“…I asked you. What are you doing.”
“…It’s just… part of the fu, neral rites….”
Placing money in the hands of the dead was a common funeral tradition.
People believed that after death, souls crossed the river of forgetfulness, and they would place a coin in the hands of the deceased to cover their passage. Administering such funeral rites, including this, was the work of a priest. Yet Raymond found it revolting that Dullan was the one performing this act.
It wasn’t just the discomfort of another man touching his lover’s body. It was sothing deeper—an overwhelming sense of hatred and disgust built up over many long years crawling beneath Raymond’s skin.
“What exactly did you just do?”
“…N-Nothing… It’s just… part of the f-funeral rites….”
“Funeral rites? And who are you to—”
Carynne had only just passed away.
And this wasn’t the first ti. She had died over a hundred tis. If she had died once and would rise again, it might have felt like a blessing. Perhaps he could even celebrate the chance to et her once more.
But Carynne had died too often, far too many tis. A hundred resurrections without ever finding closure—this was no blessing, but a curse.
In this life, once again, Carynne had shown with her very being that this was a curse. Her death and resurrection were not miracles. It wasn’t that she ca back to life after death.
She simply died over and over again. Her death was inevitable, unavoidable. No matter how careful she was with people, no matter how cautious she was with her als, the day would always co. It could not be escaped.
Dullan knew about Carynne’s curse, too. Why had he placed that coin in her hand? His excuse of it being for the funeral was laughable. It was more than laughable—it was infuriating.
“The reason we’re still dying like this…”
“Kugh! Ah— AAACK!”
“…is because of you.”
Raymond kicked Dullan hard in the stomach. Dullan retched, spewing blood. His empty stomach could only produce pale stomach acid, but it was revolting all the sa.
Tears and blood welled up in the corners of Dullan’s eyes, and filth clung to the sides of his mouth. He looked neither dignified nor defiant. Dullan’s broken appearance showed just how much he had been broken by the constant torture.
That only made Raymond more disgusted. If Dullan had at least remained silent out of conviction, Raymond might have respected him, perhaps even applauded his resilience. But all Dullan did was offer evasive answers, never giving Raymond the complete truth he sought.
Raymond had hoped that by bringing Dullan beside Carynne, he might see his sins, perhaps feel so remorse. He had wanted Dullan to witness his cris firsthand. Maybe even feel sympathy for Carynne.
But instead of grieving for the dead Carynne, Dullan had tried to pull so other stunt, hiding behind his excuse of funeral rites. He wasn’t saddened by Carynne’s death—he was only suffering from Raymond’s kicks. Raymond felt a profound sense of disappointnt. Did Dullan not even consider the atrocities he had committed as his own sins?
“What exactly did you do with that coin just now?”
“I-It’s really n…nothing…”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
Dullan dragged himself forward on his arms, his legs broken beyond use. It seed like he was trying to escape, but with his shattered legs, Raymond doubted he could get far, so he didn’t stop him at first. However, Dullan didn’t crawl toward the door. It looked like he was moving toward the window, perhaps trying to end it all by throwing himself out.
But death wouldn’t solve everything. Prolonging soone’s suffering to prevent them from dying was its own form of torture. Raymond blocked Dullan’s path and spoke.
“I’ll start cutting off the few intact joints you have left, one by one. If you tell now, you might save yourself. Otherwise… you’ll lose them all.”
“I-It’s really n-noth— Aaargh!”
Thud.
Dullan’s eyes rolled back.
“You can’t pass out now. You need to keep talking.”
The torture continued. Whenever Dullan showed signs of fainting, Raymond paused, stopping the bleeding when necessary. Then, once Dullan stabilized, the tornt resud. Raymond persisted like a demon, relentlessly pursuing the elusive truth.
“Huu, uuugh… t-the… the coin itself isn’t anything special… it’s just… sothing I… heard from Catherine, Carynne’s mother… ant to… bring her so comfort….”
After inflicting several rounds of torture on Dullan, Raymond finally uncovered the aning behind the coin.
The coin itself wasn’t of great importance, but to Carynne, it was significant. It was proof that she would live again. And for Dullan, it was the first tangible evidence confirming Carynne’s cycle of reincarnation.
“For sothing so trivial, it’s a rather underwhelming truth for the cost of three fingers. I was hoping for sothing more grand, given the sacrifice.”
“……”
Raymond ran his hand through his hair. Seeing all that blood was beginning to make him feel dizzy.
“But did you know, Reverend?”
“……”
“As my mories returned, I thought more about you. One thing beca clear—you’re not giving Carynne the coin purely out of concern for her emotional turmoil.”
“…N-No, that’s not it.”
“Then consider this a gift for your next life, for a version of you that won’t rember.”
Raymond looked down at Dullan. Dullan wouldn’t rember.
It was frustrating to think that Dullan wouldn’t recall this torture. If possible, Raymond wished he could torture him for eternity, breaking him until, in the next life, Dullan would not even be able to hold back the truth.
But if the torture continued, Dullan’s mind would break. And once his weakened body gave out, the next version of Dullan would be reborn with a clean slate, free of mories—unlike Raymond and Carynne.
That was sothing Raymond couldn’t bear.
“You always find an escape, don’t you? Whether in death or in mory…”
“Please, stop…”
“Please, Reverend.”
A profound sense of despair washed over Raymond. He picked up an awl instead of the saw, and as he brought it close to Dullan’s left eye, he spoke politely, desperately.
“Please… I beg you.”
Show us rcy.
The awl inched toward Dullan’s eye.
* * *
“Sir Raymond, are you awake?”
Raymond opened his eyes.
He blinked several tis to clear his blurred vision. Dizzy. The sll of blood, pus, gunpowder. No, none of that. He wasn’t at the Tez estate anymore. The one beside him wasn’t Reverend Dullan, but Zion Electra.
He was alive again.
“So… what was I supposed to do now?”
What am I supposed to be doing right now? Is it warti again? Or did I retire? After repeating life so many tis, Raymond often found himself confused about what point in ti he was in.
Raymond sat up.
“Are you alright?”
“…It’d be a lie to say I’m alright.”
“You still need sleep, though, even in these circumstances. Otherwise, you won’t be able to function properly.”
“But the problem is you sleep too well, Zion. That’s why you keep getting shot in your sleep. Know where you are, Sir Zion.”
“Pardon?”
“…Sorry. I’m still half-asleep.”
The current Zion was healthy and fine. Raymond shook his head, rembering the Zion Electra of the past. Zion had always chased after wealth and fa, but as a commoner, those things were like distant fantasies for him.
So, he chased after noblewon. But his hot temper often earned him enemies, and his impulsive actions led him into danger more than once. He never lived to see thirty.
“Live long, Sir Zion. Watch out for bombs, guns, and won.”
“Sir Raymond, I know we’ve got a big situation going on right now, but… don’t you think you’ve been acting a bit off lately? Like, all year?”
Zion looked down at him with concern.
Raymond felt a bit embarrassed, realizing how he must look to others. No matter how hard he tried to live normally, issues kept arising. He longed to see Carynne. Only they could truly understand each other.
/subliminalwayfarer
Reviews
All reviews (0)