Chapter 290: Visitors in the Cemetery

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Duncan found himself in an unusual predicament. Instead of awakening in a dark cavern, he found himself inhabiting a body within a municipal mortuary, a temporary resting place for the deceased.

The person conversing with him appeared to be the seasoned caretaker of this establishment. The elderly man referred to the situation as a “restive” vision and showed no signs of fear.

This revelation gave Duncan valuable insights and confirmed the captain’s conclusion that this body was of no use to him.

Even aside from the body’s extreme frailty, navigating with a collapsed skull would be a significant challenge. Although the world did have “undead” beings, and the sailors on the Tyrian encapsulated this notion with their missing body parts, like a bisected skull or a missing heart, such entities couldn’t exist conspicuously within a city-state, which didn’t suit Duncan’s needs.

As he pondered his situation, the elderly caretaker outside the coffin remained vigilant and tense.

The old man’s double-barreled shotgun was steadily aimed at the coffin, while the grass powder previously scattered on the floor emitted a ghostly glow. His voice was firm, but the prolonged grip on the shotgun handle had turned his fingers slightly pale due to the pressure.

He was waiting for the restless soul within the coffin to exhaust its final obsessions and rationalizations, anticipating that the talkative deceased would eventually tire and accept their demise. Based on his experience, this process usually didn’t take long under the strong calming influence of the lantern and powder. A restless soul often found peace within half an hour.

Usually, the deceased would gradually become confused during the conversation, quickly forgetting their previous statements. Typically, the voice within the coffin would deteriorate into indistinct murmurs, eventually turning into a raspy sleep-talk. In normal circumstances…

But why did the entity within the coffin seem to gain energy as the conversation progressed?!

“Do you know my current location? I understand this is a facility for storing the deceased, but I mean the geographic location… I couldn’t discern my surroundings when I was brought here.

“What’s the current weather? It must be quite cold, right? I think I heard the wind howling outside; frost-laden nights are rather challenging…

“What time is it now? Have you had your meal yet? Are there any colleagues around?

“Any notable news in the city recently? My memories of the past are rather hazy… Oh, do you know someone named Scott Brown? He seems to be a folklore expert or historian. One of my companions is quite familiar with him…”

The elderly caretaker felt sweat forming on his forehead. He could swear to Bartok that never in his long professional career had he encountered such a bizarre situation. A restless corpse showed no signs of calming down but instead seemed to grow more lively, like a living person, after he had conducted a soul-soothing ceremony!

This brought to mind the recent unsettling rumors circulating in the city-state, stories about the “revival of the deceased.”

Could the boundary between life and death really have developed a crack?

“Sir,” the elderly caretaker’s grip on the shotgun tightened, his voice becoming more stern, “you’ve talked more than enough. If I were you, I’d calm down and seek the peace of eternal rest now; otherwise, when dawn breaks, you’ll find yourself in quite a predicament.”

Duncan, trapped within the coffin, thought for a moment and replied helplessly, “Honestly, I’d be willing to cooperate, but I just can’t seem to sleep at the moment… How about you help me by opening the lid and giving me a sedative to help me sleep?”

“Your request is unreasonable…” The elderly caretaker replied solemnly, but at that moment, a sudden and loud knock on the cemetery gate interrupted his words.

Who would be visiting at this ungodly hour?

The caretaker glanced in surprise toward the source of the noise, only to see several figures draped in dark cloaks standing under a gas lamp outside the tall, intricately carved gate. The gas lamp’s light illuminated them, casting long, ominous shadows behind them.

One of the figures raised a hand, revealing an object that caught the lamp’s light.

It was a metallic amulet shaped like a triangle, a symbol representing an envoy of the death god, Bartok.

The elderly caretaker’s heart fluttered, and he involuntarily cast a wary glance back at the fresh coffin.

For the moment, the voice inside the coffin had fallen silent.

After a brief moment of contemplation, the old man turned and walked briskly toward the cemetery entrance.

