Most of the Brass Nobility, including the Speaker of the Council, did not understand what the name "Jack Bailey" meant.
But Bishop Clivy and Saint Euphemia knew very well how much trouble this man's betrayal would cause them. It was no wonder she chose to be brought to the council hall, even though she knew she was going to die. She was simply waiting for this exact moment!
Realizing this, Clivy gritted his teeth under his mask. If he had known about Vivian's plan earlier, he would have crushed Jack and Vivian like rats and left their corpses to rot in the Rust Zone sewers, with not a single bone left.
In the current situation, with everyone watching, he and Euphemia could not do a thing.
But to take us down with one Lower District rat? Vivian, you're still too young.
As Clivy and Euphemia stood in silence, the Speaker of the Council finally waved his hand to a guard.
"Bring the Lower District's 'Jack Bailey' here."
"Yes, sir."
After a long wait, the doors to the council hall opened again.
Instantly, a foul stench of rust and machine oil intruded upon the hall, overwhelming the long-standing scent of tulips.
Unlike the neatly dressed and elegant Brass Nobility in the hall, Old Jack was wearing a worn-out leather jacket. His right hand, a low-tech mechanical prosthesis, was visibly rusty.
Sloppy, crude... The "barbarism" of the Lower District was fully on display in Old Jack.
"Tsk~"
After an expression of disgust, several Brass Nobles dramatically pulled out their handkerchiefs and covered their noses and mouths. They were clearly repulsed by the air in the hall, which had been "polluted" by Old Jack.
The inherent arrogance of the Upper District, like the steam in the city outside, began to spread among the Brass Nobility.
The Speaker of the Council also frowned in displeasure, but due to the special circumstances, he maintained his composure and spoke in a formal tone: "Jack Bailey, Vivian says you have evidence to prove her innocence. Present it."
Under the scrutiny of countless eyes, Old Jack, who usually stood tall and proud in the Lower District, involuntarily stooped. But this unnatural tension didn't last long. A moment later, he took a deep breath and pulled two things from his coat: a yellowed ledger with curled edges and a worn-out voice recorder.
Seeing this, the Speaker motioned for an assistant to step forward. The assistant quickly went up and publicly opened the old ledger. When the dense handwriting came into view, a stir immediately went through the hall.
The ledger recorded the illicit "dirty money" that the Gear Church had been collecting over the years through Old Jack in the Lower District. The time, location, and person responsible—every detail of the money transfer was clearly written down by Old Jack. A single glance was enough to determine its authenticity.
However, a ledger like this could only prove that the Church was secretly controlling the Lower District's black market; it couldn't absolve Vivian of her crimes.
Therefore, the truly crucial item was the voice recorder. At the Speaker's signal, the assistant pressed the play button.
Soon, Saint Euphemia's voice filled the silent hall.
'Vivian, in three days I will lure away the Knights' Captain Fischer, and the Bishop will deliberately deactivate the security devices in the prayer room.'
'You go in, take the people and things out, and bring them to the Rust Gang in the Lower District.'
The recording paused for a moment, then Euphemia's voice, full of temptation, continued: 'When you're done, the Bishop and I will apply to the Holy See for a deific ceremony for you, and you will receive a custom mech imbued with a machine spirit. How does that sound?'
In response to Euphemia's promise, the Vivian in the recording gave a very straightforward answer.
'I understand, Lady Euphemia.'
The recording was brief, but the information it revealed shocked everyone. If the recording was authentic, then in a way, Vivian hadn't stolen the holy relics. Taking something without permission is theft, but how can following orders be?
With the definitive evidence presented, Old Jack now had some confidence. "Sirs, this is the evidence I have that proves Vivian's innocence."
"Furthermore, I also know quite a few things about Saint Euphemia and Bishop Clivy from over the years. If you need me to..."
"Enough!"
Without giving Old Jack a chance to continue, Bishop Clivy furiously cut him off. He stood on the high platform, looking down at the seemingly insignificant Old Jack.
"A Lower District rat, daring to speak ill of clergy? What can a single recording prove? It can be faked without a Star Source. Who would fall for such a clumsy trick?"
Clivy paused, then looked around at the nobles, saying meaningfully, "Everyone, don't you agree?"
Clivy's tone was flat, but some of the Brass Nobles, with guilty consciences, heard a clear threat. After a few quick glances, most of them nodded in agreement, indicating that what Clivy said was correct.
A mere "recording" couldn't prove anything. The Brass Nobles exchanged glances and nodded in unison.
Seeing this, Vivian and Old Jack fell silent. At the same time, so did the countless citizens of the Rust Zone watching the live broadcast on screens throughout the Lower District.
Physically, the "sunlight" in the Lower District was blocked by the constant "steam clouds" above. But psychologically, what truly made the Lower District citizens feel darkness was the matter-of-fact indifference and contempt of the Brass Nobility.
Are people from the Lower District even human?
That question finally had a clear answer from the Brass Nobility at this moment: no.
Seeing that the Brass Nobles were all on his side, and not realizing the gravity of the situation—or rather, never having cared about the Lower District in the first place—Bishop Clivy said with a cold face: "Vivian, your crime of stealing the holy relic is a fact, and you have slandered the Church with base methods."
"Now, in my name as Bishop, I strip you of your title as a Silver Knight and ask the Speaker to sentence you to severe punishment according to the laws of the Steam City."
The Speaker of the Council pondered for a moment before making a decision.
"After deliberation, the theft of the Church's holy relic by Vivian Howard is a fact, and the evidence is complete."
"I, the Speaker, announce that Vivian Howard is sentenced to the 'Furnace Punishment,' to be carried out seven days from now."
"Alright, everyone, let's vote."
The vote began. Of the twelve Brass Nobles, everyone but the Gold Knight, Fischer, and two guild representatives raised their hands to approve the sentence. These people included the Speaker of the Council.
Seeing this, Bishop Clivy, Saint Euphemia, and Vivian all smiled. The former's was a victor's 'show-off' to the loser. The latter's was a revenger's 'mockery' of the corrupt for their ugly display.
And in an inconspicuous corner of the council hall, Tendo, standing in the shadows, also curled his lips into a smile. But his smile held neither 'show-off' nor 'mockery'.
It held only the purest 'anticipation'.
Because when the "Furnace Punishment" sentence was broadcast across every inch of the Steam City, he heard the subtle, almost imperceptible sound of a fire igniting in the darkness of the Rust Zone Hell.
The long-suppressed anger of the Lower District was finally set ablaze.
How do you bring light to people in the dark? It's simple. You light a fire among them.
But to make this fire burn brighter, it needed some external help.
Like a 'wind'.
In the original plot, the person who fanned this fire was supposed to be the Fifth Squad's Vice-Captain, Yuchen. But with Yuchen now locked up by him, the final 'wind' had to be fanned by Tendo himself.
Although he had always considered himself a "lover of peace" and a kind person who "refused to use excessive violence," in the twisted environment of the Steam City, 'peace' and 'kindness' would not get him what he wanted.
Because for these people, a fist is far more persuasive than words.
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