Gun of Ashes-Chapter 496 - 96: The Past

After days of pouring rain, the storm had eased significantly, like a misty veil, with fine rain threads pattering gently on the ground, rippling circles in the puddles.

At night, rainy Old Dunling resembled a surreal underwater world, steam rising from the underground, smashed by raindrops before it could even rise, and the biting chill accompanied every traveler, lingering like a ghost that couldn’t be dispersed.

There was no one on the streets anymore; nobody liked traveling in such weather. The night was uncomfortably quiet, with only the faint sound of hooves echoing in the darkness, announcing that mounted police were still on patrol.

Specks of dim light rose from the darkness, and Red Falcon emerged, tossing his still-burning cigarette into the puddle at his feet.

He didn’t smoke much, but in this dreadful weather, it seemed to be the only thing warming his body, though largely just as a psychological comfort.

Colleagues all said Red Falcon was a guy with an excellent mindset; no matter how harsh the environment, he didn’t seem afraid. Sometimes, he’d even crack jokes in front of a scene filled with flesh and viscera. But in reality, Red Falcon wasn’t that heroic; he was just an ordinary person. The jokes were nothing more than an attempt to divert attention because he was almost scared to death.

Looking at the rain-shrouded world around him, the entire city was as silent as if he was the only one left... This environment was really perfect for some damned murder cases to occur; truthfully, he’d rather not be out working at midnight.

Red Falcon sighed helplessly, and the warm breath quickly dissipated in the night breeze, as if killed by something unknown.

He held a black umbrella, wearing all black attire, with a gun tucked under his coat and a folding blade at his waist, fully armed.

Red Falcon resembled a Death God ready to start work at night, and as he stepped through the water, more Death Gods joined him, emerging from the darkness.

The carriage stopped not far away; members who arrived earlier had already seized control of the building. They carried fake police badges, telling other awakened residents they were only maintaining minor public order.

But this wasn’t just minor public order maintenance; those people hid in shadows unseen, their aluminothermic rifles already ignited, and this humid environment had little effect on them with that scorching temperature.

"I sometimes have an illusion."

Another voice sounded as Bluebird stepped out from the side; he was a devout believer with a silver-white cross hanging in front of his black attire.

Although he believed in the Evangelical Church’s elusive God, the belief had been utterly distorted during its localization in Ingwig, and Bluebird knew his stance clearly.

Faith is faith, work is work.

"What kind of illusion?"

Red Falcon continued, hoping someone would talk to him more in this damned environment, so the heavy rain wouldn’t isolate him from the world, preventing him from feeling so lonely.

"Old Dunling, this city by day is vibrant and progressive; gears roar, creating wealth and miracles, leading the world in development. People work hard here, exhausting their lives, but by night, it becomes a completely different world."

Bluebird said.

"A world not belonging to mortals, where bizarre, nauseating monsters hide in dark corners, trying to drag humanity back to the dark ages, and we are the heroes holding the fire, battling them."

"Hmm... this reminds me of those novels," Red Falcon said.

"Novels?"

Bluebird sidelong glanced at Red Falcon. This laid-back guy didn’t seem the type to actively engage with literature.

"Not those obscure, hard-to-understand traditional literature but some stories written by people... I don’t know how to put it; they’re interesting stories but not very popular with the masses."

"Those... knight novels?"

Bluebird thought carefully and came up with the term.

These had emerged in recent years, writing about the love-hate entanglements among nobility or adventurous tales exploring new continents, without any earnest core theme or heart-touching words, just narrations at will.

They weren’t noticed by many, yet they became popular among the young folks. These stories were different from the serious literature they had read, bringing them joy, while the older generation deemed them unrefined and opposed them.

Bluebird didn’t expect that Red Falcon would read such things but on second thought, it was something he could see him doing.

"In those stories, it’s the same: villains in the city come out to do evil at night, so the protagonist diligently practices swordsmanship and, when night falls, dons a mask to enforce justice."

Red Falcon looked at Bluebird beside him and continued, "Don’t you think we’re a bit like that? Though we’re not fighting villains but things tougher to handle than villains."

"Those young girls really like stories like that; they think the protagonist who enforces justice in the night without revealing his identity is simply cool."

Red Falcon said with a hint of a smile, as if he was the one those young girls admired.

"Do you really like those stories?"

"Of course."

Red Falcon radiated youthful energy, something Bluebird couldn’t understand even though they were colleagues. The age gap was significant; Red Falcon seemed around the same age as Lorenzo, while Bluebird was already in his thirties; if not for this damned job with the Purification Mechanism, he would have considered settling down and starting a family.