In this era, there were no real estate agencies in any country. Anyone wanting to sell a property could only list it at the government-established property office, and those looking to buy could only go there as well.
The buyer and seller typically didn't need to meet in person. The seller would provide a price to the property office, and the buyer would pay the property office directly, along with the required taxes, to receive the property deed.
Charlotte pondered for a while, and soon his fatigue became overwhelming. Without even undressing, he drifted into a hazy dream.
It was a pitch-black night, and the streets were unlit!
Flickering starlight and howling winds filled the long street.
Charlotte felt a bit bewildered, looking around, wondering how he had ended up outside when he was clearly lying in bed.
"Something's not right."
Charlotte tried to summon his bloodthirsty glory. Over the past ten days, this power had advanced further, forming a small vortex in his brow, and a strange energy flowed through his body, giving him a sense of calm.
A soft voice suddenly sounded behind him: "You've wronged me."
Startled, Charlotte turned to see a rather beautiful young woman, her clothes stained with blood and her face bruised, looking disheveled. He remembered the murder case from earlier and asked, "Are you Mrs. Yamils?"
The young woman couldn't help but laugh, her voice eerie in the night. She asked, "You don't even remember who I am? You let my husband kill me, and you feel no guilt at all?"
She placed a delicate hand on Charlotte's shoulder, leaning in close, her breath icy as she said, "Don't you think you owe me compensation?"
Charlotte smiled slightly, remaining very calm, and said, "You're not Mrs. Yamils, or you would have realized you had the wrong person by now."
A spiteful laugh echoed in his ears, and the young woman screamed, "You still want to evade responsibility? Pretending not to know me? Come with me to hell, and we can relive all those intimate moments we shared."
Charlotte closed his eyes, channeling the bloodthirsty glory into his fist, and punched out, colliding with something hard. He clearly felt that his fist had the upper hand, sending something flying.
Speaking softly, only to himself, Charlotte said, "So even in a dream, I'm still Huang Haisheng, huh?"
He had long realized he was in a dream.
His appearance had reverted to his previous life's form: black hair, black eyes, and delicate, weak-looking hands.
Bloodthirsty glory falls under the category of dark powers!
Dark powers come in many forms, but they all originate from the soul.
Dreams can suppress purely physical energies but not the dark powers that come from the soul.
Although his bloodthirsty glory had only just awakened and was still weak, it wasn't diminished in the dream.
A voice, full of anger, exclaimed, "You're a superhuman?"
Still with his eyes closed, Charlotte performed a gentleman's bow and smiled, saying, "Yes!"
"Damn it!"
Charlotte suddenly felt a weight on his body and opened his eyes to see the ceiling of his bedroom.
He leaped up, opened the window, and saw a carriage parked across the street with a lantern hanging from it, casting a dim, eerie light.
Charlotte calmly jumped out of the window.
In his two lives, this was his first time trying a free fall from the fourth floor, and despite the wind rushing past his ears, he wasn't afraid.
Bloodthirsty glory filled his legs, making them as powerful as an antelope's. When he landed, he lightly crouched to absorb the impact and gracefully walked towards the carriage across the street.
Charlotte smiled slightly and said, "Invading someone's dream without permission is very rude. Could you tell me who you are?"
A young girl's voice came from inside the carriage, nervously saying, "What are you talking about? I was just passing by. Please step aside."
Charlotte whispered, "I'm not blocking your way. If you don't want to say anything, I won't press. But if you're investigating Mrs. Yamils's death, I'm willing to share what I know."
After a long pause, the young girl in the carriage softly said, "Sorry, it seems I really mistook you for someone else. Please, get in."
The carriage door opened slightly, and Charlotte didn't hesitate to pull it open and step inside.
Carriages require horses to pull them, with high wheels making the carriage much taller than a modern car. Most people need a step to get in and out easily.
Charlotte, however, stepped in with ease, something only someone with exceptional physical prowess or superhuman abilities—or both—could do.
Inside the carriage sat a young girl wearing a long dress in a casual, at-home style. She had delicate features, black-framed glasses, and a calm expression, though the faint blush on her ears and the hidden short dagger betrayed her anxiety.
"Charlotte Mecklenburg, a graduate of Sheffield University, employed at the Central Government Office, a first-level superhuman." Her brief introduction broke the tension, easing her nerves and softening her hostility.
She softly said, "Anne of Brittany, third-year student at Gorgia University, became a dreamwalker in my first year."
Charlotte took note of the Brittany surname, recognizing its nobility, but now wasn't the time to ask about it. Smiling, he said, "Gorgia University was once my dream school."
Anne of Brittany, unsure how to respond to this unexpected conversation, gently said, "Sheffield University is a good school too."
Charlotte chuckled and said, "Every university is a good university."
This was an indisputable platitude.
In this era, universities weren't just places of education like in later times; they were seen as sanctuaries of divine blessing.
There were nine gods presiding over the eras, but only four of them had followers who established universities. Each university was a supreme human institution, producing students considered chosen by the gods.
Anne agreed with this statement, not realizing how Charlotte had subtly steered the conversation.
"It's tragic that this happened, but I wasn't well-acquainted with Mrs. Yamils. Mr. Yamils must have misunderstood his wife, which led to this tragedy."
"If you investigate at the Central Government Office, you'll easily find that I've been vacationing in Sanis and only returned a few days ago."
Anne of Brittany hesitated, then said, "I believe you, Mr. Mecklenburg. It was my mistake."
Charlotte smiled slightly, using a common rhetorical technique from his previous life: presenting an unrelated but undeniable fact to subtly reinforce a distant conclusion. Many people accept the undeniable fact and subconsciously overlook its lack of relevance to the conclusion.