Among these, there are also gang reasons. The interests of the black market are limited to these. For these industries, gang members engage in conflicts in the Lower City District every day, resulting in deaths every day. Their bodies are dumped into the Thames River, and after passing through the steam hub's filtration, the bodies are incinerated along with debris.
It's not that no one remembers Lorenzo, it's just that they die too quickly.
The gleaming knife flickered chaotically before Lorenzo's eyes. Just as he was contemplating how to deal with these reckless thugs, the urgent sound of hooves echoed. A pitch-black carriage halted by the street, and the coachman, seeing the situation, unabashedly drew out a gun and fired at the thugs.
He truly didn't hold back. After a few gunshots, the corpses of the thugs lay before Lorenzo, and the street's people fled in panic due to the gunfire, leaving only him and the coachman on the empty street.
"Mr. Holmes?"
Perhaps due to his age, he couldn't see Lorenzo clearly, but the gunshots were so accurate, making it hard to judge this coachman.
"It's me."
Glancing at the insignia on the carriage, Lorenzo did not hesitate to get in, only he didn't enter the carriage but sat with the coachman at the front.
"What was with those people?"
Looking at the bodies on the ground, Lorenzo wore an expression of disgust.
"Stowaways. Recently, there's been a surge of stowaways. Most of them are criminals who think they can start anew in Old Dunling, but they don't know that to begin a new life, they must say goodbye to their past... They still have a thug mindset, thus causing quite a bit of trouble lately."
The coachman flicked the whip, and the carriage started moving slowly along the muddy road.
"Doesn't Bola manage these issues?"
"The lord has been busy recently. Two gangs are about to go to war over territorial disputes. The lord has been mediating because those gangs own significant enterprises. The lord doesn't care whether they win or lose, but their disputes will inevitably affect those enterprises. Their lives aren't that valuable yet."
"Hmm... sounds like his style," Lorenzo said, nodding.
"By the way, Mr. Holmes, if you're visiting next time, please let us know in advance. I can pick you up to avoid unnecessary conflicts."
The coachman added, as considerate as a butler.
Lorenzo nodded and didn't speak. Although it wasn't long after boarding, he had apparently reached his destination.
Amidst layers of dilapidated buildings stood a hidden castle, constructed of piles of rubble, adorned with tattered banners and iron frames, like a piece of art.
As he approached the eerie castle, the half-ajar door opened directly for him, revealing the true face of the Lower City District.
Unlike the desolation outside, the interior was as opulent as the Inner City District, as if passing from the slums straight into the Platinum Palace.
It was already late October, the weather turning cooler, but upon entering, Lorenzo felt a wave of heat, not just physically but also internally.
The space inside appeared much larger than it seemed from outside, with various expensive paintings hanging on pale golden walls. The floor was marble that reflected shadows, and servers with ornate masks carried trays, delivering drinks to various gambling tables.
A distant female voice sang from a central high platform, stirring the entire casino's atmosphere.
All around, delicate iron cages burned incense, with a pleasant fragrance that carried traces of stimulants, prompting hesitant patrons to wager all their chips.
This was the true face of the Lower City District, a place of revelry and excess.
Unlike the Inner City District, this place was unsupervised, becoming a haven for many nobles to dispose of stolen goods. They seemed to gamble but were actually transferring wealth through another channel. The volume of secret monetary transactions here daily was an unimaginable sum for ordinary people. Of course, many thrill-seeking nobles also frequented this place, regarded as esteemed guests of the Lower City District.
Bola had once told him about these things. According to Ingwig's laws, the crimes of everyone here were enough for a lifetime in prison. Consequently, at least one-third of Old Dunling's noble class would be gone.
Nobody stopped Lorenzo. Unlike those short-lived outsiders, the people here lived long lives, well aware of who Lorenzo was.
Pushing through iron gates one after another, Lorenzo easily reached the deepest part of the underground, where he met the employer for this transaction.
The man wore an exquisite silver mask, carved with thorns and birds. Sitting behind an oak table, the room was filled with incense, and the gramophone gently flowed with music. His eyes closed, he waved his hands like a conductor, until Lorenzo's arrival shattered the world he was immersed in.
"Welcome! My friend!"
He saw Lorenzo and welcomed him with a smile.
This was the true ruler of the Lower City District, to whom all gangs bowed, Bola.
Butcherbird Bola.
Lorenzo sat down across from him unabashedly and, with no pleasantries, spoke directly.
"There was nothing on that man, and before he died, he behaved like a madman. Nothing could be asked, and there were no clues to trace."
"Oh? Is that really the case?" Bola took out a wine glass from under the table and poured his favorite wine. "Lorenzo, you're the best detective I've ever known. Surely, you've discovered more than that, right?"
Listening to Bola's words, Lorenzo sighed helplessly.