Steam Old Days: The Extraordinary Begins with a Corpse Collector

Tom in the driver's cab sounded the horn.

A plume of black smoke suddenly billowed from the cargo ship's steam chimney.

Sailors in the harbor waved colorful flags, directing cargo ships to safely dock at the shore.

The ship made a dull thud as it rubbed against the rubber bumpers in the harbor.

Together, everyone threw the ship's mooring rope down.

The workers waiting at the port skillfully took the cable and attached it to the mooring bollard.

The workers indicated that everything was fine, and the gangway on the cargo ship was slowly lowered and placed between the ship and the shore.

"Ladies and gentlemen! We've arrived!"

Alastor was the first to step onto the gangway, full of confidence!

He pointed to the tall GG sign next to him, on which a line of words was crookedly nailed.

The words were carved from wood.

Welcome to Wiltlin!

Alastor spread his arms wide and breathed in the damp air from the shore.

Compared to the perpetual gray fog of Chongqing, Wiltlin Port was bathed in a layer of pale golden sunlight, and even the air smelled sweeter.

Lyndon stepped forward, patted Alastor on the back, and said with a hint of helplessness, "Aren't you from Chongqing? Giselle and her father weren't this excited! Or are you actually from Veltlin?"

Alastor withdrew his arms, turned to face Lyndon, and boasted proudly, "Wiltling, the heart of the United Kingdom's textile industry!"

As he spoke, Alastor picked up his suit and let Lin Deng feel the texture of the fabric.

"God knows how many clothes we wear are from Vertlin! Maybe even my socks are made of Vertlin wool! I'm practically half a Vertlin person now."

As for the two real Welterlings standing to the side, Giselle held tightly to her father Wesley's arm, her eyes filled with the joy of returning home.

Looking at the workers coming and going at the port, and the towering cranes that resembled giants, Wesley straightened his back, a proud light shining in his cloudy eyes.

He raised his hand, pointing to the houses in the distance of the harbor, tracing the outlines of the distant buildings, as if he could feel the rough texture on his fingertips.

After Tom came out of the cockpit, the five of them walked down the gangway together.

According to Wesley, the place where they disembarked was called Wiltling Port.

It is located in Longtown, where the Wol River makes a gentle bend.

The river widens and the current slows down, thus creating a natural deep-water area.

This deep-water area was transformed by the municipal government and became the Port of Veltlin.

Three kilometers west of here lies the River Valley Road, from which it takes about forty minutes to walk to the city center.

Lyndon walked on the stone path; they had been on the boat for several days.

Now that he's back on the ground, he feels a little out of place.

Lyndon stomped his foot on the solid ground, feeling his legs feel a little unsteady.

On the pier, several shirtless stevedores were rolling barrels of dye from one ship to another.

An old man sat lazily in a chair next to me, with a large open umbrella providing shade over his head.

The old man was wearing a faded uniform, and there was a sign on the wooden table in front of him.

The sign read "Viltlin Tax Collector".

The old man puffed on his pipe, occasionally raising his eyelids to glance at the situation at the port.

Sometimes when someone comes to register, he casually points to the notebook and pen on the table, indicating that he will write it down himself.

Although the old man seemed to be indifferent, he had a clear understanding of the situation on the ground.

"You all need to be careful! Don't forget or omit anything! Otherwise, I'll find out one by one, and you'll be in trouble."

The voice wasn't loud, but it startled the person who had just registered, making their hand tremble. The person smiled apologetically and said, "Look at my memory, I made a mistake."

After watching the man obediently fix the item, the old man snorted and continued smoking his pipe.

Just then, a group of children walked barefoot through Lyndon and his group.

The children seemed to be playing some kind of game; they were chasing each other, their faces beaming with childlike smiles.

If the children see broken coal or oak lids on the ground, they act as if they have discovered treasure, clutching them happily in their little hands and refusing to show them to their friends.

But the other children insisted on seeing that "treasure".

The lucky child who got the treasure had no choice but to peek out slightly, while using one hand to shield the other, afraid that the other children would try to snatch it.

Hearing the children's laughter, Lyndon looked away and turned to Wesley for a question.

"Does your friend also live in Birch Slope?"

Wesley nodded and said, "Yes, he's my neighbor. My friend's name is Garrett, and he's a very skilled hunter. He goes into the woods often and has seen the Dream Moth more than once."

"How far is Birch Slope from here?" Lyndon asked again.

Wesley replied, "Birch Slope is in Mill Valley, under the jurisdiction of Wiltling, near the Penning Mountains. It's a four- or five-hour walk northwest from the city, and a two-hour drive by carriage!"

Wesley, worried that Lyndon wouldn't understand, even squatted down and used gestures to explain it to him.

After listening to Wesley's description and looking at the others' mental state, Lyndon finally decided, "Everyone is tired these past few days. We've been rocking on the boat and haven't been getting enough rest. Let's find a hotel to rest for a day, and then rent a carriage the next day before heading to Birch Slope."

Lyndon's idea was accepted by everyone.

Tom, in particular, sailed the boat all the way. Although he ate fish-man flesh along the way, when the effects wore off, fatigue surged up like a tide.

As for Alastor, his mental state is like that of a monkey!

He wandered around aimlessly, his red figure weaving between the shops on both sides of the road.

"Hey! Lyndon! Come over here, I can shine your shoes."

Suddenly, Alastor pointed to a roadside stall and shouted.

