Build an ancient-level power in the nightmare world

Waaaaah~

The steam whistle sounded.

Accompanied by the hissing sound of high-pressure steam flowing through metal pipes, grayish-white water mist continuously sprayed out from the locomotive's chimney.

The train started moving, making a clanging and clattering sound as it gradually picked up speed.

Inside the train car, Chris rested his chin on his hand, looking out at the city shrouded in gloom with a complex expression.

Two days ago, he suddenly received a letter from Madison Asset Management.

The letter said that one of his uncles, who lived in Rom, had passed away and left him an inheritance, and that he needed to go there to complete the inheritance procedures.

He had never heard of such an uncle.

Reborn into this world, Chris's life started on hard mode.

He was practically an orphan when he was young; his father disappeared, and his mother developed mental illness while pregnant with him.

He has lived in an orphanage since he can remember. After leaving the orphanage at the age of 12, he went to work at the docks. At that time, he didn't even have a proper place to live. Later, a kind person introduced him to an old leather craftsman as an apprentice. He didn't get paid, but he was provided with food and lodging. After completing his apprenticeship, he started setting up a stall to repair leather products for people to make a living. He has gradually made it to where he is today and has saved some money. His life has become relatively stable.

But in this class-divided world, it is extremely difficult for someone born like him to rise above others. In his previous life, he was just an ordinary person, and he has forgotten most of the knowledge he learned. What he has left is of little use in this era.

The leatherworker's business was not stable, but fortunately his skills were good, so he earned more money each month than the average worker.

But in addition to rent and other living expenses, he also needs to pay a security fee to the police force every month, and the Commerce Department also charges a certain stall fee to vendors like Chris who do not have a fixed place of business.

These two expenses are basically impossible to avoid. Without the receipts issued by those two government agencies, the consequences would be severe if they were discovered.

That's how life has continued until now.

He knew very well that there was no future in running a stall, and he wanted to do something else, but the pressure of life and the meager income left him with almost no time to breathe.

If he could get this windfall, his life would be much better.

He had inquired and found that there was indeed such an asset management company in Rom City, and that the inheritance of the Principality of Im could indeed be entrusted to such a company. Therefore, Chris decided to go to Rom City to try his luck.

After the train arrived at Rom train station, Chris hired a horse-drawn carriage.

After all, it's quite a distance from the train station to Enclave Avenue, where Madison Asset Management is located.

He had just applied fresh shoe polish to his leather shoes before setting off, and if he walked to the asset management company, he wouldn't be able to find a place to clean them if they got dirty along the way.

While excrement is now rare on most streets in this era, mixtures of industrial oil, household waste, and dust are still very common.

Although the letter did not specify the exact amount of the estate, it must have been substantial enough to warrant an asset management company handling the transfer.

He still wanted to make himself look presentable.

The carriage bumped along the way, and it was nearly evening when they finally arrived in the city of Rom.

By this time, it had already gotten dark.

Chris's carriage stopped at the entrance to Enclave Street.

He learned from the street worker who stopped him that horses entering Increment Street would have to pay a street cleaning fee of 20 copper crowns.

He definitely didn't want to spend this money, but fortunately, he wasn't far from his destination.

Chris stepped down from the carriage, glanced at the last rays of the setting sun, and turned to walk into Enclave Street, which was gradually falling into the night.

Before long, he arrived at the Madison Asset Management building. Looking at the still brightly lit building, Chris's heart began to race.

He gripped his cane tightly in his left hand, his palm already damp with sweat.

Chris took a deep breath of the cold autumn air, trying to calm himself down.

Before entering the company, Chris carefully tidied his attire once again.

He was wearing a khaki suit, a khaki vest and a white shirt underneath, a brown tie, a khaki top hat, brown leather shoes, and a rattan cane in his hand.

Although his outfit wasn't from any big brand, it was the most presentable clothes he could afford, and he rarely wore them out normally.

After calming himself down, Chris walked steadily into the building in front of him.

Upon arriving at the front desk, he briefly explained his purpose to the staff.

Shortly afterward, a young employee dressed in a dark black suit, who introduced himself as Michael, greeted Chris.

After carefully verifying Chris's identity and giving a brief introduction to the inheritance business, the other party drove Chris in the company car to the townhouse at 037 Nottingham Street, which was the most valuable item in the estate inventory.

The other items in the heritage catalog are also mostly located in that apartment building.

Chris had long anticipated that the inheritance might be quite valuable, but when he learned that the estate list included a four-story townhouse, his initial anxiety instantly turned into ecstasy.

He was sincerely grateful to the uncle he had never met.

In his previous life, he never owned a house until he died.

But soon, he will have an entire building.

Nottingham Street, judging from the name, shouldn't be a bad neighborhood.

The car wasn't traveling fast, and by the time Chris arrived at his destination, night had completely fallen.

After getting out of the car, Chris followed Michael into a small alleyway next to the street.

There were no lights in the alley. When Chris stood outside the alley and looked in, he could only vaguely see a closed, dark red door through the streetlights. The door faced the road outside the alley.

Michael, the contact person, led the way, carrying an oil lamp.

After walking about ten meters into the alley, Michael, who was walking ahead, stopped.

He pointed to the closed door directly in front of him and said, his speech quickening slightly:

"Mr. Chris, this is the apartment building at 037 Nottingham Street that Mr. Peron left for you."

As he spoke, he took out a bunch of keys from the file bag he was carrying, took one out and went to open the apartment door.

crunch.

The slight, jarring sound of the tightly closed door being pushed open sounded exceptionally pleasant to Chris's ears.

After the door opened, Michael stepped into the room, stood sideways in front of the door, holding an oil lamp that emitted a yellowish glow in his left hand, a brown paper file bag under his arm, and his right hand outstretched towards the door, gesturing for Chris to come in.

Michael held the oil lamp in his hand, and its dim yellow light only partially illuminated the apartment.

As soon as the door was pushed open, Chris couldn't wait to look inside.

Behind the door was a narrow corridor with off-white wallpaper featuring unusual, distorted, graffiti-like patterns on the walls, which looked somewhat eerie under the flickering light of the oil lamp.

But Chris subconsciously ignored these things. At this moment, in his eyes, the walls decorated with patterned wallpaper were a display of the homeowner's social status.

There is a dark red door on each side of the corridor, and the entrance to the stairwell can be vaguely seen at the end of the corridor.

Just as Chris was about to look away, he seemed to see some black smoke drifting from the side out of the corner of his eye.

Following the direction from which the smoke was coming, Chris casually glanced to the side.

With just one glance, his pupils trembled violently.

Chris witnessed a scene he would never forget.

At the doorway, Michael's skin, like melting candle wax, began to drip rapidly from his cheeks, revealing the bright red muscle tissue beneath.

In the blink of an eye, skin from the left side of Michael's face dripped onto his exquisite black suit, exposing his two rows of dark yellow teeth and bloodless gums.

The other party maintained a smiling expression, as if nothing had happened.

A deep black filled Michael's eyes.

Black smoke was continuously billowing from his eye sockets.

His dark, empty eyes stared straight at Chris, his mouth making no movement, but a dry, hoarse sound, like sandpaper rubbing, came out directly from the other man's throat with a peculiar rhythm.

"Mr. Chris, please come in."