Detective

June 23rd, Wednesday, overcast.

In the morning, at the docks along the Fengdeng River on the outskirts of the wealthy district, a medium-sized ferry sat quietly at anchor. Several small fishing boats drifted on the river, and a dozen dockworkers were busy unloading and hauling cargo on the shore.

A few food carts were set up on the embankment slope behind the docks. Passersby, drawn by the aroma of smoked dried herring and hot coffee, paused to linger.

Large groups of workers in brown firemen's shirts huddled together, walking along the embankment toward the Glass Glass Factory at 14 Wenlu Street nearby.

What people didn't notice was that in a nearby residential alley, a young "beggar" was sitting on the ground, devouring a hot ham and egg sandwich.

His mouth was stuffed, but his cold eyes were constantly scanning every corner of the docks—a dozen police officers were standing there in scattered groups, patrolling the area unobtrusively and scrutinizing everyone on the pier.

The train station is blocked by the police, and it seems the docks are a dead end, too.

Gilan swallowed his food and lifted a cup of hot cocoa to his lips, gulping it down.

His mood was as gloomy and unpleasant as the weather.

Since leaving the Oak Gang, Gilan had been hiding for the past two days because he noticed more and more "Prohibition Agents" patrolling the streets. However, their purpose clearly wasn't to inspect illicit liquor... they were searching for someone.

And that someone was, in all likelihood, himself.

Obvious proof of this was that Gilan had seen his own wanted posters on walls across several streets, offering a bounty of 50 Caesar, with even a 5 Caesar reward for providing effective leads.

How does a lousy sandwich and a drink cost 5 Melang? If I hadn't looted a sum of money from Lucas, the little bit of savings in that iron box wouldn't have been enough.

Gilan cursed under his breath, crumpled the paper bag and cup into a ball, and tossed them into a trash heap beside him.

His current appearance was quite wretched.

To cover the bloodstains on his body, he had smeared a fair amount of mud on himself. His beige soft cap had been blown away by the wind at the scrapyard; Gilan hadn't noticed at the time, so he simply disguised himself as a vagrant and rubbed some dust into his blonde hair.

Having not bathed for days, Gilan felt he reeked.

But to stay alive, he didn't care about such things.

I'll head back to the unfinished building to hide and think of another way to leave.

Gilan turned and walked toward Gray Stone Street at the southernmost end of the poor district.

Gray Stone Street was adjacent to Black Barrel Street and belonged to a newly developed area. The local council had originally intended to build an industrial zone there, but due to financial and various other factors, construction was forced to halt halfway, leaving behind a large expanse of unfinished buildings.

Gray Stone Street lacked basic infrastructure and had poor transportation, so almost no one lived there; it was quite remote... though many displaced beggars or gang members were particularly fond of the place.

Gilan had also relied on the memories of his original self to find a temporary foothold on Gray Stone Street.

"Achoo!"

Just as he exited the alleyway, he sneezed inexplicably, and his head began to feel a bit dizzy.

Leaning against an old, moss-covered wall, Gilan bent over and coughed twice.

Hm? A cold?

Gilan's eyes were filled with confusion.

He believed that after practicing the White Cross Body-Forging Technique, his physique was more robust than that of an average man and shouldn't fall ill easily. After entering the first stage, "Mucus," the effects were particularly evident; even when he sneezed or coughed just now, there had been no nasal discharge or phlegm.

I'd better leave quickly.

After a brief rest, he straightened his body, looked around to ensure no one was watching, and immediately picked up his pace.

After a cautious journey, Gilan navigated through dirty, narrow alleyways, returned to the Gray Stone district, and went straight to an unfinished building in a remote corner.

This building was supposed to have five floors, but only three had been constructed. Several thick, square concrete pillars rose toward the sky, with steel rebar and wire mesh exposed, rusted by the wind and rain.

Gilan stepped up the concrete stairs to the empty second floor, intending to sit in a familiar corner to rest for a moment. Throughout the journey, he had felt an unbearable dryness and itchiness in his throat, and his forehead was running hot, making him feel quite uncomfortable.

However, he quickly stopped in his tracks.

Because at the edge of the floor, a dozen meters away, a strange man was standing there.

The man wore a wide-brimmed felt hat and a high-end brown trench coat. It was unclear when he had arrived; he stood with his back to Gilan, smoking a cigarette and seemingly gazing at the desolate vacant lot behind the unfinished building.

Gilan's eyes narrowed.

Judging by his attire, this man was clearly not a vagrant or a gang member; he looked more like a member of the upper class from the wealthy district. But for him to appear here alone was very suspicious; after all, this place was far too remote and chaotic. One could never be sure when a group of thugs might jump out to rob you of your valuables or even kill you.

Gilan pretended not to see the man and quietly retreated, intending to leave.

He was still a wanted man and didn't want to have any contact with anyone.

However, the man spoke without turning his head:

"Mr. Gilan Iros."

The man's voice was magnetic, giving one a feeling like a gentle spring breeze.

Gilan stopped again, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the stranger's back.

This person was here for him!

"Who are you?" Gilan asked in a low voice.

The man smiled and turned around, revealing an ordinary face. He sported a small mustache and appeared to be in his thirties or forties.

"Granny Remo, a private investigator. Someone has hired me to find you."

The man took a final drag of his cigarette, tossed the butt, and crushed it with his polished leather shoe.

Gilan kept his eyes locked on the other man's movements, maintaining a defensive posture as he continued to ask:

"A private detective... what business do you have with me?"

"You took a roll of black film from the Redwood Street Police Station. My mission is to retrieve it. If you can hand it over to me, I can pretend I never saw you and leave immediately."

Detective Granny smiled gently.

"I haven't seen any film," Gilan said coldly.

"In that case, I'll have no choice but to use force and hand you over to my employer."

Granny's smile faded.

BANG!!

A gunshot rang out abruptly.

Detective Granny had already ducked and lunged forward, evading the aim in advance. The bullet struck the concrete pillar behind him, sending dust and debris flying.

Gilan held the Gelu Pistol, but he was too late to aim for a second shot.

WHACK!!

Detective Granny closed the distance, his black suit trousers cutting through the air like a blur. A swift whip kick struck Gilan's hand with precision, sending the Luger Pistol flying out of the unfinished building.

The pistol traced a black arc through the air, descending from the sky and vanishing into the grass of the vacant lot.

The detective wore a sneer, preparing to seize the young man before him.

"You're courting death!" Gilan's eyes turned fierce.

He stepped forward, closing to within a meter of the detective, and lashed out with a powerful right hook.

SWISH—WHACK!!

The heavy punch had been aimed at the man's face, but Detective Granny blocked it with his left forearm.

Thump, thump, thump!

The detective retreated several steps before finally steadying himself.

Dust swirled around them as he looked up in disbelief, exclaiming in surprise:

"An 'Instructor'-level martial artist?!"