Industrial District, Orn Steel Factory.

As a super-large steel factory in the Oranck Industrial District, Orn Steel Factory's steel production accounts for one-fifth of the entire Oranck, and can be said to be one of the lifelines of the Kingdom's industry.

However, at this moment, this steel factory is shrouded in an unusual atmosphere.

The dormitory area, usually echoing only with the roar of machines and the chants of workers, is now densely packed with workers, whose noisy discussions buzz like a swarm of bees, drowning out the distant noise from the workshops.

The steel factory owner, a portly man dressed impeccably but whose collar is currently askew, is standing on the outskirts of the crowd, his forehead covered with fine beads of sweat.

He is waving his arms, trying to disperse these onlookers with a voice that has long lost its former authority.

"Why are you gathering here? Have you nothing to do? Get to work!" His voice carries clear anxiety mixed with bluster.

The crowd fluttered slightly like wheat blown by the wind but did not disperse.

Someone in the crowd murmured, "Boss, it's not work time yet!"

The faint rebuttal seemed to give the crowd something to stand on, and the workers who had been somewhat hesitant stood their ground firmly, their gazes still curious and with a hint of fear directed towards the gray dormitory building.

No matter how the steel factory owner scolded or pushed, they didn't budge an inch, instead tightening their circle even further.

The steel factory owner's heart was pounding, anxious like ants on a hot pan.

Something happened, and it's big!

Inside the employee dormitory, three workers had died, and in extremely bizarre circumstances.

If this were before, not to mention three dead, even if thirty workers died his eyes wouldn't blink.

Backing a major factory behind the royal family, he could casually find an excuse to brush it off, using a tiny bit of compensation to shut the mouths of the families.

Sometimes he didn't even give compensation; what could these lower-class workers do to him?

These gawkers, he only needed to shout once to make them scatter like startled rabbits; who's dared to say more than half a word?

But now things are different; the times have changed!

That damn workers' union has spread like a plague, even those high-ranking nobles, and even the honorable royal family, have voluntarily let their factories join the Union.

Workers' rights have been unprecedentedly protected, and naturally, his power as a boss is greatly restricted.

These three workers died inexplicably, with the scene being so bizarre; once the union catches wind and makes a big fuss, he will definitely be the first to be held responsible.

Compensation would be the least of concerns; if the union uses him as an example and imposes severe penalties, even revoking his factory license, the consequences would be unthinkable.

He's all too clear; those noble lords, to appease the union and stabilize the situation, wouldn't even blink in sacrificing a small factory owner like him.

Just as the steel factory owner was so anxious that he was about to jump out of his skin, almost personally pulling the workers out, there finally came a disturbance at the edge of the crowd.

Accompanied by clear reprimands and tardy footsteps, the police finally pushed through the gawkers and arrived on the scene.

Leading was Officer Slater, his face serious, brows furrowed, wearing a somewhat tidy yet slightly worn police uniform, forcefully pushing aside the workers ahead of him, constantly shouting, "Move! Police business!"

Behind him, several officers followed in making way, forcibly squeezing out a path in the dense crowd.

Officer Slater almost stumbled as he broke through the last few layers of human wall, finally standing at the entrance of the ominous dormitory building.

His sharp gaze swept towards the open dormitory door, and the sight inside immediately made all the policemen feel a chill down their spines.

What met Officer Slater's eyes were three faces frozen in a moment of extreme terror.

Three workers lay rigidly on their narrow beds, bodies already cold and stiff, their eyes glaring wide without exception, pupils enlarged as if they witnessed some unimaginable horror before life ended.

Three corpses, three identical death postures, neatly arranged in the small dormitory space, revealing a bizarre, spine-chilling sense of ritual.

"Evil God Sect?" Officer Slater's face turned instantly pale, this was the first possibility he thought of as an officer who had struggled at the bottom for many years.

This scale and method of a murder case often couldn't be separated from those mad secret sects.

He almost instinctively prepared to report directly to the Church, which specializes in handling such incidents.

"Wait, Slater."

Just then, an elderly yet firm hand gripped his arm.

The speaker was an experienced older officer with gray hair, his brows furrowed, eyes grave as he looked at the corpses on the bed, "Look closely, these three corpses are identical to the case from three days ago at the textile factory."

Officer Slater's eyelid twitched sharply; the old officer's words cut through his thoughts like a bolt of lightning.

He immediately remembered, three days ago in the East District, at that large textile factory, similarly the employee dormitory was found one night with over a dozen workers mysteriously dead, with the same fear-stricken posture as these three, all lying in their dormitory beds.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.