Round 23: Revealing the Truth

A secluded corner of the “Snowman” Steam Bath.
Various-sized water pipes covered the entire space like a spider web, running through walls and bending in complex ways to form a circulation system whose workings were hard for outsiders to understand. The rumbling of machines could be heard deep within the unseen bricks and stones. Though corroded by steam and water pressure, the devices still pumped mineral-rich hot spring water from underground through iron pipes with great force. If the clueless Forty-Seven were to see this, he might transform it into some bizarre contraption again.
In most places, there were only narrow gaps between the stained walls and pipes. A hot, humid wind kept blowing from somewhere, adding to Douglas’s difficulties as he struggled to move through. Just because he was the master of this place didn’t mean he got special treatment. A huge rat zipped past his head along a pipe, paused briefly on a beam at the corner ahead, raised its oddly shaped head to sniff, and was about to dive into the ceiling when it seemed to be grabbed by something, dragged into darkness before it could even scream.
Douglas quickened his pace and turned the corner. He just in time saw Gell tilting his head back to swallow the rat’s tail—his mouth stretched so wide it was almost deformed. The poor rat’s tail was still thrashing, and the movement of its limbs could be seen beneath Gell’s throat, as if it were struggling in the jaws of a snake.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Douglas asked, his face grim. His massive body almost blocked the entire passage, but he wasn’t intimidated by the grotesque scene before him. “How’s the task I gave you coming along?”
Gell stuffed the rat’s tail into his mouth. A trickle of blood flowed down from the corner of his lips. He wiped it away casually and looked at the bathhouse owner with an indifferent expression, his mouth stained red. “I’m not your subordinate, Douglas. And didn’t you ask me to hide and avoid being seen by those guys so as not to arouse their suspicion?”
“I didn’t ask you to hide here and eat these disgusting rats!” Douglas snapped, his face turning even paler. “Gell, can’t you do something useful instead of being a constant annoyance? Stop staring at me. Your skills in escaping aren’t even worth mentioning. The reason I can stand here and scold you is because I’m smarter, more capable, and more favored by Pryx than you. So now I’m asking you again—better not test my patience any further. How’s the task going?”
The Teflin man scratched his thin chin, the faint horn-like protrusion on his forehead beginning to swell. A few seconds later, he shrugged indifferently. “Alright, calm down, Mr. Douglas. All the soldiers sent by Lord Pryx are in place, waiting for your orders… Though I can’t see what use these guys are beyond causing trouble. And you? Do you have any brilliant plan to get our guests to walk into the ‘Red Tower’?”

“Well, it doesn’t hurt to tell you now,” Douglas said, rubbing his stomach. “So you can be prepared. Taking them straight to the Red Tower is out of the question—that female mage isn’t some fool who knows nothing. Miss Dagulas and I have already prepared another portal, which seems to lead to Seal City. Even the most skilled interdimensional travelers wouldn’t be able to spot any trick in it. But in reality, it’s just the Red Tower, a projection of the Cursed Gate leading to the Batho dimension. Entering it is like boarding a direct train to hell… that simple.”
“So all we have to do is wait for news from Jacob?” Gell’s sharp horns had stretched out like cones. “I advise you to keep an eye on him. Jacob is too timid to withstand intimidation… don’t let him sell us out.”
“I heard Jacob once saved your life,” Douglas snorted disdainfully. “You don’t need to worry about that. I have my ways. He doesn’t even dare oppose Pryx, and he must surely realize that Miss Dagulas has quite high status. It’s unbelievable—what kind of background does this woman have? Pryx treats her with more respect than a Chiru demon!”
“I don’t care about her background,” Gell said, touching his horns. As if suddenly remembering something, his eyes turned red, and a faint sulfur smell emanated from him. “I just want to know what kind of twisted expression that annoying metal-faced guy will make when he sees the hordes of Bathzu demons and other ‘delights’ on the other side of the Cursed Gate.”
Forty-seven’s face showed no expression. In fact, he didn’t even have a face at that moment—his shiny alloy surface was seamless, reflecting the sky now mixed with dark hues, as well as the distorted face of the interdimensional merchant, with another, somewhat ferocious-looking Jacob staring back at her.
Faced with this scene, Jacob seemed to have a nerve struck, stopping even the small tricks he was doing. Morriel stood nearby with a gloomy expression, even darker than the skies over Ribcage City. She still seemed upset about the metal man’s attempts to seduce her, showing no reaction to the good news the interdimensional merchant had just given her—neither approval nor inquiry.
This was a very bad situation. From Jacob’s experience, the worst thing a merchant could do in business was fail to understand the buyer’s intentions—especially when that buyer’s decision could determine the seller’s life or death. He didn’t believe there was any way back now. Words spoken could not be taken back, and no matter how things turned out, one thing was certain: the troubles to come were certainly beyond the handling of a proper merchant like him.
“Oh, sorry for the wait, dear guests!”
“Clack, clack, clack”—Douglas stepped onto the terrace through the arched door, dressed in new clothes. His shoes with iron soles made loud noises as they hit the marble floor. If he continued wearing the same clothes, he might soon have to consider replacing the floor. “I had some personal matters to attend to just now…”

