Steam Old Days: The Extraordinary Begins with a Corpse Collector

Lyndon had no idea how he got to the door of Alastor's pawn shop.

When he came out of that alley, he had lost all feeling in his right arm.

Blood trickled down the sleeve, leaving a broken red line on the stone slab.

He looked at the tightly closed door in front of him and raised his hand to knock.

Boom!Boom!Boom!

The sound of a hand slapping against the door panel was dull.

Lyndon waited for a long time, but there was no response from inside.

He knocked a few more times, this time with even more force.

The door was pounded so hard it was shaking; you'd think it was about to be torn down.

Finally, the door opened.

As soon as the door opened, Alastor's curses came through the crack in the door.

"Damn it! Don't you know what time it is?! Oh? Mr. Copperfield?"

Alastor wore a silk nightgown with a soft feel and a sky-blue triangular nightcap on her head.

He was yawning and looked listless, as if he had just been woken up by Lyndon's knocking.

Alastor held a kerosene lamp in his hand, and his monocle wasn't even on his face.

With dazed eyes, she looked toward the doorway and saw a person standing in the shadows.

He rubbed his eyes and then took his monocle out of his pajama pocket.

Alastor didn't put them on; he simply used his hand as a support to hold the glasses in front of his right eye.

Now he can see what's in front of him clearly.

Alastor looked closely and realized that the person standing in front of his door was actually Lyndon.

His eyes cleared at that moment.

What's wrong with you?

"Alastor said in disbelief."

"Let me in first."

"Linden said in a hoarse voice."

He ignored Alastor's reaction, pushed Alastor aside, and barged into the store.

As soon as he entered the pawnshop, Lyndon collapsed to the ground, unable to support himself.

Alastor closed the door, walked to the gaslight, and turned the knob.

A flame flickered out from inside the lampshade, emitting a warm yellow light that illuminated a corner of the store.

The light fell on Lyndon, who was lying on the ground.

Only then did Alastor see Lyndon's wounds clearly.

Blood had stained half of Lyndon's clothes.

Especially his right arm, where a large chunk of flesh had been missing.

The cut was clean and smooth, as if it had been made by a skilled butcher.

"You fucking bastard!" Alastor cursed, unable to contain himself as he looked at Lyndon's miserable state. "Do you really have to cause me trouble?"

Alastor checked Lyndon's breath with his finger.

Lyndon's breathing was already very weak.

Without hesitation, Alastor grabbed Lyndon by the collar and dragged him into the counter, then opened a small door on the side and dragged him into his own bedroom.

After carrying Lyndon to his bed, Alastor began rummaging through the wooden cabinet in the room.

He opened a hidden compartment inside the wooden cabinet.

Inside the hidden compartment was a metal box made of alloy.

Alastor opened the box and took out two thin glass tubes.

The glass tube contained a green liquid that shimmered under the light.

Then, Alastor brought over a basin of clean water and carefully wiped Lyndon's wound on his right arm with a towel to make sure there were no other impurities left inside.

After cleaning, Alastor poured the liquid from the glass tube onto the wound on Lyndon's right arm.

The moment the liquid comes into contact with flesh and blood is like throwing a red-hot piece of charcoal into water.

The wound reacted violently.

Every muscle in my right arm seemed to come alive.

Blood vessels began to grow, and granulation tissue emerged from the wound, densely packed, like countless tiny worms spreading.

Lyndon's right arm is recovering at a visible rate.

Alastor picked up another glass bottle, pried open Lyndon's jaw with his fingers, and fed Lyndon the green liquid.

After drinking the medicine, Lyndon suddenly started coughing, and soon he vomited a large amount of thick, sticky blood.

After spitting out the blood, Lyndon's complexion improved considerably.

Some color could be faintly seen in the skin.

Alastor frowned and wiped away the blood that Lyndon had vomited.

He tossed the towel into the basin, then walked to the desk next to him and pulled a piece of paper from a book.

Alastor picked up a quill, dipped it in ink, and leaned over the table to write something.

About half an hour later, the clock in the shop struck five times heavily.

It was already 5 a.m.

Lyndon gradually began to respond after taking the medicine.

He struggled to open his eyes and looked blankly at the unfamiliar surroundings.

"Where is this?"

"This is my shop, and you're sleeping in my bed."

