Steampunk: Sixth Era Epic

"Such wills and requests, you just know something's off the moment you hear them."

The expression on Shard's face, who was having his hand held beside the bed, didn't show much. But he clearly understood; a detective who precisely foresaw his own death and took in a homeless man with a feeble mind right before dying, leaving all of his possessions just for a seemingly simple request. That meant this simple request was definitely anything but.

The other party was probably not just a detective, but the Shard now occupying a new body wasn't the original fellow either. Even if the original Shard was oblivious to the truth, the foreigner now understood that he should not get involved in matters that smelled fishy at first whiff. Otherwise...

"If you don't agree, I can guarantee that you won't get a penny of my money after I die, and none of this will be yours. You'll go back to being homeless, without gas lamps, without a fireplace, without three meals a day, not even a bed. You'll return to your former life..."

But Shard had to agree; he had nothing in this world. Weighing the option of struggling from scratch as a vagrant against getting involved in a troublesome matter but gaining wealth, Shard knew neither choice was good, but he had to choose one.

Moreover, now that he was standing here and had heard these words, he was already involved, so backing out wasn't an option. Shard understood how to assess the situation and weigh his own circumstances.

"Just, is the death of Mr. Sparrow Hamilton related to the supernatural? Is it related to the voice in my head?"

He thought to himself, yet he couldn't deduce any further conclusions. Unexpectedly, at this moment, the voice in his head appeared again:

[It's related to the supernatural, he died due to a "Relic." It has nothing to do with you.]

That voice was still so elegant, so composed. Despite the brevity of the information, the whispering voice still seemed as though it was reciting a Poem Chapter.

"Relic?"

In the ancient and elegant language used by the woman, this was a proper noun. Different languages carry different amounts of information, and in the language that the woman used, the term carried vast amounts of information, including the likes of "Sealed Item," "Containment Object," and "Cursed Item."

Shard was glad he understood this language; from the vocabulary, he discerned "special objects capable of exercising supernatural power but extremely dangerous."

This made Shard harbor some rather ominous speculations about this world.

"So, who are you exactly?"

The voice didn't explain the term, so Shard asked inwardly. From the answers to his questions, he realized that the other party was also a thinking entity.

[I am you.]

The murmuring voice answered softly, its whisper-like assertion caused a chill to run down Shard's back.

But Shard hummed lightly; he was certain that this body was male, and the voice in his head could not be its original inhabitant.

Looking at the shine of the bedside lamp, illuminating the tightly furrowed, lifeless ghastly skin of the man on the bed, Shard said to him:

"I understand, sir."

"Shard, I have ten minutes of life left, if there's anything else you want to ask, go ahead and ask,"

The other party said something very remarkable, his tone filled with fatigue. But Shard knew that if everything the other person said was correct, then the following questions would be key to his establishment in this world, and he must be cautious:

"Your death... seems unnatural."

He spoke slowly, faking the voice of someone slow-witted, which was quite taxing. The first question was about his own situation after the other's death, and Shard had to make sure that the cause of the detective's demise wouldn't affect him.

"We never discussed this before, and I know you've always been worried… No need to worry about that. My death in a while might scare you, but there's no need for fear. My death will not implicate you; I need you to complete a task three months from now, so I can assure you of this. The one who killed me will definitely not appear again. After all, we ordinary folks are not worthy of their attention."

The information received was quite substantial, the man on the bed had no intention of hiding anything.

"Ordinary... people?"

This time, Shard truly hesitated.

"You don't need to know, and frankly, I don't understand much myself. Those Circle Sorcerers, practitioners of the Four Elements: "Arcane Technique," "Enlightenment," "Desecration," "Whisper," the Church of the Five Great Deities and the Three Great Magics Academies, this terrifying world… Forget what I just said, you'll live better. Remember, you don't understand anything."

The man on the bed emphasized forcefully, leaving Shard to just take note of these terms and then nod:

"Alright, I don't understand anything."

He guessed that "Circle Sorcerer" was a term for the Magicians of this world, and "Arcane Technique," "Enlightenment," "Desecration," "Whisper" were parts of a power system, while the True God Church and the Magics Academies were the major forces of Magicians.

It was impossible for an ordinary person detective to know so much; there were indeed many secrets to the Hamilton Detective.

But Shard did not continue to inquire on this topic. He had to make the conversant willingly divulge more information within the limited time, instead of mutually suspecting each other trying to discern lies and truths:

"After you die, how should I... live? I don't understand detective work, and I'm not well educated."

