Steampunk: Sixth Era Epic

Having settled his affairs, the detective on the bed closed his eyes, and Shard Hamilton, pursing his lips, waited a while before breaking free his hand and checking the breath and pulse.

"Dead?"

He couldn't believe that the other had died so easily, and it really was about ten minutes.

Before he could react further, a black glimmer flickered across the face of the corpse. Shard felt a sudden tightness in his heart, and a wave of extreme terror overwhelmed him in an instant.

But by the time he regained his composure, the black light had dispersed and vanished into the air.

As the light disappeared from the body, the emaciated corpse that looked as though it had starved to death began to visibly plump up, as if someone was inflating it from inside, until it transformed back to a normal-looking corpse.

"How is this normal? What exactly is happening now?"

In the silent room, Shard uneasily looked around, his unease not stemming from being alone with the corpse, but rather from the unfamiliar environment. This world was not the world of before; he had seen a corner of the mysterious and dangerous truth of this world.

The voice in his head resounded once more, as if reminding Shard that this place was not one for a "human":

[You have encountered "Whisper."]

"What encounter? What Whisper? Can you explain more clearly?"

But the voice still did not answer.

[Whisper] was one of the "Four Elements of Mystery" the detective had spoken of just before, clearly what caused his death was linked to these so-called [Relic], [Whisper].

Although the oppressive and unknown truth left Shard bewildered, looking at the corpse on the bed, he surprisingly didn't feel too horrified.

"If all this is someone's joke, that would be wonderful."

He hoped at that moment it was all an act, yet reason told him it couldn't be an act.

After standing silently by the bed for a moment, he carefully and quietly moved around the four-poster bed to the window. He cautiously and calmly pulled back the heavy drapes, and instantly, the weak morning light, filtering through the fog on the street and the glass of the window, shone in.

This chapter upload first at NovelUsb.Com

This light seemed to also temporarily disperse the unease in his heart.

"Is it morning now?"

Due to the thick fabric drapes, he had thought it was still night.

Knock knock knock~

The sound of knocking suddenly started at that moment, startling Shard. He unconsciously let go of the curtain but then immediately grabbed it and pulled it all the way open.

Squinting out the window—right onto the street—he didn't have time to observe the odd scenery of the Steam Age in the mist, first looking downward to confirm it was the Corpse Bearer knocking, able to see the horse-drawn corpse carriage, before he turned to open the door.

"Being able to know the exact time of one's death so precisely, that's why the Corpse Bearer was able to arrive with such accuracy,"

he muttered to himself, pushing open the bedroom door. Outside was the living room, also featuring similar Steam Age-style gas pipes on the walls, handcrafted wooden furniture, and various stacked up documents and books.

The small blackboard hanging on the wall, the very formal coffee table, and fabric sofa set also resembled the style of a detective agency.

The living room's curtains were not drawn, allowing the dim morning light from the foggy outside to seep in, the light falling obliquely on the floor before Shard's feet.

In the light, dust particles floated quietly, like eerie tiny creatures swimming around. This sense of reality made Shard's skin crawl.

He unlocked the cold lock and security chain on the front door, directly opposite which was a spiraling staircase leading downwards, and next to it another door, indicating there were two residences on this floor, somewhat reminiscent of the apartment buildings in Holmes novels.

Unable to find a light, he could only spiral down the oppressive dark staircase, his heart seeming to pound wildly with each step. In the dark environment, the overly imaginative Shard felt as though some terrible presence was peeping at him.

From the second floor, he reached the first floor, the stairs leading directly to the hall. On one side of the hall, the passageway connecting to the first floor was completely sealed with wooden planks, as if it were an enclosed coffin, making the hall the only accessible area on the first floor.

This scene, already making the anxious outlander suspicious, intensified his confusion:

"Why seal the first floor? What exactly is going on here?"

He passed by the shoe cabinet, casually lifting a fallen umbrella, glancing at the gas lamp above the shoe cabinet. With care, he turned it on, letting the light soothe his spirit.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the front door.

A silent old man in a black coat stood at the doorway, a crossed leaves emblem hanging on his chest, behind him was the bleak sky and choking fog. The old man looked up at Shard, his voice as low as leaves scraping the damp, cold ground:

"Shard Hamilton?"

The language he used was the same as the deceased detective's, known as Draleon.

"Yes."

Shard nodded a bit awkwardly, motioning for the numb-looking old man to follow him upstairs.

The old man gestured to the dejected middle-aged man who was soothing the horses behind him, his face as gloomy as the current weather.

The three of them ascended the stairs together. Unsure of what to say, Shard silently led them to a bedroom on the second floor marked with a "No. 1" doorplate.

Throughout the process, almost no one spoke. The old man and the middle-aged man both smelled of the corpse. They put on gloves first, confirmed that the detective's body on the bed was indeed dead, and then handed Shard a document requiring his signature.

