Gun of Ashes

In the year 925 of the Ingwig calendar.

”So... what kind of person is he?”

Bola sat behind his desk, enjoying wine and music, and asked lazily.

As the secret force placed here by the Purification Mechanism, Bola appeared in the Lower City District as a gang leader, carving out a niche for himself. This was only the second month after he and his men had established their status.

With the help of the Purification Mechanism, Bola’s power was rapidly infiltrating the Lower City District, temporarily stabilizing these violent foreigners with various gray-market industries.

He thought that the other gangs would be somewhat wary of this newly rising power, and the Lower City District would have a superficial peace, but such a false peace lasted only two months before it was shattered.

”He’s a beast! He’s already killed several people, but he hasn’t continued the slaughter; he just says he wants to see you.” said a subordinate next to him.

”See me?”

Bola was taken aback, a little puzzled.

”A foreigner suddenly barged in and killed so many people just to see me? What’s going on here!”

He couldn’t quite figure it out.

”We don’t know either, but he’s already nearby... others have disclosed the location here; what should we do?”

The subordinate spoke again, his voice trembling slightly, clearly flustered.

Bola’s power was not yet stable; under the facade of peace were long-term secret clashes with other gangs. To this subordinate, this sudden foreigner was obviously a ploy by other gangs, and perhaps under this guise, a group would surround their base at any moment.

”What’s the panic!”

Bola scolded, but still, he couldn’t help but pick up the silver revolver.

”How close is he?”

”Yes, our enemies are guiding him.”

”Damn it.”

Bola pondered for a while and finally decided to go out and take a look.

With the expansion of Old Dunling, the foreigner problem in the Lower City District was becoming more severe. This city needed a place to dump its waste, but it couldn’t let this tumor harm the city itself.

Through Bola’s efforts and the support of the Purification Mechanism, such steady development made it only a matter of time before Bola would control the entire Lower City District.

Having stayed in the Lower City District for so long, skirmishes and shootouts were common occurrences, but today, Bola felt a peculiar unease, prompting him to personally check out this mysterious character.

Stepping out of the basement, beneath the piles of rubble was a lavishly decorated casino, though not yet very large. Bola needed time to gradually seize the businesses of other gangs.

Bola had to admit that life as a gang leader was far more thrilling than working for the Purification Mechanism.

As he emerged from the dim tunnel, the music in the casino halted, and eyes turned to him. The guards gripped their holsters, their expressions wary.

Bola looked toward the end of the red carpet, at the doorway, where the foreigner stood silhouetted against the light, a shadowy figure.

His body was covered in wounds, many already healing, likely from elsewhere. His clothes were torn, and filthy hair obscured his face, his entire being reeking.

Such foreigners were common, smuggling themselves into Old Dunling in various strange ways, appearing as wretched as vagabonds.

But unlike others, this foreigner carried a heavy box on his back and held a blood-stained shotgun.

Bola’s gaze turned serious, feeling a certain pressure.

The foreigner appeared as if he had just come from a battlefield, exuding a violent aura and malice. For a moment, Bola even thought he wasn’t facing a human, but some humanoid monster.

”Everyone, step aside; let me have a proper talk with this gentleman.”

Despite the immense pressure, Bola remained calm, clapping his hands to signal everyone to leave, and soon only he and the foreigner were left.

Bola pulled over a chair and sat down.

”They say you want to see me.”

The foreigner stood still, nodding stiffly.

”Killing people to see me? That’s interesting.”

Underneath the table, Bola had already gripped the Funeral Bell. As a leader, he needed to remain composed and elegant, but he also required cunning to protect himself.

”They tried to kill me... so I killed them.”

The foreigner’s voice was hoarse, occasionally pausing.

”Then what do you want from me?” Bola asked again.

The foreigner suddenly fell silent, a look of pain crossing his face. He clutched his head, trying to think, but his fragmented consciousness brought only chaos.

”A life, a new life. They say only you can give someone a new life in the Lower City District.”

After a long pause, he seemed to recall the reason and spoke slowly.

This was another person’s desire; he had always longed to come here and live the fantasized life in Old Dunling.

So he had come all this way just for this?

