Shrike Bird's Iron Thorn

Where there was light, darkness was born.

Before the Lower District appeared, the evil of Old Dunling spread through every shadowed corner. No matter how many soldiers the Iron Snake carried, no matter how many corpses were thrown into the Thames River, nothing changed in the slightest.

Steam Towers rising skyward, bearing the world's most advanced technology, pierced the clouds, while the darkest evils fermented in the fog below. Until the Lower District emerged, that pent-up evil finally had somewhere to spill out. All things dark gathered in that filthy place, and all of Old Dunling lived beneath false holiness.

The Lower District was so unusual that it could not help but feel mysterious.

Because of the Lower District's peculiar nature, Suaran Hall had several unspoken rules. One of them was that officers were forbidden from entering the Lower District. Those desperate criminals cared nothing for their own lives. Given enough money, they would casually kill any officer who rashly entered.

The mounted police did not dare charge in recklessly. They were waiting for further orders.

Lorenzo, caught in the middle of it all, was having a much worse time. Clearly, these people had come for the suspects. It was flawless coordination. No matter how much chaos they caused in the Outer District to cover their tracks, once they entered the Lower District, with so many desperadoes watching, the mounted police could only let them go.

They had merely been at an impasse before, but from the moment Eve killed that gang member, a firefight was ready to erupt.

"Run!"

With the situation so urgent, that was all Lorenzo could shout before piercing gunfire rang out.

The gangsters opened fire. Their weapons were a mismatched mess, most of them homemade, and all kinds of pellets flew everywhere.

Eve lunged and rolled behind the wreckage of the Iron Snake. The sound of metal striking metal filled her ears, tearing at her eardrums.

Lorenzo had taken cover behind the Iron Snake before her. He was a man of action; his words always came after he moved.

"What do we do?!"

The young detective had clearly panicked. She had never imagined her first day on the job would be this thrilling.

"Wait. When I tell you to run, you run! Understand?"

Lorenzo shouted, doing his best to make himself heard through the gunfire. Eve was still useful to him. He could not let her die just like that.

Pointing at the line of mounted police behind them, Lorenzo shouted at her.

"Run there. You're a detective too, they won't leave you to die. Once you cross that line, these thugs won't dare touch you!"

That was another rule. People from the Lower District were not allowed into the Outer District. To Old Dunling, they were nothing but illegal immigrants. By law, every detective had the right to shoot any thug who entered the Outer District without authorization.

It was utter chaos, yet bound by ironclad rules.

Shrike Bird had spoken of all this. The Lower District existed only because Old Dunling needed it. Old Dunling was a massive, insane city, prosperous and beautiful, but there was always rubbish that needed to be dumped somewhere. In the past, it had been dumped in every corner. Now, it was concentrated in the Lower District.

A trash can.

That was how Shrike Bird always described the land he ruled.

Those gray-blue eyes hid many secrets. Lorenzo was a man entangled by mysteries.

"Run, girl!"

He slapped her hard on the back. Before he could feel the girl's softness, Lorenzo gripped the Shotgun and stepped out forcefully.

He pulled the trigger, like firing a starting pistol.

Without realizing it, Eve had begun to believe everything Lorenzo said. The moment he stepped forward with his gun, Eve ran back. Gunfire and police whistles rang out as a new round of chaos unfolded.

The bullet tore through a skull, and the shattered fragments knocked down several people nearby. Blood sprayed everywhere, dazzlingly vivid.

The thugs charged forward with homemade weapons in hand. Their orders had only been to stop the mounted police from pursuing them, but now that someone had died, Lorenzo and Eve had to pay the price.

A rust-covered blade swung down. Lorenzo barely dodged it, then Winchester roared and blasted the man's upper body apart.

They were not Wall. Their bodies had not undergone that bizarre transformation. Ordinary flesh and blood could not withstand that shot... after all, this weapon had not originally been designed to kill people.

What a familiar, exhilarating feeling. The scent unique to blood spread through the filthy streets. It was as if something had awakened, and he could feel his own blood boiling.

The gunfire did not stop.

Lorenzo had never been a good man. That was the conclusion he had reached after countless nights of thought, so he showed no mercy when he acted.

A continuous chorus of whistles rang out. They were Iron Whistles specially made by Suaran Hall, capable of producing notes at different frequencies. In emergencies, the mounted police mostly used them to communicate, like a rudimentary Morse code. A few different whistle patterns could quickly convey important information.

They were communicating, exchanging signals constantly.

Lorenzo had spent a long time learning this secret method of communication. Though he could not fully decipher it, he could now barely understand some of the Iron Whistle's simpler commands.

After a series of urgent short whistles came a long blast. Lorenzo blew apart the head of the burly man before him, then felt a measure of pressure.

