Chapter 103 The God of Death's Burial

On the rubble wasteland shrouded in night, countless figures clad in black robes silently walked in the same direction. Twilight radiance from some unseen dimension shone upon their night-like robes, surrounding these towering phantoms with an aura of illusory brilliance. They walked across the wasteland, gradually converging into rivers of twilight flowing through the darkness—and ultimately, these rivers of twilight arrived at the center of the Death Wilderness, encircling the funeral.

There stood a gate, its triangular doors silent and solemn. At first, Duncan even thought it was a small hill, but almost in the blink of an eye, he was near the gate, seeing it as majestic and towering as another raised land. The door's triangular center was tightly closed, its surface covered in dark red, vein-like patterns, bound by layers of chains.

The order of death had been locked away by this gate, and now the deity who had personally locked it sat quietly on the throne before the gate—He was taller than Duncan had imagined, even surpassing Tarquin. Even seated, that body was almost the size of a house.

He wore tattered robes as black as night, entwined with dark red thorns. His face was hidden beneath the shadows of the robes, as if He had no face at all, but only a shadowy form outlined by the robes—just as it was written in the sacred texts of the Church of Death:

Death is a faceless shadow, hidden in a cloak called darkness. This shadow is everywhere, and when you see Him, He also sees you.

But now this faceless shadow of death was dead. A short sword, twisted and sharp like alien thorns, pierced His chest, almost pinning Him to the dark throne. His hood was askew, as if at the last moment of death, He was still looking back at the triangular gate representing the order of life and death.

It was a scene akin to murder, except the murderer was the victim himself.

This was the most peculiar scene among the four "Dead Gods"—in the finality of death and decay, Bartok had performed a second "slaughter" upon Himself.

Countless twilight-clad phantoms surrounded the gate, standing silently like frozen tombstones, motionless. Yet, a small path ran through them, as if deliberately left for visitors, extending from the wilderness all the way to the dark throne.

The tall gatekeeper leading the way walked forward slowly. Duncan and Agatha followed behind him, traversing the path through the quietly standing phantoms. The twilight radiance cast by the phantoms shone upon them as well. Duncan was unaffected by the twilight, but Agatha's originally illusory and transparent body gradually solidified in the radiance, even seeming to briefly possess substance.

They finally stopped before the throne. The tall gatekeeper who had led them nodded silently and moved aside, standing among the other gatekeepers.

Duncan looked up, gazing at the figure on the throne, who was even taller than Tarquin, at the world's first and last deceased being.

No wonder the "dead" person Agatha had used the sailors to forge could not attract the gatekeepers—because the true, ultimate dead person was right here.

Agatha raised her head, gazing for a long time at this deity draped in darkness. Even Duncan couldn't know what she was thinking at this moment—this "gatekeeper" who possessed all the memories of a devout follower of the Church of Death, yet was only a "forgery," had never imagined she could come here, to this place that countless devout followers could not reach even through a lifetime of asceticism, let alone that she would witness this scene, the funeral of the God of Death.

She stood quietly for a long time before slowly withdrawing her gaze and speaking in a complex tone, "...Captain, what do we do next?"

Before Duncan could speak, another gatekeeper, who had been standing beside the throne, silently walked over. The tall phantom bent down and placed something in Duncan's hand, then turned and returned to the ranks around the throne.

Duncan looked down and saw an old and exquisite hourglass in his hand—he recognized it. He had seen an identical one in the Leviathan Queen's final resting palace.

But this hourglass was empty.

Duncan frowned subconsciously, wanting to ask the gatekeeper who had handed him the hourglass, but suddenly, he seemed to hear a low murmur in the surrounding breeze, and gradually understood something.

Under Agatha's concerned gaze, he reached out towards the hourglass, a cluster of starlight-tinged flames danced on his fingertips, then slowly pierced through the hourglass's casing, flowing into its glass container—the vitality that the hourglass had once recorded briefly revived in the flames, and began to flow as the hourglass was turned over.

In the next second, Duncan heard a illusory whistling wind in his ears, light and darkness shattered silently, and then swirled and recombined in his vision.

He stood on a small hill, illuminated by a source-less light. In the distance was a dark night that seemed to have no end, and at his feet bloomed nameless wildflowers, swaying in the breeze and emitting a fragrance that seemed both real and illusory.

The sound of a shovel digging came from the side. Duncan turned his head and saw a thin, small old man bent over, digging hard into the ground.

