11:55 p.m.
Five minutes remained before midnight. The inner city's splendor was beginning to ebb; the streets were thinning out, and mounted constables, whistles between their teeth and rifles at their shoulders, patrolled along prescribed routes.
Even so, the lingering hum of chanting still echoed between the buildings, and the sweetness of wine hung so thick in the air it was nearly intoxicating. A dense white mist slowly rose—steam venting from beneath the streets. But unlike the crude, violent eruptions seen in the outer districts, this fog seeped up gently through cracks in the pavement, enfolding everything beneath its pale shroud.
Eve rarely saw the inner city at such an hour. Normally she would already be curled up in her soft bed—certainly not wandering around with a mad detective.
She glanced to her side. Lloyd kept checking the time on his pocket watch, as though waiting for something.
He had been like this ever since they left the restaurant—constantly looking at the clock, then at their surroundings, as if searching for something. Not a word spoken. Eve could only follow.
The fog swallowed the world. From the zeppelin drifting above the night sky, this place must have looked like a pale, endless sea. Spires and bell towers jutted from the gray vapor, and the electric lamps twinkled like scattered fireflies.
"We're here."
Lloyd suddenly spoke, stopping with Eve at the edge of the platform.
"Here?"
Eve looked around, puzzled. They stood at a tram station—a stop for the steam-powered streetcars. But according to the sign, the last train had ceased operation two hours ago.
Everything was shrouded in dim gray fog. The hot steam heated the night breeze, brushing against Eve's cheeks—its warmth carried the illusion of some creature breathing just beyond the mist.
Instinctively she tightened her grip on her skirt. What she hid beneath it was no delicate thigh—but weapons, silent and deadly.
"Yes. Here," Lloyd murmured, his gaze fixed on the fog ahead.
"The steam tram system in Old Dunling has been operating at a loss for years. Passenger fares barely cover a fraction of the cost, so the whole thing survives on taxes from the big industrialists. To ease that pressure, some of the trams were rented—or outright sold—to private hands."
Eve followed his gaze downward. The metal rails gleamed faintly. As Lloyd stared, the faint shimmer began to tremble.
"You aristocrats should've heard of this. Companies lease or sell carriages to private clients. When the owner needs to travel, the engine is dispatched to pull their personal car.Your Phoenix family is… well, stronger than most—you bought an entire train."
His tone was matter-of-fact, recounting things Eve should not have known.
"Usually the nobles decorate their cars like miniature palaces. When there's a banquet, the moving palace simply stops at the guest's front door. The attendants bow, waiting to escort them in."
Lloyd went on.
"But sometimes… they use them for other purposes. For example, there was a certain count who liked to bring his lover into the carriage. Since the car was completely sealed off from the driver's cabin, the driver never knew what happened behind him.They would circle Old Dunling's tracks all night until the count asked to return home."
Eve frowned, visibly disgusted.
"And how do you know that?"
"Because the count's wife hired me.Believe it or not, wealthy women adore me."
Lloyd's eyebrows danced.
After his first mistress case, that lady had referred him to many others troubled by similar affairs. They loved his blunt and oddly refreshing investigative style—so much so that the nickname "Mistress Slayer" had spread through the upper circles.
The count's case had been the pinnacle of Lloyd's mistress-hunting career. The wife knew her husband was cheating, but could never catch him. Lloyd tailed the count for days before discovering he had purchased a private carriage for his moving palace.
In the end, Lloyd gave his client a location—and they staged an "accidental" derailment.
"You should've seen their faces when the two of them flew out of the car stark naked!"
Watching Lloyd's excited expression, Eve could only stare, speechless. This detective wasn't just morally questionable—his entire personality was a problem.
"Then why didn't you keep doing it?"
"Ruins your reputation. Too much stabbing and kicking involved."
He said this with an air of nobility.In truth, the count had spent three months in therapy afterward—being flung naked into a crowd would shatter almost anyone's sanity. Once he recovered, the first thing he did was put a bounty on Lloyd's head. Lloyd hid with Berau for a month.
