In places of light, darkness often gestates.
Before the appearance of the Lower District, Old Dunling's sins lurked in every shadowy corner. No matter how many soldiers the Iron Serpent carried or how many corpses were thrown into the Thames, nothing changed. While the steam towers rose upward with the world's most advanced technology, the darkest sins fermented in the mist below. Until the Lower District emerged, the pent-up evils finally found a release. Those dark entities congregated in that filthy place, and the entire Old Dunling thrived in a hypocritical sanctity.
The Lower District was indeed unique, shrouded in mystery.
Because of its uniqueness, there were several default rules within the Suarlan Hall, one of which was that officers were forbidden from entering the Lower District. Those desperate criminals didn't care about their own lives; as long as there was a certain amount of wealth, they would kill any officer who ventured in recklessly. The mounted police dared not enter rashly; they were waiting for further instructions.
Lloyd felt uncomfortable in this situation. Obviously, these people had come for those suspects. It was a perfect setup; no matter how much chaos they caused in the outer district to cover their tracks, once they entered the Lower District, surrounded by so many desperados, the mounted police could only let them go.
Originally, everyone was in a stalemate, but ever since Eve killed that gang member, a firefight was about to erupt.
"Run!" Lloyd could only shout this urgently, followed by the piercing sound of gunfire.
The gangs started firing, with various makeshift firearms, spraying bullets everywhere.
Eve dove and rolled behind the wreckage of the Iron Serpent. The sounds of metal clashing filled her ears, tearing at her eardrums.
Lloyd had already taken cover behind the Iron Serpent before her. He was a man of action; his words always came after action.
"What do we do?!" The young detective was clearly panicking; she hadn't expected her first day on the job to be this intense.
"Wait for it. When I tell you to run, you run! Got it?" Lloyd yelled, trying to make his voice clear amidst the gunfire. Eve was still useful to him; he couldn't let her die like this.
Pointing to the row of mounted police behind them, Lloyd shouted to her, "Run towards them! You're also a detective; they won't stand by and watch as you get killed. As long as you cross that line, these thugs won't dare touch you!"
This was also one of the rules: people from the Lower District were not allowed to enter the outer district. In Old Dunling's eyes, they were just a bunch of illegal immigrants. According to the law, all detectives had the authority to shoot any intruding thugs in the outer district.
Amidst the chaos, yet bound by ironclad rules.
The Crow had mentioned all this; the existence of the Lower District was only because Old Dunling needed it. Old Dunling was a vast, insane city; it was prosperous and beautiful, but within it always lay some trash that needed to be disposed of. In the past, it was dumped in every corner, but now it was concentrated in the Lower District.
A trash can.
That's how The Crow always described the land he ruled.
With his gray-blue eyes hiding many secrets, Lloyd was a man entangled in mystery.
"Run, girl!" A hand slapped her on the back. Before she could feel the girl's softness, Lloyd strode out with his shotgun in hand.
Pulling the trigger was like giving a command.
Unconsciously, Eve began to believe everything Lloyd had said. As he stepped forward with his gun, she ran backward. Gunshots and whistles filled the air, heralding another round of chaos.
Bullets pierced skulls, shattering them and knocking down several others nearby, splattering blood everywhere in a dazzling display.
The thugs rushed forward with their homemade weapons. While their orders were only to stop the mounted police from pursuing, now that someone had died, they had to make Lloyd and Eve pay the price.
Rusty blades swung, and Lloyd barely managed to dodge, but then his Winchester roared, shattering his opponent's upper body.
They weren't like Woll; their bodies hadn't undergone those strange changes. A normal flesh and blood body couldn't withstand a shot like that... after all, this weapon wasn't designed to kill in the first place.
It was a familiar yet exhilarating feeling. The unique scent of blood filled the dirty streets, awakening something within, making one's blood boil.
The gunfire continued.
Lloyd had never been a good person. That was the conclusion he had come to after many nights of contemplation. So when he acted, he showed no mercy.
The continuous sound of whistles filled the air, echoing without pause. These were specially crafted iron whistles of the Suaraan Hall, capable of emitting different frequencies of musical notes. In times of emergency, most of the mounted police used these for communication, much like a rudimentary Morse code. A few distinct whistles could swiftly convey crucial messages.
They were in communication, exchanging messages frequently.
Lloyd had spent a considerable amount of time learning this secretive mode of communication. Though he couldn't fully decipher it, he could now barely understand some simple commands from the iron whistle.
A hurried short whistle followed by a long one, and Lloyd shattered the skull of the burly man in front of him with a shot, then felt a slight pressure.
He understood the whistle; the subsequent cavalry was about to arrive.
...
