The Cycle of Fate

Chapter 183: The Red House

The door of the old gray-white house was slightly ajar, easily opened without a key.

Inside, it was a complete mess, with items scattered everywhere, as if the place had been ransacked.

Valentine glanced around and remarked, "Someone has taken all the valuable items from here."

He noticed that several rooms on the first floor had their doors wide open, now empty, and the floor bore traces of heavy boxes having been dragged.

"We arrived too late. The client's companion must have noticed something wrong and moved everything out in advance," said Imre, the half-blood, with a sigh.

The "Purifiers" spread out, beginning their search of the not-so-large space.

Soon, Angoulême picked up a few sheets of white paper that had fallen near the stairs. He held them up to the sunlight for closer inspection.

Then, pulling out a half-used pencil from his pocket, he quickly shaded one of the papers.

Gradually, some faint marks began to emerge, forming a few complete words:

"Albert Goncourt... underground... riot... time..."

"Albert Goncourt..." Imre glanced at the paper in the steward's hand and involuntarily furrowed his brow.

Albert Goncourt was one of the masterminds behind the Trier uprising six years ago, a leader of the "Carbonari" and the head of the largest faction of the anti-government armed forces.

Without speaking, Angoulême gestured for his team to continue their work.

After completing their search of the first and second floors, they descended the stairs to the low-ceilinged cellar.

At the far end of the cellar was a large black iron door with a brass-colored lock.

Angoulême patted the gray-white humanoid machine standing beside him and placed the brass key obtained from Celia Bello into its right hand.

Next, he adjusted a few knobs on the humanoid machine's body.

From the high-energy fuel pack on the machine's back, more white mist sprayed out, driving the mechanical contraption forward step by step. Following its preset height, it inserted the brass key into the lock.

Seeing this, Imre couldn't help but comment with admiration, "Steward, you're really the one in the tribunal, no, the entire church, who loves using mechanical creations the most."

Angoulême glanced at his usually casual subordinate and replied, "I don't care if it's made by the 'Church of Steam and Machinery,' as long as it works well.

"When a machine breaks, you just fix it or replace it. But when one of you breaks, I have to process compensation and deal with your grieving families."

The "Purifiers" understood the concern behind the steward's words, and they smiled as they turned their gazes toward the gray-white humanoid machine.

This thing could currently only be used for carrying objects, hammering nails, and walking or running. It couldn't handle any delicate or complex tasks, and its operational endurance was limited. Otherwise, it would've made their jobs a lot easier.

Click. The machine turned the brass key and pushed open the heavy black iron door.

Thin mist rushed toward the doorway, constantly twisting and contorting, revealing one face after another, as if printed from a mold.

These faces, made of white mist, were filled with venomous hatred and deep pain.

They bit and cursed at the humanoid machine, but it remained unmoved.