The doctors were divided on the cause of the strange winter flu, but the vast majority agreed it was inextricably linked to the polluted environnt.
The rivers were choked with floating garbage, and a foul stench perated the air. It was difficult for anyone living in such an environnt to avoid getting sick.
Jenkins, however, knew more about the flu than he let on. He had pieced it together last month during the vampire investigation. At least half the bla for this outbreak, he suspected, lay at the feet of his [Disease Curse].
He had last used the ability to curse the vampire demigod. Who knew how the disease had mutated within its powerful host, evolving into the contagion now sweeping the city.
A heavy guilt settled upon him, but it was soon overshadowed by another, more imdiate concern.
"Mr. Williatte, Mr. Williatte~"
With little to do and bored to tears, Jenkins had noted it was only ten in the morning before drifting off into a hazy sleep in the doctors' office.
He distinctly rembered the office being full of people before he nodded off, the doorway a constant bustle of activity.
When he awoke, however, the room was eerily silent. The steam pipes had ceased their usual humming, and not a single person was in sight.
Only the oil lamp on the desk before him cut through the gloom. The corridor outside was pitch black. He scanned his surroundings, but there was no sign of whoever had called his na. Even Chocolate was missing.
"What's going on?"
For a mont, he thought he was still dreaming, even wondering when the giant black cat that frequented his slumber would make its appearance. But he soon realized this was no dream. It felt too real, with none of the usual tells of a fabrication.
"A Mysterious Object? A maze-lock? Or so kind of hallucinatory spell?"
He activated his Eye of Reality and scanned the room. A soul stood before him—a man with a face etched in sorrow. His form was remarkably human, a sign of high rationality in a spirit. There was no trace of hostility, which explained why Jenkins hadn't sensed its presence earlier.
"Hello~"
Jenkins tentatively offered a greeting.
"Hello, sir. Could you do a favor?"
"Perhaps. What is it you need?"
"Soone is desecrating my corpse. I hope you can help ."
"..."
Jenkins gave him a skeptical look.
"In that case, could you explain the current situation?"
"I was born with... certain gifts. As an adult, I found I could hear people's thoughts when I relaxed. I suppose that's why I can still move about after my death. As for where we are... this is a space between dream and reality, half-real and half-illusion. Your soul, sir, is far more powerful than my own—the strongest around here. I was unable to enter your dreams."
His Lie Godhood remained silent, confirming the spirit's words were true. This ant the man before him was likely a mortal with extraordinary latent talent, a tragic figure who had died without ever touching the supernatural world—the very opposite of the old key keeper who had spent his life chasing it.
"When was your corpse desecrated?"
"Right now."
"Hmm?"
Jenkins froze for a mont, then imdiately recognized an opportunity.
"Alright, I'll help you," Jenkins said. "Oh, and... do you need help moving on? I'm sure you understand that your current state of being..."
"No, thank you for your kindness, sir. I know how to move on."
As he finished speaking, the sorrowful man turned. A column of pure white light descended from the sky, enveloping him. He began to rise slowly, carried upward on the strains of a celestial hymn.
"Thank you, Mr. Williatte."
He even waved a final farewell to Jenkins before vanishing completely.
"Don't ntion it."
Jenkins watched, stunned, the whole scene striking him as slightly absurd. Then, with the sudden clarity of pulling his head from underwater, he snapped back to reality, jolting to his feet in the brightly lit office.
"ow~"
Chocolate let out a yawn before resuming his batting at the small ball under his paw.
Without a mont's hesitation, he grabbed the cat and dashed into the hallway. His gaze shot toward the morgue, and just as he expected, he saw flickering, skeletal black shadows. He couldn't see the Skull Sword or its wielder, but at this point, any discovery was a lead.
Jenkins imdiately alerted the hospital's security team. A squad of nearly thirty guards raced down to the morgue on the second basent level of the main building, where they collided with a horde of charging corpses, erupting into a chaotic lee.
It was a successful counterattack. Forewarned and prepared, the squad didn't panic, even when faced with two high-level undead among the corpse-fiends.
For his own safety, Jenkins was ordered to the rear to provide healing support. It was the correct call; even without him joining the fray, the guards swiftly eliminated the entire horde.
Shortly after, Miss Bevanna arrived, having heard the news. She whisked Jenkins away from the hospital, so abruptly that he didn't even have a chance to bid the doctors farewell.
She didn't seem to relax until they were stepping out of the carriage at the church entrance. Then she asked Jenkins where he planned to stay for the night.
"I can just stay at ho... What was all that about?"
"Lately, there's been a rash of corpse thefts in Nolan City and the surrounding towns. The culprits are always controlled undead," she explained. "Do you rember the incident in your abandoned cetery, when you ran into those undead creatures?"
"Of course, I rember."
That was the incident that had granted him the [Contact with Death] ability.
"The Church's current theory," she continued, "is that the wielder of the Skull Sword has been sending out undead scouts to locate places with large numbers of corpses. Now, he's moved on to the second phase: stealing them. He's likely planning to raise a massive undead army, and that requires a lot of raw material."
They talked as they walked. The atmosphere inside the church was palpably tense; everyone seed to be rushing sowhere. Jenkins searched the mories of his body's previous owner but found no precedent for such a situation.
"But can't that sword reanimate corpses directly? Why go through all the trouble of searching for bodies?"
Jenkins hurried to keep pace with Miss Bevanna, a sense of unprecedented crisis settling over him.
"Creating powerful, high-level undead is not so simple... Jenkins, we may be facing a war. A war between the living and the dead."
Her tone was exceptionally grave. Jenkins's mind flashed back to the troupe of puppets he and Hathaway had seen at the jeweler's. Hathaway had told him their appearance was an on, a sign that war was coming to the region.
He had assud it foretold a conventional war, that the kingdom's internal conflicts would erupt into a full-blown ard struggle. He never imagined it would be a clash between the living and the dead.
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