The moment he opened his eyes, Lynch felt somewhat dazed.
Outside the window, daylight was already in full swing, the street corner alive with the clamor of voices and the neighing of horses.
Pinching his arm and kicking his legs, he finally confirmed he wasn't dreaming.
He truly had transmigrated, currently residing in an occult world reminiscent of the Victorian era.
Checking his pocket watch, it was surprisingly already twelve o'clock; he had slept straight through to noon.
It seemed using The Passion of the Blazing Lady at the very end had still placed an immense burden on his body.
Time to get up. He had to hurry—he still had an appointment with Officer Natalie, and after that, he needed to look for an apartment.
Quickly washing up, he rummaged through the cupboard and produced a chunk of dry bread. Though hard enough to serve as a weapon, it was at least white bread costing five pence a pound, rather than three-pence black bread with at least half its ingredients unknown.
Eating it probably won't kill me.
Gritting his teeth and shutting his eyes, he dipped the dry, barely swallowable bread into water and forced it down his gullet.
Aside from his teeth aching, he hardly felt like he had eaten anything at all.
Whatever. Tough times called for tough measures; he could treat it as experiencing the life of a medieval noble.
He had to return to living like a normal human being as soon as possible.
Facing the mirror, Lynch changed into his only formal suit and picked up his cheap old cane. “Very well, Travel Companion, let's go. Time to keep showing you around this new world.”
【Very well, Awakened.】
The gentle voice was as soothing as ever, falling silent right after speaking. Yet Lynch instantly felt revitalized. Pulling back the chair, he strode out of the apartment.
Only to nearly run into someone standing right outside the door.
Who is it?
It was a thin, withered middle-aged man in a suit, sporting a rat-like mustache. Lynch found him somewhat familiar; comparing him with the memories in his head, his expression turned rather bizarre.
Mr. Wilson Natch. His other identity: the landlord.
Lynch immediately glanced at the window behind him.
From the second floor, leaping out shouldn't break a leg, right?
“Lynch Levive, what is wrong with you? I heard you even brought the police to your door! And this door—are you trying to tear down the building? Hurry up and fix it later!”
“Nothing, nothing. Just a good citizen assisting the Hall of Order with an investigation. The issue has already been resolved.” Lynch gave a sheepish nod, asking with trepidation in his heart, “Mr. Wilson, your visit today is for...?”
“To collect the rent, of course! Do you expect me to wait around and beg?” Wilson's voice rose sharply.
“Today? Isn't it tomorrow?” Lynch glanced toward the window once more.
“Hmph, living like a pauper every single month! Would paying a day early kill you? You always have to drag it out until the very last day. No wonder no one ever steps foot into your pathetic excuse for an agency! Let me tell you, tomorrow, even if you're short by a single penny, it won't do! Don't blame me when I toss all your luggage out onto the street!”
Spite sprayed forth from the rat-mustached man's mouth almost tangibly. Lynch's mouth twitched, the veins on his forehead throbbing as he harbored a strong urge to kick the man right out.
Whatever. He had already made up his mind to move anyway.
“By the way, I came today because there's a letter for you. Someone stuffed it into my mailbox last night—who knows who.”
It was an ordinary envelope with Lynch's name written on it, without even a postage stamp. It was clearly hand-delivered rather than mailed.
Could it be a previous client sending over my fee?
Putting aside his irritation, Lynch took the envelope, shook his fist at Wilson's retreating back, and quickly tore it open.
No money.
Lynch let out a pained sigh. Drawing out the stationery within, he read through it, his expression darkening.
Mr. Lynch Levive:
Thank you for your splendid performance last night.
As your reward, please enjoy the final month of your life to your heart's content.
One month from now, I look forward to meeting you again in the Flicker's Hall.
There was no signature, only an eerie smiley face.
Lynch frowned, holding the paper up against the light. Since he wasn't truly a professional detective, he couldn't discern any clues from the paper.
Pursing his lips, he folded the letter and shoved it into his pocket, his earlier good mood now overcast with gloom.
A provocation?
Did this person have nothing better to do?
If they weren't just bored, it meant doing something this foolish definitely had a purpose—he just didn't know it yet.
No matter. With a month left, he could take his time figuring it out.
Lynch let out a cold smirk and tucked away the envelope as well. Only then did he take a deep breath, mustering up his enthusiasm once more as he departed the apartment.
It wasn't close to Barley Street, the address Natalie had given him; walking there would take at least an hour and expend a significant amount of stamina. After hesitating repeatedly, Lynch painfully made his decision.
He would walk.
After all, even the cheapest public carriage—the kind that seated twenty passengers—cost three pence for a five-kilometer trip.
As for the other two types of hired carriages, they were even pricier.
An enclosed hired carriage seated four people, with a base fare of twelve pence—one shilling—for the first three kilometers, and two pence per kilometer after that. Meanwhile, an open-top hired carriage seated two people, with a base fare of only eight pence and one penny per kilometer thereafter.
Since he couldn't even bear to spend money on a public carriage, a hired carriage was out of the question.
Gritting his teeth, Lynch set off. He would just treat it as taking the Travel Companion on a tour of Rhine City.
In truth, this was Lynch's first time appreciating this novelty of a world from a daylight perspective.
Breathing in the air tinged with a faint whiff of coal smoke and strolling among gentlemen and ladies in formal wear, Lynch felt himself gradually integrating into this bizarre new world.
The technological level here was at most eighteenth-century, with steam engines having entered people's lives only recently.
Farmland grew sparser while factories belching black smoke became more numerous. Wagons laden with coal and whale oil frequently rumbled down the streets, and freight-laden steam trains continually crisscrossed the city.