He was also startled by the strange appearance of Forty-Seven. After all, seeing one’s own face on someone else’s face was hardly a pleasant sight.
Forty-Seven clearly noticed him as well; the Douglas face on his face split and distorted. The mirror-like smooth face shattered into countless irregular pieces in an instant—a degree of fragmentation that far exceeded the minimum required to reassemble it into a whole. Yet, under some incredible force, those fragments, like iron shavings controlled by a magnet, arranged themselves in an orderly manner, instantly reassembling his face without a single crack.
It seemed Forty-Seven had found a new way to fiddle with his face, though it was far more astonishing than just spinning his head like a top hundreds of times.
“What you want most now is for us to leave this place quickly. What other personal matters could possibly take priority?” Forty-Seven’s mouth moved as he spoke, and inside could be faintly seen countless rapidly moving metal teeth chattering around as if holding a sports event—“Or is that personal matter the key to driving us away?”
“Oh? How could that be?” Douglas was taken aback and immediately denied it: “Well, it’s just that my water supply equipment has some problems… You see, my place isn’t as large as places like the ‘Steam Gym.’ The underground hot springs aren’t sufficient, so I have to rely on pumps working day and night just to keep the business going…”
As he spoke, Douglas even put on a pained expression to show how exhausted he was.
“I’m willing to contribute my modest effort, Mr. Douglas,” Jacob said. Whether he had made up his mind or realized that there’s always a way when faced with a problem, his attitude suddenly became much more calm: “You’ve done us a great favor this time… In fact, we haven’t thanked you properly yet.”
Before Douglas could say anything else, Jacob magically pulled out a money-filled bag—a leather bag—from his sleeve and handed it to the Teflin man.
“Please accept it,” the interdimensional merchant said firmly: “To be honest, in a place like Ribcage City, it’s amazing that you, who’ve only had a superficial acquaintance with me, could offer such selfless help. Don’t refuse—just a little gratitude… Please accept it.”
Douglas hesitated for only a moment before taking the money. When it came to skill, he couldn’t compare to Jacob, and being too modest might arouse suspicion: “You’re too generous, Mr. Jacob. With a client like you, even Yugros the Demon would be impeccable!”
Morriel glanced at Jacob but said nothing. That leather bag was the one Forty-Seven had given to Jacob earlier—it was their money, but the merchant didn’t mention that.
“Oh, let’s set off now!” Douglas clapped his hands. “It’s getting late, and we shouldn’t keep the people at the portal waiting too long. That’s how it is—those who control resources are always one step ahead.”

They moved from the roof of the “Snowman” bathhouse to another roof, beneath them the creaking metal walkways and the brightly lit Ribcage City in the night. The city at night seemed even more vibrant than during the day, with more people on the streets, though there were fewer family patrol teams in armor, as if Ribcage City imposed a day curfew rather than a night one. Though everyone remained vigilant and armed, it was time for rest and entertainment. Among the crowd, which wasn’t exactly bustling but was quite crowded, many were Teflinians with obvious Infernal bloodlines. Most of them appeared arrogant and unrestrained, either hanging around the few night stalls in groups or gathering to engage in lively conversations. Yet within the dark red skies and towering walls, these residents and passersby resembled prisoners struggling to survive in this gloomy and eerie city. Only by being there could one truly appreciate its grandeur and the strict, unyielding order hidden behind it.

“Can’t you stop fiddling with your head?” Moriel said without looking away, not at Forty-Seven beside her, whose face was mostly hidden in the shadow of her hood, with only a sharp, delicate chin visible. Kairo followed closely behind, also clad in a one-piece cloak, but the lace trim at the hood’s edge made her resemble a noblewoman on a family outing rather than a traveler between realms.

“That’s called shock education—something we’ve all gone through,” Forty-Seven said, rubbing his chin, left and right.

“Bullshit,” Moriel muttered, using a word she rarely employed. Kairo chuckled, while Jacob stepped forward a few paces to create some distance. Forty-Seven must have heard him; his hearing, though not as good as sound waves, was certainly better than average—though this time, he also pretended not to hear.

