Frank stepped out into the back alley, his eyes scanning the grimy walls and overflowing dumpsters. The narrow passage reeked of rotting food and stale urine, but he pushed past the stench, searching for any clues that might shed light on the mysterious death inside.

He poked through piles of discarded boxes and peered behind rusty fire escapes, but found nothing out of the ordinary. Frustrated, he made his way back to the bustling street, where vendors hawked their wares from colorful stalls lining the sidewalk.

Frank approached the first vendor, a middle-aged man selling steaming bowls of noodles. "Excuse me, have you noticed anything strange happening around here lately?"

The man's eyes darted nervously before he shook his head and turned away, busying himself with his pots.

Undeterred, Frank moved on to the next stall. A young woman selling fruit gave him the same treatment—a quick shake of the head and sudden interest in rearranging her display.

By the third vendor, Frank's patience was wearing thin. The elderly man selling newspapers barely looked up as he mumbled a curt "No" to Frank's inquiry.

Alan sidled up beside him, his voice low. "Frank, I don't think we're gonna get anywhere like this, man. They all seem scared to talk."

Frank nodded, frustration etched on his face. He glanced at Ollie, an idea forming. "Hey, Ollie, think you can put on that innocent act of yours again? Maybe they'll open up to someone who looks… like a boy."

Ollie grinned, his demeanor instantly shifting to that of a wide-eyed, curious youngster. He bounced over to the next stall, where an older woman was arranging vibrant flowers in buckets.

"Auntie, auntie, excuse me" Ollie chirped, his voice high and eager. "I'm new around here, and I was wondering if anything has happened lately. Can auntie gossiped with me for a bit?"

The flower vendor looked up, her weathered face softening at Ollie's youthful enthusiasm.

Frank and Alan from a few steps away instantly cringed at the sight. The memory of Ollie smiling while fighting the death knight still loomed in his mind. It was two vastly different people.

Ollie came back from talking to the aunt. "Well, I can tell you right now, it's not looking good. Lots of them are apparently scared. There's some small explosions and random people dying of heart attacks. Everyone is thinking the district is haunted. That's basically all I could get. There's something also about the government and police officers to keep their mouth shut about the incidents."

There was definitely a connection between what was happening with the general public to what was happening in Aur, Frank thought. However, it was all too random. It was certain that it was the same red silhouette causing everything, but what would the reason be for such erratic behaviour.

Frank followed Alan's gaze down the bustling street, his eyes narrowed as he spotted the group of foreigners. They stood out like sore thumbs among the sea of local faces, their pale skin and sharp features a stark contrast to the crowd around them.

Alan tugged at Frank's sleeve, his voice low and urgent. "Frank, you see those guys? I feel somethin' from them, maaan."

Frank nodded, studying the strangers more closely. They moved with a practiced ease, their eyes constantly scanning their surroundings. Despite their casual attire, there was a tension in their postures.

Ollie leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper. "They're European, probably Dragoons. Don't let their appearance fool you—they're armed to the teeth. One moment they're dressed like civvies, the next instant they're in full armor."

Frank raised an eyebrow. "Dragoons? Here?"

"United Knights faction," Ollie explained quickly. "They're not supposed to be operating in this area. Something big must be going down."

Alan's eyes lit up with a mix of excitement and paranoia. "You think we gotta follow'em, Frank?"

Frank hesitated for a moment, weighing their options. The Dragoons could lead them to valuable information, but tailing them could also be incredibly dangerous. After a beat, he nodded. "Alright, but we keep our distance. No heroics, got it?"

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They melted into the crowd, weaving through the crowd of people as they tracked the Dragoons. Frank kept his eyes fixed on the back of the tallest one, a broad-shouldered man with close-cropped blonde hair. He was the easiest one to see from the crowd.

The streets were a cacophony of sights, sounds, and smells. Vendors shouted their wares, cars weaved dangerously through traffic, and the aroma of food filled the air. But Frank tuned it all out, his focus laser-sharp on their targets.

Ollie moved with surprising grace, effortlessly slipping between pedestrians with his smaller figure without losing sight of the Dragoons. Alan, on the other hand, was less subtle, muttering apologies as he bumped into people.

"Keep it together, Alan," Frank hissed, pulling his partner closer. "We can't afford to draw attention."

They followed the Dragoons for several blocks, watching as the group turned down a narrow side street. Frank's heart rate quickened as they approached the corner. The men they were following had disappeared from their sight.

