Steam Old Days: The Extraordinary Begins with a Corpse Collector

"Who are you!"

When Linden saw a burly man suddenly emerge from the darkness, he couldn't help but feel a little wary of him.

But the big man ignored Lyndon completely and walked straight up to the monster, muttering, "I've been studying psychomorphs for over twenty years, and this is the first time I've seen something like this."

The burly man reached out to touch the Nightmare, which was imprisoned by chains, but as soon as his fingers touched the Nightmare's body, a powerful shockwave suddenly erupted from within it.

The shockwave was so powerful that it sent the burly man flying several meters away, and even Linden was knocked to the ground, unable to stand up for a moment.

Immediately, the trapped nightmare let out a low growl, and the chains binding it tightened even more as if they had a mind of their own after being touched by the big man.

"It's amazing. The once extremely arrogant mental aberration is now like a horse with reins on."

The big man got up from the ground, clutching his chest, his face full of excitement.

"If humans could truly control these beasts, would that prove that humans can achieve a unity of matter and spirit? Would that mean humans could freely travel between the material and spiritual realms? Would that mean I could see Thea again...?"

Listening to the big man's mutterings, Lyndon struggled to sit up and asked him, enduring the sharp pain in his arm.

"Thea? You are... the Anvil Master?"

Upon hearing Lyndon call his name, the burly man walked up to Lyndon with a serious expression and looked down at him.

The anvil's eyes were as calm as a stagnant pool.

The look in his eyes made Lyndon feel a little afraid.

Just then, the anvil moved, and he reached out his hand to Lyndon.

Get up.

Lyndon was taken aback, then pulled the anvil's hand and stood up from the ground.

Lyndon, who had gotten up from the ground, observed the burly man in front of him.

The burly man was shirtless, revealing his muscular physique.

His chest was like a city wall, his pectoral muscles were frighteningly developed, like a rock that had been polished by time.

Those two strong arms were even more exaggerated, as if they had been hammered with an iron rod, with veins bulging and throbbing beneath the skin.

Every inch of the big man's muscles exuded a terrifying power capable of tearing steel apart.

Lyndon found it hard to reconcile this with the frail old man who had been sitting in the studio earlier.

After all, besides the difference in body shape, there are many other differences between the two.

The most typical example is that the big man in front of us has both arms completely intact.

Linden looked up at the anvil master, who was a head taller than him, and couldn't help but ask, "Master, why have you become so... muscular?"

The anvil clenched its fist, cracked its wrists, and proudly declared, "Because this is how I appear in the spiritual world!"

"So, the same person can be completely different in the real world and the mental world? And what determines this change?"

Lyndon was very quick-witted; he got the key to the question just from a single sentence from the anvil.

Anvil looked approvingly at Lyndon beside him and praised, "You are very smart. The difference between the two lies in the strength of one's spirit."

"A dwarf, no matter how weak he is in the real world, can be as powerful as a giant in the spiritual world as long as his mental strength is strong enough."

As he spoke, Iron Anvil bent his arm, squeezing out his biceps, which were as big as iron balls.

"Similarly, a mentally weak giant, no matter how domineering he may be in the real world, will become a fat and bloated giant baby once he enters the mental world."

"I see." Linden had barely uttered those words when he realized something was amiss. "Then why are you shirtless?"

Upon hearing this, Iron Anvil slowly walked up to Lyndon and struck another pose.

Don't you think I'm more attractive this way?

Looking at the anvil's blissful expression, Lyndon felt a sense of helplessness.

At this moment, the anvil pointed to the nightmare's towering body and exclaimed, "Look, this monster is so big, it's like a small mountain. Just think about how many lives it has devoured."

"How terrifying!" Iron Anvil's voice was deep yet powerful. He raised his hand and extended a finger. "And this is the key to fighting against mental techniques: the difference in mental strength."

Seeing the thirst for knowledge in Lyndon's eyes, Anvil unconsciously began to talk more and more.

