Chapter 1 The Beginning

The place he was in should be a public facility used for temporary storage of corpses. The sounds outside the coffin likely came from the caretaker of this facility.

The caretaker seemed experienced. He referred to the disturbances from the coffin as a "restless" phenomenon and spoke to him rationally and clearly, without showing any panic.

The body he was currently inhabiting seemed to belong to a miner, who died from a fall from a height, with severe organic damage.

While Duncan spoke with the voice outside the coffin, he silently summarized these useful pieces of information, further confirming his suspicion that this body was largely useless.

After all, even without considering the body's extreme weakness, it would be difficult for him to run around with a caved-in skull—of course, the phenomenon of "living dead" existed in this world. The sailors on the Dauntless seemed to be full of individuals with strangely shaped bones, missing parts of their heads or hearts. But even the living dead couldn't openly roam around the city-state; it didn't suit his needs.

While Duncan was calculating in his mind, the old caretaker outside the coffin remained tense.

The double-barreled shotgun in the old man's hand was still pointed at the coffin, and the herbal powder he had scattered on the ground emitted a pale glow. His voice remained calm, but his fingers gripping the shotgun were slightly white.

He was waiting for the restless one in the coffin to exhaust the last of its obsession and reason, waiting for this talkative corpse to gradually tire and accept its death—according to his experience, it usually didn't take long. Under the potent soothing effects of the lantern and powder, an restless soul would usually calm down in half an hour.

Normally, the dead would become muddled during the conversation, soon forgetting even what they were saying. Normally, the voice in the coffin would turn into a mumble, eventually becoming a hoarse murmur. Normally...

But why did this guy in the coffin seem to be getting more energetic as they talked?!

"Sir," the old caretaker tightened his grip on the shotgun, his voice slightly stern, "You've said enough. Now, please quiet down as soon as possible and return to your slumber—otherwise, you'll feel awful when the sun comes up."

The emblem landed silently, turning into floating white dust upon touching the ground, scattering in the wind.

"What's the weather like today? It should be pretty cold, right? I think I heard the wind outside. A frosty night can't be easy..."

After a moment's thought, the old man turned and quickly walked towards the entrance of the cemetery.

"Do you know where I am right now? Ah, I know this is a mortuary, but I mean the location… You know, I couldn't see the surroundings when I was being brought here."

Listening to the old man's muttering complaints, the four figures in black subconsciously exchanged glances, as if somewhat surprised.

When the old caretaker heard him mention "normal situation," he was struck by an idea. Combining it with the incessant voice from the coffin, he immediately dismissed his doubts.

The man's eyes widened slightly, as if startled by the voice in the coffin. The woman was also visibly surprised. They looked at each other nervously, and the tall man couldn't help but mutter, "Something's not right…"

The four figures in black exchanged glances. The man with thin lips approached the platform, frowning slightly as he examined the coffin before him: "...Is this it...?"

"Maybe," Duncan said casually from inside the coffin, "What are you people doing here?"

The voice in the coffin temporarily quieted down.

"What's not right?" The old caretaker seemed to have good hearing, and asked curiously, "Can't you handle it?"

"The peace of death shall shelter us all—on the orders of the City-State Church, we are here to take away a deceased person who was just sent to this cemetery."

Three men and one woman, all wearing thick, black coats and equally thick, narrow-brimmed hats. They stood silently in the night wind, their attire and silence reminiscent of crows standing beside tombstones at midnight.

With the sound of chains loosening and creaking hinges, the towering cemetery gate opened.

The old caretaker raised his head, watching the figures under the streetlights with a cautious gaze.

"Normal situation. This deceased person needs to be transported to a more dangerous location," another of the uninvited guests spoke, a man of medium height with cold, stern features and thin lips. "Please cooperate. This is a matter of life and death, and we can't afford any delays."

The group quickly passed through the cemetery's paths, arriving at the mortuary used for temporary storage of the dead.

