When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

Chapter 1154 isn't that I couldn't think of a title, but rather that I'm afraid of spoilers.

After returning from the workshop area, Grellerban didn't leave the house for an entire day to ensure his safety.

He hid in the hostel, only letting Dewanbe go downstairs to buy bread and water.

He was only slightly relieved when the whole day had passed and the returning people said that there was no reaction from the Holy Alliance.

Having confirmed that the Holy Alliance was not making any moves, he immediately ordered the Dewan Bay district to distribute coded messages requesting an immediate meeting.

In the dead of night, four secret knights gathered in a shady inn on the outskirts of the Holy Mechanism City.

Two others were absent, but that's normal; either they were too busy or they didn't dare to come.

Because it's a secret front, all unexpected events seem especially dangerous.

However, Grellerban couldn't care less about that now. If they didn't hold a meeting and take action now, they wouldn't have another chance later.

The dim, flickering light of the kerosene lamp illuminated the faces of three men and one woman.

They were all secret knights of the Lorenzo Royal Confidential Bureau, some resembling merchants, others blacksmiths, and even men dressed as women and women dressed as men.

"Grellban, what's the matter that you called us here in such a hurry?" the blacksmith-looking man spoke first, his tone displeased. "Don't you know the Holy Alliance is cracking down hard lately?"

“Yeah, right,” the man in the skirt chimed in with a complaint. “Didn’t we agree not to contact each other before the expo started?”

Grellerban ignored their complaints and simply tossed a report at them: "See for yourself."

The group of people were all literate, and when they gathered around to take a look, their expressions changed.

"really?"

"It's true!"

The secret knights immediately realized that something terrible had happened.

The dial was indeed manufactured, the precision parts were indeed machined, and the Holy Alliance's "Pilgrimage Management Law" was not a hindrance.

In other words, the news in the newspapers is true.

"The reconstruction of the Holy Alliance's clockwork locomotive has entered the assembly stage. We need to do something about it."

The atmosphere in the attic instantly became tense, and everyone stared intently at the report with furrowed brows.

The woman dressed in men's clothing rubbed her hands together: "How about... we set it on fire? Burn it again?"

"Do you still have Red Dragon's Breath? We need to use that during the expo parade to attack those dignitaries," the blacksmith-looking man immediately objected.

"What should I do?"

"Are political figures more important or motorcycles? Besides, you've already burned one once, how could the Holy Alliance possibly fall for it twice?"

“List this as an option.” Grellerban tapped the table with his fingernail. “Anything else?”

"How about kidnapping the key engineer?" the blacksmith suggested.

"Who was kidnapped? Who will be held responsible? It's only been a few days, can you guarantee there won't be any problems?"

"We'll try anything, even if it's a dead end. Do you have any other ideas?"

The group argued back and forth, from arson to spreading rumors, and then to sabotaging the transport convoy. After a long debate, they finally managed to agree on a division of labor.

The woman dressed as a man was responsible for spreading rumors, the man dressed as a woman was responsible for attacking the docks, and the blacksmith was responsible for kidnapping.

As for Grellerban, he was determined to make a desperate attempt to assassinate those key dwarven blacksmiths.

"It's settled then. We'll start tomorrow morning." It may be crude, but there's no better way. Time is of the essence.

Greller Ban was now filled with resentment for his earlier idling in the hotel. If only he had gone to check sooner, he would have known sooner.
He patted the table, about to adjourn the meeting, when he felt a tickle on his nose.

I reached out and touched my nose; it was just a speck of dust.

He paused for a moment, then subconsciously looked up—it was sawdust and ash from the roof and beams.

"Quick! Run! Split up and run!" In the blink of an eye, Grellerban realized what was happening, and his voice changed.

Just as he was about to draw the short sword from his waist, he heard a loud crash as the attic window was smashed open.

Glass shards flew everywhere, embedding themselves in the walls, tables, and even the arms of the Secret Knights.

Fresh blood immediately flowed down, soaking his clothes.

A dozen or so Cheka officers dressed in black leather armor slid down from the roof using ropes, breaking through the windows.

The moment their feet touched the ground, they raised their wind-up muskets, pointing the muzzles at the people in the attic: "Cheka! Open the door! Don't move!"

The secret knights did not comply. The blacksmith shouted, set up his table, and charged towards the Chekas.

The remaining men drew their weapons or crossbows and attempted to fight back.

Lead pellets flew everywhere with a bang, scattering countless wood chips, and the attic was instantly thrown into chaos.

The lead bullet pierced the glass of the kerosene lamp, spilling the oil onto the ground, and the flame immediately flared up.

