The End of the First Age

Lynch hopped off the rental carriage at Charles Square, clutching his heavy briefcase.

Inside were books borrowed from the Church of the Black Night.

The price of books in this world had plummeted since the arrival of the steam age, but at one or two pounds a volume, Lynch had fled the bookstore immediately. Meanwhile, the libraries of higher education institutions were not open to the public, making borrowing books a genuine challenge.

No wonder education costs were so high; Mrs. Maggie worked incredibly hard to put little Martha through school.

Sighing as he jumped back to the ground, Lynch tossed the driver a half-shilling coin. Since the coachman had helped load the heavy case, Lynch tipped him accordingly.

A generous tip of a whole penny.

Feeling self-satisfied with his own generosity, he walked across the square toward number 221.

It was a rare early homecoming, and the square was already bustling. A group of local housewives had occupied every stall, picking through goods, haggling, and then erupting into heated arguments—a true slice of common life.

He thought back to his life since transmigrating; he had been running for his life every day, always thinking he would enjoy life properly once he solved his problems.

But what was life? Bars, theaters, fine wine, and gourmet food? Those were only a part of it. This mundane, bustling atmosphere was life as well.

In truth, he had been living it every day; he just hadn't tried to enjoy it.

From the stall of a sour-faced, mean-spirited old woman, he spent five pennies on a few honey cookies and the same amount again on a full pound of soft white bread. The prices for sweets in this world were truly unfriendly.

Lynch tasted a small piece. It was cloyingly sweet, and he couldn't imagine why anyone loved it. Never mind, he would use it to accompany black tea when someone came over in the evening—consider it a way to put the waste to good use.

Carefully wrapping up the 'waste,' he went to the grocery stall of a man in a top hat to buy a lighter. Lighters did not sell well; the people of Lande preferred pipes, and lighters were far less practical than matches. It was the neighboring Kingdom of Friedman that loved cigars and cigarettes.

Although Lynch did not like smoking, he might need one while investigating events. After his experience last night of nearly being paralyzed by fright from a mere top hat in the dark, he wanted to avoid such situations.

It cost three shillings. Even such simple machinery was expensive. Lynch sighed and, after a moment of reluctance, handed over the coins just as he heard a commotion.

Looking up, he saw several blue uniforms and a group of gray uniforms crossing the square, heading toward another small building on the edge of the plaza.

It was a dilapidated structure. Every time Lynch saw it, he suspected it would collapse the next day, but it was said to have held up for ten years already, and it looked like it intended to keep going.

Because there were still residents inside—dozens of people from over a dozen families, living in cramped conditions. As soon as the gray uniforms approached, many people poured out, and a fierce argument erupted between the two sides.

Lynch tried to ignite his lighter while pointing at the commotion, offering an inquiring look.

The man in the top hat rolled his eyes and said impatiently, "Buy your things and get moving. Why ask so many questions?"

What was wrong with these people?

Lynch sighed again and explained, "I'll be living at 221 for a long time, so I should at least know what's happening with the neighbors."

"Hm? You're also on Villa Avenue? A tenant of the Hudsons?"

The man in the top hat looked Lynch up and down, his attitude softening considerably.

"Report your identity before buying things in the future. Otherwise, who knows who you are?"

With that, the man tossed back a shilling and explained, "That's the Hall of Crafts. They say they're inspecting dangerous buildings."

"Isn't that a good thing? That building really does look dangerous."

"And after they declare it a dangerous building? The city hall won't pay for repairs, and they don't have the money to fix it themselves, so it has to be forcibly demolished. Where are all those people supposed to go after it's torn down? To sleep under the Lande Bridge?" The man snorted. "They don't care whether the people in the Crown District live or die. Back then, those wealthy lords used land purchase orders to scare and swindle away our farmland, promising fixed salaries in factories and city housing. They said to live here first, and in a few years, we'd have the money to move to a better district. Now, some people have been living here for over thirty years, and they're still stuck here."

Tsk, so this world has an enclosure movement too. That made sense; it was just that kind of era.

Lynch shook his head. These messy affairs were a bit off-putting and killed his interest in browsing further. Carrying his heavy briefcase, he opened the door to 221.

As he opened the door... he stood frozen for a few seconds before stepping back and closing it again.

Gripping the doorknob, his face burned and his heart raced. Only one question filled his mind: why was there a blonde young woman in there with half-wet clothes? Reopening the door should reset the scene, right?

Before he could finish his self-amusement, Mrs. Hudson pulled the door open and dragged him inside. "Come help quickly! The water pipe is spraying water."

But I don't know how to fix water pipes either.

Although he thought this, Lynch dropped his precious book case and ran into the kitchen.

Fortunately, it was just a loose screw thread. Tightening it restored things to normal, though Lynch noticed that as this was the old district, even if this apartment was relatively new and well-maintained, the pipes were already rusted. He hoped they would last a few more years.

"Thank you, thank you so much, Mr. Levive. It's a good thing you were here."

Mrs. Maggie Hudson finally relaxed, gripping Lynch's hand and thanking him profusely. She had not yet realized that the critical issue had already been exposed.

"Here." Lynch realized his brain was steaming, his intelligence plummeting, and he no longer knew what he was doing. He woodenly handed over the white bread he had bought as a gesture of goodwill, swallowed hard, and said foolishly, "Uh, ma'am, shouldn't you go change your clothes first?"

The air went silent for a few seconds before a sharp shriek nearly shattered Lynch's eardrums. The blonde woman's eyes turned red, she covered her chest with both hands, and she sprinted toward the bedroom on the first floor, the long cry trailing behind her until the bedroom door cut it off.

Ugh, should I not have reminded her?

Lynch scratched his head helplessly, his emotional intelligence from his previous life laid bare.

【Pfft.】

'Hm? Ms. Luna, that's not right. How can you be peeking through the window to watch the neighbors' misfortune? Even if I know I acted a bit stupid, shouldn't you have actively looked away?'

【I will accompany you and witness every piece of scenery along your journey.】

'It's not very appropriate to use that as an excuse right now.'

Silence.

'It's no use not answering. I know you're always there.'

Still silence.

Rolling his eyes, Lynch sullenly took his case and fled back to the second floor, lest things get even more awkward.

Locking the door cautiously, he changed into a clean shirt while his mind wandered. He took out the odds and ends from his pockets, tossed them on the coffee table, hung up his wet clothes, and only then did he heave a sigh of relief and throw himself onto the sofa.

Not having to be a corporate slave and having a show to watch—this life was truly comfortable.

Sighing inwardly, Lynch yawned and, under the warm sunlight, opened the theological book he had borrowed.

At the end of the First Age, the Dreamlands swallowed the present world, and celestial omens appeared.

The end of the world had arrived.

The Holy Spirits, with their most sacred hearts, spared no effort even as their divine bodies shattered and their divine consciousness fell, gathering the power of the Holy Spirits to return the Dreamlands to their original place.

Holy, the most sacred heart, holy.