Old days, dice and investigator's manual

...This name has never been registered?

Isaac frowned, realizing things weren't so simple: "Are you sure? Well, I mean, the person I know said he lives at Armourton Mansion."

"I remember all the guests here, and there's definitely no such person here." The old woman closed the register. "What does the person you're looking for look like?"

"About my age, wearing a gray trench coat, with graying hair..."

"I haven't seen him before," the old woman interrupted Isaac before he could finish. "There's no young man here with that hair color you're talking about."

"...Thank you." Isaac had no choice but to accept this explanation. After all, that grayish-white hair color was quite rare. If the old woman said she had never seen it before, and she wasn't lying, and the guy wasn't pretending, then it was highly likely that it really didn't exist.

That guy named Carlo confidently said I could come to Amherst Mansion to find him, but his name isn't on the register, and the old lady has never seen him before... Is he playing a trick on me?

What's the point? A complete stranger went to great lengths to trick him into coming to a hotel.

Seeing him standing there lost in thought, the old woman took out a key and placed it on the counter: "Young man, registration is complete. The room is room number 3 on the 3rd floor."

Isaac snapped out of his daze, thanked him, took the keys, picked up his luggage, and headed for the stairs.

Although he felt like he'd been tricked, he was looking for a place to stay anyway, so since he was already there, he might as well stay for now.

As Isaac reached the top of the stairs and was about to take a step, a hand suddenly reached out from behind him and patted his shoulder.

Isaac immediately turned around, took a half step back to create some distance, lowered his body slightly, and raised his right hand to his chest, still carrying the suitcase.

The man who patted him on the shoulder was in his early thirties, wearing a canvas jacket with the sleeves rolled up, revealing his forearms, and a short blade hanging at his waist. He paused, surprised by Isaac's reaction, and said, "Wow, quick reflexes. You've trained?"

Isaac lowered his hand: "What is it?"

"Don't be nervous. I just noticed you're quite generous, renting a single room right away, and you look unfamiliar, so I guess this is your first time in a place like this." The mercenary chuckled, withdrew his hand, glanced at the counter, and lowered his voice, "Just a friendly reminder, you need to be careful with your money here."

Isaac followed his gaze to the old woman behind the counter, who was still knitting and seemed completely oblivious to the commotion.

"Shall we talk in private?" The mercenary gestured toward the stairs.

Isaac hesitated for a moment, then nodded and followed the mercenary up the stairs. The two stopped at the corner.

The mercenary leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and said, "That old lady is a businesswoman, there are some things she definitely won't tell you. But I've lived here for a while, so I know some things."

Isaac didn't respond. The mercenary lowered his voice and said, "You've seen this place. It's mostly roughnecks like us coming and going. Who cares about the quality of the accommodation? As long as we have a place to shelter from the wind and rain, that's enough. Anyone willing to spend more money for a single room wouldn't come here. They all go to those regular hotels; they're clean and respectable."

He paused here, then said, "Then tell me, why keep those single rooms in the mansion instead of converting them into more convenient multi-person rooms? After all, adding more beds means making more money; everyone can see that clearly."

Isaac followed up by asking, "Why?"

The mercenary's voice lowered even further: "Because those private rooms... are haunted!"

After a few seconds of silence, the mercenary looked at Isaac with some dissatisfaction: "Why aren't you reacting?"

"Probably because you look like the kind of person who would brag..." Isaac thought to himself, but said aloud, "How did you know?"

"I found out by asking around. Those single rooms are all on the third floor. I heard that Lord Armourton and his family were killed on the third floor..." The mercenary made a throat-slitting gesture, "...the whole family, old and young, died in the corridor on the third floor. Since then, there have been some unsettling things in the rooms on the third floor. People who live there can always hear some noises in the middle of the night. Over time, no one dares to move around in those rooms."

"What evidence do you have for what you're saying?"

The mercenary snorted, "I'm not a detective, what evidence could I possibly have? I'm just giving you a friendly heads-up so you don't run out in the middle of the night scared out of your wits. If you don't believe me, there's nothing I can do."

Isaac nodded: "Thanks for the reminder. I'll go up and take a look. I'll be careful."

Seeing his reaction, the mercenary shrugged and didn't try to persuade him further: "You decide for yourself. If you really can't get used to it, sleeping on a makeshift bed in the lobby downstairs is better than wasting your money. At least there will be more people around."

After saying that, he turned and walked towards the stairwell, muttering to himself, "Young people these days, they really have a lot of nerve..."

Isaac watched the mercenary's figure disappear around the corner of the stairs before continuing upstairs.

The third floor was dimly lit, with most of the windows covered by dirty curtains, allowing only a faint white light to seep in from the edges, which looked rather eerie.

Room 3 was in the middle of the corridor. The door was an old wooden door. Isaac inserted the key into the lock, turned it once, and pushed the door open.

Surprisingly, the room was quite tidy. The bed was placed against the wall, covered with white sheets and a thin blanket. There was a small table on the bedside table with a kerosene lamp on it. In the corner stood a wooden wardrobe with a full-length mirror next to it.

Isaac placed his suitcase and rolled-up bedding by the bed, walked to the window and tried to open it. The window frame was tightly closed, and he had to use some force to open it a crack. Air rushed in, diluting the musty smell in the room. Opposite him was a row of house roofs, and a few birds were pacing on the tiles.

He stood by the window for a moment, thinking about the day's events: the landlord breaking the contract, the bank robbery, the mysterious private detective, the ghost stories at Armourton Mansion...

This was arguably the most outrageous day of his life. Isaac rubbed his forehead, feeling his mind was a complete mess.

Since we've already paid to stay here, let's stay one night and see how it goes. If it's really haunted like that mercenary said...

Isaac walked back to the bed and sat down, opening his suitcase. There weren't many things in the suitcase; he had sold most of his belongings from his old dormitory, keeping only some clothes and odds and ends.

He first took out a few neatly folded clothes, which he would put in the closet later, followed by a few notebooks. As the items were taken out one by one, things that had been hidden at the bottom of the box were also exposed to the light.

A revolver.

This is one of the relics left by his adoptive father, Edward. As a historian who participated in archaeological excavations in his youth, Edward's combat experience far surpassed that of his academic peers and even many mercenaries.

Although he is old and his skills are not what they used to be, Edward still has experience. Isaac had trained with Edward in some physical skills and has now inherited the tools that Edward used to use.