Infinite Murder Mystery Game: The Beauty with a Delicate Palm

His eyes widened in disbelief. "Are you crazy? The council will let a Taren become a saintess? Then I don't think this war is worth fighting."

Su Mian rubbed her temples and pointed to the parchment. "Take a look at this first. I suspect it's a travel pass."

After carefully examining the parchment, focusing his gaze on the red seal at the bottom of the paper, Charlie's expression changed from doubt to shock.

"It's a fake."

Su Mian looked up and concluded, "Cecily is a Taren, and she came here illegally."

"But...why would she do that?"

Su Mian raised her hand and waved it in front of Charlie. Charlie snapped back to reality and saw the girl with a cold face, staring straight at him.

"Fulfill your promise first."

She turned and looked at the sea beyond the city walls. The wind lifted the veil on the girl's face, revealing her delicate chin, which made her look cold and dignified.

"I need you to find Duke Hill and bring along the players who belong to the council. Meet at the central square at noon tomorrow."

Charlie looked at her intently and nodded in approval.

The morning prayer bells had not yet faded, but the central square was already packed with people.

Last night, news spread like wildfire throughout the city center: the wanted heretic Duke Hill was going to publicly "demonstrate a miracle" today.

People, filled with fear, anger, and a barely perceptible curiosity, poured into the square from the prosperous alleyways and the somber arcades.

On the stone platform in the center of the square, Duke Hill's thin figure stood out conspicuously.

He wore an old but neat dark robe, and his gray hair trembled slightly in the damp wind.

He held a wooden box in his hand, inside which was a small, transparent bottle containing a clear liquid, and next to it was a gray-black stone taken from a mine.

Below the stage, the dense crowd stared at him with suspicious and even hateful eyes, their whispers forming a buzzing sound.

"heresy!"

"How dare this madman, who deserves to be burned at the stake, show his face in the Holy City!"

"How could holy water lie?"

Charlie stood on one side of the stone platform, his hand on the hilt of his sword, his brow furrowed.

Behind him were a dozen or so players with varying expressions. Several of them were well-dressed and wore badges symbolizing members of the Noble Council. Their faces were rather grim, but they had no choice but to attend due to Charlie's "invitation."

Duke Hill took a deep breath, his voice hoarse yet clear, cutting through the noise.

"The turning of the holy water black that you mentioned is not divine punishment."

The criticism intensified.

He slowly opened the wooden box and took out the small bottle.

"This is silver refining solution."

"The liquid obtained by repeatedly boiling silver powder with saltpeter and ferrous sulfate is a liquid often used by alchemists to test mineral veins."

Impatient hissing rose from the crowd.

"Silver turns black when it comes into contact with sulfur."

Duke Hill raised his head, his gaze calm.

"The mine contains a large amount of sulfur gas, and holy water will also change color if it flows through this place. This is a special type of ore that is abundant in the Iron Anvil Fortress mining layer."

"When it comes into contact with a certain component already present in the holy water, the color changes, and the holy water itself turns black!"

"It has absolutely nothing to do with the plague!"

After a brief silence came an even more intense commotion.

"How do we explain the death of that person?"

"You want to overthrow the church?"

"Heretic! Why don't you hide, you heretic!"

Curses rose and fell, and some people tried to rush forward but were stopped by soldiers. The situation began to get out of control.

"nonsense-"

"Sacrifice! Holy water is sacred!"

Rotten vegetable leaves and stones began to fly towards the stone platform.

Charlie shouted angrily and ordered his soldiers to step forward and maintain order, but the crowd's emotions had already been ignited.

The flames of doubt were not extinguished by the demonstration; on the contrary, they burned even brighter as they touched upon fundamental beliefs.

Duke Hill dodged the onslaught of debris with a stubborn glint in his eyes.

"Quiet!" Charlie drew his sword half an inch from its sheath, a cold glint flashing in his eyes. His shout carried the authority honed by the battlefield, temporarily silencing the commotion in the front row.

But the angry shouting didn't stop there: "Captain Charlie, are you going to protect this outcast too?"

"Parliament will never allow such incitement!"

At the height of this boiling chaos, a clear, cold voice came from above, like an icy spring cascading down, strangely piercing through all the clamor:

"Then let the council members see for themselves what they are protecting."

Everyone looked up.

On the east side of the square, on the terrace connecting to the clock tower, a white-clad figure wearing a silver veil quietly appeared.

The wind ruffled her waist-length hair and light skirt. In the sunlight, she looked like a deity who had suddenly descended, or a classical mural that had suddenly come to life.

It is a sleep disturbance.

She held a dusty oil painting in her hands, its frame old and worn.

She didn't look at anyone in the audience; she simply tilted the frame carefully to let the midday sun clearly illuminate the picture.

It was that panoramic view of the Anvil Fortress.

In the bright light, the distorted shadows on the mine's dome, once mistaken for the "ghosts of dead infants," correspond precisely to the outlines of the "ghosts" on the miners' shoulders below.

"Top of the mine," Su Mian's voice wasn't loud, but it carried clearly thanks to the advantage of the height.

"It was carved into a specific shape so that when light comes from a specific angle, such as the shadow cast by the oil lamp in the miner's hand or the crevice in the rock above, it will fall precisely on the miner's shoulder."

She lightly touched a few key raised areas on the canvas with her fingertips.

"The so-called 'reflection of the dead infant' is nothing but a trick of light and shadow, a carefully planned trick to create panic and cover up the real source of the plague."

A bewildered silence fell over the square.

People struggled to process this mind-blowing information. Everyone knew that the outbreak of the plague originated at Anvil Fortress.

But now they are being told that the evil spirit is just a rumor and has nothing to do with the death of the old saintess.

Su Mian handed the oil painting to a soldier beside her to show it off, then stepped forward, her gaze from behind the veil sweeping over each face below, whether shocked, confused, or angry.

Finally, she raised her hand and pointed to the distant, perpetually shrouded, gray and murky sky, and the visible dust in the air.

"The real plague is not in the rocks of the mine, nor in the so-called ghosts."

Her voice suddenly rose, carrying a resolute force: "Here."

"The air we breathe every moment at Mill Ferry is filled with the smoke and dust emitted by the mills that work day and night, the thick fog from burning waste at the ferry crossing, and the persistent smog."

"It erodes the lungs, causing coughing, fever, and ultimately death. The tragedy of Anvil Fortress is nothing more than someone using fear to divert attention and cover up this slow massacre."

The entire audience erupted in uproar.

If you pour cold water into boiling oil, it will explode instantly.

Fear found a new and more tangible target. Long-suppressed dissatisfaction with the polluted environment and fear of their own illness, mixed with anger at being fooled, erupted completely.