Old Dunlin was vast — impossibly vast.
As the capital of Inlvig, the city had expanded slowly through the ages, its reach swelling with every new era. But when steam power was born, its growth surged like wildfire.
The city's footprint sprawled across the heart of Inlvig Island, an urban continent of brass and soot. Yet such magnitude came at a cost: movement itself became a burden.For a citizen from the Eastern District to reach a factory in the West could take half a day on foot. With an average income, one could hardly afford a steam car — and as for riding a horse to work, that was a luxury fit for ghosts.
To solve this, the Institute of Mechanics began a grand reconstruction more than a decade ago. They carved tunnels through the earth and built trains that crossed the entire breadth of Old Dunlin. They called this invention theUnderground Railway— a miniature subterranean locomotive. Above ground, iron rails were laid flush with the cobblestones, and upon them ran theIron Serpents: steam trams that hissed and roared through the streets.
This new system turned Old Dunlin into a living experiment — one that soon spread across the nation. In recent years, they even sought to add zeppelins to the network, linking earth and sky in one mechanical web. Soon, the heavens themselves would bear the footprints of the Inlvig people.
The Serpent of Midgard.That was what the machinists called it — borrowing from the old Norse myths. This beautiful, fertile world was theirMidgard, and anyone who paid a modest fare could become a fragment of the great worldly serpent, circling endlessly in a world that grew smaller with every turn of the gear.
TheVictoria Central Hospitalwas one of the more notable stations. Every few minutes, a steam tram would pass. This time, Lloyd happened to catch one.
"Sorry about this, my friend!"The door slammed open. Lloyd, carrying a dangerously modified shotgun, stormed toward the driver's cabin.The startled passengers fled at once. The driver offered little resistance before being thrown off the tram. Then, the Iron Serpent exhaled a plume of steam and began to accelerate, racing down the tracks.
Law-abiding citizens of Old Dunlin had never seen such chaos. Even Press, the officer on duty, stood frozen for a moment.
This was Old Dunlin — the very heart of Inlvig. At any given time, at least three zeppelins patrolled the skies, each manned by the Redcloaked Sky Cavalry: heavily armed soldiers who were the city's last line of order. When a crisis struck, you would first see the shadow of a massive airship blotting out the sun — then, from its belly, red-clad soldiers would descend on zip lines, and within seconds, a bullet would shatter your skull.
A steam explosion, a gunfight, and now a tram hijacking — whatever was happening, those involved were as good as dead.
For Press, this was the biggest case of his career. He fumbled for his gun and ran toward the tram — only to notice a silhouette clinging to its rear.His heart skipped a beat.
...
"At least… this should earn me a third-class merit!"Even with the wind howling past her ears, the girl sounded entirely unfazed, muttering to herself as if she were reciting a grocery list.
Eve clung tightly to the tram's handrail, having leapt aboard at the last possible second. The poor girl hadn't yet realized the peril she was in. Her head was filled with visions of tomorrow'sQueen's Daily:"New officer of the Suarlan Bureau cracks major case on her first day! Awarded Third-Class Merit and invited to the Platinum Palace to meet the Queen!"
At not yet thirty, she imagined herself standing at the pinnacle of her career. What a dull fantasy, really.
Lloyd, atop the Iron Serpent, felt anything but dull. His blood thrummed with exhilaration.The whistle screamed — the shriek of a reaper on the hunt. Pedestrians scattered.
Lloyd was a learned man — the kind whose room overflowed with books on every subject imaginable. Even this steam tram was no mystery to him. The controls were crude; he could manage the basics well enough.Hehadto catch those men. They were the only remaining thread in this fog of conspiracies.
Soon, they appeared ahead. The streets of Old Dunlin were clogged and narrow; on horseback, they couldn't outrun him. Unless you were a constable blowing a police whistle, you stood no chance of matching the speed of a maniac aboard an Iron Serpent. Even the most short-tempered citizens were quick to clear the way when faced with either the law… or death.
Jamming the throttle with a piece of scrap, Lloyd climbed out the side and pulled himself onto the tram's roof.The machinists of the Institute might have been madmen, but their work was impeccable. The Iron Serpents had long since been integrated into the Midgard system, equipped with emergency brakes that could stop them almost instantly.
Through the sights of his gun, Lloyd found his target. He didn't need them all — just the slowest one.He pulled the trigger. Thunder split the air.
The bullet tore through a horse's leg. The poor creature toppled, sending its rider skidding across the street. Lloyd thought he had them — until another gunshot rang out. The fallen man was dead before he hit the ground.No survivors.
At that moment, Lloyd understood. These weren't ordinary thugs. Ordinary men didn't kill their own to guard a secret. Somewhere among them was the "Insurance" — the one tasked with silencing every straggler to the grave, the guardian of theSilverfish's secret.
He was no longer chasing street scum. He was chasing silence itself.
To break the deadlock, the answer was simple: kill them all.Human will was both iron and glass. Lloyd wagered everything on one truth — that when he cornered the Insurance, that man might just lack the courage to turn the gun on himself.
Thus began a rare spectacle in the streets of Old Dunlin — a pursuit of predator and prey, blue and red, winding through steam and smoke.
The suspects veered toward the inner districts. To continue forward would bring them straight into the patrol zone; their real goal was theLower Districts. If they reached that festering pit — the tumor growing beneath the city — not even the Suarlan Bureau could drag them out without tearing Old Dunlin apart. That, after all, was why that bastard Brolau had survived this long.
