Perfikot stood quietly at the floor-to-ceiling window of the penthouse suite in the Marsel Hotel, her cold fingertips gently resting on the carved window frame.
The city at dusk was shrouded in smoke, the tall, steel bodies of the Steam Knights standing like statues at every street corner. The steam cores on their bodies rotated slowly, emitting wisps of white mist, yet they maintained a silent posture, never truly engaging in suppression.
The actual enforcement of suppression came from the local Empire garrison.
The faces of these soldiers were full of repressed anger—the assassination of the Empire Regent, the mining revolt, one after another, had long stretched their nerves to the limit.
Now facing the resistance of the French, this pent-up fury finally found an outlet for release.
