Chapter 286: Chapter 290: The Visitor in the Cetery
The place he was now in was likely a public facility used to temporarily store bodies; the voice outside the coffin probably belonged to the caretaker of the facility.
The caretaker seed experienced. He referred to the disturbances coming from the coffin as the “Restless One” phenonon, and he conversed clearly and calmly, showing no sign of panic during the process.
The body he currently possessed seed to be that of a miner who had died from a fall from a height, the body suffering severe organic damage.
While conversing with the voice outside, Duncan was silently gathering this useful intelligence, all the while confirming his thoughts that this body was hardly fit for use.
After all, even disregarding this body’s extrely frail condition, it would be difficult for him to roam around with a collapsed skull—of course, there were such phenona as “undead” in this world, as apparently, the crew aboard the Tyrian ship included a good number of skeletal figures missing a piece of their skull or a fragnt of their heart; but, even for an undead, that was not a status fit to move around publicly within the City-State, which was not what he needed.
anwhile, as Duncan was calculating quietly to himself, the nerves of the old caretaker outside the coffin remained taut throughout.
The old man’s double-barreled shotgun was still aid at the coffin, the herbal powder he had scattered beforehand now emitted a pale glow, his voice calm, but the fingers holding the shotgun had turned slightly white.
He was waiting for the Restless One in the coffin to exhaust the last remnants of obsession and rationality from his soul, waiting for the ceaselessly chattering deceased to gradually tire and accept his death—a process which, based on his experience, generally didn’t take very long. Under the calming effects of the lantern and herbal powder, it usually took just half an hour for an unrestful soul to settle down.
Normally, during their conversation, the deceased would slowly beco more groggy, soon forgetting even their own words; as usual, the voice inside the coffin would turn into mumbled grunts, and finally into a hoarse murmur. Normally…
But why did it seem that the one in the coffin was becoming more energetic the more they talked?!
“Do you know where I am now? Aha, I know this is a place for dead bodies; I an the location… you know, I couldn’t see the surroundings when I was brought here.
“How’s the weather today? Must be quite cold, right? I think I can even hear the wind outside, a night under the Frost is not easy…
“What ti is it? Have you had a al? Do you have any colleagues around?
“Any news recently in town? I don’t quite rember what happened before… Oh right, do you know a person nad Brown Scott? He seems to be a folklorist or historian, living on Fireplace Street, a friend of mine is quite familiar with him…”
The finer beads of sweat slowly ford on the old caretaker’s forehead. He could swear to Bartok that in his entire career, he’d never seen such an eerie situation—an unsettled corpse, under the personal rite of appeasent by a Death Church “Tomb Guardian” and the effectual calming presence of a lantern and herbal powder, showed no signs of falling asleep but rather seed to be waking up more like a living person!
This made him think of the unsettling rumors recently in the City-State, stories related to the “return of the dead.”
Had there really been a breach in the boundary between life and death defined by the god of death, Bartok?
“Sir,” the old caretaker tightened his grip on the shotgun, his voice becoming slightly stern, “You’ve talked enough, if I were you, I would settle down quickly and faithfully return to slumber—otherwise, when the sun rises, you’re going to suffer.”
Inside the coffin, Duncan thought for a mont and then said sowhat helplessly, “Actually, I’d like to cooperate with you, but I really can’t find sleep now… Maybe you could help open this lid and give a dose of tranquillizers to help sleep?”
“You’re asking too much…”
The old caretaker said solemnly; however, just at that mont, a sudden and harsh sound of banging on the gate ca from the entrance of the cetery, cutting off what he was about to say.
In the dead of night, who could be visiting?
The old caretaker looked toward the direction of the banging sound, only to see several figures in black coats standing under the streetlamp near the ornately carved gate, the glow from the gas lamp casting their long shadows on the ground behind them, aglow with radiance.
One of the figures raised a hand, showing sothing in the light of the streetlamp.
It was a triangular tal badge, symbolizing a ssenger of the death god, Bartok.
The old caretaker’s heart stirred, and he instinctively glanced back at the brand-new coffin.
