There are many lanes in the city of Catrice, especially the old town where the garrison headquarters is located, and the streets and alleys are interspersed with each other, forming a labyrinth.

Different from the orderly and noble stability of the high-end residential area north of the central square, the urban area in front of you seems a little chaotic. Initially, the area for the next exhibition was not planned at the time of construction, and the result was that the streets were filled with unorganized buildings.

Buildings and storefronts of different eras are mixed together, and mixed buildings and gang buildings are scattered and scattered. Together, these unorthodox objects assemble the most chaotic areas of the city, and the garrison headquarters is firmly embedded in the center of the area like a town stone.

And now, the path Curt walked into is one of them.

The path is not wide, and it can only fit four people walking side by side. The cement pavement has not been cleaned for a long time, and it looks potholed. The dirty corners are quite dirty, and dust, garbage, and dead rats are everywhere, making people reluctant to stay here too long.

There are only a few street lamps installed in the trail at a long distance, but it is hard to trust the lighting effect of the street lamps that either have broken lampshades or simply disappear. Maybe at night, you may lose your fingers in the path and be shrouded in darkness.

The walls of the alley are covered with graffiti, perhaps the product of the thugs' boredom and desire to show their "talents". I didn't expect that there would be such a security blind spot at the edge of the garrison headquarters, perhaps this is the so-called "too high street lights to illuminate the distance but not to the near place". The Cutrice garrison was too focused on what they considered "important" to ignore many minor issues.

Curt looked at the various garbage on the ground, and naturally walked away, without touching any dirt with his casual steps. He was accustomed to walking the city's paths, and the dirty roads were avoidable, but not so prohibitive.

If you walk through the backstreets for a while, you might get lost because of its intricate structure. But Curt was now just going to get to the place where he was arguing, so he just had to find the direction in the winding alley where the sound came from.

Compared to the deserted streets outside, these alleys are more lively - perhaps more lively.

At the foot of a broken street lamp, a few young men in strange costumes huddled together and whispered, and in a used bookstore that no one frequented, a tall, light-skinned woman yawned lazily. There was also a northerner selling dim sum pushing a cart and listlessly selling it through it.

These are the people who are supposed to be the inhabitants of the nearby mixed buildings, who are acting at their own pace as usual, and are deaf to the escalating dispute not far away. Perhaps for them, such disputes are also part of the scenery they see every day.

After a few minutes of walking, the source of the dispute appeared in front of Curt.

It was a dilapidated old house, which looked like it was originally only three floors, but a layer of shed-like things had been built on the roof, making the whole building look crooked. The exterior walls were originally covered with green and blue tiles, but the erosion of time has caused the tiles to peel off with little left.

Just around the corner from the alley to the old house, a woman stared at three men in the same cheap suits with a displeased look on her face. The timing of Curt's arrival was a little subtle, and judging from the appearance of the four, their dispute was over.

Curt's sudden appearance made the expressions of the four people present look a little surprised, and it was clear that they didn't think that this argument would attract the others. The woman had a surprised look on her face, and the three men standing across from her began to stare up and down Curt with alert eyes.

The woman who used to shout loudly was the one who used to do business in the back street of the Southwind Tavern, but today she was dressed a little differently than usual. Some old white dresses are paired with cheap plastic sandals, and if you don't know her, you might not know that she is a dusty woman.

When it came to knowing, Curt did know her, but he wasn't even familiar with her - he didn't even know her real name, except that he occasionally paid her for information. In fact, after she changed into a plain dress today, he almost didn't recognize her for a while.

The shorter of the three men looked at Curt warily, his hands in his bulging pockets. Judging by the size and shape of the bulging object, the thing in his pocket should have been a small civilian hand-held mechanic.

Even if it is only a civilian-level weapon, it is very painful to be hit by ordinary metal ammunition, and if it is hit by the vital point, ordinary people will definitely be killed. Therefore, even for civilian-grade mechanics, the Dominion has done a very strict job in regulating these weapons.

