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Chapter 12: Annie Bretagne
🕑 Added 2025-01-09 20:00:20 +0000 UTCIn this era, no country had real estate agencies or similar institutions. Anyone wishing to sell property could only list it with the government-established Real Estate Bureau. Likewise, anyone wanting to purchase property had to go to the Bureau.
The buyers and sellers often did not need to meet. Sellers simply submitted a price to the Bureau, and buyers could pay directly to the Bureau along with the required taxes to receive a property certificate.
Charlot Mecklenburg pondered for a while, but the drowsiness weighing on him grew irresistible. Without even removing his clothes, he drifted into a hazy dream.
...
A pitch-black night. An unlit long street.
Flickering starlight and howling winds.
Charlot found himself dazed as he looked around, not understanding how he had ended up outside when he was sure he had been lying in bed moments ago.
“This is strange.”
Charlot tried summoning Blood Glory, and after more than ten days of practice, this ability had further advanced. A small vortex of energy had already formed at the center of his forehead. A strange energy flowed through his body, steadying his heart.
A soft voice suddenly sounded behind him. “You ruined me.”
Startled, Charlot turned to see a beautiful young woman. Her dress was stained with blood, her face bore bruises, and she appeared utterly disheveled. Recognizing her, Charlot asked, “Are you Mrs. Yanmills?”
The young woman chuckled, her laugh eerie in the night. She asked hauntingly, “Do you not even remember who I am? You let my husband kill me, and you feel no guilt at all?”
A slender hand rested on Charlot’s shoulder. The young woman leaned in close to his face, her breath chilling as she said, “Don’t you think you owe me something in return?”
Charlot smiled faintly, exuding calmness. He replied, “You’re not Mrs. Yanmills. Otherwise, you would have realized by now that you have mistaken me for someone else.”
A laugh full of resentment rang out near his ear as the young woman screamed, “You’re still trying to shirk responsibility? Pretending not to recognize me. Come with me to hell and relive the tender moments we once shared!”
Charlot closed his eyes and focused Blood Glory into his fist. He struck out and collided with something hard. He felt a clear sense of triumph as his punch sent the mysterious object flying.
In a voice only he could hear, Charlot murmured, “So, even in dreams, I’m still Huang Haisheng.”
He had already realized he was dreaming.
This was evident because his appearance had reverted to that of his previous life: black hair, black eyes, and pale, delicate hands.
Blood Glory belonged to the domain of Eldritch Energy!
Eldritch Energy had many forms, but all originated from the soul’s essence.
While dreams could suppress the body’s physical energy, they could not suppress energy derived from the soul.
Although Blood Glory had only recently awakened and was still in its infancy, it was unaffected by the dream’s conditions.
A frustrated voice cried out, “You’re actually a Transcendent?”
Charlot kept his eyes closed and performed a gentlemanly bow. Smiling, he replied, “Indeed.”
“Damn it!”
Suddenly, Charlot felt a weight on his body and opened his eyes to find himself staring at the ceiling of his bedroom.
He leapt up, pushed open the window, and saw a carriage parked across the street. A lantern hung from the carriage, casting a dim, yellowish glow over the road.
Without hesitation, Charlot gracefully leapt from the window.
For the first time in both his lives, he tried freefalling from the fourth floor. Though the wind whistled past his ears, he felt no fear. Blood Glory surged into his legs, imbuing them with the strength of an antelope. Landing gracefully, he squatted slightly to absorb the impact before rising and walking elegantly toward the carriage.
Charlot smiled faintly and said, “Invading someone else’s dream is quite impolite. Could you tell me who you really are?”
A flustered young woman’s voice came from the carriage, saying, “What are you talking about? I was just passing by. Please step aside.”
In a low voice, Charlot replied, “I have not blocked your path. If you wish to say nothing, I will not press you. However, if you seek answers about Mrs. Yanmills’ death, I am willing to share all I know.”
After a long silence, the young woman in the carriage finally spoke, her voice soft. “I apologize. It seems I’ve truly mistaken you for someone else. Sir, please come aboard.”
The carriage door opened slightly. Charlot did not hesitate. He pulled it open fully and stepped inside in one fluid motion.
Carriages required horses to pull them, and their wheels were tall, making the carriage compartments much higher than modern cars. Most people needed a step to climb aboard, but Charlot ascended effortlessly. This feat would have been impossible without the physical prowess of an elite martial artist, a Transcendent, or both.
Inside the carriage sat a young woman dressed in a long gown, her attire modest and homely. Her appearance was exquisite, with a pair of black-rimmed glasses perched on her pale, delicate face. Though she maintained an air of calm, her slightly flushed ears and the dagger hidden in her hand betrayed her nervousness.
“Charlot Mecklenburg, graduate of Sheffield University, employed at the Central Government Office, First-Rank Transcendent,” she introduced tersely, breaking the silence and easing some of the tension.
In a low voice, she added, “Annie Bretagne, third-year student at Georgiana University. I became a Dreamwalker in my first year.”
The surname “Bretagne” caught Charlot’s attention. It carried immense prestige, but now was not the time for questions. Smiling, he remarked, “Georgiana University was once my dream school.”
Annie Bretagne, unsure how to handle his sudden change in tone, replied softly, “Sheffield University is an excellent institution too.”
Charlot chuckled. “Every university is a great university.”
This was an indisputable yet utterly meaningless statement.
In this era, universities were not mere repositories of knowledge as they were in later generations but sacred institutions blessed by the gods.
The ruling pantheon consisted of nine deities, but only four of them had followers who established universities. Each university was a supreme institution, and every graduate was a chosen one of the gods.
Annie nodded in agreement, unaware that Charlot had subtly taken control of the conversation’s flow.
“I’m deeply saddened by what happened, but I barely knew Mrs. Yanmills. Mr. Yanmills must have misunderstood his wife, leading to this tragedy,” Charlot explained.
“If you investigate through the Central Government Office, you’ll easily confirm that I’ve been vacationing in Cynes and only returned a few days ago.”
After a moment of hesitation, Annie Bretagne said, “I believe you, Mr. Mecklenburg. It seems I’ve made a mistake.”
Charlot smiled faintly. Using a common rhetorical technique from his previous life, he had used an irrelevant but indisputable fact to lend credibility to an unrelated claim. Many people accepted the fact and unconsciously overlooked its irrelevance to the conclusion.
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