He had already dug a shallow pit, and next to the pit was a pile of black soil. He dug shovel after shovel, and although the pit he dug was very shallow, it gave the feeling that he had been digging here for a hundred centuries.

Duncan watched this scene, then walked towards the digging old man.

"I've come… I'm sorry, I might be a step late."

"Not late," the old man said, continuing to bend over and dig, "Death is never early, but never late either. It's always the right time to keep the appointment."

He reached out and pointed to the small mound beside him—at some point, an extra shovel had been inserted into the pile of black soil: "Can you help?"

Duncan didn't say anything, but stepped forward, picked up the shovel, and silently came to the old man's side, bending down to plunge it forcefully into the earth.

For a time, only the sound of digging remained on the hill.

After an unknown amount of time, the thin old man suddenly spoke again: "The other three… the last time I saw them was a long time ago. Since then, I've only been able to contact them through the 'channel' left by Navigator II. How are they doing now?"

"They're fine," Duncan said calmly, carefully digging the soil, "I made a promise with them that we'll meet again in the new world."

The old man nodded: "Oh, that's good… That's something to look forward to."

Duncan was silent for a few seconds, then looked up at the old man beside him: "Is this your original appearance?"

"No," the old man didn't look up, but slowly said, carefully digging the soil, "I have no face. I never did from the beginning. But I thought… since I've already decided to leave, I should leave behind a face, at least."

"You have no face?" Duncan was a little surprised and curious.

"Yes, I'm different from the other three—I am 'Death' itself," the old man said faintly.

Duncan didn't speak, he waited for the old man to continue.

"The destruction of each world is slightly different. Some lasted for years, some lasted even longer, and some… the civilizations of those worlds struggled to support themselves, using various methods to delay the end, even persisting for a hundred years."

The old man continued, digging at the soil beneath his feet.

"And in my world… everything happened very quickly—so quickly that there was no time to experience any form of decline or resistance, yet not short enough, not so short that people couldn't perceive the moment when all things collapsed. It was… just right, enough to let everyone know the process of death coming.

"Many people—everyone, died in that instant. Death howled through space and time, even shaking the tottering stars. In the last second of the homeland world, 'Death' became the most brilliant, common, and uniquely born thing in the entire universe.

"And all the beautiful, ugly, fearful, courageous, tenacious, yet fragile humanity and thoughts were compressed within that one second.

"Thus, death was born after death—I opened my eyes, and the first time I blinked, all things were undergoing their final collapse before my eyes. The second time I blinked, scorching and chaotic ashes had replaced my homeland, which I had only seen once."

The old man forcefully pressed down on the shovel, scooped the soil from the pit, and tossed it aside.

"I've been digging for a long time. I've been digging this pit since the day the Sanctuary was established, but this task is almost impossible to complete—it's hard for death to kill death itself, but fortunately, you're here to help, Fire-Stealer."

"Don't you want to see the new world? If you're willing, there might still be a way…"

"No, thank you for the invitation," the old man gently shook his head, scooped up another shovel of soil, and then looked up at Duncan calmly, "I'm different from other 'people.' You should have realized it—I'm not a survivor of the old world, I'm a product of the Great Annihilation, a part of these scorching ashes. That's why the task of defining the rules of decay for this world can only be completed by me—the Sanctuary needs a 'recycling mechanism' like me to complete the full cycle of birth and demise. But in the new world… the demise of things shouldn't be executed by a similar 'god,' not even leaving that possibility behind.

"Let what was born from the Great Annihilation be left to the Great Annihilation."

Duncan stood silently for a moment, scattering another shovel of soil into the grave.

"Don't you feel regret?"

"No," the old man smiled, "I've done everything I should do. After this, enjoying a permanent, undisturbed slumber is the greatest praise for 'death.' But for you… I have a word of advice."

Duncan stopped his movements.

"Don't lightly speak of sacrifice, although you might think these words shouldn't come from me," the old man gazed calmly into Duncan's eyes, "but I smell the scent of death on you… I'm very familiar with this scent, but it shouldn't be on you."

Duncan didn't speak, he just stood quietly.

And beside him, there was no sign of the thin old man, nor was there a second shovel—he was the only one standing here.

The God of Death lay quietly in the grave, most of his body already buried under the soil. He closed his eyes peacefully, as if he had been lying there since a long, long time ago.

After a long silence, Duncan bent down and continued to scatter soil into the grave.

(End of Chapter)