They had to be stoppedbeforethey reached the slums. Otherwise, even Lloyd might not make it out alive.
Come on, use that clever brain of yours,he told himself.Your morals may be second-rate, but your mind is first-class.
He summoned every detail he could recall. Lines crisscrossed in his mind, forming a map of Old Dunlin — blue chasing red through the labyrinth. The red line neared its end, racing toward the Lower District.
Then, in a flash, the blue lines split — spreading through every alley, every street, every rail.They came from all directions, closing in.
And just as the red line was about to reach its terminus…a single blue line cut it off.
Thanks to the faded map of the Old Dunlin Steam Tram pinned inside the control room,Lloydfound the only path that still remained.
With the last of her strength,Evehauled herself into the carriage. Back in police academy, her instructor used to say she was an excellent detective—sharp, methodical, relentless—just not very good with endurance. But that was in another era. Now, in this age of steel and smoke, with transport machines everywhere, a detective no longer had to run herself half to death just to catch a criminal.
If she ever saw that instructor again, she'd have quite a few words about that old lesson. But for now, there was only one thing that mattered—to stop this damned tram.
"Stop it!"
Eve raised her pistol, aiming straight atLloydin the driver's cabin. The distance between them wasn't far. Even with the engine's roar filling the metal chamber, her voice carried cleanly.
But Lloyd didn't stop. He turned toward her, face calm, almost kind.
"I'm not your enemy, detective.Theyare."
Eve knew he meant the fugitives. Still, her finger stayed steady on the trigger.
"I'm a detective," Lloyd continued, "a private one."
"With a shotgun?"
"Most detectives carry guns," he said lightly. "Mine's just... a little different. Think of me as an exception to the rule."
"Do you have any idea how much chaos you've caused? I have the authority to shoot you where you stand!"
The second half was bluff. Eve wasn't even sure under what circumstances she wasactuallyallowed to fire. She'd never had the chance to test it in the field—certainly not withoutPressleading the charge.
"Chaos?" Lloyd smiled faintly. "Let's just say it's part of my style. I prefer action to idle brooding."
He was good at this—at branding himself with words, each one a neat little label that sparked endless associations. It was a trick he'd learned from a cheap professor back at the Royal Academy of Arts.
Before Eve could think further, Lloyd turned the conversation elsewhere.
"Detective, did you know? This thing could runmuch faster."
He pointed to the iron beast beneath his feet, speaking with an unsettling ease, as if the pistol aimed at him didn't exist.
"All of mankind's inventions began as instruments of war before they became toys of peace. Take the Zeppelins—they're to be added to theSerpent of the Atriumsystem soon. But those airships were born for battle. Ground artillery can't touch their altitude. They hover above the clouds, delivering troops and fire from the heavens."
He continued, voice half-drowned by the machine's breath."Even the Serpent system itself was conceived for the military—a single command from the Queen could rain fire on the continent across the sea. Wherever the rails reached, the steam trains could bringInlveig'ssoldiers to war within hours. The tram we're standing on was built the same way, forged in the days when Old Dunlin was at its most lawless."
Lloyd's hand rested gently on the lever as he rose. He left his shotgun on the console and raised his empty hand, as if to prove he meant no harm.
"This iron serpent," he said, "was once arealiron serpent. Its seats filled with armored soldiers, its shell plated in steel that could shrug off bullets. Above it, the Zeppelins watched from the sky. Wherever riots broke out, the Iron Serpent would slither forth. Armor would rise, gun barrels would protrude—and the city would learn obedience again."
That was the dawn ofInlveig'sreign as the world's steam-power empire, a time when spies flooded every nation and Dunlin was drowning in unrest.
Lloyd swallowed dryly before going on."What I'm saying is, this machine's true output is far beyond what's written in its manuals. It still uses the oldWatt Type-III engine—the same model that once carried tons of soldiers and armor without strain. And yet now? It can barely carry a few civilians."
He smiled again, almost gently."The mechanics got lazy. They throttled the power, disguised a weapon of war in civilian clothing. But if you know a bit of mechanics, a bit of tram design—well, those limits are easy enough to break."
A chill ran through Eve. Her instincts had never failed her, and they weren't about to now.
Before she could shout,Lloyd yanked the lever down.
Her body reacted first—finger tightening on the trigger.
The gunshot cracked through the roar.The tram lurched violently, shaking apart like an animal breaking its chains. The impact threw Eve hard against the iron wall; pain exploded through her shoulder. Glass shattered. A scream of wind tore into the carriage.
Why...?
Through the gust and the ringing in her ears, she lifted her head. That damned detective was still standing firm in the driver's cabin, unscathed. Her bullet had missed—only the windshield lay in glittering ruin.
She didn't yet understand what had happened, but shefeltit—the tram was changing, surging forward with unnatural force. The Iron Serpent was awakening, reclaiming the speed of its golden age.
And as if answering her unspoken question, Lloyd pointed toward the side wall.
There, hanging from the iron panels, were several cloth bags—the sort stuffed with old newspapers for long commutes. Inside were also the tram's maintenance manuals and diagrams, left for public curiosity. The engineers had meant it as harmless education for passengers.
But Lloyd was the only man who'd ever bothered to read them.
And today, those forgotten pages had become his weapon.