The words were cryptic, something Lorenzo had never seen before, and he felt a bit uneasy.
"Bola, there are still many things you haven't made clear to me."
It was a fragmented story, even Lorenzo felt at a loss, with shadows behind it that he couldn't see clearly.
"You're just the detective I hired, not my accountant, it's best if you don't know too much about my business."
Bola refused to reveal more, his gaze resolute.
"It's for your own good."
"The rest of the documents are here, the carriage is already waiting for you outside, you can take a look on your way to the hospital."
Saying this, Bola took out a document, flipped through a few pages, tore away the parts that Lorenzo shouldn't know, and threw it to him.
"You know how much I trust you, I am the abhorrent Butcherbird, and you are the Iron Thorns that pierce my prey."
Bola looked at him.
"So, get lost. If you don't do a good job, I'll load the last bullet as well." He referred to that revolver with one-sixth chance.
"Alright, alright."
Lorenzo stood up, picked up the document, turned around, and left, but then stopped.
"Still doing things my way, right?"
"I only care about the outcome of this matter."
That was probably an answer, so Lorenzo pushed open the iron door and left without looking back.
...
Walking out of this castle of chaos, icy air immediately rushed into Lorenzo's nostrils, the air was so humid, cold, and oppressive.
So cold...
That's Old Dunling for you, with thousands of tons of steam permeating day and night, it's always drizzling here, gathering above the city like a canopy of mist shrouding everything. Sunlight would turn the sky's mist into a golden hue, as if the sky itself was burning.
The coachman was already waiting for Lorenzo outside, this time Lorenzo directly entered the carriage and started flipping through the document.
The scenery outside the window slowly changed, after passing several checkpoints they entered the Outer City District. Unlike the desolation of the Lower City District, here the towering Gothic and Baroque buildings were everywhere, with tall Steam Towers standing between every district. Thick smoke rose from the chimneys, turning everything gray and white.
This was the birthplace of steam technology, the most advanced city in the world, where everyone lived with hope as technology evolved and progressed.
The document was held in place by a delicate iron frame, with edges decorated in mottled brass. This was the common decorative style of the time, gears, and pipes, as if everything was like those steam machines, and a group of people still worshipped those scorching machines, believing they were the power bestowed by God.
Lorenzo flipped through the document, carefully reading it in the swaying carriage.
What was written here was much more detailed than what Bola had said, mostly from the personal accounts of those being investigated, the language was chaotic, but without exception, everything was recorded.
Seeing this, Lorenzo finally felt a bit more comfortable. In the past, those handling cases only kept the essential concise parts, making some records seem exceptionally cold.
Recording every word in detail was Lorenzo's suggestion, only this way could Lorenzo feel when facing this paper, as if he was facing a person, a real flesh-and-blood person, who was rambling on, slowly saying everything out loud.
Reaching into his coat, he took out an ostentatiously crafted iron box, filled neatly with cigarettes.
Picking up one with a red line painted on it, Lorenzo lit it up and looked at everything on the document.
Smoke filled the carriage, rising slowly.
Time seemed to slow down, as the substance in the tobacco spread to his nerves after blood exchange, a slight glow appeared in his gray-blue eyes.
It was as if the carriage entered another world, the window darkened, finally turning pitch black, with only the faint light from Lorenzo's cigarette remaining in this darkness.
"Let me see you..."
Lorenzo murmured, his fingers rubbing the rough paper, muttering the text on the document in his heart.
The so-called Word Spirit is simply understood as the manifestation of words, like the classic "God said, 'Let there be light,' and there was light."
That was a narrative from the bottom of the heart, so the "spirit" fermented in the darkness.
Lorenzo looked at the document under the glow, in this darkness a sudden wind sound arose, carrying the smell of fishy sea water, sweeping over him.
Something seemed to be approaching Lorenzo, it crawled on the ground slowly, making a sticky and nauseating sound, its eyes quietly gazing at this introspective man, stopping not far away.
A thunderbolt flashed, under the storm it lit up the darkness for a moment, shaking the earth and mountains.
Though just for a moment, it was enough to see, Lorenzo sat on a chair, head lowered in contemplation, zooming out one could see he was on the Silverfish.
The sea battered this almost sinking ship, strange cold wind caressed him, and in front of him, on the cracked and damp deck, stood a crowd of people.
As if all this didn't exist, Lorenzo coldly raised his head looking at the silhouette turned pale by the light of thunder, hair like seaweed swaying in the wind, seawater dripping like blood.
Lorenzo showed no fear, as if it was all too ordinary.
"Where did you all go?"
He questioned the bizarre darkness.
Disappearing crew, mysterious cargo. He was searching for the strangeness hidden between the lines, the thing truly propelling all this.
The fleeting thunderbolt was about to depart, just at the last moment of light, Lorenzo caught a hint of old blood scent.
That creature staring at him in the dark.
Suddenly turning his head, Lorenzo found it, that key point.
His gaze swiftly scanned over, there was a glimpse of something ferocious, but immediately that glimpse overlapped with a familiar face, the voice spoke.
"Mr. Holmes?"
The coachman opened the carriage door, looking at Lorenzo shrouded in smoke, his gaze vacant and hollow, as if seeing himself.
It wasn't until the cigarette ash burned Lorenzo's fingers that he awoke as if from a dream, discarding the cigarette butt.
With the coachman opening the door, that bizarre, dream-like everything ended.
The sky remained gloomy, the coachman's face showed a bit of disappointment.
"Sir, I thought you wouldn't touch hallucinogens or anything like that."
The Central Hospital of Victoria had been reached long ago, he had called Lorenzo many times without response, even when he opened the door, Lorenzo was still in that trance of illusion.
Though working for all the gang bosses, the coachman instinctively rejected hallucinogens, young people saw it as a key to the Celestial Kingdom, but he regarded it as an invitation to Hell instead.
"You have to know, sometimes doing my kind of work requires some inspiration."
Lorenzo smiled, not giving a direct answer.
The coachman stepped aside, still muttering as Lorenzo got out.
"If you need, I know a few good Addiction Recovery Experts... though they're somewhat rough in methods."
Out of courtesy, Lorenzo smiled and thanked the coachman for his concern, striding forward towards the hospital, grand like an ancient castle.