More Terrifying Than Death

Outer District, East Ilins District, 121A Cork Street.

Night had fallen over Old Dunling. The black whale in the night sky drifted slowly as usual, then cast down enormous beams of light to peer into the sleeping city.

Scalding steam surged up from beneath the manhole cover, and Lorenzo stepped slowly out through the white haze.

He looked fairly well, though his face was a little pale. Leaning on his cane, he walked slowly.

Lorenzo had escaped before the pursuing mounted police arrived. The tangled streets of the Lower District had saved him. Judging by the practiced way he ran, this was clearly not the first time he had been chased.

But this time, he had not gotten away unscathed. He had to admire those thugs' handiwork—they had actually made a nail gun. Amid the dense barrage, Lorenzo had been hit while fleeing in a sorry state. An iron nail as long as a finger had struck his side, though fortunately it was only a flesh wound.

Thanks to the mist that lingered day and night, the clothes of Old Dunling's residents were often damp. That was why Lorenzo liked black; people could never tell whether the stains on his clothes were watermarks or blood.

After walking for quite some time, he finally reached his doorstep.

121A Cork Street.

It was an out-of-the-way location, a newly developed area in recent years, so housing was cheap. Even so, it was still beyond the means of a detective like Lorenzo. Later, through Shrike's introduction, he found a decent place to rent.

Lorenzo did not dare knock. He gently opened the door and slipped inside carefully.

The owner of the first floor was the landlord, Mrs. Fanrude. She was an exceptionally hardcore old lady. Rumor had it that she had once been a female soldier, and one of the bravest among the Sky Cavalry.

She often boasted to Lorenzo about her glorious exploits in her youth. Her favorite story was how she had met her husband.

It had been near the end of the Glorious War. Old Dunling was in utter chaos. Mrs. Fanrude had returned to Old Dunling as a wounded soldier to recover, but unrest broke out within the city, forcing even her to mobilize in an emergency.

Lorenzo had guessed that she met some officer and fell in love, but the truth was that Mrs. Fanrude, as a Sky Cavalry soldier, descended from the sky on an iron cable, blew an enemy's head off with one shot, and captured another man in the process. That unlucky captive later became her husband.

"You married the enemy?" Lorenzo had been utterly bewildered at the time.

"He was just a wayward young man. Under my guidance, he turned over a new leaf."

"What were you thinking? You were in the middle of a battle! Then you snatched yourself a husband?"

"Lorenzo, you're still young. Do you know what love at first sight is?"

Her aged, clouded eyes had shone as she gave that answer.

What a hardcore love story. A fully armed heroine descended from the sky. She should have shot that unlucky boy dead, but damned love at first sight kept her from pulling the trigger. Like a cavewoman, she knocked him unconscious with a blow to the head. When he woke up, he had only two choices: marry the woman before him, or be executed for treason.

Lorenzo had no idea what happened later in their marriage. He had doubted Mrs. Fanrude's story before, but whenever he remembered the ruthlessness with which she drew her gun and fired when he owed rent, Lorenzo decided not to ask any more questions.

He quietly climbed upstairs. There were two doors on either side of the living room: one belonged to Lorenzo, and the other to his roommate. He was a very ordinary man, a mechanic who often worked overtime at the factory.

The room's light was off. It seemed that unlucky mechanic was working late again.

Only after entering his own room did Lorenzo truly relax. He neatly hung up his clothes, then carried his medical kit into the washroom. That was another reason he liked this place: a private bathroom. Wonderful.

Warm water fell over him as he stood bare-chested and carefully treated his wound.

The wound was not large. After cleaning it thoroughly, Lorenzo began disinfecting it. The homemade weapons those thugs in the Lower District used were usually not deadly in themselves; what killed people was whatever came with those weapons.

In that filthy hellhole, you never knew which stinking ditch a knife or sword had been lying in the night before.

The age of war had passed. Now, disease claimed lives instead, and most people died from infections after being wounded. Those people did not even possess basic medical knowledge.

A divine weapon had once swept through the Lower District. It was merely a rusted metal weapon, but Lorenzo called it the Tetanus Blade. After all, the area was full of unlicensed doctors from who knew where, and once an infection set in, it was practically a death sentence.

After treating the wound, Lorenzo slowly stood up. Exhaustion throughout his body urged him to go to sleep at once.

His gaze happened to sweep across the mirror, and from the corner of his eye, he saw savage, twisted black patterns reflected within it.

It was a tattoo: a black tree growing along Lorenzo's spine. It gave off a bizarre feeling. Looking directly at it, one might feel that Lorenzo himself was merely a sheet of human skin, while iron branches and thorns held up his entire body. Yet it also resembled a winding, twisting black serpent coiled around a mortal body.

Strange and black, as though beyond that darkness lay another world.

A tree that held up the world.

Lorenzo seemed accustomed to ignoring its existence. He merely glanced at it and paid it no more attention.

"Nice tattoo."

A voice suddenly sounded from inside the room.