Pres gripped the reins tightly, his face filled with worry against the howling wind.
He followed the subsequent cavalry, rapidly approaching the lower city area. At this moment, Pres cared more about Eve than any case. Just as Lloyd had said, Eve was a noble. As a senior detective, Pres was ordered to bring such a newcomer, which indicated Eve's extraordinary status.
Eve couldn't die; if she did, those damned nobles would peel him alive.
Of course, Pres had even greater concerns about Lloyd. He always felt like he had seen this damn detective somewhere. After much pondering, a familiar figure gradually appeared before him, sending shivers down his spine at the mere thought.
Pres didn't dare to confirm his speculation, but he also couldn't deceive himself. The repeater gun was loaded with bullets and hung to the side, while a fully loaded revolver was holstered at his waist, making him feel like he was about to enter a battlefield.
After all, he might soon be facing one of the peculiarities of the Lower City, and being prepared was not excessive.
Even now, Pres felt that this was the most vicious case he had ever experienced. Blood soaked the ground in the mist, and bodies and blood filled the Thames.
Pres would never forget that figure, one of the main characters in the Red River tragedy, the Iron Thorn of the Brolau.
He slowly picked up the rough-handled repeater, and he could already see the blocked cavalrymen in the distance. Pres understood; it was about to happen.
So he picked up the iron whistle from his mouth, and a loud long whistle pierced through the red twilight.
With the sound of the iron whistle, the cavalrymen, who had been watching coldly, raised their guns one by one, forming a wall of death with their black gun barrels.
The ears were filled with the roar of bullets. Since she started running, Eve hadn't looked back. She didn't know why she trusted Lloyd, but like following instinct, she obeyed, and lived to this moment.
The lingering light of the setting sun spilled from the horizon, bathing everything in a red tragedy. Eve couldn't see the faces of the cavalrymen; they were silhouetted against the setting sun like dark shadows.
After the iron whistle sounded, gunfire erupted.
For a moment, Eve thought she was going to die, but the bullets grazed past her, shooting into the chaos in the center. Then the cavalrymen began to advance, the tall warhorses passing by her side, heading toward the dirty ground.
"Eve!"
Suddenly someone called her, and a dark shadow ran past the lingering light to her side.
"Officer Pres!"
Seeing the familiar face, Eve finally breathed a sigh of relief, but then she realized that something was wrong. So much had suddenly happened; she would definitely be scolded.
"Step back, now is not where you should be."
Pres looked serious, holding the repeater gun in his hand. Although he was talking to Eve, his eyes were always on the front, staring at it.
"I... "
Eve wanted to say something, but was immediately interrupted by Pres.
"That person might be the Iron Thorn; this is not something a newcomer like you can be involved in. Get out of the way!"
Iron Thorn?
Something seemed to be touched in Eve's memory. She seemed to remember the term, but for a moment, she couldn't recall what it was. Then Pres passed her, raised his repeater gun, and the muzzle flashed.
No matter how aggressive the thugs were, they were weak in the face of regular military firepower. The battle lasted a short time before ending. The entire area was cleared, and the arrested thugs were all tied up on the side.
The impact of this incident was greater than anyone had imagined. The Victoria Central Hospital suffered a fire, the steam tram derailed, and then the battle began.
It was already night, and the huge Zeppelin floated in the sky, casting down lights, adding brilliance to this dark area.
Pres rode on horseback, holding his gun tightly, scanning back and forth among the arrested thugs.
"Did you find him?"
Another cavalryman approached Pres slowly and asked.
"No... Sheriff Donas."
Pres's eyes were somewhat lost and self-blaming.
"I'm sorry, because of my hunch, so much force was mobilized."
"It's okay. It's normal to mobilize such force in such a big battle, but it's a pity we thought we would catch the Iron Thorn," Sheriff Donas said slowly.
"But Pres, according to our intelligence, the Iron Thorn disappeared after the Red River tragedy. Some say he died in that incident, but we didn't find his body. Others say he was sent out of Inelwige by the Brolau."
"He's still here, I've always had a feeling."
Pres was resolute in response to the sheriff's question.
After a moment of silence, the sheriff still trusted Pres's feeling.
"So why did he show up this time?"
Sheriff Donas was somewhat puzzled. The Red River tragedy had always been a dark cloud over the Suaraan Hall for so many years, shrouding their so-called honor. The Suaraan Hall had never given up on tracking the Iron Thorn, but had always been fruitless. He was about to be forgotten, but now he had returned.
"I'm not sure, Sheriff, but I've always had this feeling."
Pres had never been so serious, dispelling his usual lazy demeanor.
"He's always been in Old Dunling; he's just too cunning. Even if he passed in front of us, no one could find him."