Alastor's voice drifted over from the side; he was still sitting at the table, his back to Lyndon, writing something in his hand.

Lyndon felt sore all over, as if he had been trampled by a dozen elephants.

He forced himself to sit up and looked at his right arm.

The injury on my right arm is no longer as gruesome as before.

A layer of pale pink skin grew over the wound, like the skin of a newborn, delicate and wrinkled.

"Thanks……"

Lyndon looked at Alastor at the table and said sincerely.

He figured it must have been Alastor who saved him.

"I only did this for the mid-tier mutant in your possession," Alastor said.

After writing the last word, Alastor stood up with the paper in his hand. He walked to the bedside, put his hands behind his back, and looked at Lyndon, asking, "Tell me, who could have hurt you like this?"

Lyndon shook his head.

"I don't know who they are."

"Them? And there's more than one?"

"Three," Lyndon coughed. "And all of them are extraordinary individuals."

"Huh? Three superhumans couldn't kill you?" Alastor raised his eyebrows, his tone slightly mocking. "You're really tough."

As he spoke, Alastor handed the paper in his hand to Lyndon.

"What is this?"

Lyndon took the paper, glanced at it, and saw that it read: "Mr. Lyndon Copperfield owes Mr. Alastor forty gold pounds..."

"The bill," Alastor pointed to the list, "includes two healing potions, ten gold pounds each on the black market! No discounts."

"That's only twenty!" Lyndon argued.

"There are also costs for wound cleaning, usage fees, and follow-up cleaning."

Alastor went through the details with Lyndon, explaining each point in detail.

"Look, you barged into my shop, dirtied the floor, and even let you sleep in my bed. All of this needs cleaning!"

"Also, I was woken up late at night to treat your injuries, so I should probably get a small tip for my trouble!"

"So, adding all of this together, forty gold pounds isn't unreasonable, is it?"

Upon hearing this, Lyndon was powerless to argue with him.

He simply said, "I don't have that much money."

Alastor seemed to have anticipated Lyndon's response, and he told Lyndon that he could settle the debt with something else.

Take, for example, the mid-tier mutant in Lyndon's possession.

Lyndon scoffed, "Tell me, how much do you want to cut?"

"one third."

"Give me some more bullets and a decent set of clothes."

"OK."

"Do you sell any other mental potions?"

Alastor smiled slightly: "Then it's more than a third."

Lyndon sat up in bed irritably, rubbed his temples, and then gave Alastor a deep look.

"You really know how to do business."

"Thank you!" Alastor gave Lyndon a graceful bow.

Lyndon exhaled a breath of stale air and asked about Arthur's pocket watch.

"Arthur's pocket watch".

"A pocket watch? What happened to the pocket watch?"

Lyndon pulled a sum of money out of his pocket, money he had taken from Arthur.

The total was eight pounds, seven shillings, and six pence.

"That's all I replied to," Lyndon said casually.

Alastor glanced at the money on the bed, walked over, and put it in his pocket.

"It's a very good omen."

Lyndon looked up and stared into his eyes.

"Arthur said he doesn't owe you any money and that you're trying to extort him."

“Arthur is a liar, a lewd liar.” Alastor’s expression remained unchanged. “He lies to everyone. To the boss, to the underlings, to his family, to women. Everyone knows that Arthur’s reputation isn’t even as good as an old lady’s stinkiest sock.”

He crossed his arms and looked at Lyndon: "He's just a load of bull. You're a smart man, do you really think you'd believe his nonsense?"

Lyndon did not speak.

He had already realized that Alastor was lying, or at least that Alastor was trying to cover something up.

The moment Lyndon mentioned the pocket watch, Alastor's pupils contracted slightly, a sign of nervousness.

Lyndon saw this very clearly with his enhanced senses.

Although it was only for a very brief moment.

But Lyndon didn't bring it up, nor did he continue to mention the pocket watch, nor did he tell Alastor Arthur that he was dead.

He lay back down, adjusting himself into a comfortable position on the bed: "I'll sleep here with you tonight."

"What?" Alastor was vehemently opposed. "Do you think this is a hotel?"

"I'm exhausted and don't want to move," Lyndon said. "I've already given you a 30% cut, what's wrong with letting me sleep here for one night?"

After saying that, Lyndon closed his eyes, his chest heaving and his breathing becoming steady.