As the second largest city in the Kingdom of Lande, Rhine City boasted a population of one million and covered nearly a thousand square kilometers when including the suburbs. Following customs handed down from the feudal lord era three hundred years ago, the city was divided into twelve districts.
The Valley District, where Lynch's apartment was located, was a relatively well-developed commercial area. Assorted shops lined the streets, fully showcasing the era's freedom and unrestrained energy.
Quickening his pace, the noise and bustle of the commercial district gradually receded. Lynch passed through the Crown District in the heart of the city and entered the Grand Cross District, where railway tracks could be seen everywhere.
The train station was situated in this district; trains from all directions converged here, making the Grand Cross District exceptionally lively.
Wiping the soot-streaked sweat from his forehead, Lynch halted in the grand square not far from the train station.
His feet ached.
With a shrill shriek of its whistle, a steam locomotive trailing black smoke and white steam bolted out of the station like a ferocious iron beast, roaring off into the distance.
Brawny laborers shouldering crated cargo wove through the crowd, hurried travelers hauled suitcases along the streets, peddlers pushing carts shouted their wares from time to time, and scrawny newsboys ran along the street waving rolled-up newspapers.
“Extra, extra! Police raided a cultist lair last night—nine cultists dead on the scene!”
“Read all about it! Construction on the Bester Mountain Tunnel begins soon; hillmen secretly plot marches to halt the tunnel's construction!”
“Extra, extra! The kingdom has imported its first airship; Princess Sophia of the Rose family to embark on a multi-city tour aboard the airship...”
Lynch stood dazed for a moment. The transcendent powers of this new world might feel rather distant, yet the breath of everyday life had quietly settled around him.
Especially that sneaky lady in men's clothing on the street corner.
On a sunlit afternoon, holding a warm cup of coffee, queuing in a long line to buy a few fragrant honey biscuits, squeezing through the bustling crowd, furtively glancing around, taking a quick nibble of a biscuit when no one was looking, and sipping the hot coffee... such a life was simply...
“So even Officer Natalie sneaks away from work to buy snacks, huh?” Lynch caught up in a few quick strides.
Rustle! The paper bag of biscuits slipped from her hand and plummeted. Fortunately, Lynch was quick on his feet and caught it just in time. The rich, sweet aroma of honey was mouthwatering; no wonder this woman slacked off on duty just to stand in line and buy them.
Looking up, Lynch was about to hand the paper package back when he found the lady before him blushing bright red, her head practically puffing white steam like a locomotive. She stammered flusteredly, “I—I—I—I—I did not!”
“Huh?”
“T-t-that was... right, I have a friend! I bought them for him! T-they're not for me to eat!”
“Oh, I get it, I get it. The classic 'I have a friend.' Totally understandable. I also have a—ow!”
The red-faced female officer used the most effective method to shut down Lynch's teasing: stepping directly onto his foot. Seizing the opportunity, she snatched the biscuits back, stuffed them into her trench coat pocket, and gave a dry cough. Doing her best to cool her cheeks, she adopted a feigned sternness. “You arrived earlier than I expected. I thought you'd drag it out until evening before making your decision.”
“I originally wanted to find you earlier to help sell the ring so I could find a cheaper place to live. But right before stepping out, the landlord brought over a letter, deliberately dropped into his mailbox to avoid being traced.” For the sake of his personal safety, Lynch tried his best to banish the image of a little mouse stealing biscuits from his mind. “It seems to be a letter of provocation from Randall's master.”
“Hm? You're moving?” Officer Natalie nodded. “Never mind, follow me first. We'll talk inside; the club is just across the street.”
In an inconspicuous corner across the square stood a three-story building.
It was a very ordinary Victorian-style structure, its exterior walls covered in an intricate tangle of pipes. One could tell at a glance that it was a fifty-year-old building from before the era of gas lamps and steam power, which was why these exposed retrofitted pipes were present.
Above the doorway hung an unsightly sign painted with a scarecrow. The front doors were closed tight, yet mysterious figures dressed in trench coats and top hats, collars raised to obscure their faces, frequently walked in and out.
Stepping inside, a hallway stretched to the left and right, while directly ahead lay a hall with its doors wide open.
The hall was arranged like a bar, fairly spacious, with at least thirty or forty sets of tables and chairs scattered about and a circular bar counter in the center.
Although it was still afternoon, forty or fifty patrons were already seated inside. Most were gentlemen in formal suits; after all, this world had not yet reached an era where women frequented bars in great numbers.
Yet to Lynch's surprise, the atmosphere among these gentlemen was exceedingly heated. Most were gathered around the bar, agitated and shouting at the top of their lungs with an aggressive, confrontational stance, as if a bloodbath could erupt at any second.
Lynch glanced at Officer Natalie beside him, but the female officer appeared completely calm and composed, leading him toward the bar.
The layout of the bar carried a distinct eighteenth-century style. The difference was a hemispherical glass dome resting right in the middle of the counter, brightly lit inside so that one could clearly see miniature rockeries and similar arrangements.
Hanging overhead was a large blackboard inscribed with a detailed chart covered in all sorts of numbers. It looked remarkably professional, making Lynch feel as though he had walked into a primitive stock exchange.
Taking a closer look upon drawing nearer, the people crowding the bar weren't actually arguing. They were brandishing banknotes in their hands, desperately thrusting them toward the counter. Inside the bar, two handsome women dressed as bartenders were busy at work: one skillfully collected the bills, while the other even more adeptly chalked down a string of numbers onto the blackboard.
Is this really an early stock exchange? But it doesn't quite look like one.
Just as Lynch was puzzling over it, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something seem to move inside the glass dome.
What is that?
Rate on N.U.