Duncan thought for a moment in the coffin and said helplessly, "Actually, I'd like to cooperate with you, but I can't really sleep right now… How about you open this lid for me and give me some good medicine to help me sleep?"

The old caretaker felt beads of sweat slowly appearing on his forehead. He swore he had never seen such an eerie situation in his entire career. A restless corpse, after undergoing a soul-soothing ritual personally performed by a "gatekeeper" of the Death Church and under the potent soothing effects of the lantern and herbs, showed no signs of calming down. Instead, it was becoming more and more intelligent, like a living person!

It was an octagonal metal emblem, symbolizing the messenger of Bartok, the God of Death.

The old caretaker looked in astonishment towards the direction of the knocking sound, seeing only a few figures in black coats standing under the streetlights outside the towering, carved fence gate. The light from the gas lamps shone on them, casting long shadows that were haloed by the light behind them.

The old caretaker's heart stirred, and he subconsciously glanced at the new coffin.

"Perfect timing?" One of the tall, black-clad women, who was stepping forward, paused slightly upon hearing this. "Why do you say that?"

It seemed that the restless one in this coffin was indeed special, and the church hadn't reacted yet. Although he didn't know how the church's priests had made their judgment, the professionals had arrived.

As the old man sized up these uninvited guests, they were also sizing up the gloomy old cemetery keeper. Soon, one of the shorter men stepped forward, raised the octagonal emblem in his hand, and said solemnly: Among the chaotic array of platforms, rows of simple coffins stood silently in the night wind. The lantern the old caretaker had hung on the wooden stake was still burning intensely, and the herbal powder on the ground still emitted a faint, pale glow.

"Come with me," the old man grumbled, turning to clear the path into the cemetery. "You've come at the right time."

"What time is it now? Have you eaten? Are there any other colleagues with you?"

One of the figures raised a hand, using the light of the street lamp to display something.

The old man didn't like outsiders disturbing his cemetery, but since they were official priests with the emblem of the God of Death, there was no need for him to stop them.

"Priests of the God of Death?" The old caretaker was instinctively suspicious, frowning slightly as he looked at the octagonal emblem in the man's hand. "Gatekeeper Agatha left just a few hours ago. She didn't mention that any other priests would be coming here to receive the dead, and... it's midnight, not a good time to receive the dead."

This made him think of the unsettling rumors circulating in the city-state recently, stories related to "the return of the dead."

"No, we're here to resolve this matter," the black-clad man said immediately. Then, he looked at his three companions, seemingly considering something quickly, and nodded to the old caretaker. "Next… we need you to step aside for a while."

He hoped that this trouble could end as soon as possible tonight.

Who would visit at this late hour?

Seeing that these sealing measures were still functioning normally, the old caretaker visibly breathed a sigh of relief. Then, he took two steps forward and pointed to the latest coffin placed there: "This one, the one you're looking for. It was just delivered tonight."

"You're overthinking it…"

The other three nodded slightly and silently followed the old caretaker's footsteps. The short man who had shown the church emblem casually tossed the emblem on the ground.

But soon, the man with thin lips shook his head, signaling to wait and not be impatient.

Had the boundary between life and death, set by Bartok, the God of Death, really developed a breach?

"Any news in the city lately? I don't really remember what happened before… Oh, by the way, do you know a man named Brown Scott? He seems to be a folklorist or historian, living on Hearth Street. A friend of mine is very familiar with him…"

The old caretaker was saying in a deep voice, but at that moment, the sound of someone banging on the fence gate suddenly came from the cemetery entrance, interrupting what he was about to say.

"This corpse hasn't stopped being restless. Haha, rambling on and on, talking non-stop, getting more and more energetic. I even suspect it might cross the first boundary and become one of the undead—that would be a big problem. The residents far away wouldn't like that news," the old caretaker said, shaking his head. "Everyone dislikes the undead, especially the Frost People. It reminds people of that cursed warship, which is full of the undead..."