Funeral

Having settled his own affairs, the detective on the bed closed his eyes. Shade pursed his lips and waited for a while before pulling his hand free and checking for breath and a pulse.

"Dead?"

He could not believe the man had died so easily—and that it had really taken almost exactly ten minutes.

Before he could react further, a flash of black light suddenly swept across the corpse's face. Shade's heart tightened for no reason, and an overwhelming terror instantly drowned him.

But when he came back to himself, the black light had dispersed into the air and vanished.

As that light disappeared from the corpse, the gaunt body, as thin as though it had starved to death, gradually filled out at a visible rate. It was as if someone were inflating it from within, until it became a normal corpse.

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

In the silence of the room, Shade looked around uneasily. His unease was not from being alone with a corpse, but from being in unfamiliar surroundings. This was not his former world. He had already glimpsed a corner of the truth behind this world's mysteries and dangers.

The woman's voice in his mind rang out again, as though reminding Shade that this was not a "person":

You have come into contact with Whisper.

"What contact? What Whisper? Could you explain in detail?"

But the voice still gave no answer.

Whisper was one of the "mysterious Four Elements" the detective had mentioned earlier. Clearly, the so-called relic and Whisper were the truth behind his death.

Though the oppressive and unknown truth left Shade at a loss, he unexpectedly did not feel much fear as he looked at the corpse on the bed.

"If someone is playing a joke, that would be wonderful."

At that moment, he hoped this was all an act, but reason told him it could not be.

After standing silently beside the bed for a while, he quietly circled around the Four-Poster Bed and went to the window. Carefully and calmly, he pulled aside the heavy curtains. At once, the faint morning Sunlight shone in through the gray mist on the street and the window glass.

The light seemed to temporarily drive away the unease in his heart as well.

"It's morning?"

Because of the heavy cloth curtains, he had thought it was nighttime.

Knock, knock, knock—

The sound of knocking suddenly rang out, startling Shade. He instinctively let go of the curtain, but immediately grabbed it again and pulled it fully open. Squinting out the window, he saw that it faced the street. He had no time to admire the strange Steam Epoch scenery in the fog. First, he looked down and confirmed that the visitors were corpse bearers. Only after spotting the horse-drawn carriage for transporting bodies did he turn around to open the door.

"He could accurately know the time of his death, so the corpse bearers he contacted could arrive this precisely."

With that thought, he pushed open the bedroom door. Outside was the Living Room, where gas pipes resembling those of the Steam Epoch likewise crawled along the walls. Hand-polished solid wood furniture and piles of books and documents written in alphabetic script were scattered throughout the room.

A small blackboard hung on the wall, and the formal tea table and upholstered sofa set also gave the place the distinct style of a Detective Agency.

The Living Room curtains had not been drawn, allowing dim Morning Light from the fog to shine in. The light slanted across the floor in front of Shade's feet.

Dust motes drifted quietly in the light, like tiny, eerie creatures swimming through the air. The sense of reality made Shade's scalp tingle.

After undoing the cold door bolt and security chain, he found a dark staircase spiraling downward directly ahead. There was another door next to it, meaning there were only two residences on this floor. It was somewhat like an apartment building from a Holmes novel.

Unable to find a lamp, he could only wind his way down the dark, oppressive stairs. His heart seemed to shudder wildly with every step. In the darkness, Shade's overly active thoughts made him feel as though some terrifying presence were watching him.

He descended from the 2nd Floor to the 1st Floor, where the stairs led directly into the entry hall. On one side of the hall, the passage leading deeper into the 1st Floor had been completely sealed with Wooden Boards, like a boarded-up coffin, leaving only the entry hall usable on the entire floor.

This sight left the already nervous Outlander even more confused.

"Why seal off the 1st Floor? What exactly is going on here?"

After passing the shoe cabinet, he casually set an overturned umbrella upright and glanced at the Gas Lamp on the wall above it. He carefully turned it on, and the light steadied his heart.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the front door.

A silent old man in a black overcoat stood outside, with an emblem of overlapping leaves hanging from his chest. Behind him were a gloomy sky and choking fog. The old man raised his eyes to look at Shade, his voice low and harsh like leaves scraping across wet, cold ground.

"Shade Hamilton?"

He spoke the same language as the dead detective: the so-called Delarion Language.

"Yes."

Shade nodded somewhat stiffly and gestured for the old man, who Seemed rather numb, to follow him upstairs.

The old man then called to the dejected Middle-aged Man behind him, who was calming the horses. The man's expression was as gloomy as the weather.

The three of them climbed the stairs together. Shade did not know what to say, so he silently led them to the bedroom in the room marked with the Room Number "1" on the 2nd Floor.

Almost no one spoke during the entire process. Both the old man and the Middle-aged Man carried the smell of corpses. They first put on gloves and confirmed that the detective on the bed was truly dead, then handed Shade a document requiring his signature.

It was a confirmation document authorizing the City Public Cemetery Management Office to handle the corpse. It bore the official seals of both the City Public Cemetery Management Office and the City Funeral Committee. At the bottom was a prayer for the deceased, whose translated meaning made the living Shade deeply uncomfortable.