Alastor stared at him for three seconds, then stubbornly said, "Don't touch anything in my room, and get out before dawn!"

Lying on the bed, Lyndon did not respond, and Alastor did not know whether Lyndon had heard him or not.

He gritted his teeth, pulled a thin blanket from the wardrobe, and planned to make do at the counter.

Anyway, there's still a little over an hour until dawn.

……

The Wudu Old City Public Security Bureau.

The main conference room on the second floor was filled with smoke.

An elderly man in a dark coat sat in a chair, his hands clasped together, supporting his forehead.

The old man had a cigar between his fingers.

His face was long, like a horse's, with high cheekbones and deep-set eyes, making him look like a skeleton covered in skin.

The old man's name was Edmund Clay, one of the Black Sail Society's leaders in the Old Town, a minor leader.

Sitting opposite him was a sheriff, a tall and beautiful woman in her thirties.

The woman was voluptuous, with particularly full breasts; the buttons on her chest were almost bursting open.

A stack of papers lay in front of the woman. She picked up a pen but only wrote a few sentences.

"Mr. Clay," the female sheriff said in a calm, even somewhat polite, tone, "I know you're busy, but you'll have to cooperate with this."

"Of course I'll cooperate."

Clay's hoarse voice came from his throat, sounding like it had been sanded, with a very indistinct tone. If the speaker spoke faster or softer, it's likely that no one would be able to hear him.

Clay lowered his hands, put the cigar in his mouth, and spread his hands out: "The Sheriff's Office and the Black Sail Society have always been in a delicate state, which I would call cooperation, a social contract. The Sheriff's Office is responsible for the overt order and stability, while the Black Sail Society helps the Sheriff's Office manage the underground order."

"Yes, Mr. Clay." The female sheriff smiled awkwardly.

She tucked the stray hairs from her forehead behind her ear and wrote something on a piece of paper with a pen in her hand.

"However, the deceased was a man named Arthur Black, and he was a member of your Black Sails."

Clay's expression remained serious: "Arthur is one of our men, an accountant. He's honest and trustworthy, loves his family, helps his neighbors, is a good father to his children, a good son to his mother, and a good husband to his wife. He has a heart of gold!"

"Uh..." The female sheriff blinked, looking troubled. "But Mr. Arthur has no wife, let alone children."

"I know." Clay pressed his hand to his chest and said earnestly, "Don't worry about what I say, just listen to the emotions in my words."

The female sheriff's lips moved, but she really couldn't respond to what Clay had said.

Just as the questioning reached a stalemate, the meeting room door was pushed open.

"Captain Harvey, Chief!"

When the female sheriff saw her captain and the chief of police walk in together, she quickly stood up and saluted them.

"You can go out now."

Harvey waved his hand, ordering the female sheriff to leave first.

The female sheriff quickly tidied the notes on the table and then hurriedly left the meeting room.

Harvey and the chief then took over the position of the female sheriff and sat down in front of Clay.

"Captain Harvey, Chief, good morning."

Clay greeted the two people in front of him.

Harvey nodded slightly, then turned his head toward the director.

"Chief, shall we go first, you or me?"

"You go first," the bureau chief said.

Upon receiving the order, Harvey stood up, took out a report, and placed it in front of Clay.

"Mr. Clay, based on our investigation of the scene, we detected remnants of four distinct supernatural forces in the neighborhood where Mr. Arthur tragically died."

"This is the report given by our appraiser; you can take a look."

Clay picked up the report and read it word by word.

As he looked through it, Harvey continued, "There are three sources of extraordinary power that we have already documented: Rodney, Mary, and Moran, and all three of them happen to be members of your Black Sails."

Harvey said seriously, "You don't have to deny this. Although the known supernatural abilities can be roughly divided into six categories, the frequency of the spiritual energy fluctuations produced by different people using the same supernatural ability will also be different. Just like there are no two leaves in the world that are exactly the same, each person's fluctuation frequency is also unique."

"So Captain Harvey, why are you telling me this? Even if it was a member of our Black Sails who killed Arthur, it's at most an internal matter within our organization. Apart from Arthur, we didn't cause any other casualties."

Harvey and the director exchanged a glance, then Harvey continued, "Mr. Clay is right, but the problem is the fourth supernatural force left behind at the scene."