He treated this strange space as his classroom and began to expound on the most wondrous spiritual doctrines in the occult.

"The so-called masters of mental arts," Anvil pointed to himself, then to Lyndon, and finally to Nightmare, "are masters at exploiting the vast gap in mental strength between themselves and their enemies, dragging the weak into a domain they control, where all power, weapons, and technology become meaningless."

"The only thing that can determine the outcome is whose mental strength is stronger."

"Use your strengths to attack the enemy's weaknesses. Transform the disadvantages in the real world into advantages in the spiritual world."

The anvil paused, then turned to look at the nightmare behind him, his gaze blazing as if it were burning with fire.

Looking at the silvery-white light surrounding the nightmare, Anvil suddenly said to Lyndon, "Tell me, what power did you gain from it? Don't lie to me, I can sense it."

Upon hearing this, Lyndon felt a chill run down his spine.

His view of the anvil changed again, and he suddenly realized that the people around him seemed to be difficult to deal with.

"Yes, I can weave dreams and then freely control the changes in those dreams."

Lyndon truthfully told the anvil about his abilities.

After all, he had nothing to hide.

The reason I came here is to confirm whether this ability will have any negative consequences, and if so, how I should deal with them.

"Interesting, interesting..." Anvil murmured to himself as he slowly approached Lyndon. The shadow cast by his tall figure made Lyndon feel a little nervous.

"I've heard Alastor tell your story. You were pulled into the dream world by a nightmare while taking a potion. The nightmare attacked you, and then you gained power."

Lyndon nodded, indicating that this was roughly the situation at the time.

"How much did you drink?" the anvil suddenly asked.

"I drank it all," Lyndon answered honestly.

Upon hearing Lyndon say he drank it all, the anvil emitted a nasal sound that was difficult to decipher.

He began to re-examine the imprisoned nightmare and the chains binding it.

Then, the anvil presented Lyndon with a general conjecture.

"Then it's very likely that you took a high-purity mental potion. In addition, the Nightmare was too weak at the time, or your own mental strength was strong enough. In short, through a series of coincidences, after the Nightmare invaded your body, it originally wanted to attach itself to your soul, but accidentally helped you share the impact of the mental potion. In the impact, it also temporarily lost its ability to move, which is why you can control it at will."

"Will it wake up again?" Lyndon asked.

The anvil whirled around, its face stern as it warned, "Of course! You'd stick your head in a machine that's just jammed because it's running?"

After warning Lyndon, Anvil crossed his arms and spoke bluntly, devoid of any emotion.

"Have you ever used this power?"

When confronted with the question about the anvil, Lyndon admitted it.

"I've used it several times."

"Is there any reaction?"

Lyndon shook his head: "I didn't have much of a reaction, except I was a little tired."

The anvil's voice suddenly rose: "Don't use it again! Every time you use this power, it's like using nightmares to digest a bit of the potion."

"The potion is constantly being digested, but the nightmare suffers no damage. When the potion is almost completely digested, the nightmare will awaken again."

"Look!" The anvil didn't directly touch the chains, but merely felt around in the air from a distance. "I can feel that the chains binding this beast are slowly disappearing. You don't have much time left; you must make a choice."

"What choice?"

Lyndon asked cautiously.

The anvil looked at him with pity, as if he were looking at a hapless man who was about to die.

"A choice that allows you to survive."

The anvil's tall body leaned forward slightly, offering Lyndon a few options.

"I can help you completely get rid of the nightmare, but you will become a normal person again as a result."

"You can also choose not to, then you can only suppress the nightmare by drinking magic potions, but even so, there is still a chance that the nightmare will wake up and kill you."

After hearing the two proposals from the anvil, Lyndon's expression turned grave.

"It sounds like I only have the first option left."

Lyndon thought for a moment, then asked a question that would change his life forever.

"Isn't there a third option?"