Steam Old Days: The Extraordinary Begins with a Corpse Collector

"Ah!!! I didn't betray the boss, I didn't know anything!"

On the third floor, eerie cries echoed through the dark corridor.

The once extravagant and luxurious third floor, frequented by VIPs, has now become Cyril's interrogation room.

Four or five tall thugs, each holding a short-barreled shotgun, stood like stones in the corridor.

They exuded an aura that kept strangers at bay.

Although the Old Sailor's Bar has reopened and replaced its tables, chairs, and cups with brand new ones, it is still sparsely populated with customers.

In the past, 11 or 12 o'clock at night was the busiest time for the Old Sailor's Bar.

But now, the waiters are so bored that they're playing cards in the back kitchen.

Simply because the screams from the third floor couldn't be heard from there.

That afternoon, after returning from the police station, Cyril transferred his trusted henchmen from other neighborhoods.

They were all ruthless, efficient, and obeyed only Cyril.

The thugs took over the bar's security duties.

Cyril also announced that he would temporarily suspend all business on the entire third floor and convert it into his interrogation base.

Arthur's death was like removing a stepping stone from Cyril's climb. He was trapped on the cliff, with no way out but to keep climbing. If he retreated, he would be smashed to pieces.

This also ignited the deepest suspicion and tyranny in his heart.

Cyril firmly believed that someone had betrayed him, that a traitor hiding by his side had leaked Arthur's information, leading to Arthur's death.

So he had to find this traitor and kill him.

Years of gangster life instilled in Cyril a meticulous and calculating personality.

He cannot tolerate any flaws.

For this place that gave birth to a traitor, it's like having a tattoo on your own skin; there's no other way to completely erase that stain except by cutting off that piece of skin.

He would do anything to destroy the Old Sailors' Bar that he had built from scratch.

Cyril is confident that he can rebuild his kingdom from ruins, provided he can eliminate the unsettling factors around him.

【Cyrillic:

The Black Sail Society members arrived this morning.

They pounded on the table demanding an explanation. They wanted us to give their dead brother Arthur an explanation.

I warned you not to get involved with members of the Black Sail Society casually. It will only bring trouble!

And now you've brought trouble to the Brotherhood, leaving us to clean up your mess. Where's your gratitude? The guild leader found out about this, and he's furious.

The president told me to tell you: watch your mouth, watch your hands, watch your feet. If you cause any more trouble, you'll have to bear the consequences alone!

Don't drag everyone down with you!

Edmund

The gas lamps in the room were shining brightly.

Cyril finished reading the letter in his hand, his face grim.

He struck a match, lit the letter in his hand, and burned it to ashes.

"Boss! Spare me!"

Kyle was hanging upside down in the room, his hands were bound, and there wasn't a single piece of good flesh on his body.

Even one of their eyeballs was gouged out.

He was the bar's accountant, usually quiet and reserved, and probably wouldn't say more than ten words a day.

Cyril gave Kyle a cold look.

He took the dagger from the thug and shoved the cold blade into Kyle's mouth.

"Give me a clue, Mr. Kyle. I still trust you."

Cyril said.

"Boss, I really don't know, I really don't know! I've always been loyal to you!"

Kyle cried his eyes out.

Tears and blood mingled and dripped onto the ground.

"loyalty?"

Cyril sneered.

He pulled the dagger out of Kyle's mouth, then beckoned to his henchmen to bring a document, which he read aloud in front of Kyle.

"Last November, the bar's net profit should have been £1,025, £7.80. You're £15 short."

"In January or February of the year before last, you bought a house on Bot Street in the new city for a total of 1,400 gold pounds. Where did the money come from?"

"And what about two years ago..."

Cyril looked at the documents and thoroughly exposed Kyle's actions over the years.

He rolled the file into a tube, then tapped Kyle on the nose, scoffing, "What? Didn't you say you were loyal to me? Your loyalty is taking my money? Stealing my money!"

Kyle was almost in despair, and at that moment he didn't care about anything else, so he told everything he knew.

He only begged Cyril to spare his life out of consideration for their past relationship.

"Boss! Boss! I was forced into this! Violet made me do it! It's all her fault! She even kept a secret ledger! She said if anything happened, she'd hand the ledger over to the Brotherhood! Boss! I was forced into this!"

Cyril sighed and looked at Kyle with pity.

He patted Kyle's face, then plunged the knife into Kyle's throat.

Kyle, now bound, was like a fish thrown ashore; after struggling a few times, he became completely still.

Warm blood splattered onto Cyril's face.

He wiped the blood from his face and said to Walter, who was standing in the corner, "Pack up the body and have someone throw it down the drain."

Walter glanced at Kyle, his expression complex. "Boss, Kyle's been with you for so many years, how about we buy him a grave..."

Before Walter could finish speaking, Cyril's fierce glare silenced him.

He had no choice but to carry out the order.

They laid Kyle's body down, stuffed a wad of cloth haphazardly into the wound, wrapped it in a shroud, and then sewed it up.

"Two people, come and deliver these things."

Walter handed the body over to old Bob, who then called over several waiters.

"Lynn, you...you're so brave, you should go!"

The waiters who were playing cards immediately wilted when they heard that they were going to deliver a corpse.

Several people kept urging Lyndon to deliver it.

"Lynn, the boss has gone mad, it's all up to you now." Old Bob didn't really want to move corpses late at night, but the other waiters weren't any good, so he could only rely on Lyndon now.

Old Bob pulled a few bills from his pocket and stuffed them into Lyndon's hand: "Here's your reward!"

Lyndon glanced speechlessly at old Bob and the other waiters.

Then he carefully put the banknotes in his hand into his pocket.

"Okay! I'll do it!"

Lyndon took a deep breath, picked up the body bag, and walked out the back door.

He always felt that his life was somehow connected to corpses.

Otherwise, why would he have been a corpse collector right after transmigrating, collecting corpses for a month, and now that he's a waiter, he still has to collect corpses?

Upon arriving at the back alley, a handcart sat quietly there.

By the light of the moon, Lyndon could still see the dried bloodstains on the car.

Lyndon placed the body in the car, then pushed it along the alley to a nearby manhole cover, where he threw the body down.

The alley behind the back gate was extremely eerie.

Lyndon pushed his cart alone through the alley.

Suddenly, Lyndon felt someone was following him.

This made his nerves tense up quickly.

Lyndon pushed the cart a few more steps, and suddenly a tall figure appeared in front of him.

"who!"

Having learned from his experience of being attacked, Lyndon now always carries a small piece of iron in his pocket.

It makes it easy to cut your hand at any time.

"What a coincidence, Lyndon." Rodney's voice was deep and resonant as he stepped out of the shadows and blocked Lyndon's path. "We meet again."

Behind Lyndon were Mary and Moran.

Lyndon turned to the side, put his hands in his pockets, and said calmly, "You're here to fight again?"

"No." Rodney stepped forward, his voice tinged with weariness and helplessness. "We're not here to cause you trouble, at least not now."

"So what do you want to do?"

"I need your help," Rodney said earnestly.