Still, the gloomy air lifted a little under Lloyd's nonsense; the damp chill seemed to retreat.
"…Do you have space down there?"
He nodded at the hem of Eve's skirt, completely unaware of how inappropriate he sounded.
"What… what are you planning?"Eve flushed—this detective truly was unhinged. One never knew what he would do next.
Lloyd produced a silver revolver from who-knows-where. Heavy. Ghosts and demons engraved across the cylinder. Fully loaded.
"I need you to hide it for me. Sabo might be a rough Viking, but Old Dunling has refined him enough to learn some manners. For his ball, he will search every gentleman thoroughly—even a blade hidden in your backside won't pass. But he won't disrespect a lady."
He handed her the revolver. Standing beside her, he straightened his coat, preparing for the main act. He would need to be convincing.
Eve didn't quite understand, but obeyed. She bound the revolver to her ribbon. Beneath the long skirt there were no pearly-white thighs—only tight combat garments. If needed, she could tear off the skirt and enter battle instantly.
Dagger and gun—Eve had never been an ordinary noble girl.Most nobles were born with silver spoons; Eve Phoenix had come into the world biting a bullet.
The House of Phoenix had risen from the ruins of the Radiant War like an undying bird. Yet even a princess of that lineage could not escape the stinging scent of sulfur. It clung to Eve's skin as if etched into her blood.
"Time's up."
Lloyd spoke suddenly. Eve still did not understand what was happening. From the moment she and Lloyd walked out of the restaurant, she had felt as if everything was moving without her comprehension—and then the bells tolled.
A deep, ancient resonance swept across the city. It came from the tallest spire in the Inner District. The long note trailed into a low, wandering hum that drifted through the alleys like a ghost unwilling to disperse.
A strange sensation rose in Eve's chest.She found herself trembling with fear.
Cold seeped through her thin evening dress, ghostly fingers brushing against her waist.
At some point, the street had emptied, leaving only her and Lloyd. From far away came the faint rhythm of hoofbeats—the night patrol's mounted officers.But beneath the heavy fog, Eve could see nothing.Only the streetlamps, softened into broad halos of light, gleamed like monstrous eyes lurking behind the mist.
A frigid wind grazed her cheek.
Eve turned—and nearly choked.
A pitch-black steam tram had stopped silently at the platform. The fog had concealed its approach; it made no sound, not even the flicker of a headlamp. Only the lingering warmth of newly-released steam hinted that the thing had arrived from somewhere far… perhaps too far.
At this hour, there should not have been a single tram running.Yet here it stood—an uncanny, unmarked carriage with no plate, no emblem, and a windshield so dark she could not tell if anyone sat within.
"Take my arm," Lloyd said from beside her. He lifted it gracefully, as if offering a cue in a play. "For tonight's script, we're a couple."
A couple?
For a moment, Eve wanted to draw her pistol and put a bullet through the insolent detective's skull. Her nerves were strung too tight for games—but the sudden hiss of an opening tram door cut through her thoughts.
A servant dressed entirely in black stepped out. He gave Lloyd the slightest nod.Lloyd responded by producing two coins from his coat and placing them in the servant's gloved hand.
The coins bore not the kingdom's lion, but a butcherbird gripping a thorned branch.A kind of passport, perhaps.
The servant moved aside, granting them entry.Beyond the doorway lay utter darkness—an abyss with no bottom.
"Loyd…"Eve's voice faltered. Unease clawed at her heart; her instincts, honed through blood and smoke, screamed danger.But Lloyd gave her no room to object. Smiling faintly, he guided her onto the steam tram.
The carriage stirred, slipping into motion without a single sound.Within seconds, it dissolved into the gray fog—as if it had never existed at all.
Chapter Fifteen — The Dark Side of Old Dunling
The black steam tram glided through the mist-drowned city, its passage utterly silent.This was the hour when Old Dunling's night fog grew thickest—sight rarely reached beyond ten meters.The Ghost Tram chose this precise window for its departure, drifting along secluded rails, weaving between patrol routes with uncanny ease.
