Steampunk Era: Mad Abield Chapter 875: Section 576: Discovery (Part 3)2

"Ah, my apologies, we owe you an apology." Casaman nodded with a pained expression on his face.

"Sorry, ma’am, we won’t smoke anymore." Agent Sydney bowed with his hand on his chest.

Eventually, the two of them exited safely.

Arriving at the office area of the hall, Agent Sydney took Casaman’s diary to copy, while Casaman approached the young man nearby: "Agent Zem, what are you sketching?"

The young man lifted his head, cracked a smile upon seeing Casaman, "It’s Mr. Casaman, you must be exhausted. I’m outlining the evidence chain for this case, confirming previous occurrences and potential future incidents."

Zem Mayer, from the Sydney Holand Security Bureau, unlike Agent Sydney, specializes in dealing with the Chaos Cult.

He and his Watson, Jiaxi Sheringham, work together with their special agents squad, having an excellent synergy in the morning’s battle, leaving the Chaos Cult mbers wailing for their parents.

"What do you think will happen in the future?" Casaman asked with a smile.

"The objectives of this Chaos Cult group are puzzling. Upon reviewing the previous three sacrifices, they were all very small scale, barely noticeable. Only this ti, their sacrifice involved plenty of victims, yet they encountered us...I’ve scrutinized these three sacrifices and couldn’t discern any continuity; as the timing and number of victims vary. If the sacrifices were based on the number of victims, they are essentially alerting their opponents, which is us." The young man sighed, "Indeed, the longer I confront these madn, the less I comprehend their motives. It’s better to be like Agent Sydney, at least his opponents are still human, unlike ours – I can never tell if I’m facing a human or a ghost."

"It’s indeed very strange, I cannot fathom their thoughts either." Casaman sighed with a laugh—indeed, that’s what he thought too.

You can never reason with Chaotic Believers because the concept simply doesn’t exist in their minds.

...

"Damn it, how could those soldiers have entered our warehouse?" Two n dressed in heavy furred clothing of a commoner from the North, disguised as passing rchants, stood at the top of a small building, helplessly observing the warehouse guarded by soldiers from the southern Carterburg—their caravan had co to transport a batch of weapons, but who would have thought that upon reaching Koser Town, it was already under Carterburg soldiers’ control.

Had it been any unperceptive gang, killing a few would not have been a problem for them, but there were tens of thousands of soldiers; their group of a few dozen wouldn’t even withstand a single volley, forcing them to stand and watch the busy traffic in and out of the warehouse – peering into the brightly lit interior, yet from this distance, their vision was impaired, and they dared not use observation tools for fear of drawing attention.

Their current predicant had them send a ssenger, hoping Bishop would issue new instructions soon.

Hearing footsteps from the wooden stairs below, the two n turned—their familiar gait; however, for safety, they kept their hands on the holsters.

As rchants, how could they not have sothing for self-defense?

As their leader ran up, they breathed a sigh of relief, the young man with black hair spoke first: "Sir, what do we do now?"

"Keep waiting, I just saw our n hanging by the roadside outside of town. Odd, one person is missing." The leader frowned, "The Bishop once ntioned there are spies of the Northern Kingdom among the guards; he advised to improvise, but now, soone’s missing..."

"Who?" the middle-aged man with gray hair asked.

"Stoke Donnar, I didn’t see him," the revelation shocked his subordinates.

"How could that kid be a spy?! He’s been with the faith longer than we have!" the young man with black hair exclaid.

"Indeed, how could Stoke be a spy?" the middle-aged man with gray hair was puzzled.

Just as the leader was about to chastise them, they saw a commotion at the warehouse.

A young officer in Sydney language was berating his soldiers, annoyed that a bandit’s corpse was left in the warehouse.

And his soldiers dragged out the body by its legs.

The leader lifted his binoculars; soon, he saw the lifeless young face.

"... Well, I see Stoke Donnar now; he’s dead, now there’s no way to find the spy," the leader sighed.

"But at least the spy is definitely dead," the black-haired young man also sighed and said, "What do we do now, boss?"

"Continue to wait—until Bishop’s next instructions arrive, we can only wait." Having said that, the boss turned and headed towards the stairs, "Are you coming down? If you don’t, I will—it’s really cold here."

Watching their leader choose to leave the rooftop, the two subordinates eventually decided to descend—after all, there was a stove downstairs, and the rooftop only had the damn snow and wind.

As they descended the stairs, atop the clean Bell Tower, now serving as an observation post, the Sharpshooter from Tuojin’s troops moved his eyes away from the binoculars that had been watching the three n, turned to his assistant, "The suspicious caravan’s leader and his two deputies have left the building; from the mont they entered the building belonging to their caravan, they have been observing the warehouse, their vantage point was certainly pre-selected, they must be up to sothing serious, go downstairs and find Lord Tuojin."