Steampunk: Sixth Era Epic

The corridor's floor was covered with a red carpet, and a wobbly line of people, under the guidance of a waiter waiting at the second-floor staircase, headed straight into the second room on the left.

The room inside was quite spacious, and the gas lamps were turned up to their maximum power, making everything inside shine with golden splendor. However, having just left the chaotic environment downstairs, this ostensibly normal scene now felt oddly distorted.

The interior of the room resembled a common parlor, but there was a huge gambling table at the center.

The table was wider, the chairs more numerous. Against the wall stood a liquor cabinet, and two inappropriately dressed women with heavy makeup. Neither the drunkards nor the waiters acting as croupiers noticed Shard, the man who shouldn't have been there, as the group moved to the new room to continue their revelry.

Shard stood beside a sofa trying to avoid drawing attention as he looked for an opportunity to slip out into the corridor.

He considered whether he should use his "Ignite" ability to create a small disturbance and attract attention when he heard the drunkard he had been propping up speaking to a man with a scar at the corner of his mouth, sitting on a sofa with his head down:

"Captain Lades, tell us again the story about how you tried to commit suicide by firing eight shots at your own head to show your undying loyalty to the Kingdom when you were captured by those Southerners!"

The drunkard burst into loud laughter, and the ridiculed Captain Lades kept his head down, silently staring at his boots.

"Lades has only just been ransomed back, let's not talk about this... How about finding a pistol and letting him demonstrate for us, hahaha~"

The man holding three cards at the card table also turned around and chimed in, filling the room with jovial laughter. Shard took the opportunity while everyone was roaring with laughter, poking fun at the "Captain Eight-Guns" who had just been captured and returned home, to slip out of the noisy room and back into the corridor.

The walls and doors had excellent soundproofing, and a few steps later, Shard could hardly hear the raucous laughter from the room. He walked along, hugging the wall, the deserted corridor working in his favor.

Although he didn't know where Little Franklin was, according to the former detective's records, the second floor of the Lucky Southern Cross Club had an emergency exit that led directly outside, so Shard wasn't worried about getting caught.

But as he thought this and turned a corner, he was met head-on by a man whose uniform was obviously different from that of the guards at the casino downstairs.

Shard walked forward with his chest out and head raised, not showing any signs of fear, but even so, he was stopped by the man:

"Excuse me, sir, please wait a moment. I don't think I've seen you before."

The man extended his hand to grab Shard's shoulder, and although Shard lacked hand-to-hand combat experience, his instinctive dodge was unexpectedly successful. This made him realize once again that the enhancement provided by a Circle Sorcerer was all-encompassing:

"Yes, I was invited up and had just gone to the washroom."

He explained.

"But isn't the washroom that way?"

The man pointed in the direction from which the detective had just come, giving him a puzzled glance:

"You're quite nimble."

"...The washroom over there is broken, and the vomit from that group of drunkards clogged the toilets. Oh, I really don't want to describe that scene to you."

Shard was quite impressed with his own quick thinking, but the man who stopped him still furrowed his brow:

"Sir, you're not a guest on the second floor, are you?"

Although it was a question, the tone was already affirmative.

Shard smiled awkwardly, realizing that further denial was pointless. Thankfully, he didn't have any dangerous items on him and indeed hadn't done anything wrong in the club:

"Alright, I was just curious about the second floor and followed some guests up when they were being taken up... I understand, I'll leave the club right away."

Faced with an unexpected situation, there was no need for Shard to argue with the gangsters running the gambling establishment over half a pound. As he moved to step back, he was again stopped by the man's next words:

"From now on, don't go wandering off. The guests upstairs are all distinguished, and when you play here, you have to follow the rules. You don't need to leave; you can continue on the first floor... Wait, you're not here to look for that 'pauper' Franklin, are you?"

He frowned.

"Hmm... All right."

Considering the current situation, Shard thought it unnecessary to lie since the other party seemed to be reasonable for the time being:

"If you're talking about the young man with a gray hat, wearing a sailor's shirt, and with freckles all over his face, then yes, his father sent me to take him away."

"His father has sent someone again? Come with me. Once you've paid off his debt, you can take him away."

The man waved Shard over, leading him down the corridor:

"You should have said so on the first floor. For guys like him who owe gambling debts, we worry about how to find people to pay off their debts for them."

The casino owner unexpectedly made a lot of sense.

"I thought... How much does he owe?"

Shard asked the crucial question. The accountant had promised that if his own son incurred a debt at the casino, the detective could pay it off in advance, and the money would be reimbursable, but Shard himself didn't carry much cash on hand.

"One pound and six shillings, add on the interest and his board for these days here, two pounds, and you can take him away."

The stakes on the first floor were actually not that high; Little Franklin managed to lose so much within two days, probably never once betting correctly on the outcomes. But this wasn't Shard's concern. Mr. Franklin could pay off debts up to ten pounds, and Shard just happened to have two pounds.

The man continued:

"Of course, since you're here on behalf of his father. Just like last time, if you're willing to give us three pounds and six shillings, the casino can issue you a five-pound receipt to take to 'pauper' Franklin's father..."

It took Shard several seconds to realize what the man meant. He had seen this kind of thing in his original world, but was still taken aback by the Otherworld casino owner's business acumen. After thinking it over, he shook his head:

"Thank you for the offer, but I'll pass this time. A steady stream flows far."

He felt some sympathy for Mr. Franklin who was about to relocate his entire family and didn't think it necessary to make money this way. The guide didn't mind, and actually agreed with Shard's opinion:

"You're right, a steady stream flows far. Anyway, 'pauper' Franklin will come back again."

Shard admitted to himself that he had a very wicked idea of the club's so-called "debt repayment," but in fact, Little Franklin was only forced to help wash dishes in the kitchen, and once he washed enough, he would be allowed to leave.

When the man led Shard into the kitchen, they happened to see a fat man in chef's attire knock the young man with the small eyes to the floor with a punch. The physically frail Little Franklin fell amongst the scattered Roder Cards, blood from his knocked-out teeth splattering on their surfaces.

At the end of the kitchen, a bloody pig's head was placed, with steam pipes spraying hot steam over it, which the fat chef seemed to have been dealing with earlier.

"Stop it, someone has come to redeem him."

The guide said languidly, waving away the kitchen smells in front of his nose, then stretched out his hand for Shard to pay. Shard handed over the two pounds he had prepared earlier, then pulled up Little Franklin from the ground:

"Your father sent me..."

"Mr. Nett, he can't leave now. This damned kid tried to run and even bit me."

The chef said furiously, showing off the bloodied bite mark on his chubby hand:

"Give me half a pound, or he can't go."

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