It stopped and started intermittently, picking up more mysterious passengers along the way.Within the ornate carriage, each seat was isolated by soundproof partitions.Everyone existed alone, locked in their private silence.
Eve stared out the window. The world beyond was void—nothing but blackness pressing in like an iron coffin.The sealed space made her breath quicken.
"Where exactly are you taking me?"Regret seeped into her voice.This detective was not someone she fully trusted.Perhaps she should never have trusted him at all.
They sat in one of the partitioned compartments. Lloyd reclined opposite her, looking maddeningly calm.
"To Atticus Sabo's masquerade ball," he said, producing a mask and handing it to her.
"Sabo runs smuggling operations. He works with Viking raiders in the northern seas—they plunder, ferry the goods to the Port of Reyndonar, and Sabo handles the fencing."
"All contraband. Nothing the common folk could afford. But the nobles…"He shrugged lightly. "Their appetites are different. So Sabo hosts a 'ball.' In truth, it's a marketplace—money in one hand, illicit goods in the other."
Eve felt her pulse steadying—just a little.
"The threshold for attendance is high. I had to call in favors just to get us invitations."
"That coin from earlier?" Eve asked. Its image lingered sharply in her mind.This was the heart of the kingdom—yet she had never seen such a currency in circulation.
"Yes," Lloyd replied. "They call it the Butcher's Coin. Minted by the master of the Lower District—the Butcherbird. You saw its emblem."
He explained the labyrinth of power beneath the city.
Wherever people gather, rules form. Classes crystallize.Even the filth of the Lower District obeyed its own hierarchy.
"To rule a territory, you start by unifying its currency. Everyone knows the lion-stamped coins hold international value. But down there, the Butcher's Coins dominate. Each one is accepted freely—and on the black market, you can exchange them for any currency you want."
"You can think of the entire Lower District as a colossal casino," Lloyd continued, handing her a few more coins. They were heavy—too heavy for anything cheap. "And these coins are your chips."
"Sabo is cautious. Paranoid, even. His business is lucrative; everyone wants him dead. He hides in a fortified bunker most days.But tonight… he'll attend the masquerade. It's our only chance to reach him."
"He never reveals the venue. Whenever a ball is scheduled, couriers deliver sealed letters to the nobles, telling them which station to board from. Departures always occur at midnight."
As he spoke, Lloyd fitted a brass mask over his face. Tiny gears ornamented its edges.
"So even we don't know where we're going?"Eve donned her own mask—decorated with feathers like the keen wings of a hunting bird.Outside remained pitch-black. Nothing changed.
"That's right." Lloyd nodded.
"Sabo may be a Viking, but he is anything but reckless. In truth… he is cautious to the point of obsession."
Eve had always thought of Vikings as brutish warriors who welcomed death on the battlefield—men who believed the Valkyries would carry their souls to Valhalla, where an endless feast awaited with the gods and ancestors.That faith had once driven them straight to the gates of Old Dunling itself.
But the world had changed.
Under the unending roar of artillery, every belief trembled.When the war-airships crossed the kingdom's skies, loaded with bombs, the old era was swept into its grave.
"How did you know all that?"
Eve's voice cut through the dim carriage. Beneath her mask, those blue-green eyes fixed on Lloyd—eyes searching for the truth lurking under that brass façade.
"You're a detective, yet you carry a Butcher's Token, and you know far too many secrets. How exactly do you pull that off?"
She had every reason to suspect Lloyd was a double-dealer. The man carried himself less like an investigator and more like a crime lord—a wanted ringleader hiding in plain sight.It set every instinct in her on edge. And now, with Lloyd's weapon on her side, the advantage belonged entirely to her.
Lloyd stayed silent for a few seconds. Then he smiled—calmly, almost too calmly.
"If I told you I've got a ridiculously powerful friend, and he told me all this… would you believe it?"
Who would ever imagine that the exalted Butcherbird was Lloyd's unseen ally? Their stations were worlds apart—one a sovereign of the shadows, the other a nameless detective lost in the sprawl.