Despite this, there is always a way for the underground forces to get a weapon "that suits their level" from the black market, and all they need is money and a little strength. It is said that the largest underground forces have even obtained several elite groups in the Empire, which are the latest in the Empire.

The short man in the lead did not speak, but a fat man standing behind him muttered in a non-standard imperial Chinese to the court, "Who are you, northerners? This is not the territory of you bastards, what are you here for?"

Curt looked at the short man who didn't have an opening, he didn't look like a Dominion-born half-race Native, and he didn't look like an Imperial. He and the two behind him were of Slotic descent, with lighter eyes and light brown hair, and were thin and shorter than the Empire-born Curt.

All three appear to be of Slotic origin, though it is unknown if they belong directly to the largest mafia groups made up of Slots. But the three people in front of them have an ambiguous relationship with groups that have always used violence as a means of doing things.

It seems that because Curt's dark and dark eyes are very characteristic of northerners, the three people in front of him mistook him for an immigrant from the country on the North Big 6. This was no surprise, and Curt had been mistaken several times before, so he didn't really care.

What he cares about now is not a misidentification, but the unending sentence "This is not your territory".

Curt remembers hearing from François about the "Cartrice in the Dark" that the Castrice are now divided by the underground, with gangs from Laleña smuggling antiquities from all over the world, Yanita's thugs making a contraband known as "spices", and the most powerful Slotte mafia, making and selling contraband.

But he had not heard that the northerners had also established themselves in the underground forces of the Catrices. People living in the north, a country with completely different customs and empires, did not seem to like to be far from home, and only a few businessmen and travelers occasionally appeared in the eyes of people from other countries.

But they are not pursuing a policy of seclusion and seclusion, but rather that they are quite welcoming people from other countries to visit their hometowns. In the previous war that swept the old 6 semi-civilized worlds, they were not involved in it, but the news came that they had formed an alliance with several surrounding countries.

Thus, even if the Dominion of Osatalia is described by many as "a cauldron of race and culture", only a handful of northerners can be seen in Catlis, who have had to leave their homeland, compared to the other regions where the population is dominant.

"No, no, I'm not a northerner, I'm a native of the Empire. In order to explain, Curt said in fairly standard imperial Chinese, "As for not our territory or anything, I am not a member of any gang, so I really don't know anything about the sphere of influence or anything." ”

But the fat man who asked him seemed to take his kind explanation as a mockery, and shouted angrily at Curt, "Do you think we are fools? I don't care where you are from, and it doesn't matter which subordinate you are, hurry up and tell me honestly, what are you doing here?"

Looking at the menacing fat man, Curt had a headache.

In fact, if he wanted to defeat the three Slots, it would not be difficult, even if they had a machine in their hands, he was sure that he would be able to deal with them before they could take out their weapons. The problem is that what to do with the follow-up after beating them all down is the most troublesome.

That's why he hates to be a rival with gangsters who only bully unarmed ordinary people, especially when these people still have an overwhelming advantage over ordinary people.

If the opponent is an enemy with a little combat experience, then a little show of strength can let the opponent know that he is not an opponent and choose to retreat. But these over-confident thugs often don't know how to take care of themselves, and often cause some unexpected trouble.

"You're thinking too much, I'm just coming to her. Curt pointed to the woman who was standing still, unresponsive, "She and I have some small things to deal with. If you have something to do with her, I don't mind if you solve the problem and then talk to her about the problem between us. ”

The fat man obviously didn't believe Curt's statement, he slowly glanced back at the woman, and then quickly turned his head to stare at Curt, as if he wanted to say something to Curt. But before he could speak, he was stopped by a short man who was standing by watching the situation unfold.

The short man still didn't say anything, and after glancing at the fat man, he left without looking back. The fat man and the other man looked at each other and left after the short man. Before leaving, he didn't forget to glare at Curt and the overwhelmed woman fiercely.

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