Chapter 290 “Visitors in the Cemetery”

This novel is translated and hosted on bcatranslation.com

Duncan found himself embroiled in a rather peculiar dilemma. Instead of rousing to consciousness within some foreboding cavern, he was ensnared within a body in a municipal repository for the transient accommodation of corpses.

As for the individual presently engaged in conversation with him, it was likely the seasoned custodian responsible for overseeing the establishment. The elderly gentleman referred to the upheaval as a “restive” phenomenon and displayed a conspicuous absence of fear.

This revelation conveyed some valuable insights to Duncan and further corroborated the captain’s conclusion that this body was of no value to him.

Even setting aside the extreme debility of the body, moving with a collapsed cranium would pose a formidable challenge. Granted, the world did harbor “undead” entities, and the mariners aboard the Tyrian’s seemed to encapsulate this notion with their collection of absent anatomical features, like a bisected skull or an absent heart. However, a conspicuous existence within a city-state was unattainable for such entities, a requirement that didn’t align with Duncan’s prerequisites.

While he was evaluating his predicament, the elderly custodian outside the casket maintained a vigilant and tense posture.

The old man’s double-barreled shotgun remained steadily trained at the casket while the grass powder previously strewn about the floor radiated a ghostly luminescence. His voice maintained a resolute timbre, but the protracted grip of his digits on the shotgun handle had blanched slightly due to the mounting pressure.

He awaited the fitful soul within the casket to expend its final obsessions and rationalizations, anticipating that the talkative deceased would succumb to exhaustion and accept their demise. Based on his experience, this process usually didn’t require much time under the potent pacifying influence of the lantern and powder. A restive soul often took merely half an hour to discover tranquility.

Ordinarily, the deceased would incrementally become disoriented during the conversation, rapidly forgetting their previous utterances. Typically, the voice within the casket would degenerate into indistinct murmuring, eventually evolving into a raspy somniloquy. In a normal circumstance…

But why did the entity within the casket seem to amass vitality as the conversation progressed?!

“Do you know my present whereabouts? Ah, I understand this is a facility for storing the deceased, but I’m referring to the geographic location… you see, I was unable to discern my surroundings when I was transported here.

“What’s the current weather condition? It must be quite frigid, correct? I believe I perceived the wind howling outside; frost-laden nights are rather challenging…

“What’s the current time? Have you partaken in a meal yet? Are there any co-workers in your proximity?

“Has there been any recent news of note in the city? My recollections of the past are rather hazy… Oh, are you acquainted with someone named Scott Brown? He seems to be a folklore expert or historian. One of my companions is quite familiar with him…”

The elderly custodian felt beads of perspiration forming on his forehead. He could vow to Bartok that never in his extensive professional tenure had he encountered such an aberrant circumstance. A restless corpse displayed no inclination towards tranquility but instead seemed to flourish with liveliness akin to a living individual after he had conducted a soul-soothing ceremony!

This evoked the recent unsettling rumors circulating within the city-state, stories entailing the “revival of the deceased.”

Could the boundary separating life and death indeed have developed a fissure?

“Sir,” the elderly custodian’s grip on the shotgun tightened, his voice becoming slightly more stern, “you’ve spoken more than enough. If I were in your shoes, I’d simmer down and sincerely seek the peace of eternal rest now; otherwise, when the dawn breaks, you’ll find yourself in quite a pickle.”

Duncan, ensnared within the confines of the coffin, mulled over it and responded with a hint of helplessness, “In all actuality, I’d be keen on cooperating with you, but sleep just seems to elude me at present… How about you assist me by unlatching the lid and administer a sedative to facilitate my slumber?”

“Your request is unreasonable…” The elderly custodian retorted solemnly, but at that precise moment, a sudden and resonating thud on the cemetery gate interrupted his subsequent utterances.

Who would be paying a visit at this ungodly hour?

The caretaker cast a surprised glance towards the origin of the disruption, only to witness several figures enveloped in inky cloaks standing beneath a gas lamp outside the lofty, intricately carved gate. The gas lamp’s radiance illuminated them, casting elongated, ominous shadows trailing behind them.

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

It was a metallic emblem of a triangle, a symbol that represented an envoy of the death god, Bartok.

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

For the moment, the voice nestled within the coffin had fallen silent.

