Steam Old Days: The Extraordinary Begins with a Corpse Collector

"This morning, the police summoned me for questioning. They wanted to know who the fourth person was, but I didn't say. Do you know why?"

Clay grabbed a chair, wiped the dust off it with a handkerchief, and sat down.

"Just because that guy's bounty will drag the church down with him!"

Clay said, throwing away the dirty handkerchief in his hand.

"The other four gangs share the same idea as the Brotherhood. Although they don't say it outright, which one of them doesn't want to take over our territory?"

"If the Black Sails Society wants to rise again and return to its peak, we must maintain a good relationship with the Church. So I have to consider this, at least to avoid causing them trouble."

Clay sighed helplessly, a look of dejection appearing in his eyes.

"You'd better watch yourselves. I can keep this from you for a while, but I can't keep it from you forever!"

He gave the three men a cold look, then picked up his briefcase and turned to leave.

The door was closed, and the footsteps outside faded into the distance before disappearing completely.

Moran, supporting herself against the wall and dragging her injured leg, walked to the window.

He pressed his face against the windowpane, looking down at the street below.

A horse-drawn carriage sped past on that street.

"He's gone, Rodney."

Moran braced himself against the windowsill, jumped up on one foot, turned around and said to Rodney.

"What should we do?"

Mary looked worried: "In our current state, even if three of us were to take on one of him, we might not have the upper hand. What if..."

Mary didn't say what she was going to say, but Rodney and Moran both knew what she wanted to say.

Even a cornered beast will fight, let alone a human being.

What if the three of them push Lyndon too far and he decides to die with them?

Rodney, Rodney, and his two friends have known each other for almost two years and have already formed a sincere friendship. Although it hasn't been a long time, they have already formed a sincere friendship.

Therefore, none of them wanted anything to happen to any of the three.

"Damn it, how can a corpse collector be so powerful?" Moran slammed his fist against the wall, causing it to shake and a thin layer of dust to fall. "Could the corpse collector be just a cover, and he's actually a witcher?"

"Impossible. The organization investigated. If he really had an organ transplant, there would be traces."

Rodney denied it.

"And his extraordinary abilities are really strange; using blood as a weapon is unheard of."

As he thought about it, Rodney's eyes gradually deepened.

He looked down at the bandage wrapped around his chest; the stinging pain from the spearhead piercing his flesh seemed to linger.

Suddenly, Rodney spoke.

"I have an idea."

Moran and Mary both looked at him.

Rodney looked up, revealing bruises on his face: "We can try to cooperate with him."

"cooperate?"

"cooperate?"

Mary and Moran shouted together.

This idea is indeed bold.

At this point, Moran raised a question: "But why would he cooperate with us? We were fighting tooth and nail last night."

Mary nodded in agreement, "Yes, yes! It's already a miracle he didn't attack us."

Rodney, however, offered a completely different perspective.

"But there's absolutely no need for us to fight to the death."

"My thinking is that everyone has needs, and if we can offer a sufficient price, he might agree."

Rodney paused, then continued, "Do you guys remember what the boss said? He said not all territory is won with iron and blood; sometimes it can be won at the negotiating table."

After these words, neither of them spoke. Mary lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

Moran leaned against the window frame, his fingers rhythmically tapping the sill. His gaze fell on Rodney's face, lost in thought.

"I don't know where his bottom line is, but we can at least give it a try," Rodney said. "What if we succeed? Have you thought about it? He can take on the three of us by himself and hold his own. Offending someone like that won't do us any good."

Moran stopped tapping and said, "You're right. If this kind of person is difficult to get rid of in a short time, then we must not offend them rashly."

"But his bounty..." Mary still hesitated.

"The reward is public, but not mandatory, so we have the right not to enforce it."

Rodney added.

"I believe Mr. Clay will also support this decision."

Seeing that both of them agreed to the solution, Mary realized there was no point in insisting further, so she agreed.

"Alright, in that case, let's heal our wounds and then stake out the area near the Old Sailor's Bar. I think he'll probably show up again."

……

Alastor's pawnshop.

Lyndon was awakened by the sunlight.

Sunlight streamed through the gaps in the blinds, cutting golden stripes of light across the floor.

It looks like it's going to be another nice day.