He understood that whistle. Reinforcements of mounted police were about to arrive.

Press gripped the reins tightly, his face full of worry as he rode into the gale.

He was rapidly approaching the Lower District with the reinforcements. Press did not care about the case right now. Eve was more important than the case.

Just as Lorenzo had said, Eve was an aristocrat. As a veteran detective, Press had been ordered to take along such a rookie, which was proof enough that Eve's status was extraordinary.

Eve could not die. If she did, those damned aristocrats would skin him alive.

Of course, Press carried an even greater worry in his heart—Lorenzo.

He kept feeling that he had seen that damned detective somewhere before. After thinking long and hard, a familiar figure gradually surfaced in his mind. Just recalling it sent a chill down his spine.

Press did not dare confirm his deduction, but he also did not dare deceive himself. His rifle had already been loaded and hung at his side, while a fully loaded revolver rested at his waist. He felt as if he were about to go to war.

After all, he might be facing one of the Lower District's monsters. No preparation could be excessive.

Even now, Press still considered it the most vicious case he had ever encountered. In the fog, blood had soaked the ground, and corpses and bloody water had filled the Thames River.

Press would never forget that figure, even in death: one of the key figures in the Red River Massacre, Shrike Bird's Iron Thorn.

His rough hand slowly raised the rifle. He could already see the blockading mounted police in the distance. Press knew he was almost there.

He put the Iron Whistle between his lips, and a clear, long blast pierced the crimson sunset.

As the Iron Whistle sounded, the mounted police who had been watching coldly raised their guns. Black muzzles formed a wall of death.

Eve's ears were filled with the roar of bullets. Since she started running, she had never looked back. She did not know why she trusted Lorenzo, but as if following instinct, she obeyed him—and she was still alive.

The afterglow of the setting sun spilled down from the edge of the horizon, bathing everything in a layer of bloody misery. Eve could not make out the mounted police's faces. With their backs to the fading light, they looked like pitch-black silhouettes.

After the whistle, gunfire erupted in unison.

For an instant, Eve thought she was going to die, but the bullets skimmed past her and flew toward the center of the chaos. Then the mounted police began advancing. Tall warhorses thundered past her, heading into that filthy place.

"Eve!"

Someone suddenly called her name. A dark figure ran out of the afterglow and came to her side.

"Detective Press!"

At the sight of that familiar face, Eve finally let out a breath of relief. But then she realized something was wrong. So much had suddenly happened; she would surely not escape a scolding.

"Fall back. This is no place for you anymore."

Press wore a grave expression and gripped his rifle. Though he was speaking to Eve, his eyes never left the front, fixed on that place.

"I..."

Eve wanted to say something more, but Press immediately cut her off.

"That man may be Iron Thorn. This isn't something a rookie like you can get involved in. Move!"

Iron Thorn?

Something seemed to stir within Eve. The term sounded familiar, but she could not remember what it meant. Then Press passed her, raised his rifle, and muzzle flash burst forth.

No matter how violent the thugs were, they were fragile before the firepower of a proper force. The battle ended quickly. The entire area was cleared, and all the captured thugs were tied up to one side.

This incident had a far greater impact than anyone had imagined. Victoria Central Hospital had suffered a fire, the Steam Tram had derailed, and then came the firefight.

Night had fallen. A massive Zeppelin drifted through the sky, then cast down beams of light, bringing illumination to the darkened area.

Press sat astride his horse, gripping his gun tightly as his eyes swept back and forth over the captured thugs.

"Did you find him?"

Another mounted officer slowly approached and spoke to Press.

"No... Chief Donas."

There was disappointment and self-reproach in Press's eyes.

"I'm sorry. I mobilized such a large force because of my hunch."

"It's fine. Calling in manpower for a firefight this large is only natural. It's just a pity—we thought we'd catch Iron Thorn," Chief Donas said slowly.

"But Press, according to our intelligence, Iron Thorn disappeared after the Red River Massacre. Some say he died in that case, though we never found his body. Others say Shrike Bird sent him out of Inverwig."

"He's still here. I've always had that feeling."

Press answered the chief's question with certainty.

After a brief silence, the chief still chose to trust Press's instincts.

"Then why has he appeared this time?"

Chief Donas did not understand. For so many years, the Red River Massacre had been a dark cloud over Suaran Hall, obscuring its so-called honor. Suaran Hall had never stopped hunting Iron Thorn, but they had found nothing. He was about to be forgotten, yet now he had returned.

"I don't know, Chief, but I've always had this feeling." The usual laziness was gone. Press had never looked so serious.

"He's always been in Old Dunling. He's just too cunning. Even if he walked right past us, no one would recognize him."

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