After making his final arrangements, the detective lying on the bed closed his eyes. Shade pressed his lips together, waiting for a moment before gently pulling his hand free and checking the man's breath and pulse.
"Is he… dead?"
He couldn't believe that the man had died so easily, and, surprisingly, almost exactly after ten minutes, as predicted.
Before he could fully process what had happened, a sudden flash of black light flickered across the detective's face. Shade didn't even manage to see clearly what the light was; it dispersed into the air, vanishing as quickly as it appeared.
And as the light faded, something strange occurred. The detective's corpse, which had looked so frail and emaciated—like he had starved to death—slowly began to fill out. Hamilton's body regained its normal appearance, becoming a more typical, peaceful corpse.
"How could this possibly be normal? What on earth is happening?"
The silence in the room was unnerving. Shade's unease wasn't just because he was alone with a corpse but because of the unfamiliar environment he found himself in. The voice of the woman in his mind echoed again, as if to remind him:
[You've encountered 'Whispers'.]
"Encountered? What whispers? Can you explain in more detail?"
But once again, the voice offered no further explanation.
The term *Whispers* was one of the "Four Extraordinary Elements" the detective had mentioned before he died. It seemed that whatever *relic* or *Whispers* he had encountered was directly related to the detective's death. However, this truth was far too shallow, and Shade could not uncover more.
Looking at the body lying on the bed, Shade was surprised that he wasn't particularly frightened. At this point, he almost wished it was all just an elaborate act, but deep down, he knew it wasn't. Standing quietly for a while, he tried to remain calm as he circled the four-poster bed, making his way to the window. Carefully, he pulled back the heavy curtains, and immediately, the faint morning light streamed in through the foggy streets and the glass panes.
"Is it morning already?"
He had assumed it was night due to the thick fabric of the curtains.
*Knock, knock, knock.*
Suddenly, a knocking sound startled Shade, causing him to instinctively let go of the curtain, only to immediately grab it again and pull it all the way open. Outside the window was the street. He didn't have time to admire the fog-covered steam-powered landscape. Instead, he peered downward and spotted the hearse, confirming that the ones knocking were the undertakers.
"He knew the exact time of his death, which is why he was able to summon the undertakers so precisely."
He thought to himself as he turned away from the window and opened the bedroom door. Beyond it lay the living room, with metal pipes that looked like gas lines crawling up the walls. Wooden furniture, stacks of books and documents, and a small blackboard hung on the wall, completing the scene. A formal tea table and upholstered sofa set gave the room the unmistakable air of a detective's office.
The light in the living room, unimpeded by curtains, streamed in through the windows, casting an angled beam on the floor just ahead of Shade's feet. Dust particles floated lazily in the air, illuminated in the sunlight. Coming out from the dim bedroom, Shade felt as if he had stepped into a completely different world.
He undid the latch and removed the security chain from the door. In front of him was a spiral staircase leading downwards, and he noticed there was another door adjacent to his, indicating there were two apartments on this floor, much like a Victorian-era apartment building described in Sherlock Holmes stories.
Shade descended the spiral stairs, arriving at the first floor. The staircase led directly to the hallway, but the passage to the rest of the first floor was boarded up, leaving only the entryway usable.
*"So, no landlady playing housekeeper here. But why block off the entire first floor?"*
He passed by a shoe cabinet, where he righted a fallen umbrella, and glanced at the gas lamp mounted on the wall above the cabinet. Using its dim light, he opened the front door.
An elderly man dressed in a silent black coat stood on the doorstep, a badge with intertwined leaves hanging from his chest. The old man raised his eyes to glance at Shade.
"Shade Hamilton?" the man asked, speaking the same language as the deceased detective—Delarion.
"Yes," Shade nodded a bit awkwardly, gesturing for the man to follow him upstairs. The old man signaled to the disheveled middle-aged man tending to the horses behind him, and the three of them ascended the stairs. Shade, unsure of what to say, led them quietly to the second-floor apartment marked "No. 1."
Upon reaching the bedroom, the elderly man and the middle-aged helper checked the body of Detective Hamilton, confirming that he had indeed passed. They then handed Shade a document, asking for his signature.
It was a form confirming the transfer of the body to the City Public Cemetery Authority, complete with stamps from both the Cemetery Authority and the City Funeral Committee.
