Carrying a heavy suitcase, Lynch jumped down from the hired carriage at Charles Square.
Inside were books borrowed from the Church of the Black Night.
Although book prices in this world had begun to plummet with the advent of the Age of Steam, the exorbitant cost of one or two pounds per volume had sent Lynch fleeing straight out of the bookstore. Meanwhile, the libraries of several higher education institutions were not open to the public, making it truly difficult to find a place to borrow books.
No wonder the cost of education was so steep. It was truly arduous for Mrs. Maggie to put little Martha through school.
Sighing as his boots hit the ground, Lynch tossed the coachman a half-shilling coin. The coachman had helped haul the suitcase into the carriage, so Lynch gave him a tip.
A colossal tip of one whole penny.
Emotionally touched by his own generosity, he made his way across the square toward number 221.
It was a rare day when he returned home early. The square had already begun to bustle with activity as a group of housewives living nearby occupied all the stalls, picking through goods, haggling over prices, and occasionally bickering fiercely, exuding an authentic vibe of everyday urban life.
Thinking back on how he had been running about just to stay alive every single day since transmigrating, he had always told himself that once he solved his problems, he would properly enjoy life.
But what was life? Bars and theaters? Fine wine and delicacies? That was only a small part of it; this mundane, everyday hustle and bustle was life just the same.
In truth, he had been experiencing life every day—he just had never tried to enjoy it.
Spending five pennies at the stall of an old woman wearing a sour, disdainful expression, he bought a few honey biscuits, and then spent the same amount to get a full pound of soft white bread. The price of sweets in this world was truly unfriendly.
Lynch tasted a small piece; it was cloyingly sweet, making him wonder why anyone liked eating this stuff. Forget it—he would save it to pair with black tea when a certain someone came over tonight. He could consider it putting waste to good use.
Carefully wrapping up the “waste,” he headed over to a grocery stall on the other side run by a middle-aged man in a top hat to buy a lighter. Lighters did not sell very well here—the people of Lande preferred pipes, so lighters were far less practical than matches. It was the neighboring Kingdom of Friedman that was obsessed with cigars and cigarettes.
Although Lynch did not care for smoking, there was no guarantee he would not need fire while investigating cases. It was best to avoid another experience like last night, where he had nearly been scared out of his wits by a top hat in the dark.
It actually cost three shillings—even such a simple mechanical device was this expensive. Lynch let out a sigh. Just as he reluctantly handed over the coins, a clamor reached his ears.
Looking up, he saw a few blue uniforms and a group of gray uniforms crossing the square, heading toward another small building along the edge.
It was a dilapidated building. Every time Lynch looked at it, he suspected it might collapse tomorrow, but it was said to have held up for ten years already and looked set to keep holding on.
That was because tenants still lived inside—dozens of people from over a dozen families packed tightly together. The moment the gray uniforms approached, a crowd immediately poured out from within, and a fierce argument erupted between the two sides.
Testing the lighter, Lynch pointed at the commotion over there and gave the stall owner an inquiring glance.
The middle-aged man in the top hat rolled his eyes and said impatiently, “Hurry along once you've bought your stuff. What are you asking so much for?”
What was wrong with these people?
Lynch sighed again and explained, “I'll be living at number 221 for a long time from now on. I ought to know what's happening with the neighbors.”
“Hm? You live on Villa Avenue too? The Hudsons' tenant?”
The man in the top hat sized Lynch up and down, his attitude softening considerably.
“State who you are first next time you buy something. Otherwise, how is anyone supposed to know you?”
With that, the man tossed back a shilling before explaining, “Those folks are from the Hall of Crafts. Supposedly here to inspect hazardous buildings.”
“Isn't that a good thing? That building really does look dangerous to me.”
“And what happens after it's declared hazardous? The city hall won't pay to fix it, and the tenants don't have the money to repair it themselves, so it gets slated for mandatory demolition. Where are that many people supposed to live once it's torn down? Go sleep under the Lande Bridge?” The man snorted coldly. “They don't give a damn whether the people in the King District live or die. Back then, those wealthy lords used land purchase orders to swindle and scare away all our farmland, claiming that working in factories would give us a steady wage and let us live in the city. They said we could start by living here, and in a few years, we'd have the money to move to a nicer district. Some people have been here for over thirty years now, and aren't they still stuck living right here?”
Tsk, so an enclosure movement happened in this world as well. Makes sense, given the era.
Lynch shook his head. These messy affairs soured his mood, robbing him of any interest in browsing further. Carrying his heavy suitcase, he unlocked the front door of number 221.
The moment the door swung open... he froze on the spot for several seconds, then took a step backward and closed the door again.
Gripping the doorknob, his face felt hot, and his heart beat faster. Only one question ran through his head: Why was there a blonde young woman inside whose clothes were half-soaked? Opening the door again should reset the scene, right?
Before he could finish amusing himself, Mrs. Hudson pulled the door open and dragged him inside. “Come help, quick! The water pipe burst!”
The problem is, I don't know how to fix pipes either.
Despite the thought, Lynch dropped his precious suitcase of books and dashed into the kitchen.
Fortunately, it was just a loose screw fitting. Tightening it restored everything to normal. However, Lynch noticed that it was an old district after all; even though this apartment was relatively new and fairly well-maintained, the pipes were already rusted. He could only hope they would last a few more years.
“Thank you, thank you so much, Mr. Levive. Thank goodness you were here.”
Only now did Mrs. Maggie Hudson let out a sigh of relief. Clasping Lynch's hands with endless gratitude, she had yet to realize that the key issue was that she was exposed.
“Here.” Lynch, having noticed, felt steam rising from his head. His cognitive functions plummeted, and hardly knowing what he was doing, he woodenly handed over the white bread meant as a token of goodwill. Gulping heavily, he muttered in a daze, “Um, ma'am... shouldn't you change your clothes first?”
The air fell dead silent for a few seconds. Then, a piercing scream nearly shattered Lynch's eardrums. Blushing all the way to her eyes, the blonde woman crossed her arms over her chest and sprinted toward the first-floor bedroom, trailing a long scream behind her until it was cut off by the slamming bedroom door.
Uh, shouldn't I have warned her?
Lynch scratched his head helplessly, completely exposing the emotional intelligence from his past life.
【Pfft.】
‘Hm? Lady Luna, this isn't right of you. Why are you peeking out the window laughing at your neighbor? I know I acted a bit foolish, but shouldn't you politely look away at a time like this?’
【I will accompany you and witness every scenery along your journey with you.】
‘Bringing that up as an excuse right now isn't very appropriate, is it?’
Utter silence.
‘Giving the silent treatment won't work. I know you're always there.’
Still utter silence.
Rolling his eyes, Lynch sullenly carried his suitcase and bolted upstairs to the second floor; otherwise, things would only get more awkward in a moment.
After cautiously locking the door, his mind wandering as he changed into a clean shirt, he emptied his pockets of various odds and ends onto the coffee table and hung up his wet clothes. Only then did Lynch breathe a sigh of relief and throw himself onto the sofa.
No need to be a corporate slave, and even getting an eyeful of fanservice—this kind of life was truly comfortable.
Sighing with contentment, Lynch yawned and opened the borrowed theological book under the warm sunlight, beginning to read.
At the end of the First Age, the Dreamlands swallowed the mortal world, and celestial omens appeared.
The apocalypse had arrived.
With their most sacred hearts, the holy spirits spared not the shattering of their divine forms or the falling of their divine consciousnesses, uniting the power of the holy spirits to restore the Dreamlands to its proper place.
Holy, O most sacred hearts, holy.
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