While the old man and the Middle-aged Man examined the corpse, Shade sat at the bedroom desk and picked up a cold steel pen.

His mind was a mess, but he could still tell that he could understand and read the language, yet could not write it. Fortunately, the knowledge he had received earlier included not only the ability to speak, but also the ability to write. Translating his name into the phonetically similar "human Northern Kingdom Common Language Delarion Language," he prepared to sign it.

There was nothing noteworthy on the cold sheet of paper. It roughly confirmed the transfer of the corpse and stated that the funeral expenses had already been paid in full.

"But judging by the other signature from the committee secretariat, names in this world resemble those of the West in my previous life. They have three parts, and formal documents require a middle name. The given name is 'Shade,' and the surname can follow 'Hamilton,' but the middle name..."

The confused and uneasy Outlander had no idea whether the late Mr. Hamilton had given this body's former owner a middle name. But now was not the time to search the room. He had to come up with a name immediately to get through this.

Suellen.

The whispering voice rang out in his mind again. The Whisper nearly made Shade jump. The voice gave him a word that existed both in the Ancient Language used by the woman and the Northern Kingdom Common Language used by the detective. It meant Silver Moon.

"I can use that as my middle name, but you need to explain yourself."

Shade tried to communicate again, his heart exceptionally tense. And the woman's whispering voice truly sounded once more:

This is Destiny, Outlander. The Silver Moon is your Destiny. When you gather the Four Elements, push open the door to the extraordinary, and behold this terrifying world, its meaning will naturally appear.

Frowning, Shade suppressed the fear in his heart. After thinking for a moment, he firmly signed his name:

Shade Suellen Hamilton.

The corpse bearers did not ask Shade for a death certificate or a report on the cause of death, much less show any intention of informing the police for an autopsy. It was as though the detective's death were as ordinary as the passing of a Wild Dog by the roadside.

After retrieving the "Corpse Transfer Authorization Commission" from Shade, they gave him a receipt listing the grave's location. Only then did they silently carry away Mr. Hamilton's body, still dressed in pajamas.

Shade saw them to the doorway downstairs but did not leave the house himself. He watched as the corpse was placed into a narrow coffin in the carriage. Brown fabric lined the coffin, as though stained with blood.

The Middle-aged Man drove the carriage, carrying the coffin and the old man into the thick fog in the distance.

"Well then, goodbye, Mr. Sparrow Hamilton."

Thinking that silently, Shade closed the door. He stood for a while beneath the dim light in the entry hall before climbing back up the dark stairs that filled him with dread. The Outlander's steps were heavy, but with no one else around, amid his tension he felt an inexplicable sense of relief.

"It was simpler than I expected. They did not ask about Mr. Hamilton's cause of death, nor did they care whether I was truly Shade Hamilton. They did not even ask for a tip for carrying the body. Hamilton Detective really had arranged everything in advance."

The corpse left with many secrets, leaving Shade, the despicable Outlander who had occupied another person's body, with countless mysteries. He still had many questions he wanted to ask Mr. Hamilton, and countless doubts awaiting answers.

But the dead could not return to life. He had to accept the man's death and strive to gain a foothold in this world that Seemed profoundly wrong.

The only good news was that the house on the 2nd Floor, which had previously belonged to Mr. Sparrow Hamilton, now belonged to Shade. In this other world, so much like the Victorian Era of the mid-nineteenth century, he had suddenly become a homeowner.

The 1st Floor had been sealed with Wooden Boards, the room next door marked "2" was locked from the outside, and the stairs to the Third Floor had completely collapsed. Therefore, Shade was now the only person left in this empty house.

He returned to Room Number "1" on the 2nd Floor and carefully checked every corner of the unlit study, Living Room, Washroom, and bedroom. Only after confirming that there was truly no one hidden in the shadows did he let out a long breath, sit on the Living Room sofa, and tilt his head slightly as he gazed at the morning fog outside with some relief.

Shade finally had time to sort out his current situation:

"I crossed into another world and inherited a Detective Agency. The former owner of this body may have had something wrong with his head. He was raised by the previous detective and helped him complete a seemingly simple task after his death. Detective Sparrow Hamilton had secrets. Mysterious power exists in this world; the detective's death and the voice in my mind both prove it. As for me, I need to gather the Four Elements. The detective's death has already brought me into contact with Whisper."

Rubbing his face, he was worried, but his current situation was not too bad. Although Mr. Sparrow Hamilton had died suddenly, Shade at least had somewhere to stay in this entirely new world.

That was enough to support him as he lived on and explored this world's secrets. Perhaps he could find a way Home.

Shade was not someone who simply accepted whatever came his way, but neither was he someone who complained about everything. Being inexplicably torn from his hometown and brought here was certainly unfortunate. For now, all he could do was accept it, live well here, and try to live even better.

"Besides, I should go see this world of the extraordinary. How could anyone be content with an ordinary life amid the mysteries of the Steam Epoch, those rituals and curses?"

Shade murmured softly. The woman's laughter rang out in his mind, as pleasant as a breeze passing over a field of lavender.