A hand laid itself on Frank's shoulder. Beside him, the tall close-cropped blonde man

"Now, what do we have here? A bunch of business men, I suppose?" The blonde man said, looking at Ollie with half closed eyes.

Frank tensed as the blonde man's hand gripped his shoulder. Ollie, however, seemed unfazed by the sudden confrontation.

"Well, well," Ollie sneered with a half baked british accent. "What's a metal tin can doing walking around in Jiuling territory?"

The blonde European's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching at the insult. "That's none of your business," he growled, his accent thick and guttural. "What is our business, however, is why you lot are following us."

Frank took a deep breath, deciding to take control of the situation before it escalated further.

"The name's Frank," he said, deciding to take control of the situation before it escalated any further. "We're just looking for more clues about what's happening with dust. Honestly, we were just curious to see what Dragoons are doing here."

He held up his hands in a placating gesture, hoping to diffuse the tension. "There doesn't need to be any trouble if you let us go here."

The blonde man's grip on Frank's shoulder loosened slightly, but his eyes remained suspicious as they darted between Frank, Alan, and Ollie.

"Frank, I think I might have heard that name before. You can call me Cromwell by the way." He paused for a minute before continuing, "Ah, now I remember. You're the extraordinary detective."

"I didn't know I was that popular, hehe," Frank forced a chuckle.

"Oh you should be more self aware, Frank. Some of your mundane cases solved quite a lot of annoyances for Aur." Cromwell turned his eyes to Frank and put on a smile devoid of emotion, "However, I might add that it doesn't give you the right to follow us, you see."

"Look buddy, we can leave here and not follow you again. It was just curiosity and I'm not willing to let that curiosity kill me this time." Frank said it the best he can without trembling.

Cromwell's gripped loosened even further. "Oh but we're here now, we might as well make something out of it. We've finally met the extraordinary detective, right lads?"

The 3 other men surrounding us, smiled and nodded affirmatively at Cromwell's question.

"Now how about we talk inside our hotel?" said Cromwell.

Frank felt a chill run down his spine as he realized Cromwell's question wasn't really a question at all. It was a thinly veiled order, and with four Dragoons against Ollie, the odds were stacked against them. He glanced at Alan and Ollie, seeing the same realization dawning on their faces.

With no other choice, they fell in step with the Dragoons, heading back towards their hotel. The bustling streets of Guangzhou seemed to fade into the background as Frank's mind raced, trying to figure out their next move.

Cromwell, walking beside Frank, broke the tense silence. "You know, Frank, we're not here to cause trouble with the Jiuling. We've got our own problems to deal with."

Frank raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued despite the situation. "What problems?"

Cromwell's face darkened, yet his smile stayed on his expression. "We bought a batch of dust from the Jiuling. It was a bad batch. An entire squad of Dragoons died in a rift, can you believe it?."

The revelation hit Frank like a punch to the gut. He had been reminded of what Marcus said about a bad batch a year ago.

"They were gone just like that. And the rift cracked open. A few civilians got hurt as well. We know the Jiuling are generally trustworthy, so we're thinking it's the work of a rotten individual. That's who we're tracking down." Cromwell said.

Frank's eyebrows shot up as they approached the hotel. The dingy façade and flickering neon sign were a far cry from what he'd expected for a group of Dragoons.

As they climbed the creaky stairs, Frank caught Alan's eye. His partner's face mirrored his own surprise and unease. Ollie, on the other hand, maintained his usual air of nonchalance.

Cromwell led them down a dimly lit hallway, the carpet beneath their feet worn and stained. He stopped in front of a door near the end, fishing a key from his pocket.

"Welcome to our humble abode," Cromwell said, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he pushed the door open.

The stench hit them first—a sickly-sweet odor that made Frank's stomach churn. As they filed into the room, the source of the smell became horrifyingly clear.

Two figures lay sprawled on the floor, their lifeless eyes staring blankly at the cracked ceiling. The room was eerily still, with no signs of a struggle or any attempt at resistance. Frank's gaze lingered on the bodies, taking in every gruesome detail. He could see Alan's face pale as he too surveyed the scene. Ollie, however, remained stoic, his eyes scanning the room with a cold detachment.

Cromwell froze, his body going rigid. In an instant, his demeanor changed completely. The cool, collected façade crumbled, replaced by raw, unbridled fury.