Steam Old Days: The Extraordinary Begins with a Corpse Collector

Lyndon looked at the old gentleman standing at the door, his confusion deepening.

Why would the Viscount send him to find him?

Lyndon had just mentioned yesterday that he wanted to ask the Viscount for help.

But how did the Viscount know about this?

How did he know he was living in this place?

Just as Lyndon was about to ask about his doubts, the old gentleman spoke first, taking out a letter from his pocket and handing it to Lyndon.

"It's three o'clock in the afternoon. The Viscount doesn't like being late, so I hope you'll arrive on time."

Lyndon took the letter and stared blankly at the wax seal on the envelope.

The sealing wax was printed with an exquisite design: a shepherdess holding a sheaf of wool, with the Viscount family name printed below.

That's all I wanted to say. I hope you have a pleasant life.

The old gentleman took out the gold watch hanging on his waistcoat, glanced at the time, then stepped back, removed his hat, and bowed to Lyndon.

After the ceremony, the old gentleman flicked the swallowtail hem behind him, turned around, and walked with his head held high toward the carriage parked on the path.

It was then that Linden noticed a horse-drawn carriage parked by the roadside.

The group had rented two carriages earlier; one carried Alastor and disappeared, and the other had also left long ago.

As for the carriages that have appeared on the road now, upon closer inspection, they are indeed different from ordinary carriages.

It was a four-wheeled enclosed sedan chair, painted entirely in black.

The black paint was thick and rich, and under the sunlight, the carriage reflected very little light.

He appeared so calm and reserved.

It's like an obsidian stone under the sunlight.

The car body has no superfluous luxury decorations, yet it exudes an extraordinary aura in every aspect.

Even the horses pulling the cart were not ordinary horses.

Tall and broad-shouldered, with a radiant expression.

The mane was trimmed neatly.

The old gentleman climbed into the carriage and sat down.

The driver gave the reins a jerk.

The horses' hooves clattered on the path, and the carriage quickly disappeared from Lyndon's sight, bathed in sunlight.

Once Lyndon could no longer see the carriage, he patted the envelope in his hand.

Just as he was about to close the door and go back inside, suddenly, the sound of rapid hoofbeats came from afar.

The sound came from the opposite direction to the direction the old gentleman had left.

Lyndon gripped the doorknob and stood on tiptoe to look in the direction from which the sound of hooves was coming.

Then they saw a man driving a horse-drawn carriage toward the cottage.

But the one holding the reins was Alastor, who had been missing since yesterday afternoon.

"Whoa!"

Alastor tightened his grip on the reins, shouting slogans.

The horse obeyed the command and stopped.

The car came to a steady stop on the road.

Alastor turned his head and saw Lyndon standing in the doorway.

He held the reins, raised his head, and called out Lyndon's name.

"Linden! Come here right now! Quickly!"

Hearing Alastor calling him, Lyndon grabbed the letter and jogged to the carriage.

"Get on the bus!"

Alastor shifted his position to make room for Lyndon.

Lyndon stepped onto the pedal and sat down next to Alastor.

A thin layer of sweat appeared on Alastor's forehead.

"Looks like I'm too late. You've already met the Viscount's butler?"

Alastor saw the letter in Lyndon's hand, and as he spoke, he directed the horses to turn the carriage around.

The two then set off for the city in a horse-drawn carriage.

On the way, Lyndon held the letter in his hand and raised it to Alastor, saying:

"Did you do this?"

Alastor nodded in agreement.

"Do you remember what you said yesterday? You wanted to see the Viscount, and I promised to grant your wish. I even took five hundred gold pounds from you, and you still begged me."

"But you made me do it."

"That's not important. I've taken the money, so I have to do things for you. That's my principle."

"So you helped me get in touch with the Viscount? You know him?"

Alastor shook his head: "I don't know him. Sutcliff, strange name, I've never heard of him before."

"Then why would he be willing to see me?" Lyndon countered.

Alastor chuckled at this.

He pulled a newspaper out from under his buttocks; it was the same newspaper he had read yesterday.

Alastor shoved the newspaper into Lyndon's hand and pointed to one of the people in it, explaining, "I don't know that so-called viscount, but I do know their former mayor."

Lyndon looked at the photo in the newspaper, then at Alastor driving the car.

Doubt flickered in his eyes.

"Do you also know the mayor of Wiltling?"

Alastor said calmly, "To be honest, I really didn't expect to see him here. All I knew was that he took my funding and then went off to make his own way in the world. I only knew he was in Wiltling from the newspapers."

Then Alastor told Lyndon that when he was young, he had sponsored many people who were down on their luck but had great ambitions and were unwilling to accept their situation.

Some of them used the money to quickly build up their businesses, while others took civil service exams or chose to go to sea.