The Cheka's roars, the spies' screams, and the sound of wood breaking all blended together, making one's ears ache.

Greller immediately ducked under the table and crawled toward the door amidst the chaos.

Just as he touched the doorknob, he heard a gust of wind behind him, felt a sharp pain in the back of his head, and lost consciousness.

As he fell to the ground, he finally saw the Cheka slowly retracting his iron rod.

"Take away!"

His vision went black, and he completely lost consciousness. "It's over," were the last words echoing in Grellban's mind.

…………

"Cough cough cough-"

Amidst violent coughing, Grellerban awoke, his vision blurred. He sat up, shaking his head.

It took him almost half a minute to realize his current predicament.

There was only an oil lamp and a wooden table; there was no bed, so he lay on the cold, damp stone floor.

He moved his body and realized that his wrists were locked with a thick iron chain, the other end of which was fixed to an iron ring on the wall.

“The interrogation room…” Grellerban’s heart sank to the bottom.

He struggled to sit up and looked around. It was a small room of about ten square meters.

The walls were made of blue bricks and mortar, and there were still wet stains on the ground.

"Who betrayed me?" After shaking the chains and confirming that he had no chance of escape, Grellerban simply stopped struggling.

However, he still had a question in his mind: the location of his meeting was decided at the last minute.

The other two secret knights who weren't present also didn't know, and besides, their loyalty could be trusted—

The family is still in the hands of the royal family; they cannot betray them recklessly.

Who is that?

Old Acorn may be timid, but he would never dare to betray.

His informants either communicated with Old Acorn or Dewanbei, and had never met him.

Could it be Dewanbei?
He clenched his fist tightly, then quickly relaxed it. Dewanbe was the one who sent Capone away; if he were going to betray him, he would have done so long ago…

Who is that?
Just then, footsteps came from outside the iron railings on the other side of the room.

Greleban looked up and saw two burly men in Cheka uniforms standing behind the railing, and a short, stocky man standing behind the guards.

"Are you sure it's him?" A Cheka wearing round-framed glasses walked over.

"Yes, that's him."

Grellerban felt as if he'd been hit on the head with a hammer. As a spy, one of the most important skills is remembering people's faces and voices.

Although he couldn't do what the witch Edwin did, he could still recall and identify people he had met within a week.

If he wasn't mistaken, that voice and that appearance clearly belonged to the porter who had borrowed the fire that day.

Damn, you're a Cheka too? How come there are Cheka informants everywhere?!
"Thank you, fellow believer." The man with the round-framed glasses shook hands with the porter in a friendly manner. "After the expo, we will give you the reward for reporting the crime and a five-star Good Citizen Medal."

"Really? Five stars?"

"Of course, you've done a great job. You captured four Secret Knights this time. Don't worry, if you don't deliver on your promise, just come find me!"

"Great!" The porter jumped up, raising both hands.

Numbly watching the porters leave happily, not long after, Grellerban saw another woman walk in.

She was tall, nearly two meters, and her left hand was a wind-up mechanical hand made of brass.

Although it is a robotic hand, its streamlined shape is no different from a real hand.

At the knuckles, you can even see tiny gears turning.

The woman walked up to Grellerban, looked down at him, and smiled mockingly: "Let me introduce myself. My name is Carrie, the Purification Master of the Holy Alliance."

Grellerban looked up, his eyes blank like a puppet's. He recognized the woman.

Carrie, Moriarty...

Why do the women of the Holy Grandson all have a penchant for playing two roles?

“You didn’t even say hello, Mr. Falabeo?” Carrie bent down and used her wind-up mechanical hand to lift Grellerban’s head.

"Farabof!"

The word struck Grellerban like a bolt of lightning, shattering his resolve to remain silent.

His eyes widened, and Grellerban's voice trembled: "You...how do you know that name?"

This is his real name, known only to core members of the French Royal Secret Service.

Could there be a traitor within the Royal Secret Service?
Damn it, what about his family? What if the Cheka assassinates his family? That would be the end of them.

Cold sweat poured down his forehead. Who had betrayed him?
Carrie couldn't help but burst into laughter when she saw his reaction.

With her laughter, the gears of the wind-up mechanical arm spun even faster: "Mr. Farabeuf, do you think your companions are all tough guys?"

"Fuck!" Grellerban nearly cried out, his pupils practically bloodshot. "These cowards!"

“Alright, Mr. Faraboof, your companions have finished speaking. Do you have anything to add?” Carrie narrowed her eyes slightly. “For example, where did you send Capone? For example, where are your remaining companions?”

"........."

"You won't tell me? That's alright, the night is still long..."

(End of this chapter)