Lyndon propped himself up on the edge of the bed and raised his right arm; the wound was healing better than he had expected.

The effects of the treatment were still ongoing; where a chunk of flesh had been cut off, only a faint trace remained.

All the minor injuries on my body have fully healed.

He tried moving his shoulders and found that apart from some soreness when the muscles were engaged, there were no other abnormalities.

Lyndon felt that even his breathing had become easier.

So Alastor was actually quite good to him. Although the healing potion was ridiculously expensive, its effects were undeniable.

After using it, my headache and backache disappeared, and I felt like I could eat a whole pig in three bites.

Lyndon got out of bed, intending to go find Alastor.

"So you were in the store all night?"

Lyndon was about to push open the door, his hand already on the doorknob, when he heard a voice from behind the door that didn't belong to Alastor.

"Of course I was there, I was there all night."

At that moment, Alastor's voice rang out.

"Your Excellency Sheriff, as you know, I haven't been involved in underground disputes for a long time. It's too tiresome. I'm just a businessman now. I've reformed."

"Okay, remember to let us know if anything seems amiss."

"Of course! Every citizen of the kingdom has a duty to maintain order. Goodbye! My respected sheriff, may the gods bless you!"

Having finally gotten rid of the sheriff, Alastor's smile vanished instantly, and he sat wearily back down at the counter.

On the counter were two plates, a knife, two cups, a pot of cold tea, and a small jar of jam.

On the plate are several slices of white bread, baked with high-quality white flour and butter.

He glanced intently at the wooden door to the side, poured himself a cup of cold, strong tea, and slowly asked, "How much longer are you going to eavesdrop?"

Squeak.

The door opened, and Lyndon stepped out from behind it.

What are your plans for today?

Alastor picked up a slice of bread and spread a thin layer of blueberry jam on it with a knife.

Lyndon walked over and sat down next to Alastor.

"I need a boat to Wiltling."

"Can"

Alastor picked up another slice of bread, spread jam on it, and handed it to Lyndon.

He's a businessman who only cares about supply and demand and doesn't ask questions about things that don't concern him.

Lyndon didn't stand on ceremony and took the food.

The bread's soft texture, paired with the sweet and sour taste of blueberry jam, made Linden nod repeatedly in approval.

Ever since I transmigrated here, all I've eaten is that black bread that's as hard as a rock.

The first time Lyndon had tasted bread with such a soft texture, it reminded him of the Daliyuan soft bread he had eaten in his previous life.

"Is there anything else you need?"

Alastor poured Lyndon a glass of cold tea and pressed him for an answer.

"There's one more thing," Lyndon said, chewing on his bread. "Send a trustworthy man to the vicinity of the Old Sailor's Bar and find a Wiltling man named Wesley. Bring him aboard the ship later."

Lyndon finished his bread, wiped his hands, and added, "I'll pay."

"Taken from a different organ?"

Alastor asked a question he already knew the answer to.

Lyndon glanced at him and nodded.

With the prospect of profit in mind, Alastor leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the table, and pondered for a moment: "There aren't many ships going to Veltlin this season. It seems there's only one ship going there recently, transporting timber. I can help you arrange it."

"how long?"

"The day after tomorrow."

Lyndon nodded: "Okay."

Looking at Lyndon's usual calm demeanor, Alastor suddenly blurted out, "Arthur is dead?"

Lyndon paused in his tea-drinking sip, then asked casually, "Did the sheriff tell you that?"

"Yes." Alastor propped his head up with one hand, his voice languid. "You didn't need to hide it from me. I just wanted to get revenge on you, to vent my anger. I hate being played."

"Can you tell Arthur the truth?" Lyndon asked.

"I don't know the specifics, I only know that there's something wrong with that pocket watch."

As he spoke, Alastor took a pocket watch out of the drawer.

The pocket watch is made entirely of brass, with delicate patterns engraved on the cover, and every part inside is exquisitely crafted.

The only odd thing is that it's a bit too big for a pocket watch.

Alastor wound the watch three turns to the left and then one turn to the right.

Then pull it upwards with all your might.

With a click, the clockwork was actually unwound by Alastor.

The watch's spring had somehow been transformed into a long, thin key.

"This is Arthur's secret, the key to a safe."