The voice inside the coffin fell silent for a mont.
After hesitating briefly, the old man turned and hurried toward the cetery entrance.
Accompanied by the rattling of chains loosening and the squeaking and creaking of the gate’s hinges, the towering cetery gates swung open.
The old guardian lifted his head, watching with careful eyes the figures standing under the street lamp.
Three n and one woman, all dressed in thick, pitch-black coats and wide-brimd hats, stood silently in the night wind. Their dark clothes and silent deanor were reminiscent of crows standing by tombstones at midnight.
As the old man sized up these uninvited guests, they were also scrutinizing the somber tomb guardian. Soon, one of the shorter n stepped forward, waved a triangular badge in his hand, and spoke solemnly,
“Peaceful rest will eventually shelter us — by the command of the City-State Church, we are here to take away a deceased who was just delivered to this cetery.”
“A priest of the Death God?” The old guardian instinctively frowned with suspicion, eyeing the triangular badge in the other’s hand. “Gatekeeper Agatha just left a few hours ago. She did not ntion that other priests would co here to escort the deceased. Moreover, … it’s midnight, hardly an apt ti for such tasks.”
“Extraordinary circumstances. The deceased needs to be transferred to a more secure location,” another of the uninvited visitors spoke, the woman whose stature was average, her facial features cold and sharp, lips thin. “Please cooperate, it’s a matter of life and death, we cannot afford delays.”
At the ntion of “extraordinary circumstances,” the old guardian felt a stir in his heart, especially recalling the incessant noises from within the coffin. With that, he dispelled his doubts.
It seed that the Restless One inside the coffin indeed had so uniqueness, and the church had also realized the sa. Although he didn’t know how the priests from the church had made their judgnts, the professionals had now arrived.
The old man did not like outsiders disturbing his cetery, but since these visitors were genuine priests displaying the Death God’s badge, he saw no need to obstruct them further.
He hoped tonight’s trouble would end as quickly as possible.
“Follow ,” the old man muttered, stepping aside to clear the path into the cetery, “Your timing is perfect.”
“Perfect timing?” A tall, hefty man in black clothes walked close behind and paused slightly, “Why would you say that?”
“That body has already started becoming restless. Ah, chattering nonstop, getting more and more spirited the more it talks. I even suspect it might cross the first boundary and turn into an Undead — that would be serious trouble. The nearby residents would not be pleased with that news,” the old guardian shook his head. “No one likes the Undead, Frostfolk especially. It reminds them of that cursed warship filled with Undead…”
Listening to the old man’s continuous complaints, the four black-clad figures exchanged surprised glances.
However, quickly, the thin-lipped woman shook her head, signaling to stay calm.
The other three nodded and continued to silently follow the old guardian’s footsteps. The short man who had displayed the church badge casually tossed it to the ground.
The badge landed silently, turning into billowing black smoke upon contact with the ground and dispersing with the wind.
The group soon crossed the small paths of the cetery, arriving at the mortuary used for the temporary storage of the dead.
The neatly arranged platforms were lined with simple coffins, still in the night wind, with the lantern the old guardian had hung on a stake still burning quietly, and the powdered herbs on the ground still emitting a faint, pallid glow.
Seeing these sealing asures still operational, the old guardian visibly relaxed, then stepped forward, pointing to the newest coffin placed there: “This one, the one you’re looking for, just arrived tonight.”
The four black-clad figures exchanged a look. The thin-lipped woman stepped up to the platform and slightly frowned as she examined the coffin in front of her, “…Is this it then…?”
“It might be,” Duncan casually said from within the coffin, “And what are you up to?”
The woman montarily widened her eyes, evidently startled by the voice from the coffin. The other three n also showed evident surprise, nervously looking at each other, with the tall one quietly muttering, “Sothing’s not quite right…”
“What’s not quite right?” The old guardian, evidently with keen hearing, asked curiously, “Can’t you handle it?”
“No, we’re here to deal with it,” the woman in black imdiately said. After a quick glance at her three companions, who seed to rapidly weigh their options, she nodded at the old guardian, “The next step… You’ll need to step aside for a mont.”
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