Despite the urgency, he couldn't speak faster. Not only because of the disguise but also because Shard still couldn't master the language fluently. This situation of having to walk when he should be racing made him quite anxious. But he couldn't show his anxiety, therefore he felt even more anxious internally.

"It's alright, what I have taught you is enough. You only need to stay here for three months. After three months, sell everything and move to the countryside, where it's better suited for you, enough for you to live out your life in peace... after all, the cost of living is lower there."

Perhaps truly lacking the strength, the man in the bed didn't utter a more complete sentence. But Shard had no memories of the past, unaware of what the other had taught him, he sought help from the voice in his head, but it didn't appear.

"Is there anything else you need to entrust to me?"

This was the third time Shard had asked the question, deliberating carefully before speaking.

"Remember the words I told you over these three months; remember the simple commissions I left in the memo, you can try to do them to maintain the operation of the detective agency; also, the card in this diary..."

The feeble man pointed to the bedside. He let go of Shard's hand, and Shard bent down to pick up the diary. The brown leather cover was secured with a magnetic clasp, and the diary had been well preserved by its user.

Shard handed the diary to Mr. Hamilton in bed, but he shook his head, barely able to speak anymore.

So Shard opened the diary himself, quickly flipping through, each page carried continuous dates, both sides were used. Most of the pages had only one sentence "Nothing happened today, not much savings left," while a few detailed the progression of commissions received by the agency.

When he reached the middle of the diary, the rustling of pages stopped and a stiff card was sandwiched at that spot. Shard controlled himself not to raise his eyebrows, seeing that it was a rectangular card smaller than the size of a hand.

After taking it out, the surface of the card felt like it was covered with a completely transparent wax, protecting the card itself from environmental damage. But upon closer touch, it seemed to be a layer of transparent skin. Suddenly, Shard thought of human skin.

The card was not thick, and under room lighting, one could see through it.

What Shard considered the back had abstract patterns of the sun, moon, and stars intertwined into an odd combination; what he considered the front depicted a lady with her head turned so her features were indistinct, side-sitting on a high stool, holding the moon.

Silver hair, her profile outlined with a hint of a smile, wearing a long robe. However, the colors on the card weren't rich, only featuring white, black, and cool tones around those two colors.

In the top right corner of the front, there was a number 3, and in the top left corner was a small symbol of the sun. Between them, at the top center of the card's face, a white circle held a black vertical line.

Directly below the image of the woman, or the bottom front, there was a small blank space that held a line of small writing:

[When using this card, the number can be adjusted within the range of 1 to 5.]

The card did not appear very new, and with the faint light in the room, subtle damages not easily noticed could be seen, but it was also evident that the owner had tried hard to preserve it carefully.

Surprisingly, Shard understood all the words on the card, just as he could understand the speech of men and women.

"How strange, after crossing over, I can understand what I hear and read, but can't seem to speak."

As he thought to himself, he asked softly:

"What is this?"

"A very valuable card, interchangeable with the common deck of 54 cards we usually use, belonging to the four suits of sun, moon, stars, and flowers, representing the card [Sun 3]. But this card is a special edition, with rare patterns making it highly collectible.

Keep it saved in the diary, don't let it get wet or fold it, and certainly don't show it to others lightly, but if you're truly desperate, go to Birmingham Collection Hall in Tobesk City, the people there understand its value... the Roder Card, the most important collection of my life..."

Shard nodded, noting the term "Roder Card," understanding this was a common card game in this world, and that [Sun 3] had the same nature as commemorative coins and stamps. So, he slipped the card back into the diary.

Although the card was somewhat more exquisite, he deduced from the bedroom's décor that this era's production capacity could manufacture such items, so there was no need for much suspicion.

"Sir, is there anything else you want to say?"

Shard asked again, now letting the other take the initiative to speak, rather than asking himself.

"Shard."

Mr. Hamilton took hold of Shard's hand once again, his eyes looking tenderly toward the young man at the bedside:

"I know I've never been a good man, but I'm truly sorry for involving you in this. Three months from now, leave Tobesk City. Such a grand capital is not suitable for you...

But I think, if you were to understand, you'd believe that taking you away from a vagrant life was the right choice. Your mind isn't sharp, remember, don't trust others' words so easily in the future, especially those trying to make you spend money... I've already made arrangements with Tobesk Public Cemetery for a gravesite. The Corpse Bearer will come shortly; you don't have to follow.

Live in this house for three months, according to the life skills I've taught you.

Shard, I am sorry... I wish you good luck."