Gun of Ashes

Chapter 23: Chapter 17: No Way Out

Many times even the great detective makes mistakes. He is human, and being human means mistakes are bound to occur.

The stained glass is not meant to illuminate the hall. The light pours through the glass, scattering into a colorful glow that falls within the enclosed room. The joyous music here feels infinitely distant, with a faint white mist rising, carrying a calming incense.

On the sofa, the man bows his head towards the wall as if in prayer, and upon that wall, the pitch-black cross writhes eerily, as if a trick of the eye, possessing life.

”The room is well aligned, like a church.”

He was a guest from afar, dressed in black, wearing a hat and a beak-shaped mask.

This attire dates back hundreds of years when the Black Death ravaged Ingwig and nearby kingdoms. At that time, doctors dressed like this, the beak mask was actually a gas mask with a silver-plated elongated beak packed with herbs to filter the virus.

That dark era is long gone, yet people still avoid such clothing. At that time, the doctors wielded great power to control the epidemic. If they declared you sick, you’d be isolated, your home burned by knights, and finally, you’d be placed in a large pit along with other patients, where fish oil and firewood would be thrown in, burning you and the disease until nothing remained, and then buried in soil.

He was more like a Death God than a doctor, emitting an aura of ominousness.

”Yes, this is modeled after the church from my memory of the town, which wasn’t very big and could be filled by a dozen people.”

Sabo slowly raised his bowed head, the light from the stained glass behind him casting down into the hall, his silhouette darkened by the backlight.

”I thought you Vikings believed in Odin.”

The epidemic doctor slowly took a seat facing Sabo; behind the dark lenses, there seemed to be gazes watching.

”No, when the steel ships and cannons entered the northern seas, the so-called gods had died. We rushed forward, hoping to have a place in Heroic Spirit Hall, but in reality, there was nothing. Death meant death, floating on the icy water, dying without meaning.”

Sabo’s voice was very calm, as if recounting an unrelated story.

”That should be my last voyage. I drifted to Ingwig on a piece of the deck. It was a church priest who saved me, and the church where I woke was much like this.”

The gaze wandered back and forth in this narrow, dark space, as if unwilling to forget; Sabo had always existed here.

”That was one very peculiar Ingwig person, truly a lunatic. The first question he asked when I woke was whether I was interested in learning about the Evangelical Church.”

Sabo laughed as he spoke.

”I’m a Viking, and he actually asked me if I’m interested in the Church.”

He laughed recklessly, yet no matter how loud the laughter, the faint music eventually engulfed him, leaving the place as quiet as dead water.

”What’s the ending of that story?”

The doctor’s voice was an eerie neutrality, tinged with metallic sound, perhaps due to the epidemic mask.

”When I was near death, the Valkyries did not descend, Heroic Spirit Hall shut its doors tight to me. So I thought of trying betrayal, maybe the noble Odin would pay a little attention to me, an ant.”

”I accepted baptism and lived to this day, without any repercussions, not even nightmares, thriving more than I did as a pirate.”

Sabo found it all so laughable, as if it were nothing; the things everyone had been steadfastly pursuing for years felt like bubbles.

”I think I understand.”

The epidemic doctor paused in silence, then spoke.

”Do you think God... is useful?”

”Do you mean saving mankind, doctor?”

”Probably. Actually, sometimes I feel lost too. I’ve dissected many corpses, humans are so complex yet beautiful, each organ has its own function, under the beating heart, blood surges... even the brain is a tangible miracle.”

The doctor looked at his hands, feeling his breath; everyone pursues miracles, yet never considers their own existence as a miraculous thing.

”Sometimes I wonder, humans are so mysteriously complex, can the so-called God really create us? Yet, without the so-called God, how did we come to be?”

Sabo thought for a moment, raised a finger.

”One Silver Lion Coin, the so-called God is cheap enough to be worth only one Silver Lion Coin. I suppose you’ve seen those outside, those ’entranced’ people.”

He spoke disdainfully but with sadness.

”With just one Silver Lion Coin, you can buy a dose of Hallucinogen, and one dose can let them step into Heaven for three days. Just one Silver Lion Coin, and they can say goodbye to this damned world, immersed in their beautiful dreams until they need the next dose.”

”So-called stepping into Heaven is nothing more, right?”

The doctor thought for a moment. He liked to think, but sometimes thinking is meaningless, dull and useless.

Distant music continually ascended, sweet laughter faintly came, clearly the only barrier between the two was a wall of glass, yet the gap was immense.

”Now it’s time for sacrifice, Sabo.”

The doctor finally spoke these words. He wasn’t trying to chat; he just didn’t know how to start, after all, death is a sad matter.