Bola almost wanted to curse loudly. He expected someone had hired a killer to assassinate him and was ready for a deadly fight while waiting for reinforcements, only to find it was actually about this.

However, it was also evident that this peculiar foreigner was indeed very persistent about this matter.

”A legal identity to live in Old Dunling? Indeed, only I can do that in the Lower City District.”

As a crime boss backed by the Purification Mechanism, Bola was an expert in this field. Unlike what others could offer, Bola provided legitimate identities that could pass official scrutiny.

Bola relaxed a little. After learning what the stranger was seeking, the conversation became much simpler.

”So, can you afford the price? A new life is quite expensive.”

”I can kill for you. I’m very skilled at that.”

The stranger replied with a hint of menace. He had no money and nothing worth trading; all he could offer was endless killing.

”Killing? That’s certainly tempting.”

Bola hesitated for a moment. He did need a group of assassins to deal with those damned enemies. Only then could he take full control of the Lower City District.

Thinking this, he carefully observed the stranger.

Seeing as he had made it here unscathed, he indeed possessed considerable lethality. But Bola had seen many like him before; most were just tools for him, eventually dying like stray dogs in the sewers once they were used up.

Bola smiled.

”Hmm... alright, but for a new life, you have to say goodbye to your past. Can you do that?”

”Say goodbye?”

”Yes, a new life. Everything will be brand new, and your past will be swept into a corner, living on as another person, albeit narrowly.”

The stranger was momentarily dazed, various chaotic images flashing through his mind: burning flames, shattered corpses, one falling figure after another.

It was all so horrible, so saddening. He tried to forget, yet couldn’t stop remembering.

If only he could forget this pain.

”Of course, I can.” he replied.

”So, can I ask what you plan to do in Old Dunling? Surely you’re not here to just experience life, are you?”

Bola was genuinely curious about this stranger and continued to probe.

”Do what...”

The stranger was momentarily lost again. He only remembered needing to come to Old Dunling. Yes, why did he have to come to Old Dunling? He couldn’t quite recall, but vaguely remembered it was someone’s wish.

As for what to do... the memory gradually cleared, and he replied almost instinctively.

”Detective. I want to be a detective.”

”Hmm, that’s quite interesting.”

Bola was a bit surprised. He hadn’t expected this stranger before him to want to become a detective. From Bola’s brief assessment, this guy was a natural-born killer who didn’t seem to fit the detective role at all.

”So, what’s your name, stranger?”

”Name?”

”Yes, a name. Everyone has a name. You don’t have one?”

”Name...” The stranger’s mind suddenly flashed with a series of numbers. He didn’t know what they represented, but he still spoke them out loud.

”0...42.”

”Numbers? What’s this? Numbers don’t count as a name, stranger.”

”They don’t? Then... what is a name?”

The stranger tried to ponder the meaning of ”name,” but the more he thought about it, the more intense the pain became, continuously fracturing his consciousness. He remembered being someone called 042, yet familiar faces gradually overlapped his own, muddling his sense of self.

[I want to see that beautiful era, a time without sorrow, without demons.]

Suddenly, a voice echoed in his mind. The stranger vaguely saw a golden sky, dyeing everything with a sacred gilded hue.

But in his ears arose the howls of monsters and the clang of blades, as though he was listening to a war from the depths of Hell.

[A detective agency. Interested in being my assistant?]

Another familiar voice emerged, inquiring with a smile, planning a nonexistent future.

It was a simple, tiny wish, hidden deep within the stranger’s soul.

The chaos engulfed him like a torrent, repeatedly slicing away at the fractured edges.

Anger, panic, grief...

If... there had to be one wish.

He recalled his name, his expression pained as he tried to speak, like a beast baring its fangs, yet also like a child learning to talk, the voice clumsy and hoarse.

”Lo...renzo.”

”What?”

Bola hadn’t quite caught it.

”My name is...”

The shattered consciousness pieced itself back together; the ash-blue eyes gradually gleamed with light. He looked at Bola, the sunset glow behind him blazing golden flames across the sea of clouds.

The stranger’s eyes bore both joy and sadness as he gripped the Winchester in his hand, like a confused child.

”Lorenzo Holmes.”