He sat comfortably on the stool and then tapped his feet on the wooden board in front of the shoeshine man.

"Great! My leather shoes really need some maintenance!"

Lyndon was speechless. He reminded Alastor to finish polishing his shoes and hurry up and catch up.

Then he took Burton, his daughter, and Tom to find a hotel where they could rest and spend the night.

Ultimately, the group settled down at a hotel called "Horseshoe" near the port.

The hotel owner wanted them to pay a deposit first.

But Lyndon didn't have that much cash on him; he only had a five-hundred-pound check that he had stolen from Alastor's wallet.

When the check was presented to the hotel owner, he, who had previously looked down on the man's attire, was suddenly filled with fear and trepidation.

His posture was extremely respectful, and even his tone became gentle for a long time.

The hotel owner had initially tried to urge Lyndon and his companions on, but now he felt sorry that Lyndon couldn't produce smaller change.

"Tom, do you have any money?"

Lyndon cast a hopeful glance at Tom.

Tom lived up to expectations and actually took out some money from his pocket, just enough to pay the deposit.

The hotel owner received the deposit and quickly booked three rooms for the group.

Giselle, as a woman, had a room to herself.

"Sir, would you like some food service? Our restaurant can provide you with meals."

The hotel owner asked solicitously.

"Then let's each have a fried steak, with side dishes, and a thick sauce."

"Anything else?" the hotel owner asked, rubbing his hands together. "Like, something to drink?"

"No."

After saying that, Lyndon led his men upstairs.

As for Alastor, after polishing his shoes, he somehow managed to find the hotel where Lyndon and his group were staying.

By then, Lyndon and his group had finished the steaks prepared by the hotel.

"Boss!" Alastor ran downstairs and told his boss, "Give me another serving of what they just ordered, and don't forget the beer!"

Meanwhile, while Alastor was downstairs ordering food from the owner, Lyndon approached Wesley again, wanting to know more.

Wesley satisfied his thirst for knowledge by telling him everything Lyndon wanted to know.

"So, that grove of trees is still owned by someone."

As Lyndon listened to Wesley's story, he fell into deep thought.

"Yes, that forest is Viscount Wiltlin's territory. People like us can only operate on the outskirts of the Dark Oak Forest. Even hunters need a letter from the Viscount to enter the middle zone."

"And the Viscount's patrols also regularly operate around Dark Oak Forest."

The situation that Wesley described was unexpected by Lyndon.

However, this is not something that cannot be dealt with.

As long as we can get into the forest first, we have legs, so what can they do to stop us?

Lyndon pondered this in his mind.

"Okay, I got it." After getting the information he wanted from Wesley, Lyndon stood up, patted Wesley on the shoulder, and said, "Have a good day. I'll take you and Giselle home tomorrow."

Wesley nodded.

He watched Lyndon's departing figure and suddenly called out to him.

"Mr. Lyndon!"

"Is there anything else?" Lyndon turned his head and looked at him sideways.

"I wanted to say thank you." Wesley paused. "Although I don't know why Mr. Lyndon wanted to see the Dreammoth, I will make sure you don't leave empty-handed."

As he spoke, Lyndon glanced into his eyes.

Those eyes were pure and unadulterated, filled with earnestness.

Lyndon smiled and left the room.

The five of them stayed in the hotel all day and did not come out.

It wasn't until nightfall that Lyndon pulled Alastor out of bed.

Under the cover of night, the two quietly left the room and returned to the cargo ship moored at the dock.

"I said, why did you drag me here in the middle of the night?" Alastor looked at his leather shoes with disgust; the shoes he had just paid to have cleaned during the day were now dirty again.

Lyndon then dug out the fishman corpses he had hidden earlier, found two handy tools, and turned to leave the cargo ship.

"Hey, wait for me!"

Alastor shouted at the top of his lungs.

The two found a secluded, soft-soiled open space on the outskirts of the dock area.

By the moonlight, Lyndon dug a shallow pit using the tools on the boat.

With a solemn expression, he buried the bag of fish-man entrails inside, covered it with soil, and even pressed it down firmly with his hands.

Alastor, leaning on his tools, looked at Lyndon as if he were a fool.

"So, you stayed up all night just to dig up this fishman's grave?"

Lyndon did not respond to this.

He stared blankly at the mound of earth in front of him.

The expected outcome did not occur.

There wasn't even a thought in my mind.

The cool night breeze brushed against my cheeks, and all around was quiet.

"Isn't that enough?"

Lyndon frowned.

"Isn't that enough to appease them?"

Thinking of this, under Alastor's shocked gaze, Lyndon muttered in Chinese and actually bowed three times to the fishman's corpse.

"Amitabha Buddha, every wrong has its perpetrator, every debt its debtor. It wasn't my intention to kill you; it was that guy next to me. His name is Alastor. Remember his face. If you have any grudges, seek revenge on him. Please forgive me for the sake of burying you..."

But after all that Linden did, nothing had happened in his mind.

He finally realized that the so-called appeasement was not simply a matter of burying him, as he had simplistically understood it.

At that moment, Alastor reached out and touched Lyndon's forehead.

"Are you out of your mind? If you really feel guilty towards that merman, then tomorrow you should find a few priests to perform a ritual to guide the merman's soul back to its rightful place."

To guide the souls of the dead?

After Alastor's reminder, Lyndon suddenly realized something.