”I understand.”

Sabo seemed unsurprised by the so-called sacrifice, his gaze more serene than ever.

”You, the doctor of the plague, are here to announce my death, aren’t you? Just like the Black Death centuries ago, doctors couldn’t cure it; they could only identify the patients and then kill them, keeping the plague contained in that circle.”

”According to your doctrine, you will ascend to Heaven after your death.”

The doctor tried to comfort him, but as if hearing a joke, Sabo paused for a moment, then laughed heartily as if he had heard a cosmic joke.

”How absurd the Heroic Spirit Hall is, how absurd Heaven is. You know I don’t believe in these things.”

He accepted baptism, but never believed.

The doctor didn’t seem to expect such a response from Sabo. Although clearly a dying man, he had an unimaginable calmness about death.

The doctor’s voice paused for a moment before he continued.

”The Holy Coffin has already left Old Dunling. It’s in a safe place now, but the pursuit of the Purification Mechanism hasn’t ended. According to intelligence, the Sailing Dawn took to the sky ten days ago, and now, no one knows its location. It could be over the coast, or right above us, and the cannons of Thousand Thunder are aimed directly here.”

”What do you need me to do?” Sabo asked.

”Create a diversion. We need more time to relocate the Holy Coffin.”

”So, chaos, the bigger the better?”

The doctor nodded affirmatively.

”Yes, as long as there’s a disturbance, the Purification Mechanism will have to find a way to address it. They have limited manpower, so we delay as much as possible. As long as the Holy Spirit Coffin leaves Ingwig, all sacrifices will be worthwhile.”

With that, the doctor took out his case. As he opened it, there were rows of syringes, with scorching blood rolling within the transparent glass.

It was like Pandora’s box. As soon as it was opened, Sabo’s breathing became tense, and for once, his gaze showed disorder, staring fixedly at it.

It was an indescribable feeling. People live in the air yet never feel its presence, but when the case was opened, a turbulent heat filled the room, as if something had escaped from inside, omnipresent.

”This is technology from the Order, purified Secret Blood. It can lead to Hell or open the Celestial Kingdom. Doctrine has never been a sharp blade; the Order originally used it to cultivate a batch of monsters, thereby winning the war of faith.”

The doctor’s voice was calm, as if accustomed to this eerie feeling.

Looking at it, Sabo’s voice trembled slightly.

”Is this all prepared for me?”

”Just one.”

”Sabo, this is a chance to change destiny. If you’re strong enough, one chance is enough. If this is all you are, giving you more chances is just a waste.”

The doctor’s words were rarely harsh. He stood up and walked to the stained glass, through which the splendor of the hall was visible.

”I’ve heard this place used to be a dueling ground.”

”Yes, Old Dunling was built by the Romans, and such traditions always seep through some seam. During the Radiant War, Lower City District didn’t exist, and this was just a wasteland. Times were tough, and people gathered here for underground gambling.”

Sabo still did not rise, sitting on the sofa from the beginning, quietly reflecting on the past.

”At that time, the wealthy would catch some useless prisoners of war; they were slaves. The economy was poor, and many impoverished people took up arms to fight for a living, so Ingwigs and Gaulunaros fought in the Roman arena.”

”Though usually, the Ingwigs won. Even though it was an underground duel, to encourage the populace, the Gaulunaros were wounded before entering the arena—they fought injured, and their lives were on a countdown when the gates opened.”

It was a bloody era. Enemies came from beyond the White Tide Strait. At the outbreak of war, both sides were using ships and swords, but within this nearly hundred years of war history, weapons continuously upgraded, from flintlock guns to long-range cannons, from steamships to Zeppelin airships.

”But such duels don’t happen anymore. In civilized society, people prefer balls for socializing.”

Sabo smiled happily.

”Whether it’s a dueling ground or a ball, it’s just a place for social interaction. The big families discuss the distribution of interests at the table, the girls pick their husbands, and the boys their wives.”

The doctor did not reply, merely quietly watching the crowd below. They wore masks; no one recognized anyone. It was a tradition among the nobility, like a tacit understanding, maintaining the last hypocritical lie.

”It seems you’ve prepared in advance.”

”Those noble aristocrats shouldn’t be in this filthy Lower City District, let alone wearing masks. No matter their identities, both officials and families will deny they died here; it’s a disgrace.”

From the beginning, tonight’s ball was a trap. They would be Sabo’s burial companions, for that grand ambition.

”I will satisfy you, doctor. From the moment I was born, I was meant to do this.”

Sabo took one syringe from the case. This was the first time he stood up; his figure was so hunched and small, yet the shadow he cast was terrifyingly grim.