While the two men examined the body, Shade sat at the detective's desk, pen in hand. He was suddenly reminded of the oddity: he could understand and read this world's language, but he wasn't sure he could write. Fortunately, the knowledge he had absorbed granted him some ability in writing as well. Translating his name into the local common language, Delarion, he prepared to sign.
The document contained nothing unusual—just confirmation of the body transfer and a note that the funeral expenses had already been settled. The form was typed, suggesting that the world had mechanical typewriters, likely of a gear-driven design.
"From the other signature, it seems names here are similar to the Western names of my previous life, consisting of three parts: a first name, a middle name, and a last name. My name is Shade, and I can follow the detective's last name, Hamilton. But as for a middle name…"
Shade didn't know if the late Hamilton had given the body's original owner a middle name. There wasn't time to search the room, so he needed to come up with something quickly.
*[Suellen.]* The voice in his mind whispered.
The woman's voice echoed in his mind again, giving him a word. The word existed in both the ancient language used by the woman and the Northern Kingdoms' common tongue spoken by the detective, and it meant "silver moon."
"I can use this as my middle name, but you need to explain."
Shade tried to communicate again, and the woman's voice reciting poetry indeed responded:
"This is fate, Outsider. The silver moon is your destiny. When you gather the Four Elements and open the door to the extraordinary, its meaning will naturally reveal itself."
Frowning slightly, Shade thought for a moment and signed his name:
Shade Suellen Hamilton.
The undertaker didn't ask Shade for a death certificate, nor did he request a cause of death report. There was no mention of contacting the police for an autopsy either.
After receiving the "Body Transfer Authorization," they handed him a receipt indicating the location of the burial plot, and then quietly moved the body of Mr. Hamilton, still dressed in his nightgown, away.
Shade saw them off downstairs, but he didn't step outside himself. He watched as the body was placed into the hearse, the middle-aged man driving the carriage and the elder undertaker both departing in silence.
"Well then, goodbye, Mr. Sparrow Hamilton."
Shade thought silently to himself, closed the door, and stood in the foyer for a moment before heading back upstairs. His steps were heavy, but with no one else around, there was also a strange sense of relief.
"It was simpler than I thought. No questions about Mr. Hamilton's cause of death, no suspicion whether I really am Shade Hamilton, and they didn't even ask for a tip for moving the body… Is this world just that kind-hearted, or had Mr. Hamilton already taken care of everything?"
The body, along with many secrets, had left the room. Now, the place belonged temporarily to Shade, this despicable Outsider who had taken over someone else's body. He still had many questions for Mr. Hamilton and countless doubts to unravel.
But the dead can't be brought back to life, and Shade had to accept his death and focus on surviving in this new world.
The only good news was that what had once belonged to Sparrow Hamilton — this second-floor apartment — was now Shade's. In this world resembling the mid-nineteenth century Victorian era, Shade had suddenly become a homeowner.
The first floor had been boarded up, the neighboring Room 2 on the second floor was locked from the outside, and the staircase leading to the third floor had completely collapsed. At this moment, only Shade remained in this house.
Returning to Room 1 on the second floor, Shade carefully checked the study, the living room, the washroom, and the bedroom, confirming there was indeed no one else. Only then did he let out a long sigh and sat down on the sofa in the sunlit living room, tilting his head to gaze out at the morning mist.
Of course, it wasn't natural mist; it was smog.
Shade finally had time to reflect on his current situation:
"I've transmigrated, inherited a detective agency. The original owner of this body likely had some cognitive issues, was trained by the previous detective, and tasked with helping him complete a seemingly simple mission after his death... Sparrow Hamilton, the detective, definitely had secrets. This world possesses supernatural forces, as proven by the detective's death and the voice in my head. What I need to do is gather the Four Elements, as the detective's death has already introduced me to the concept of 'Whispers'..."
Rubbing his face, Shade realized that despite the suddenness of Mr. Sparrow Hamilton's death, and the many things still unclear, at least Shade now had a foothold in this new world.
That was enough to support him in continuing his life, exploring the secrets of this world, and maybe, finding a way back home.
Shade wasn't someone who passively accepted his fate, but he wasn't one to complain about everything either. Being inexplicably torn from his homeland and thrown here was unfortunate, but for now, the only thing he could do was accept it, live well, and strive for a better life.
"And in the meantime, why not take a look at this world of the extraordinary, the mysteries of the steam era, those rituals and incantations... How could anyone settle for an ordinary life in a place like this?"
Shade muttered softly, and in his mind, the woman's laughter rang out, as pleasant as a breeze sweeping through a lavender field.