this chaotic man to the saintly cloth.

  "A priest? Of the Gospel Church?"

  Priests were once common. A century ago, the Holy Gospel Papacy ruled, sending countless priests to nations under the guise of faith to manipulate them. But with steam technology’s rise, faith crumbled; muskets and airships shattered spiritual shackles.

  Sabo laughed but didn’t press, instead saying, "I’ll bet battle-axe this time."

  Eve tossed the coin again. It arced and fell, both men ignoring the spin, locked in a calm but tense stare. Battle-axe again—Sabo won.

  "Why come to Old Dunling?"

  "Because it’s the pinnacle of technology, the City of Hope, the Steam Metropolis. Its machines consigned the old world to history.

  "People of Firenze call it paradise. Gold lies in its streets, opportunity everywhere—no need for empty faith. It offers new lives to all who come." Burton spoke flatly, as if reciting someone else’s story.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  "True. The Church’s power fades. Kings use muskets to raze churches. Not like a century ago, when priests lived off donations." Sabo scoffed, seeing Burton as just another gold digger. "Hard to believe a butcher like you was once a priest. No fear of divine punishment?"

  The Red River Massacre’s victims were countless, its cruelty shocking even butchers—and it had been orchestrated by this former priest.

  "If divine punishment existed, your hall would’ve been incinerated by lightning."

  The orchestra had stopped; musicians, high on hallucinogens, danced grotesquely, faces twisted. In the ballroom, guests tore at clothes and skin, their pale bodies scored with blood, howling like beasts. Civilization had been discarded entirely.

  "Maybe God waits for the afterlife to judge? Your turn."

  "Still shield."

  "After two losses? Why?" Sabo frowned.

  "You’ve used up luck winning twice. Lady Luck is impartial—she’ll favor me now." Confidence radiated from him.

  Eve unveiled the coin: shield. Burton won.

  "What was the cargo?" This was his priority—the mysterious shipment had sparked tonight’s chaos.

  "The Holy Coffin. Dug up from a sunken ship in the Ice Sea, so I hear. Many died for it."

  "The Holy Coffin? What is it?" Burton had never heard the term, not in theology or history.

  "No idea." Sabo admitted, "Just a placeholder, like the Church’s ‘God.’ Is it a person, an object, or something else? Like the Grail in doctrine—just a symbol for the unspeakable.

  "Humans name what they can’t understand with ‘holy’ titles."

  Burton felt a chill, as if brushing against something forbidden.

  The coin flipped again, landing with a thud.

  "Shield or battle-axe?" Eve asked, as neither man had spoken first.

  "Shield." Sabo chose Burton’s former symbol.

  Revealed: battle-axe. Burton won again.

  But instead of asking a question, he checked his pocket watch.

  "Got somewhere to be?" Sabo asked. It was still late night, hours from dawn.

  "Yes. Last question."

  "Quit while ahead? Poor form." Sabo’s eyes chilled—gamblers despised cowards who fled after winning.

  "Forgive me. Necessity."

  Burton stood, walking to the platform edge. From here, the scene was stark: no more revelry, just wretched bodies collapsed on the floor, hallucinogens numbing their minds, eyes vacant.

  Nobles had become beasts, shedding dignity like rags.

  "How do you handle… them?"

  "Part of the wager?"

  "No—just curiosity. You’ll indulge that, right?" Burton smiled faintly, as if genuinely interested.

  "Simple. Return them to their world. We send guests to luxury inner-city hotels. They wake on clean beds, refreshed, with Old Dunling’s ‘perfection’ outside. Last night’s horrors? A dream."

  "Idyllic ending, isn’t it?"

  "Sounds charming." Burton nodded, then asked the final question:

  "What about the crew of the Silver Fish? They transported the Holy Coffin. And the men who ambushed me—where are they?"

  Sabo didn’t hesitate, his candor unsettling. "Dead. Or worse than dead."

  "All dead?" Burton recoiled, pupils narrowing as realization struck. "Did you kill them?"