Harvey then produced another document.

"This fourth one isn't recorded in our files," Harvey said, emphasizing each word. "Strictly speaking, it's a supernatural power that has never been documented before."

The meeting room was silent for a few seconds.

"Therefore, the Sheriff's Department has reason to suspect that Mr. Arthur's death may be related to an unknown danger."

Harvey braced himself on the table with both hands, leaning forward, his entire body casting a shadow over Clay.

He asked in a deep voice, "Mr. Clay, I'll ask you one more time. Has Arthur Black recently been in contact with any suspicious persons?"

Clay stared at Harvey without saying a word for a long time. He didn't smoke the cigar, letting it burn on its own.

"I'm sorry, Sheriff Captain Harvey, I know very little about Arthur."

Clay shrugged, looking helpless.

Harvey fell silent.

He knew that asking any further questions would be a waste of time.

Clay is a member of the Black Sails, and his primary task is to protect the interests of the Black Sails, so he will not say anything that is detrimental to the Black Sails.

The police department also had no evidence to prove that there was any hidden secret behind Arthur's death.

Therefore, in the end, this matter can only be judged as an internal gang conflict, and it has not yet caused any substantial damage to the citizens of Chongqing.

"Alright." Harvey took back the documents. "Mr. Clay can go now. Please remember to contact us if you have any new leads."

"Definitely, definitely." Clay stood up, put a cigar in his mouth, and took a business card from his coat pocket, placing it on the table. "This is my business card. If you need any help, feel free to contact me anytime."

After saying that, Clay turned and walked towards the door.

"Mr. Clay." At this moment, the director, who had been silent all along, suddenly called out to him.

Clay turned around.

The director glanced at the table and said calmly, "Please pass on a message to your boss: the Old Town will soon be unstable. His Majesty and the council are discussing the matter; they are fed up with the endless gang warfare in the Old Town. Furthermore, His Majesty intends to gradually clean up the Old Town. If you cause any more trouble these days, and His Majesty unleashes his fury, none of us will have a good life."

His words were barbed, his speech sharp as a sword.

Clay's smile froze on his face: "Thanks for the reminder."

He opened the door and went out.

In the corridor, Clay's men were waiting outside.

When he saw Clay come out, he quickly went up to him.

"Boss!"

"Let's go." Clay's smile vanished instantly. He left the police station with a grim face and got into the carriage.

The carriage turned left and right on the streets of the old town, finally stopping in front of a gray building.

"Wait."

Clay got out of the car, carrying a leather bag.

The building was quiet, and the walls were covered in dust, indicating that no one had been there for a long time.

Clay went up the stairs and pushed open a door on the second floor.

Three people were sitting inside the door.

Mary lay in bed, her waist and abdomen wrapped in thick bandages.

Rodney sat in a chair, his whole body wrapped in bandages, looking like a white caterpillar.

Moran was the least injured; he only had a bandage wrapped around his leg and was still full of energy.

When the three saw Clay enter, Rodney and Moran tried to stand up.

"Please sit down."

Clay put the bag on the table and took out the medicine from it.

"Take these and use them; they're all good medicine, very valuable."

After distributing the potions, Clay asked Rodney, "So, what happened last night?"

Rodney then told Clay everything that had happened the night before.

"So, one person almost killed all three of you, and you still came back empty-handed?"

Clay's tone was stern.

All three of them fell silent.

Clay then said, "I won't report your failure, but you must rise to the occasion! If you don't get the ledger back, you're all dead!"

Clay's voice was calm, but his eyes were cold.

"What did Arthur say to that person? Should we investigate? Who is that person? Should we investigate?"

He stood up, walked to the window, and turned his back to the three people.

Outside the window, the street was dimly lit.

"We will definitely complete the mission!"

Rodney suddenly stood up and swore an oath to Clay.

Clay looked out the window and sneered, "Your failure this time was due to your greed! You couldn't distinguish between what's important and what's not! Was that man's bounty really that important? Or was his death really that important? You were so arrogant, and ended up getting a lesson from him!"

Clay turned around, his face expressionless.

"I'm giving you three days. If you can't find the account books, I'll throw you all into the Thames to feed the fish!"

Upon hearing this, Mary's face turned even paler.

Moran lowered her head.

Rodney clenched his fists tightly.