Beastlike vigilance sliced through Lorenzo's nerves like a razor, and murderous intent stirred in his gray-blue eyes.

He looked over. A man wearing an exquisite mask sat on the sofa with casual ease, as if this were his own home.

"I almost killed you."

Lorenzo was not in a good mood. Once he recognized the man's identity, his hand emerged from the man's blind spot, holding a fully loaded gun.

It was one of Lorenzo's habits. Swords were hidden everywhere throughout this small room. If anyone broke in without permission, Lorenzo could pull out a weapon from behind a towel and blow their head off even while wiping his ass.

"Looks like you don't enjoy having others see your tattoo. It's actually quite nice. Very artistic." Shrike watched Lorenzo put on his coat, then sat down across from him.

"I just don't like having a man stare at me for so long."

Lorenzo fired back without mercy, then set the pistol aside and looked at his employer.

"So, what brings the honorable Shrike here for a late-night visit?"

Shrike did not answer. Instead, he picked up the iron box beside him. As he opened it, the fragrance of tobacco wafted out.

"I suppose these marks have some meaning, don't they?"

It was Lorenzo's cigarette case. Though Lorenzo's face was already full of displeasure, Shrike continued as if nothing was wrong, rummaging through the case and passing judgment on it.

"This is... Mandrake Herb?"

Shrike picked up the cigarette marked with a red line, sniffed it, and looked somewhat surprised.

"I thought you wouldn't recognize it."

Lorenzo was a little surprised that Shrike could recognize Mandrake Herb. In his eyes, someone like Shrike ought to be obsessed with money and fine wine.

"A group of Shamans from the Land of Abundance arrived here recently. They keep babbling about gods and demons, all that mystical nonsense."

Shrike continued flipping through the cigarette case.

"Their leader wanted to make a living in the Lower District, so when he came to see me, he told me plenty about Shaman Sorcery. For example, this Mandrake Herb. They said smoking it could turn a user into a so-called Medium, and then trigger Spirit Sight, allowing them to see things they should not see."

There was a hint of amusement in his gaze as he looked at Lorenzo.

"How long have you been using this stuff?"

"That's none of your business, Shrike."

Lorenzo's response was unusually firm.

"All right, all right. Then what's with this cigarette?"

Shrike knew Lorenzo's habits. Most of his cigarettes were mixed with herbs that cleared the mind, but this one was special. A black line had been drawn on it, and there was only one. It gave off a chilling feeling, as though it contained lethal poison.

"It's poisonous. If you don't want to die, don't touch it." Lorenzo patiently explained.

"Hmm... Let me guess. Is this one of your murder weapons?"

"You leave marks on murder weapons?"

Lorenzo mocked Shrike mercilessly, even though this patron had nearly blown his head off a few hours ago.

"That's a cigarette I saved for myself. The neurotoxin will put me into a coma, and then my heart will stop beating while I'm having sweet dreams."

It was his suicide tool, yet Lorenzo spoke of it effortlessly, as though it were not his own life at stake.

Shrike was somewhat stunned. He apparently had not expected such a carefree man to have such a ruthless side toward himself. Seeing Shrike's expression, Lorenzo leisurely added,

"You've been in the Lower District long enough. You should understand that some things are more terrifying than death. Sometimes, dying is the right choice."

Death lasted only an instant, but suffering could last a lifetime.

"That is quite a profound philosophy of life."

After a brief pause, Shrike praised him.

"So, has Lorenzo Holmes also faced something that made him think, I might as well die here?"

Like a venomous snake baring its fangs, Shrike sat upright with a smile.

What greeted him was the swift rise of a black gun barrel, along with the icy chill in Lorenzo's gray-blue eyes.

"Shrike, you said it yourself. Coming to Inverwig, coming to Old Dunling, was supposed to be a brand-new life. And a new life should say goodbye to the past, shouldn't it?"

"Looks like you really are angry." Shrike spoke casually. "I was only curious about what the man before me was like before he changed his name to Lorenzo Holmes. But it seems you still don't want to talk about it."

This was not their first conversation like this. Ever since Lorenzo came to Old Dunling six years ago, Shrike had tried more than once to dig up his past.

Everyone beginning a new life should have a past of their own, but Lorenzo was different. No matter how Shrike investigated, he could not uncover Lorenzo's origins. It was as though he had appeared out of thin air.

"Don't be angry. I still trust you, after all. You are my Iron Thorn. If you still don't want to talk, then let's change the subject."

Shrike did not care about Lorenzo's offense. The two of them were unusual. Though they had an employer-employee relationship, their status was equal most of the time.

"Tell me about the progress on today's case. Thanks to you, Suaran Hall has begun taking it seriously."

As he spoke, he drew an exquisite revolver from his coat and pointed it at Lorenzo. Beneath half his mask, Shrike wore a kindly smile. No one knew whether that final bullet had been loaded.

Personal matters aside, it was time for business. Honestly, if no one else could replace him, Shrike would have loved to shoot this great detective dead.