It was a confirmation document for the body to be managed by the city public cemetery administration, with the dual seals of the city public cemetery administration and the city funeral committee at the bottom. At the very bottom was a prayer for the deceased, the translation of which made the living Shard very uncomfortable.

The old man and the middle-aged man examined the body, while Shard sat at the bedroom's desk and picked up the cold fountain pen.

His mind was somewhat muddled now, but he could understand and read, even if he could not write. Fortunately, the knowledge he had received just before gave him the ability to write as well. Planning to sign his name translated to the phonetically similar "Human Northern Common Language of Draleon," he decided to sign his name.

On the cold sheet of paper, there was nothing noteworthy, just the confirmation of the body's transfer and that the funeral expenses had been settled.

"But looking at another signature on the document, belonging to the committee's secretariat, the naming convention in this world is very similar to the Western style in my previous life, divided into three parts, official documents included adding a middle name. The first name is 'Shard,' the surname could follow 'Hamilton,' but the middle name..."

The confused and uneasy Outlander didn't know if the deceased Mr. Hamilton had given a middle name to the body's original owner, but now was not the time to search through the room; he had to quickly think of a name to use temporarily.

[Suellen.]

That whispering voice resonated in Shard's mind again, almost making him jump. The voice provided a word, which existed in both the ancient language used by women and the common language of the Northern Kingdom used by detectives, meaning "silver moon."

"I can use this as my middle name, but you'll have to explain it," he said.

Shard tried to communicate again, his heart extraordinarily tense, and the whispering woman's voice actually sounded:

[This is Fate, Outlander, the silver moon is your destiny. Once you gather the Four Elements and push open the Supernatural Gate, glimpsing this terrifying world, the meaning will naturally appear.]

Shard frowned, suppressing the panic inside, and after a moment's thought, he firmly signed his own name:

Shard Suren Hamilton.

The Corpse Bearers did not ask Shard for a death certificate or a report of the cause of death, nor did they intend to notify the police for an autopsy. It was as if the detective's death was as commonplace as a stray dog's departure from the street.

After retrieving the "Body Transfer Authorization" from Shard, they gave him a receipt with the location of the grave, and then silently carried away the body of Mr. Hamilton, still in his pajamas.

Shard escorted them to the front door downstairs, but did not go out himself. He watched as the body was placed in a narrow coffin on the carriage, lined with a brown cloth that seemed stained with blood.

The middle-aged man drove the horse-drawn carriage, carrying the coffin and the old man, deep into the foggy streets in the distance.

"Well then, goodbye, Detective Sparrow Hamilton," he thought silently as he closed the door. Standing in the dim hallway light for a while, Shard then re-ascended the eerie dark stairs. The step of the Outlander was heavy, and though he was alone and tense, there was a strange sense of relief:

"Simpler than I thought. No queries about Mr. Hamilton's cause of death, no concern whether I truly am Shard Hamilton, not even a tip for moving the body... Detective Hamilton must have prepared everything in advance."

The body left carrying many secrets, leaving behind countless mysteries for Shard, the despicable Outlander who had taken over another's body. He still had many questions for Mr. Hamilton, and countless doubts waiting for answers.

But the dead cannot be resurrected, and he had to accept the fact of the other's death and strive to establish himself in this apparently abnormal world.

The only good news was that the house on the second floor, previously owned by Detective Sparrow Hamilton, now belonged to Shard. He suddenly became a property owner in this world, similar to the Victorian Era of the mid-nineteenth century.

The first floor was boarded up, the neighboring room "No. 2" on the second floor was locked from the outside, and the stairs leading to the third floor were completely broken. Thus, in this empty house, there was now only Shard left.

He returned to room "No. 1" on the second floor and meticulously checked every corner of the darkened study, living room, bathroom, and bedroom to ensure there was really no one in those shadows, then he exhaled deeply and sat on the living room sofa, slightly reassured as he looked out at the morning fog.

Shard finally had time to sort out the current situation:

"I've traveled through time, inheriting a detective agency. The body's original owner might have issues, trained by the previous detective to help him complete an apparently simple task after his death... Detective Sparrow Hamilton had secrets, this world holds mysterious powers, and the detective's death along with the voice in my head both prove this.

What I need is to gather the Four Elements; the detective's death has already exposed me to 'Whisper'..."

Rubbing his face, though worried, the situation so far was at least not bad. Although Detective Sparrow Hamilton's death was sudden, at least, Shard had a footing in this brand new world.

This was sufficient to sustain his livelihood, to explore the secrets of this world, and possibly find a way back home.

Shard was not a person who was content with circumstances, nor was he one to complain about everything. It was unfortunate to have unwittingly left his homeland and come here, but all he could do for now was accept it, to live well here, and try to live even better.

"Besides, to see this world possessing Transcendent powers, the Steam Age mysteries, those rituals, and Sorcery... how could one possibly be content with the ordinary?"

Shard murmured to himself, as the laughter of the woman in his mind rang out, as pleasant as a breeze over a field of lavender.