Gun of Ashes

Just thinking about it can make you feel the obstacles involved. More importantly, Lorenzo hasn’t recovered from the influence of [Wangchuan], and quite some time has already passed.

”Vacation... enchanting vacation.”

Lorenzo mumbled; at least that’s what Red Falcon said when notifying him.

He still remembers one morning, when he hadn’t woken up yet, being startled awake by the urgent knocking on his door, followed by Red Falcon bursting in excitedly, still carrying the morning’s mist.

”Vacation! Vacation! Va-ca-tion!”

Red Falcon’s voice carried a strange melody, twisting his awkward limbs, jumping up and down cheerfully.

”Vacation?”

Lorenzo’s face was full of confusion.

”That’s right, the Purification Mechanism needs time to self-heal, and with the large-scale conflict in the White Tide Strait, we temporarily lack the strength for any action plans,” Red Falcon’s expression turned from gloom to elation, ”so we are on vacation!”

When shouting ”vacation,” Lorenzo felt that Red Falcon’s eyes were gleaming with tears, his voice carrying a sob.

Congratulations, congratulations indeed.

Thinking about it, this unlucky person has it tough; originally just wanting to come to Old Dunling to earn a living, he ended up tossed around in the Lower City District, mistakenly thinking he’d been recognized by a mob boss and could live as a bigwig, only to find out the mob boss was an undercover agent, and he was dragged into an even more troublesome mess.

Hence, Lorenzo remembered the previously vexing topic.

Is Red Falcon actually lucky or unlucky?

Looking at his life path, each step seems to precisely land in a pit. Yet this unlucky fellow manages to climb out each time, as if the Goddess of Fortune is messing with him, wanting to see him in a sorry state but not burying him in the muck prematurely.

And so, Red Falcon brought sweet tidings and lounged at Lorenzo’s place for the morning, then vanished without a trace. To this day, Lorenzo hasn’t seen him again.

Others say Red Falcon’s vacation is either spent vegetating in the staff dormitory or fishing at the dock, but unfortunately, a storm surge destroyed the dock along with the entire Lower City District, leaving it in ruins.

Lorenzo isn’t sure there’s still fish to catch there, but every day he sees construction teams heading that way; if there are fish, they’ve probably been scared off.

Life seems to have returned to calm, everything unchanged yet everything has become unrecognizable.

[Are you zoning out?]

Suddenly, a voice echoed in Lorenzo’s mind, startling him.

”You’re here?”

Lorenzo was feeling a bit neurotic, recently haunted by Watson appearing out of nowhere, suddenly hearing a clear female voice ignoring his mental strain.

[Just arrived.]

A brief response echoed in his mind.

Though Watson said so, Lorenzo felt she must’ve been here awhile, watching him daydream, noting his silly expression.

”What’s up? So abrupt.”

[Nothing, just happened to pass by.]

”Still not done yet?”

[No, with interference at such a wide-ranging scale, there are always special cases needing individual checks.]

Hearing this, Lorenzo nodded.

Watson remains busy, needing to deal with citizens not fully forgotten and continuously monitoring the erosion fluctuations within Old Dunling.

The storm destroyed all the large Geiger Counters at secluded stations; Old Dunling’s defenses are unprecedentedly fragile.

Soon Watson’s voice vanished, as she said, merely passing by, leaving only Lorenzo inside the office, although there was only him initially anyway.

At times like these, people like Lorenzo seem useless, no enemies needing his blade; he can only stay home until he rots and stinks.

Some say this is a soldier’s fate. This world doesn’t always offer wars for them to fight; ultimately, everyone returns to normalcy and leads a peaceful life.

”A peaceful life? Sounds really distant.”

Lorenzo talked to himself, walked to the kitchen, stabbed a few sausages to satiate his hunger.

Some animals panic when removed from their familiar environment; at times, when Lorenzo thinks of a ”peaceful life,” he feels a bit anxious.

Both fear and anticipation.

He finds it hard to imagine himself entirely abandoning the sword but greatly desires the life depicted in stories—a mundane life within everyone’s reach.

Looking at the calendar, Old Dunling has embraced winter, thus the Divine Birthday is near.

Thinking this, time truly flies; a year vanished just like that.

While pondering, the door swung open. The person didn’t knock; Lorenzo thought it must be a familiar face and looked up, sure enough finding a familiar visage.

”You’re here again.”

Red Falcon entered; unlike his previous joy, this time he looked quite rough, utterly disheveled, his hair a mess, carrying a damp fishy smell, backpack and fishing rod on his back, a bucket and fish basket in hand.

Lorenzo guessed Red Falcon returned from fishing; unclear what happened, this guy didn’t go home, instead came straight here, his expression downcast and unusually serious.

”Red... Falcon?”

Lorenzo attempted to call his name; living alone for so long, suddenly having a living person feels quite interesting.

Only to see Red Falcon lift his head, eyes bloodshot, carrying the fatigue of sleepless nights.

”No one’s sleeping on the couch, right?”

He suddenly asked, not waiting for Lorenzo’s answer; this guy unabashedly placed the empty fish basket aside, threw his backpack in a corner, then, right before Lorenzo’s eyes, began peeling off his clothes.

Thrown aside his wet coat, revealing an equally damp, filthy undershirt, then unveiling a body smudged with dust and mud.

Lorenzo was a bit stunned, then shouted out loud.

”Wait a minute! Wait a minute! Red Falcon!”

Lorenzo hurriedly waved his hand; truth be told, he’d rarely be scared by anything, but he had to admit, this time, he’s really frightened.

Switching roles, Lorenzo felt others would be frightened too. A weary guy enters your home silently, undresses before you without a word; it’s not good in any sense.

”Damn it! Stop undressing!”

Lorenzo was about to hit him; any delay and Red Falcon would start taking off his pants.

”Huh?”

Red Falcon looked up in confusion, hands unbuckling his belt.

With a clatter, the belt slipped down with the pants along his legs, revealing underwear adorned with hearts only a mother would knit.

Lorenzo felt a headache; he wasn’t sure if this counted as a peaceful life.

”Is this a dog?”

Red Falcon glanced down, guessing, ”I think it’s a pig embroidered.”

The atmosphere grew silent; Lorenzo’s expression was sinister and pained. Besides shedding his killer and other aliases and job nature, fundamentally Lorenzo and Red Falcon are similar, both lacking something in their minds.

According to Oscar, both possess rich comedic talent, only they apply such talent towards distasteful chatter.

Red Falcon grabbed the cleaner undershirt, vigorously wiped the dust off his body, seriously asked, ”Can you shower here?”

”Probably.”

Lorenzo felt the plot seemed back on track, slowly resuming normalcy after a bizarre detour.

”So what happened to you?”

Hearing Lorenzo’s query, Red Falcon’s actions stilled for a moment. Lorenzo felt, just for an instant, Red Falcon might cry. He briefly cleaned himself, tossed aside dirty clothes, grabbed a blanket to cocoon himself, curling up by the fireplace like a caterpillar.

”It’s... a long story.”

He gazed at the flames in the fireplace. Perhaps too close, Red Falcon resembled a dog roasted from its fur, and faint white smoke rose from his head.

Red Falcon fought back his emotions, eyes agleam with glistening tears, and asked Lorenzo.

”Do you think a series of mistakes could make someone collapse?”