Prologue: Old Dunling

In the year 931 of the Inverwig calendar.

The city was plunged into a pitch-black slumber. High above the night sky, massive zeppelins drifted slowly like giant whales, their cyclopean searchlights casting beams downward, shifting and observing the sleeping city below.

Lorenzo stood at a street corner, puffing away on a cigarette. The tobacco was laced with invigorating herbs, keeping his mind razor-sharp even in the dead of night—perhaps even a little over-excited.

Carrying this faint sense of excitement, he tapped his cane lightly against the ground, striking it with a brisk, rhythmic cadence he kept in his mind.

He was waiting for someone. Generally speaking, he liked to think while waiting for people—anything would do, as long as his brain wasn't idle.

He tilted his head, gazing up at the dim streetlamp, his thoughts gradually drifting away.

According to the concept of parallel universes, on a grand enough scale, all incredible things are bound to happen—or rather, under this concept, they are destined to occur.

For instance, in some world, the speed of light can be surpassed, Saturn's rings are a giant donut, Tesla is a grand magus who commands thunder, Hawking is a bronze dragon that controls time, and King Arthur is actually a girl.

So, you see, anything is possible.

Take another example: in some modern world, humanity ignited the First Industrial Revolution. Rumbling steam engines slowly propelled massive iron creations, railways covered every inch of inhabited land, productivity was liberated, the economy soared, and a perfect era arrived, fueled by roaring steam.

...Logically, the story should have unfolded that way, but just like the concept of parallel universes, there are always things that defy reason.

So, what if... the arrival of the electrical age was delayed?

Just like the countless hypotheses for a story, what if the historical timeline everyone is familiar with shifted ever so slightly?

The Second Industrial Revolution began after that, but hell, the world didn't enter the electrical age because of it. It was as if Newton had been lying under a tree, and just as the most critical apple in the history of physics was about to hit his head, the unlucky kid rolled over, and humanity briefly lost the formula for universal gravitation.

This world was the same. When they realized that boiling water could drive all things, this godforsaken era veered off the path of normal historical development.

Electrical technology failed to take the lead in this torrent of steam; it wasn't utilized on a large scale and existed only in a few places. Internal combustion engines, with their superior thermal conversion efficiency, were never discovered by the world.

Larger and larger steam engines were built. They became increasingly complex, eventually becoming the hubs of the cities, the hubs of the world.

They were bloated, massive, and inefficient, yet when those magnificent iron bodies appeared in one's field of vision, everyone would be filled with awe.

Lorenzo lived in such an era—an age where reason and madness coexisted.

Steel and steam, mystery and the unknown.

A sharp whistle of steam interrupted his thoughts. He looked to the side as scorching white vapor erupted from a manhole cover near the street. Under the cold night wind, it condensed into countless water droplets that drifted away, eventually dissipating into a gray mist that blanketed the entire city.

It was a godforsaken era, and this was a godforsaken city.

The lunatics at the Mechanical Institute had hollowed out the city's underground, building the largest steam engine in history. To do so, they had dug kilometers of underground channels, diverting the Thames River into that iron furnace. It burned day and night, powering the city's mechanical factories.

The complex underground system served as their exhaust facility. Every day, thousands of tons of purified water vapor surged onto the streets, only to fall back down as a drizzling rain.

Thus, it was gloomy here all year round, with no sunlight to be seen.

He lowered his head to check his pocket watch. It was about time. Just then, the sound of rapid breathing and running footsteps echoed from the end of the street.

It seemed the person he was waiting for was quite punctual.

Lorenzo flicked away his cigarette butt and reached under his heavy trench coat, drawing his beloved Winchester.

Just like the concept of parallel universes, in this godforsaken era, there was also a man hailed as a great detective... though "great detective" was a title he gave himself. He wasn't a man of high reputation, nor was he a master of deduction; he was merely a second-rate detective who liked to use force to coerce suspects.

Those who knew him addressed him as such: Lorenzo Holmes.

The footsteps grew closer, right by his ear. His face was filled with wild joy.

"Welcome to Old Dunling, my friend!"

The second-rate detective rushed out from the street corner, laughing heartily at the figure running toward him. Then, to the shock in the shadow's eyes, he affectionately pulled the trigger. The Winchester let out a thunderous roar in the night.

Amidst the dazzling muzzle flash, the shadow was struck down before it could even react, and scarlet blood flowed through the gaps in the cobblestones into the sewer.

As the sound of the gunshot faded, police officers armed with rifles soon surrounded the area. The lights from the zeppelins in the night sky illuminated the scene as if it were broad daylight, but at this moment, aside from the now-cold corpse, there was nothing left.