"My business has reached this level thanks in no small part to their support. This is called targeted investment! You should study this carefully; you might be able to use it in the future."

Alastor said proudly, and then he told Lyndon what happened next.

"Anyway, I found him and told him our purpose. He was quite accommodating and wrote us a letter of introduction. I took that letter to the Viscount's manor, and then the Viscount sent someone to find you."

"Oh, by the way, how much do you know about the Xenomorphs?"

"Alastor asked."

Lyndon thought for a moment and replied, "It's alright, I know the most basic stuff. Why are you asking this?"

Alastor told Lyndon that he had the former mayor write "Alien Investigator Lyndon Copperfield" on the letter of introduction.

Their purpose in coming here was to enter the Dark Oak Forest to investigate the living conditions of the exotic species in order to complete their academic research.

"What?" Lyndon's eyes widened.

Alastor, however, looked utterly helpless.

"I have no choice. You're a witcher, and I'm a black market dealer. We need a legitimate identity, and I can't think of anything else."

"So where are you taking me?"

"Let's go to the city! Now that we're researchers, we need to have decent clothes!"

Alastor looked at Lyndon's clothes with disgust.

"Your clothes are only good for covering up trash cans."

After a bumpy ride, the two finally arrived in the city.

Once inside the city, the roads were full of pedestrians.

Gentlemen on horseback, women carrying baskets, and children running.

Alastor controlled the horse's speed and drove slowly along the road.

His eyes darted left and right, and he kept reciting the names of the shop signs on both sides of the street.

He finally stopped the carriage in front of a clothing store.

"You want to buy clothes?"

"No, Mr. Lyndon, it's you who wants to buy clothes."

As he spoke, Alastor pulled Lyndon by the hand and pushed open the door, entering the clothing store.

The shop was filled with the scent of wool and camphor, and the walls were covered with fabric samples of various colors, from dark green to dark gray, from dark blue to charcoal black, all colors favored by the wealthy and powerful.

On both sides were rows of clothes racks, displaying various ready-made garments, intended for ordinary people.

The clothes of high-ranking officials and nobles were all custom-made by hand.

The shop owner was a chubby man in his forties with a neat little mustache and wearing a plaid vest.

When he saw a guest arrive, he first sized the guest up and down with his shrewd eyes.

Then he stepped forward and said with a humble yet assertive expression, "What do you gentlemen need? Ready-to-wear or custom-made? We have the most fashionable clothes in the entire United Kingdom."

Alastor looked around at the clothes in the store, walked to the fabric section, and touched the fabric to feel its texture.

The shop owner spoke up, "Sir, our clothes are a bit expensive, so please don't touch them without permission."

Alastor rolled his eyes in boredom, then took out his checks from his wallet and waved them in front of the shopkeeper.

"Made to order, for that gentleman, with good quality materials."

The shop owner's expression changed immediately upon seeing the check.

His posture instantly became respectful.

The shop owner forced a fawning expression and hurriedly told his employees to take Lin up to the second floor.

The curtain behind them was lifted, and three tailors came out.

The tailors escorted Lyndon up to the second floor.

At this moment, the shop owner was making assurances to Alastor.

"Don't worry, sir, we've made clothes for many knights and officials; we know the ropes very well!"

……

"Shorten the sleeves by one inch."

"Then you need to straighten your back a bit more."

The shop owner led the tailors to measure Linden's size with a tape measure and marked the sample garment with talcum powder.

Lyndon was like a puppet, manipulated at will by the others.

He stared at himself in the mirror, wrapped in wool, and felt extremely uncomfortable.

"I said, is such a grand ceremony really necessary?"

"certainly."

Alastor sat in the soft velvet sofa, savoring the black tea brewed by the owner. He felt it wasn't flavorful enough, so he added a sugar cube.

He walked over to Lyndon with his teacup in hand.

"Because we are meeting Viscount Sutcliffe, you must be dressed appropriately. Respect the clothes before the person. Cut the waist in half an inch to create a waistline."

"Alastor said casually."

"Yes."

The shopkeeper hurriedly jotted down the requirements, then whispered to the tailor, "Go and change the fabric to fine charcoal black cashmere, and the lining to burgundy silk. They have connections with the Viscount and are a big client; don't let them find fault with us."

The shop owner and three tailors spent a long time working on it and finally finalized the details of Lyndon's clothes.

As Alastor requested, the clothes had to be ready before noon.

So the three of them didn't dare to delay and quickly started cutting.

Lyndon was thus given a moment to catch his breath, and he sat wearily on the sofa.

"Making clothes is such a pain," Lyndon complained.

"You'll have to get used to it; this is how it is when dealing with nobles." Alastor finished his tea, stood up, and said to Lyndon, "Let's go; there are other things to get settled!"

