Steam Old Days: The Extraordinary Begins with a Corpse Collector

"Three gold pounds and five shillings, which is thirty-five shillings, means that two people can get seventeen shillings and five pence."

After leaving Alastor's pawn shop, Lyndon headed in the direction of his home.

On the way, he looked at the three banknotes and five silver coins in his hand, and had already calculated in his mind how much each of them would get.

From this perspective, the money that was fined doesn't seem so important.

Lyndon held a gold pound to his nose and gently sniffed the ink on it.

Besides the smell of ink, he also smelled other odors.

There was a cooked lamb leg, seasoned with pepper and salt.

Oysters with sweet and juicy flesh and a tender texture.

It's also made entirely of malt, with a smooth, creamy beer flavor.

Damn little scraps of paper! No wonder those rich people are collecting you like crazy!

……

32 Shizijie (Cross Street).

It was a cheap apartment specifically for workers.

This narrow building looks as if it is sandwiched between two other buildings.

Most of the plaster had peeled off, revealing the cheap red bricks underneath.

Several pipes extended upwards along the wall and then branched off to lead to various rooms.

A wooden sign hangs on the apartment door, which reads:

"There are vacant rooms available; those interested can discuss further."

Linden glanced at it, pushed open the door, and walked straight in.

"Do you know how hard it is to find a carpenter these days! You idiot, don't you have eyes?!"

As soon as Lyndon entered, he heard Mr. Mishiel cursing.

His landlord had a bad temper and often argued with his tenants over trivial matters.

However, because his rent was so cheap compared to other apartments, most tenants tolerated it.

What's more, there's gas and hot water here!

Normally, if Lyndon saw Mr. Mishiel get angry, he would probably find a place to hide for a while and wait for him to leave before going.

After a busy night, Lyndon was exhausted. He had to go to work in the afternoon, so he had to face the angry Mr. Michael head-on.

As he climbed the stairs, Lyndon immediately noticed a large hole in the fifth step.

It looks like it was damaged by something.

No wonder Mr. Michel was so angry today.

"If I find out again, you're getting out of my apartment! I'd love to fill that hole with your head!"

Boom boom boom!

A series of heavy footsteps sounded.

Then it stopped at the top of the stairs.

When Lyndon looked up, he saw Mr. Michael standing at the top of the stairs, looking down at him.

Today, Mr. Michel was wearing a black suit. Although his suit was a little worn, he still looked proper and dignified.

Even the leather shoes on his feet were polished to a gleaming shine.

Because he had just lost his temper, the redness on his face hadn't faded yet.

Standing at the top of the stairs, blocking Lyndon's way, Mr. Michal elegantly twirled his well-groomed mustache with his fingertips.

Every single hair on his beard was neatly combed, clearly showing that a lot of thought and effort had been put into it.

"Ah~ the former college student is back."

Michel said in the most cutting tone.

He knew about Lyndon's past, and whenever he was in a bad mood, he would use that nickname to mock Lyndon.

"Mr. Michael, you're up very early today."

Lyndon remained calm, gave a brief greeting to Mr. Mihir, and continued walking upstairs.

"Wait a minute."

Mihir took a step to the left; his large build, though small, blocked Lyndon's path.

"Is there something you need, Mr. Michael?"

"Mr. Copperfield, when do you plan to pay next month's rent?"

"Next month, of course, sir."

"Yes, but it's almost the end of the month, and I hope you can pay me the rent in advance."

Mr. Michel raised his head, like a proud rooster, displaying a strong sense of aggression.

Linden knew he was in a bad mood today, and that asking for the room fee in advance was just him looking for trouble.

Lyndon chuckled as he looked at Michel's outstretched hand.

He took out the gold pounds he had exchanged at the pawnshop that morning from his pocket.

A dark green banknote landed on Michael's thick palm, along with five silver coins.

The silver coins clinked together with a crisp sound.

Michel's smile froze instantly, his eyes fixed on the money in his hand, as if trying to see a hole through it.

The words he had prepared to use to mock Lyndon now stuck in his chest, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly, but he couldn't utter a single word.

It's almost the end of the month, where will Linden get the extra money to pay the rent?

Mihir roared inwardly, feeling as if his pride had been thrown to the ground and trampled on.

"Pay in advance, as you wish." Lyndon yawned and stretched. "Please forgive me, sir, I've been working all night and really need to rest. I hope you won't mind if I go back to my room."

After saying that, Lyndon squeezed past Michael and nudged him with his shoulder.

Mihir almost lost his footing from the impact.

He looked up at Lin Deng's retreating figure as he went upstairs, then glanced at the money clutched in his hand.

"Are body collectors making this much money now?"

……

"Phew! That feels so good!"

Lyndon went to the water room in the backyard, filled a bucket halfway with water, returned to his room, took off his clothes, washed himself clean, and changed into a clean, loose set of clothes.

He pounced on the bed, letting out a sound of pleasure.

Even though it was just a creaky, narrow wooden bed beneath him, it still made him sleepy.

Before falling asleep, Lyndon pondered his future plans again.

Making money this time by sheer luck doesn't mean it will always be like this.

"Being a corpse collector is not a long-term solution. I will definitely have to change jobs and move up in the future."

He was exceptionally clear-headed. In this perilous world, making money was just a stepping stone; the most important thing was to be extraordinary.

This time he managed to kill a ghoul and get its fangs to exchange for money, but what about next time?

No one can have good luck all the time.

Without sufficient strength, everything is just empty talk.

Lyndon's consciousness sank into his mind, and the ancient parchment book appeared silently once again.

The pages turned automatically, and the text gradually appeared.

Name: Lyndon Copperfield

Current Occupation: Corpse Collector LV.3 (9/300)

[Existing Skills: Robust Physique (Passive), Corpse Collection Technique (Active), Overclocked Senses (Passive)]

"I have to think of other ways."

Lyndon rubbed his nose wearily.

To upgrade the corpse collector's professional level, the only way is to collect and process corpses, but that's too slow.

Unless we can handle the corpses of the aliens, just like we do today.

Lyndon thought of a type of person—the Witcher.

A group of hunters who earn bounties by hunting down alien species.

Furthermore, there are rumors that they possess a special method that allows them to gain extraordinary power without relying on the church's blessings.

This idea was like a match struck in the dark, illuminating a direction for Lyndon.

Ordinary people who want to achieve extraordinary things need to offer money and faith to the church in order to receive divine blessings and thus gain power.

It was obvious that Lyndon did not have the qualifications; the exorbitant membership fee alone shut him out.

Therefore, the Witcher is his only chance to come into contact with the extraordinary.

This is also the best cover for his identity as he unlocks his next career.

Those who know the Witchers best are the black market dealers.

"It seems we can't easily let go of that connection with Alastor."

Lyndon rolled over and covered his head with the blanket.

Horse-drawn carriages came and went outside the window, their hooves and wheels rolling over the stone-paved road.

Newsboys began hawking the freshly printed newspapers.

A series of hurried footsteps could be heard upstairs; it must be other tenants going to work.

But this noise actually became the best white noise for Lyndon to fall asleep.

Outside, the city was shrouded in fog, a hazy gray.