Gradually, the group left the bustling bathhouse district. Wooden frames and iron pipes thicker than Douglas’s waist ran across the ruined houses. Unlike the bathhouse area, which appeared dilapidated on the outside but lively inside, these houses exuded a musty smell from top to bottom, with closed doors and windows, dirty and old, silent. Apart from the hissing sound of leaking pipes and occasional rats scurrying by, it was hard to believe anyone—or even living beings—lived there.

Finally, they descended from the rooftops and had to carefully cross an alley filled with clothes hanging to dry. Rough fabrics and patched sheets dripped water, making it impossible to tell whether the water on them was cleaner than that in the alley’s gutters. Douglas led the way, while Jacob always stayed in front of Forty-Seven. Several times, he subtly slowed down the Ironman, perhaps forgetting that Forty-Seven could kick him right out of Ribcage City.

As they neared the end of the alley, Jacob blocked the Ironman again. Forty-Seven glanced over the merchant’s shoulder—forcing his leg to lift a bit higher—without choosing to push him away.

A walkway spanned the alley, forming a door-like structure with the two walls on either side.

“Here?” Moriel snapped her fingers, and the dirty clothes covering her view slid aside along the clothesline, revealing shadowy figures on the balcony.
“I… I’m not sure,” Jacob said in a low voice.
Douglas glanced at the merchant. “Oh, no, of course not, my friend. This isn’t Marked City. I guess you don’t want to wait for official inspection and approval, so I contacted others. Hey! Come down, Brother Paris!”
Paris on the balcony looked down at them, his silhouette outlined by the faint light from above, showing his head and shoulder guards. Then he leaped down—landing with a muffled thud.
He was also a Teflin, obvious at a glance. His pants ended at his knees, his lower legs covered in dark brown hair, and his feet were bare—there was no way shoes could fit, as they were covered in hoof-like feet.
“Follow me.” Paris glanced at each of their faces in turn before turning and heading into a dark entrance half-hidden by trash in the wall, not as welcoming as Douglas.
“Oh, oh, okay, friends, let’s go!”
The interior was filled with broken beams and debris; one corner had even collapsed, making it almost a ruin. A door stood right in the middle of the room—very noticeable, as several flames burned along the edge of that five- or six-foot-wide iron ring, making it look like a fire ring from a circus.
“Hurry up. I don’t want Pryx to find out there are portals in the city that aren’t under his control,” Paris urged.
“Wait.” Moriel examined the clearly makeshift iron ring. It didn’t seem to be working yet; she could see moss on the opposite wall through it. “How do I know this portal leads to Marked City? I’ve heard some guys just use any door to trick customers.”
“You don’t know, so it’s me who operates this portal,” Paris replied, in keeping with his role as a passerby. “I ask you, do you still want to go to Marked City? Am I supposed to stand here answering your stupid questions until dawn? Douglas, did you explain things clearly to these people?”
“Oh, Brother Paris, don’t do that,” Douglas hurried to defuse the situation. “But Miss Moriel, I can assure you, Paris is very reliable. Once a deal is made, it will be carried out. It’s a fine tradition of Ribcage City—you can rest assured… right, Jacob?”
To Douglas’s surprise, the merchant didn’t immediately agree. Instead, he stared at the portal thoughtfully before asking after a moment, “Mr. Paris… could you show us the key to open this door?”
“The key?” Paris glared at the blue-skinned interdimensional merchant. “The key is of course with me. Ha, you want to see it? Don’t even think about it. If I had to show every person who uses my portal how it works, it would be taken from me faster than a fool can get himself killed! All you have to do is go through the fire ring, try your luck in that damned Marked City, and then you’ll have nothing to do with me anymore, and I can go home to sleep early!”

Douglas’s face took on a grim expression. “Oh, Jacob. You…”
“Oh, oh,” Forty-Seven suddenly interrupted Douglas, “What exactly are you saying with those ‘ohs’? Are you some damned owl?”
“Oh?” Douglas instinctively said “oh” again.
“Can you two just—” Paris spread his hands, trying to appear impatient. The fire circle behind him suddenly collapsed to the ground with a bang. Whatever was on the ground didn’t extinguish the flames; instead, they spread around like fish, while a gas that was neither smoke nor mist flickered into existence and began to spread quietly.
At the same time, a sweet and smug female voice came from somewhere: “I knew from the start that such tricks wouldn’t fool you, my dear Morriel! But it doesn’t matter—this room itself is a portal! What are you going to do now? I’ve spent ages preparing this!”
Faced with what seemed to be a very unfavorable situation, Morriel showed no signs of panic, nor did Kayro.
“Douglas!” she said loudly, “I’ve told you before—unless you change your attitude, you’ll never be able to pull any tricks!”