Lyndon hadn't even warmed his seat on the sofa when Alastor pulled him up again.

……

After Alastor's efforts, Lyndon was completely transformed.

The dark black suit's shoulder line fit Lyndon's body perfectly, and the waistline was cinched just right.

The collar stood up straight, the stiff white shirt collar leaving a finger's width of space, just enough for the tie to be securely held in place.

The trousers were crisp and straight, with creases as sharp as a knife blade.

Even Lyndon changed his shoes, switching to black leather boots.

The shoes were spotless, coated with wax, and so smooth that you could even see your reflection in them.

"Is this me...?"

Lyndon looked at himself in the mirror, his expression somewhat dazed.

He seemed to see his former self, the younger version of himself.

Alastor circled Lyndon, then said with satisfaction, "Not bad, not bad. That's more like a respectable person."

After paying for the clothes, the two walked out of the clothing store side by side.

As Alastor was whispering with Lyndon about how to deceive the Viscount, a man emerged from beside the carriage.

He had his head down, so he bumped straight into Alastor.

"Ouch!"

Alastor was knocked off balance by the unexpected accident.

If Lyndon hadn't reacted quickly and grabbed Alastor, his face would probably have made intimate contact with the ground.

Alastor regained his balance.

He looked at the guy who had bumped into him.

The man didn't react at all, he just kept his head down and continued walking forward, his steps so hurried.

"Watch where you're going! You bastard!"

Alastor cursed in annoyance.

He turned to Lyndon and complained, "What rudeness! They bumped into someone and didn't even apologize!"

Alastor straightened his tie, which had been knocked askew, and his hand instinctively reached for his trouser pocket.

His fingers grasped at nothing.

Alastor's expression immediately changed.

He reached into another pocket, but it was still empty.

"What's wrong?" Lyndon noticed Alastor's expression.

My wallet is gone?

"Alastor murmured."

Suddenly, he realized what was happening.

"My wallet!" Alastor turned and pointed at the man, shouting, "Damn thief! He stole my wallet!"

Upon hearing Alastor's shout, the man realized he had been exposed.

So he took off running.

"Catch up with him!"

As soon as Alastor finished speaking, Lyndon shot off like an arrow.

The streets were teeming with people, which greatly slowed down Lyndon and Alastor's pursuit.

On the other hand, the man was agile, like a slippery and cunning fish.

He moved nimbly through the crowd.

"He's there! He turned into the alley!"

"Alastor shouted."

The alleys in the city are very narrow, winding, and complicated.

Fortunately, there were far fewer people than outside.

The man probably wanted to use the alley's complicated layout to shake off Lyndon and his companion, but he didn't expect Lyndon to be like a bloodhound, sticking close behind the thief, even though he was wearing a bespoke suit.

Finally, the man ran into a dead end.

All that remained in front of him was a tall wall.

At that moment, Lyndon also blocked the man's escape route.

"Hand over your wallet, and then you leave."

Lyndon approached step by step with a cold face, reaching out his hand as if to give the guy a chance.

But the man's face showed no fear, only a triumphant expression.

The man whistled.

After the whistle, four or five people suddenly appeared behind Lyndon.

They were young, like the thief, probably just recently turned 18, and they were carrying bricks and kitchen knives.

"Hey! Hand over the money, and you can go!"

The thief, with a mocking expression, returned everything Lyndon had just said.

Lyndon's gaze swept over the group of teenage thugs who had surrounded him, his expression calm.

He bent down and straightened his cuffs, still giving them another chance.

"I don't want to hurt you. The clothes I'm wearing are brand new. Don't make things too ugly."

Immediately, a burst of cheerful laughter erupted from the audience.

"Wow, you're pretty impressive, uncle. You haven't experienced its power yet!"

A thug stepped forward and brandished a kitchen knife in front of Lyndon's eyes.

But Lyndon just sneered.

He muttered under his breath, "You're asking for it."

Suddenly, in just a moment, Linden grabbed the thug's hand holding the kitchen knife and twisted it downwards!

quack!

Lyndon's strength was so great that he broke the thug's wrist.

The thug let out a piercing scream.

Seeing their brother being bullied, the other thugs rushed forward, ready to fight Linden to the death.

Lyndon smirked at this: "You're asking for it."

Then screams echoed through the alley.

"Ouch! I'm going to die!"

Alastor, clutching his back, finally arrived.

He leaned against the wall, panting, and when he looked up, he saw a group of people lying on the ground. Some were holding their heads, some were clutching their hands or legs, and they were groaning in pain.

Lyndon, meanwhile, was standing on someone's head, holding Alastor's wallet in his hand.

Aside from his messy hair, Lyndon was completely unharmed.