The tall cemetery gate swung open amidst the clamor of clattering chains and creaking hinges, allowing the old caretaker to scrutinize the newcomers under the dim light of the gas lamps.

Three men and a woman, all clad in thick, pitch-black coats paired with broad-brimmed hats. As they stood silently, feeling the night breeze, their attire and silent stance evoked images of ravens perched beside tombstones under the cloak of night.

As the old man craned his neck to regard these uninvited guests, they returned his gaze with equal intensity. Soon, one of the smaller men stepped forward and raised the triangular amulet, solemnly announcing, “The peace of death shall eventually be our safe harbor. By the decree of the city-state church, we are here to remove a deceased individual recently brought to this cemetery.”

“A priest of the death god?” The elderly caretaker was instinctively skeptical, frowning slightly at the triangular amulet in the stranger’s hand, “Gatekeeper Agatha left just a few hours ago, and she mentioned no additional priests coming to guide the departed, and besides… it’s night, hardly a suitable time for escorting the dead.”

“Special circumstances. The deceased needs to be moved to a more secure location,” another uninvited guest interjected. A woman of medium height, with cold, rigid features and thin lips, stepped forward, “We ask for your cooperation; this is a matter of life and death, and we cannot afford any delay.”

Upon hearing “special circumstances” and considering the persistent voice from within the coffin, the elderly caretaker’s heart raced, and he quickly set aside his doubts.

It seemed the restless occupant of the coffin was indeed of an unusual nature, and the church had already taken action. Although the old man couldn’t fathom how the church priests had reached their decision, it was clear the experts were now involved.

While he didn’t particularly like outsiders meddling in his graveyard, he had to admit the presence of official priests bearing the amulet of the god of death was not something to resist. His only desire was for a swift resolution to this unwelcome situation.

“Follow me,” the elder murmured, turning to lead the way through the maze of tombstones. “Your timing is rather fortunate.”

“Fortunate?” One of the tall, sinewy men cloaked in raven robes caught up, a hint of confusion in his gaze, “Why would you say so?”

“The body has already started its restless dance. It’s like it’s hosting a wild party in that coffin, growing more animated with each conversation. I even fear it might breach the initial barrier and rise to undead status – that would create a rather thorny problem. The local residents would hardly welcome this development,” the aged caretaker shook his head with a weary sigh. “No one likes the undead, especially Frostians. It reminds them of that cursed battleship, filled with the undead…”

As the old man grumbled his complaints on the way, the quartet clad in black exchanged glances, seemingly taken aback.

However, the stern-faced woman quickly shook her head, signaling them to be patient.

As the seasoned caretaker led the group away, the diminutive man who had previously displayed the church amulet casually tossed it to the ground – it disintegrated into fine dust and blew away with the whimsical wind upon impact.

The group swiftly navigated the narrow path through the graveyard, reaching the temporary sanctuary for the departed. It consisted of neatly arranged platforms holding rows of coffins, and under the eerie glow of the old caretaker’s lantern, they appeared especially haunting.

But this didn’t trouble the old man. After confirming that the grass powder he had scattered earlier still emitted a faint spectral glow, he exhaled a sigh of relief and gestured towards the latest arrival: “This one here was brought in tonight. I believe it’s the one you’re looking for.”

The quartet dressed in black exchanged knowing glances, and the stern-faced woman approached the platform, her eyebrows knitting together as she examined the coffin, “…Is this the one…?”

“Perhaps,” Duncan replied calmly from within his wooden enclosure, “What brings you here?”

The woman’s eyes widened, startled by the voice coming from the coffin. Her three companions also showed visible surprise. They exchanged anxious glances, with the tall one murmuring, “Something’s not right here…”

“What’s not right?” The elderly caretaker, who seemed to have an uncanny sense of hearing, asked with genuine curiosity, “Are you finding the situation too difficult to handle?”

“Certainly not, we’re here precisely to handle such matters,” the woman in black retorted promptly. She cast a quick look at her three companions, seeming to swiftly assess her next move, then nodded in acknowledgment to the old caretaker, “Next… you’ll need to step aside for a moment.”

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