Old Dunling was huge. Enormous.

  As the capital of Inverweg, it had expanded slowly throughout the nation’s history, its growth accelerating dramatically with the advent of steam power.

  Its urban sprawl was staggering, occupying nearly half of Inverweg Island. But such vast size brought a significant downside: exorbitant transportation time.

  A citizen from the East District commuting to a factory in the West District spent half the day walking. Steam cars were unaffordable for the average person, let alone maintaining a damned horse for commuting.

  To address this, the Mechanical Institute began a new round of renovations in Old Dunling over a decade ago, digging underground tunnels and building trains that could span the city—they called this the “metro,” a scaled-down underground railway. Above ground, steam trams embedded with tracks, known as “Iron Serpents,” raced along their routes.

  This transportation system, trialed in Old Dunling, was later expanded nationwide. In recent years, they even sought to integrate Zeppelins into this massive network, aiming to claim the skies as part of Inverweg’s domain.

  Midgard Serpent—this was how the Mechanical Institute’s engineers named the system, inspired by Norse mythology. They envisioned this beautiful, prosperous world as the mythical Midgard, where everyone could become part of this colossal serpent of machinery and steam with minimal cost, circling a world that felt increasingly small.

  Victoria Central Hospital was a well-known stop on this network, with steam trams passing by every ten minutes. Burton happened to catch one at the right moment.

  “Sorry, my friend!”

  The tram doors opened, and Burton shouldered his dangerous shotgun, making a beeline for the cab. After forcing out the innocent passengers, the driver offered no real resistance before being dropped from the steam tram. The Iron Serpent then began hissing steam, accelerating rapidly along the tracks.

  Law-abiding citizens of Old Dunling had never witnessed such a scene, and even Price was momentarily stunned.

  This was Old Dunling, the heart of Inverweg, where at least three Zeppelins patrolled the skies at any given moment. Onboard were fully armed sky cavalry in red cloaks, a formidable line of defense for the city’s order. In the event of an emergency, these colossal beasts would blot out the sky, and red-clad soldiers would descend via zip lines to neutralize threats with deadly precision.

  First a steam pipe explosion and fire, then a gunfight, and now a steam tram hijacking—though the situation was unclear, those responsible would surely face life in prison.

  This was shaping up to be the biggest case of Price’s career. He belatedly raised his gun and ran toward the steam tram, only to spot a figure clinging to its rear.

  Price’s heart nearly stopped.

  “...this has to be worth at least a third-class merit!”

  Despite the howling wind, the girl remained nonchalant, muttering to herself.

  Eve clung tightly to the steam tram’s handle, managing to catch up at the last moment before it departed. Her mind was filled with visions of the next day’s Queen’s Daily headline: New Police Detective Solves Major Case on First Day, Awarded Third-Class Merit, Invited to Platinum Palace—a fairy tale of rising to become Old Dunling’s police inspector before thirty. What a tedious thought.

  Onboard the Iron Serpent, Burton felt no such trivial ambitions. He was in his prime.

  The tram’s whistle blared continuously, like a reaper speeding to claim lives, causing pedestrians to scramble out of the way.

  Burton was a curious learner, his room filled with books on every topic, including steam trams. While not an expert, the tram’s simple control panel was manageable.

  He had to catch the fleeing group—they were the only clue left in this tangled mystery.

  Soon, the riders came into view. Old Dunling’s crowded streets made horseback travel slow, unless you were a police cavalry blowing their whistle or a reckless soul like Burton on a steam tram, which citizens reluctantly prioritized over their own safety.

  Wedging the control lever in place, Burton grabbed the edge of the steel frame and flipped onto the roof.

  The Mechanical Institute, for all their eccentricities, designed their vehicles with safety in mind. Emergency brakes could bring the tram to a rapid halt, but Burton targeted the slowest rider.

  He pulled the trigger, and a thunderous report rang out. The bullet pierced a horse’s leg, sending the unfortunate animal and its rider skidding across the ground for meters. Burton thought he’d succeeded, but another gunshot followed, and the fallen rider lay dead, a fatal shot to the head.

  No survivors.

  Burton now realized the severity: these were no ordinary hired hands. Among them was someone tasked with ensuring silence—eliminating any who fell behind to protect the Silver Fish’s secrets.

  This was far beyond Lower City gangsters. Burton was at an impasse, but the solution was simple: eliminate the last man standing.

  Human resolve could be both unyielding and fragile. Burton gambled on whether the cleaner would have the courage to put a bullet in his own mouth when cornered.