After a brief moment of contemplation, the old man turned on his heel and strode briskly towards the cemetery entrance.

The towering cemetery gate swung open amidst the clamor of clattering chains and groaning hinges, allowing the old custodian to scrutinize the newcomers under the dim illumination of the gas lamps.

Three men and a woman, all garbed in dense, pitch-black coats paired with similarly broad-brimmed hats. As they stood in silence, basking in the nocturnal breeze, their attire and taciturn stance conjured images of ravens perched beside tombstones under the cloak of midnight.

As the old man craned his neck to regard these uninvited guests, they reciprocated his gaze with equal intensity. Soon, one of the more petite men advanced and lofted the triangular emblem before announcing solemnly, “The tranquility of death shall eventually be our safe harbor. By the decree of the city-state church, we are tasked with the removal of a deceased individual who has only recently been transported to this cemetery.”

“A priest of the death god?” The elderly custodian was instinctively doubtful, casting a slight frown at the triangular emblem in the stranger’s hand, “Gatekeeper Agatha departed merely a few hours ago, and she made no mention of any additional priests scheduled to guide the departed, and moreover… it’s the night hour, hardly an appropriate time for escorting the dead.”

“Special circumstances. The deceased needs to be conveyed to a more secure location,” interjected another uninvited guest. A woman of medium stature, her facial features cold and rigid, and lips thin, took a step forward, “We implore you to cooperate, this is a matter of life and death, and we can ill afford any delay.”

Upon hearing the words “special circumstances” and considering the persistent voice echoing from within the coffin, the elderly custodian’s heart pulsed, and he swiftly dismissed his doubts.

It appeared that the restless inhabitant of the coffin was indeed of an unusual nature, and the church had already set the gears in motion. Although the old man couldn’t fathom how the church priests had arrived at their judgment, it was clear that the experts had entered the fray.

While he had little fondness for interlopers intruding on his graveyard, he had to admit the presence of official priests bearing the emblem of the god of death didn’t warrant further resistance from him. His only longing was for the swift resolution of this unwelcome predicament.

“Follow me,” the elder murmured, pivoting to guide the way through the labyrinth of tombstones. “Your arrival is rather fortuitous.”

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

“The body has already begun its restless dance. It’s as if it’s hosting a raucous party within that coffin, growing more animated with each discourse. I even fear it might breach the initial barrier and ascend to undead status – that would brew a rather thorny storm. The local inhabitants would hardly find this revelation palatable,” the aged custodian shook his head with a weary sigh. “No one harbors a liking for the undead, particularly the Frost people. It harks back to that accursed battleship, laden with the undead…”

As the old man grumbled his vexations en route, the quartet swathed in black exchanged glances, seemingly taken aback.

However, the stern-faced woman quickly shook her head, signaling them to exercise patience.

As the seasoned custodian led the squad away, the diminutive man who had formerly flaunted the church emblem nonchalantly tossed the item to the earth – it disintegrated into fine dust and dispersed with the capricious wind upon impact.

The group briskly navigated the narrow path slicing through the graveyard, reaching the provisional sanctuary for the departed. It comprised of meticulously arranged platforms cradling rows of caskets, and under the ethereal glow of the old custodian’s lantern, they appeared exceptionally eerie.

But this didn’t perturb the old man. After confirming that the grass powder he had sprinkled earlier still radiated a faint spectral glow, he exhaled a sigh of relief and gestured towards the latest entrant: “This one here was deposited tonight. I believe it’s the one you’re in search of.”

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

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

The woman’s eyes bulged, jolted by the voice emanating from the coffin. Her three counterparts also displayed evident surprise. They darted anxious glances at one another, with the towering one murmuring, “Something’s amiss here…”

“What’s amiss?” The elderly custodian, who seemed to possess an uncanny sense of hearing, queried with genuine curiosity, “Are you finding the situation too hot to handle?”

“Indeed not, we’re here precisely to handle such matters,” the woman in black retorted promptly. She cast a fleeting look at her trio of companions, appearing to swiftly assess her course of action, then nodded in acknowledgement to the old custodian, “Next… you’ll need to recede into the shadows for a moment.”

For those that just want to support me, you can follow the link to paypal donating. Sadly you won’t be able to get the benefit of reading ahead 

[Table of Content]

[Previous Chapter]

[Next Chapter]