The fairy maid cheers for her deceased master today.

……

the next day.

Before dawn in London, a thick fog blanketed the streets like a grey blanket, and the glow of gas lamps distorted into blurry orbs in the mist.

The yellowish-green smoke from burning low-quality coal mixed in with the fog, making it even more eerie and unpredictable. Therefore, this fog, because of its color, was known in London as "pea soup."

Whether along the Thames or on bustling streets, this kind of smog, known as "pea soup," is a disaster.

Because this smog has reached a level that affects daily life, visibility has plummeted to just a few meters, making it difficult to even discern the outlines of buildings across the street.

And these kinds of days are exactly the best for assassin operations.

The assassin team of the Viper in the Fog has been lying in wait outside the Miracle Workshop all night.

The assassin, codenamed Number Four, was a lean and agile man who stood close to the wall, his dark cloak almost blending into the thick fog.

His hand unconsciously caressed the hilt of the short sword at his waist—a blade coated with snake venom that had taken the lives of three factory owners who opposed Baron Simon three months earlier.

Standing beside him were two companions: a burly man codenamed Number Three wielded a single-handed hammer made of fine iron, capable of easily shattering ordinary armor; a woman codenamed Number Five had a poison syringe at her waist, and three crossbow bolts coated with neurotoxin hidden under her skirt, her eyes like those of a hawk.

"I'm sure Sir Moore is inside, right?" Number Four asked one last time.

"I'm sure," the woman in number five replied softly. "I've been watching the doors and windows. He hasn't gone out since he returned to the workshop."

"Is there any other activity at the workshop?"

"Aside from what we saw, only one large shipping container was transported away, and then the sales fairy also left. There was nothing else unusual here."

"Very good...time's up."

Assassin Number Four spoke in a low voice, which seemed to be absorbed by the thick fog and was almost inaudible a meter away.

He glanced at his pocket watch, a silver one smuggled from France. Items used by assassins are absolutely untraceable.

The hour hand is pointing to five o'clock at this moment.

This was the time of action designated by Baron Simon, taking advantage of the darkest hour before dawn, when the fog was thickest—even the patrolling police were hiding in the taverns on the street corners to keep warm, unwilling to stay in the poisonous fog for even a second longer.

The three of them slipped into the alley like ghosts, each step landing on a solid stone slab they had scouted beforehand, avoiding making any noise.

As you get closer, the exterior walls of the Miracle Workshop become faintly visible through the mist.

The fourth assassin suddenly raised his hand to signal his companion to stop. His nose twitched slightly—besides the smell of coal smoke, there was also a faint scent of holy oil in the air, which made his heart tighten, but he quickly relaxed...

Perhaps it was left behind by a pastor from a nearby church who got up early to celebrate Mass. Moreover, Sir Moore was said to be an unofficial member of the Church of Jesus Christ, so it would be reasonable for him to bring this smell with him.

He carefully observed the entrance to the workshop, made a few gestures, and the burly man number three nodded. He took out a specially made steel wire from his boot, which was modified from a piano string and could easily pry open most locks.

The woman in number five leaned against the wall, her sharp eyes scanning the surrounding streets. At the same time, she took a whistle out of her pocket and put it in her mouth, while also taking out a crossbow and nocking an arrow.

If she detects anything unusual, she will sound an alarm in a frequency that only the assassin team can understand, while simultaneously eliminating the enemy first.

all the best.

"All done," the burly man said in a low voice. The lock had been pried open, and fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, not from exhaustion, but from the stimulation of the poisonous fog.

Of course, they had long since gotten used to the London fog.

The fourth assassin was the first to push open the door and enter, moving as lightly as a cat. His shoes were covered with a thick layer of deerskin, which completely blocked out the sound of his footsteps.

The door hinges creaked slightly, a sound that was particularly jarring in the quiet morning. Assassin Number Four paused in his steps, only continuing forward when all was quiet around him.

The workshop was pitch black, with only the faint glow of gas lamps shining through the windows illuminating the scattered mechanical parts on the floor.

The three men cautiously made their way forward, soon arriving at the door of the master bedroom—the location they had determined Sir Moore should be in. Of course, this was intelligence gathered through investigation… but the accuracy of the intelligence was beyond question.

