Mystery: Starting from the Shadow World

Chapter 3 The Shadow World

The warm firelight shone on Philip's face, reflecting in his sapphire blue eyes. Having already propped himself up, he looked around with a mixture of confusion and worry, his brows gradually furrowing.

"Strange. Where am I?"

Beyond the flames burning in the scorched blackness, which were as tall as half an adult, lay endless shadows where one could not see their own hand in front of their face. Looking up, the sky, which resembled a black abyss, flowed, stirring the hidden emotions within him.

"Hiss," Philip lay on the ground, the crimson full moon surfacing in his memory, and the uncontrollable madness he experienced during the "madman" phase due to the curse.

However, as his mind trembled, the flame suddenly blazed fiercely, and the darkness that had been quietly encroaching around him retreated once more. Philip was also surprised to find that he no longer felt anything amiss.

He stood up without hesitation, and following an almost subconscious instinct, moved closer to the flame, sat down next to it, and gently stroked it from a distance of a few centimeters.

As the burning light reflected in his eyes, Philip's whole body relaxed, his eyelids closed, and he fell forward, disappearing into the flames.

In the last moment before consciousness faded.

A frenzied murmur, filled with resentment, malice, and intense longing, seemed to emanate from the depths of the boundless darkness, with two words clearly audible:

Shadows, the world.

When he opened his eyes again, he found himself still lying in the coffin. The thin blanket that did nothing to keep him warm was normal, except that his bowler hat was gone.

"They even stole this? Are you kidding me?" Philip smirked, recovering from his earlier shock. He was speechless yet relieved, since he had enough money to buy countless hats. Thankfully, the other party didn't dare to go any further.

The scattered people around had already gotten up, rubbing their foreheads to relieve their sleepiness. They then exchanged glances, not daring to linger, and stepped out of the coffin lid, rushing towards the outside.

There are almost no stable jobs in the East District. To get any work every day, you have to be faster and earlier than others. If you arrive late, there's no work to be done. Forget about shelters; it's hard to say whether you'll even get anything to eat for a day and a night.

Of course, many people are still curled up in their coffins, some trembling and coughing occasionally, while others sit up listlessly, as if they will be lying in their coffins forever at any moment.

Okay, I should get going.

Philip, who had been feeling a little relaxed, was startled by this. Without pausing, he threw off the blanket and hurried outside.

Meanwhile, he muttered to himself in exasperation, "Damn it, I remember being there for less than two minutes, and when I woke up it was already daytime. It's like I didn't sleep at all."

The rows of benches in the lobby were now empty. In the "rope rooms" on the left and right, there was a policeman on each side, skillfully and efficiently cutting the ropes with scissors.

Those still dreaming were jolted to the ground in rapid succession, awakened in a brutally painful manner, but dared not complain. They wiped their faces, stood up, and prepared to look for work.

Philip's gaze lingered on both sides for a few seconds before returning to his own, but he didn't know what to say to express the unknown emotions in his heart, so he could only walk out of the shelter in silence.

The morning sun was obscured by the fog, and workers and the poor hurried about in the hazy sky. They lowered their heads and could not even see the detailed features of the people next to them, but they numbly knew which way to go.

Da, da

A two-wheeled carriage was moving slowly down the street, seemingly heading away from the East End. Philip noticed it and immediately jogged up, calling out, "Wait, wait!"

Upon hearing this, the coachman turned around and looked at the blond-haired, blue-eyed boy approaching him, saying:

"Sir, are you looking for a ride?"

Philip breathed a sigh of relief, then sat down directly. "That's right, to the nearest steam train station."

"Sir, you're in luck." Hearing that there was work available, the previously relaxed coachman straightened up and smiled.

"I don't quote prices like other drivers, but this place isn't close to the train station. You can pay two soles to charter this carriage for an hour, and then trust my speed."

He didn't ask why they didn't choose a cheaper option—like going to the nearest subway station, taking the subway, and then walking half a kilometer. This would not only be meddling, but could also jeopardize the two soules order.

Two sous were 24 pence, which was 72 to 92 dollars. It was quite a luxury to take a carriage ride like that. A bus ride only cost two dollars. Philip took two silver sous from his coat pocket and handed them to the other person, then leaned his head against the carriage.

The scenery outside the window kept flashing by. He leaned back slightly, using the enclosure to block his view of the outside world, before closing his eyes to start organizing the information.

He considered himself to have a good mental fortitude, but faced with this shocking reality, he couldn't help but ponder whether he had done something utterly immoral in the past.

Time travel, the death of both parents, the relentless pursuit of the Restraint faction within the Rose School, the shadow world he dreamed of last night, and the place he was going next... Philip rubbed his temples, and after a moment, finally made his decision.

Stop thinking, and refuse to engage in mental exhaustion.

Whatever, the original owner of this body was hiding in a metropolis of five million people, living like an animal every day, yet she could still be inexplicably found by the indulgent faction, as if she had a cheat code that allowed her to access the entire map.

Philip wasn't interested in crime novels or spy movies. Even if he did read them, he didn't think the writings of those authors and screenwriters would be of any practical use, so he'd rather leave it to fate.

The boy then closed his eyes, relaxed his whole body, and quietly waited for time to pass.

I opened my eyes several times along the way, only to make sure the driver didn't have any bad intentions and wasn't driving the car down the wrong road.

The carriage lurched along the street, the irregular jolting keeping Philip awake. When he opened his eyes again, he heard the coachman's voice: "Sir, we've arrived."

Not a single mistake, not a single poem, not a single post, not a single piece of content, not a single look!

"Thank you." Philip pressed his forehead with his wrist, thanked the other person, tightened his grip on his satchel, and then stepped down from the carriage.

The sky was still not very bright, and the gas lamps hanging in the steam train platform ahead were still lit, dispelling the gloom and darkness.

Watching the coachman disappear into the distance, Philip turned and strode into the steam train platform ahead. He spent a penny to buy a copy of the Backlund Daily News, unfolded it, and learned the date:

Thursday, June 1349, 6.

He rubbed his stomach, resisting the urge to turn back and walk a bit to the small restaurant. He went to the ticket area and politely asked the staff, "Hello, um... I'd like to buy a ticket for the earliest train to a remote small city."

The ticket seller was a blonde girl. She looked up at Philip and then said, "From Backlund to Tingen, first class is 15 soles, second class is 10 soles, and third class is 5 soles."

"Then, second class will do, thank you."

Based on his experience at the shelter last night, Philip almost wanted to buy the best first-class seat, but then changed his mind and took out a gold coin from his satchel that wasn't covered by his white shirt.

Tear!

The girl tore up a second-class ticket, then found two 5-sol notes and handed them all to him.

Philip took it, went into the waiting room, found a seat in a corner at the back, leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees, and clenched his fists to support his chin, anxiously waiting for the time to pass.

Waaah—!

The sound of the whistle echoed in every corner of the platform. A colossal black object, stretching for hundreds of meters, rushed into the platform with great momentum and slowly came to a stop amidst a roar.

(End of this chapter)