  In a rare spectacle, a chase unfolded through Old Dunling—pursuer and pursued. The suspects aimed for the Lower City, a lawless district where even Su Yalan Hall hesitated to intervene. It was a festering tumor on Old Dunling, and removing it would damage the city itself—exactly why a bastard like Boro had survived so long.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Burton had to intercept them before they reached the Lower City, where he might not survive himself.

  Use that brilliant mind of yours, even if your morals are questionable.

  He visualized Old Dunling’s layout, the map in his mind showing his path (blue line) chasing theirs (red line), the red line nearing its endpoint in the Lower City.

  The blue line fragmented into countless paths, converging from all directions to block the red line’s escape.

  Finally, at the last intersection before the Lower City, the blue line cut off the red.

  Thanks to the Old Dunling steam tram route map hanging in the cab, Burton had found the only possible intercept.

  Eve pulled herself into the tram car with all her strength. At the police academy, her instructor had commented that she was an excellent detective but lacked stamina. That was the past; with modern transportation, detectives no longer had to chase suspects until they collapsed.

  If she ever saw that instructor again, Eve would correct him on that point. For now, she needed to stop this damned tram.

  “Stop the tram immediately!”

  Eve raised her pistol at Burton in the cab, the distance between them close enough for her voice to carry despite the machine’s roar.

  Burton turned, wearing a surprisingly calm smile. “I’m not your enemy, Detective. They are.”

  Eve knew he referred to the fleeing riders, but she remained vigilant, refusing to lower her gun.

  “I’m a private detective.”

  “Private detectives with shotguns?”

  “Most detectives carry guns. Mine is just… more distinctive. Consider me a minority in the field.”

  “Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve caused? I have the authority to shoot you on sight!”

  The last part was a bluff. Eve wasn’t entirely sure of the protocols for using deadly force, a lesson she’d likely learn through field experience under Price’s guidance.

  “Trouble? Call it a personal brand. I’m more of an action man than a thinker who sits and ponders.”

  Burton excelled at crafting his image—a skill he’d honed at the Royal Academy of Arts, where a single label could shape perceptions. He moved on before Eve could respond.

  “Detective, did you know this thing can go much faster?”

  He gestured to the steel behemoth beneath them, appearing unconcerned by the gun trained on him.

  “All human technology starts with military applications before becoming civilian. Take the Zeppelins set to join the Midgard Serpent network—originally military airships, flying beyond the reach of ground artillery to deploy troops and carry out airstrikes.

  “Even the Midgard Serpent itself began as a military system, designed so the Queen could order troops to any continent via steam trains at a moment’s notice.

  Our steam tram here is no different; it was born during Old Dunling’s most lawless era.”

  Placing a hand on the control lever, Burton stood slowly, leaving his shotgun on the console and raising his empty hand to show he meant no harm.

  “This ‘Iron Serpent’ was truly lived up to its name. Its carriages were packed with armed soldiers, protected by thick armor that turned bullets into mere dents. Zeppelins directed them to suppress riots, their gun barrels emerging from hatches at the first sign of trouble.”

  This was during Inverweg’s early days as a steam technology pioneer, when spies from every nation swarmed Old Dunling, sowing chaos.

  Burton paused, then continued:

  “My point is, this tram’s power far exceeds its listed specifications. It still uses the Watt Model III steam engine, which decades ago carried a truckload of soldiers and tons of armor at breakneck speeds. Now it struggles with a few civilians?

  “Engineers neutered its power, hiding its military past behind a civilian facade. But with basic mechanical knowledge and an understanding of steam tram schematics—”

  Eve’s instincts flared a warning. Before she could react, Burton violently yanked the control lever. On instinct, Eve pulled the trigger.

  The bullet missed its mark, shattering the tram’s windshield instead. The steam tram lurched violently, threatening to derail, and Eve was thrown into the metal wall, hitting it with a heavy thud. The sound of shattering glass filled the cab, followed by a roar of wind rushing inside.

  How?

  Eve struggled to lift her head, seeing Burton standing firm in the cab. Her bullet had only destroyed the glass. Then she felt it—the entire carriage vibrating violently as the Iron Serpent broke free of its speed restrictions, its velocity climbing to levels unseen since its military days.

  As if answering her unspoken question, Burton pointed to the canvas bags hanging on the wall beside her during the jolt. Inside were tram operation manuals and blueprints, kept for passengers but rarely read—except by Burton, who always studied such materials during his travels. Today, that habit had paid off.