"In truth, no matter what answer I give you, you'll still doubt me, won't you? We're allies tied together by nothing but mutual benefit. It's the strongest bond—and the most fragile.The moment our interests diverge, we become enemies."
He spoke with a cold clarity, almost unnervingly rational.
"Eve, the Lower District is nothing but a colossal casino. Life itself is a gamble. Beyond yourself, beyond the cards in your hand—you control nothing."
His grey-blue eyes held her steady, his voice low and firm.
"So here's your first wager: bet on whether I'm worth trusting.If I am, our plan continues.If I'm not, you can walk away right now."
He raised a single finger, as if presenting the simplest truth in the world.
Eve fell silent.She was torn.
She was a princess of House Phoenix—highborn, as Lloyd had said. If he meant her harm, then she was walking straight into the wolves' den.But if she didn't seize this chance, if she couldn't claim any real achievement… her father would surely find an excuse to remove her from the Suaran Hall.
Safety on one side; dreams on the other.She didn't hesitate long.
"If you dare lie to me," she growled, "I swear I'll kill you."
She slumped back into her chair after that, waiting for the carriage to reach the ball.
A stubborn one indeed, Lloyd thought. If not for her lineage, she might truly have made a fine detective.
He said nothing more.Everything tonight had been too smooth—unnervingly smooth.From the moment she accepted his invitation, he knew she would never give up so easily.She was, after all, a child of the Phoenix line.
Only phoenixes rise from ash—never barnyard hens.
The carriage swayed lightly. Voices murmured from behind the partitioned walls, then faded into nothing.
A knock finally came—an attendant informing them they had arrived.
According to Lloyd's "script," the two of them would pose as lovers tonight. Eve didn't quite understand why she wasn't cast as some noble lady with a male servant, but the atmosphere around them was too strange for protest.She let Lloyd pull her along without resistance.
Steam rose in pale white plumes, warming the chilled air.
The small platform was already crowded—figures dressed in sumptuous garments, each wearing a mask of a different shape. These were tonight's buyers at the masquerade. Behind the masks, no one knew who anyone was.And even if they did, they would pretend not to.This ball was a dream—one that should be forgotten the moment dawn breaks.
The lights were dim. Eve could see little but swirling mist and darkness. She knew she was somewhere in the Lower District, but not where.
She glanced upward.The familiar shadow gliding through the clouds reassured her—if only slightly.
"If you're unsure about anything, stay silent. Tonight, we're a newly joined couple. Sabbo keeps a close eye on newcomers—don't slip up."
Eve nodded.
An attendant stepped forward then, bowing deeply before guiding the guests toward the ball.
The path ahead twisted and wound like a serpent, lit only by faint lamps. Armed guards followed at the rear, ready to stop anyone from leaving.
During the walk, Eve caught a strange scent—and then more lights flickered to life.
A red carpet stretched beneath their feet in welcome. But beyond the weak glow, everything looked like ruin—decayed, abandoned.Tiny flames sputtered in the dark, and behind them were faces—aged, withered, staring like moths drawn to light.Dead eyes, almost.
Lloyd pulled her closer.
And she saw more.
From the shadows seeped a rancid smell. Something thick and unseen was flowing somewhere nearby. A muted wailing trembled in the dark.
Then—the sealed doors swung open.
A flood of radiance burst outward, blinding and golden.Wine and song spilled into the night.Coins clattered in a cascading rhythm.Soft moans drifted through the air, mingling with feverish laughter.
The guests gasped in delight and hurried forward toward that paradise—toward that false heaven—like worshippers rushing to their god.
Mead and cheese. Gold and beauty.Every forbidden desire a mortal could crave—if only one dared surrender to it.
"Lloyd… what is this?"
Eve froze at the threshold, her mind reeling under the sheer impact.But Lloyd didn't comfort her.Instead, he leaned close and whispered:
"Welcome to the dark side of Old Dunlin, Miss Eve Phoenix."