"Ready," the fourth assassin whispered, his hand resting on the short sword at his waist. He took a deep breath, gently pushed open the door, and was about to enter—

But with his excellent night vision and the help of the dim light, he suddenly realized that the room was empty!

Not only was Sir Moore absent, but his fairy maid was also nowhere to be seen. And the detective agency's fairy, Elena, was nowhere to be found either.

Putting everything else aside, the fact that both the jazz and the fairy maid are absent at the same time is very strange.

Did they switch rooms to sleep?

Unfortunately, this viewpoint is too optimistic. And overly optimistic people cannot remain hitmen for long.

An ominous premonition instantly welled up in my heart.

Killer Number Four immediately realized something was wrong—this might be a trap!

He turned to retreat, but it was too late. At the end of the corridor, a silver light suddenly shone, like the rising sun at dawn, dispelling the surrounding darkness.

"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, arrest the criminal!" Pastor Ian's voice echoed through the empty workshop like a resounding bell, and the silver cross in his hand shone brightly.

Then the three Templar Knights bypassed the priest and charged toward the assassin.

They wore silver armor covered with golden runes that shimmered under the influence of holy magic, appearing to move across the armor as if they were alive.

The leading Templar Knight wielded a two-handed greatsword, its blade gleaming with a holy light; the Templar Knight on the left held a kite-shaped shield with the symbol of the Holy Order engraved in the center; the two Templar Knights on the right held longswords, their steps light and agile, like cheetahs ready to strike at any moment.

Beside Pastor Ian, the petite fairy Gwyneth roared, "In the name of the Temple, arrest these blasphemous villains! You were instructed to illegally trespass into someone else's home and dared to attempt an assassination at the sacred dawn—your crimes are unforgivable!"

The Templars charged at the assassins, their speed like a phantom.

Seeing this, the third burly man roared and swung his one-handed hammer forward, trying to overpower his opponent with his strength.

But the leading Templar Knight was faster. He sidestepped, deflecting his sword and hammer, loosening his grip on the hilt of his sword with his left hand, clenching his fist, which emitted a bright light, and then punched the burly man in the chest. With a "crack," the burly man's ribs broke instantly, and he flew out like a kite with a broken string, crashing heavily into the wall of the corridor, leaving a crack in the wall.

The burly man spat out a mouthful of blood, collapsed to the ground convulsing, and the heavy hammer slipped from his hand, landing with a heavy thud.

Just one strike.

"Those despicable Templar Knights, they've used holy magic again!"

Seeing this, the woman cursed and immediately pulled out a poison jar from her waist and threw it at the Templar Knight. At the same time, she retreated while firing poison arrows, which shot towards the Templar Knight's throat with a whooshing sound.

But the Templar Knights, wielding shields, swiftly raised them. The runes on the shields glowed, and the poisonous mist from the exploding poison jars was instantly purified upon contact with the shields, turning into white vapor that dissipated into the air. The poison arrows were also deflected by the shields, falling to the ground with a "clinking" sound.

Immediately afterward, the Templar Knight used his shield to push, creating a wall of light that struck Number Five's arm. The woman screamed, her weapon falling to the ground. Looking down, she saw white smoke rising from the wound on her arm—causing her pain as if she were being burned by fire.

The fourth assassin was the most astute. He used the time his companion bought to retreat quickly, while simultaneously throwing a smoke grenade from his waist. The smoke grenade exploded on the ground, forming a cloud of black smoke, which covered himself and his companion.

"useless!"

The last Templar Knight moved through the smoke like a ghost, seemingly having locked onto his enemy long ago, completely unaffected by the smoke. His longsword, glowing with holy light, thrust directly at Assassin Number Four's back. Assassin Number Four hastily dodged to the side, the longsword grazing his cloak, which instantly ignited with the holy light, emitting a sizzling sound.

When the fourth assassin looked back, he saw that none of his companions had even made it out of the smoke, and he knew that they were in grave danger.

Without another word, the fourth assassin turned and ran towards the back door.

He knew he was no match for the Templars.

Or rather, no normal person could face a full-fledged Holy Order combat squad consisting of priests and Templars.

Therefore, we must escape this dangerous place as soon as possible.

Moreover... he needed to tell the organization that he had fallen into the trap. Sir Moore was already prepared!

This thought drove him to flee for his life.