That was a dream. I feel like it must have been a dream.
I dreamt of a distant sea, a silent, isolated island, and a giant marionette walking in the deep ocean. It emerged from the fog… The sea surface was also rising with fog… The mist darted around frantically like maddened snakes.
The sky was… I don’t know. It was a very bizarre feeling. Those stars looked at you like eyes, densely packed together. Every single eye was a decaying, maggot-infested planet.
It was pitch black. Pitch black everywhere. But I could see that marionette. I really could. That marionette… what a grotesque sight it was. Its body was entirely covered in threads, tied up, bound tightly…
But it… He, He walked slowly over from the deep sea. He stood upon the profound, ink-like surface of the ocean, and then He stopped, as if waiting for something.
Oh, what could possibly be worth this marionette’s wait… He just stood there, who’s to say He was waiting? His hollow eyes were like carved wooden beads…
No! No! Those were stars crawling with maggots, rotting and festering, oozing foul-smelling yellow pus! No, no, no, it shouldn’t be like this… no, no, no… those are stars, the bright, glowing stars in the sky!
What, what, it seems like there’s a sound. But I am dreaming. The marionette seemed to have seen me. He stood on the sea, stood at the edge—or perhaps the center—of the empty, maddening mist, staring at me with those hollow, rusted, foul-smelling star eyes…
…That isolated island! How could I forget that isolated island! What kind of land was that! The maddening rust-red soil, was it blood? Was it stained red by blood? No, it wasn’t… How could human blood ever set foot upon such exalted territory…
“That was… His reflection…”
Beside these messy, scribbled words of varying sizes, the mad painter had drawn a sketch.
A calm sea, a flat, isolated island, dispersing mist, and a standing marionette bound by threads. He had frantically drawn circles over the marionette’s eyes, hinting at something unknown.
Siles held his breath slightly, then slowly relaxed. He subconsciously pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a subtle fear as cold sweat soaked his back.
He thought: A dream?
He didn’t dare look closely at the manuscript anymore. Skimming through it, he found that the vast majority of it consisted of similar text and drawings. Leon frantically, with a tone of impending doom, described his dreams in great detail, invariably accompanied by illustrations.
With his artistic skills, he could perfectly reproduce the scenes from his dreams.
Siles closed his eyes, despairingly—or rather, resignedly—hearing the sound of rolling dice in his mind.
[Spirituality +1. Knowledge +1.]
…Wait!
Siles’s eyes snapped open, thinking in disbelief: How could Knowledge increase?!
The increase in Spirituality was within his expectations; after all, pronouns like “He” appeared in the manuscript. Clearly, Leon’s dream wasn’t that simple. Only gaining one point of Spirituality was already a blessing in disguise.
But how could Knowledge increase?
Did Leon’s dream have some sort of underlying meaning?
Siles didn’t dare look at the drawing or the text again, only briefly recalling them in his mind. Soon after, it dawned on him.
…The misty sea, the isolated island, and the marionette. Was this referring to somewhere in the Ashless Land?
When it came to mist, the Ashless Land was the only place he could think of. Even though he had no idea where exactly this scene might be located within it.
As Siles pondered this, a new question arose.
Indeed, this scene might be somewhere in the Ashless Land. But did this count as Knowledge? The Potions, Time Traces, and Rituals of the Revelators—these three crucial components had only given him one point of Knowledge each.
Yet this baffling dream of the painter Leon, the true meaning of which Siles hadn’t even grasped, could grant him a point of Knowledge… If he read the entire manuscript, wouldn’t he be able to max out his Knowledge attribute?
Of course, Siles didn’t dare do that. After all, reading this manuscript would increase his Spirituality.
Since he arrived in this world, his Spirituality had already increased by five points. And he still had no idea what his total Spirituality was, because he had never encountered a situation requiring a Spirituality check.
…He hoped he would never have to encounter one in his entire life…
Siles thought to himself.
Resting his forehead on his hand, he pondered the meaning corresponding to the Knowledge attribute.
Here, the Knowledge attribute wasn’t strictly categorized into disciplines. Literary knowledge belonged to this attribute, as did knowledge regarding Revelators and Blessed Ones.
But without exception, they were all contained within the unified scope of the Fisher World.
In other words—Siles thought—this meant the dream in the manuscript wasn’t just a dream, but was connected to reality. The only discipline Siles could think of to categorize this scene under was…
History.
That was a scene that had truly appeared in this world before. It was something that had happened, a fact.
Siles held his breath slightly, not daring to let his imagination run wild with associated imagery. He only recalled the names of the gods in his mind, guessing which Old God this scene belonged to.
There was indeed an Old God related to the ocean: the God of Warriors and Pirates, the Umbrella of War and Conquest, Amois. But Siles couldn’t fathom how Amois could be connected to a marionette on the sea.
People generally believed Amois to be a strong, belligerent, wild man with excellent swimming skills. This was one of the few deities with a human avatar.
Siles was momentarily lost in confusion.
He couldn’t help but smile bitterly, thinking that as he explored this world, none of the impressions of the Old Gods from his original body’s memories matched the clues he had found.
Professor Cabel’s manuscript mentioned that deities should always reside high above something, which didn’t match any god he remembered.
The wandering bards of the Sardin Empire might be followers of Ligadia; this wasn’t mentioned in any history book.
Now, what could this sea, mist, isolated island, and marionette match up with?
…No, wait!
While organizing the elements of this dream, Siles suddenly realized he seemed to have overlooked something.
Disregarding his worry over whether his Spirituality might increase, he hurriedly flipped back to the page recording the dream and read it again. His Spirituality didn’t increase, and Siles realized what he had missed.
The stars!
He had subconsciously assumed the stars referred to the marionette’s eyes, yet Leon’s dream had initially referred to the stars in the sky.
…Lusmi. The God of Stars and Light, the bright beacon flickering high in the sky.
However, whether in past historical records or the literary works in Siles’s memory, Lusmi’s image was permanently fixed upon concepts like distance, light, hope, and beautiful guardianship. Why did Leon describe the stars as rotting eyes in his dream?
Siles felt a chill run down his spine, terrified by his own imagination.
…The mist. He steadied himself and thought. The mist that shrouded the vast majority of the Fisher World’s land. How did this happen? What had occurred in this world in the past?
Siles didn’t dare think any further.
If the one point of Knowledge he gained was because of this, then Siles was even more afraid to ponder it. In this world, knowing itself could bring about disaster.
Pollution and influence from the Old Gods were impossible to guard against, capable of appearing at any time.
Siles took a deep breath and put away the painter’s manuscript. He had originally just wanted to understand some of the painter’s thoughts while drawing, but unexpectedly caught a glimpse of a corner of this world’s truth. He wasn’t feeling too well.
He walked to the window, gazing at the silhouette of Lamifa University’s main castle. Opening the window slightly, he felt the cool night breeze brush his cheeks, finally calming down slowly.
Once calm, he thought of some other questions.
For instance, where exactly did this manuscript come from? This was a copy, so who exactly transcribed Leon’s recorded dreams? Wouldn’t the act of copying affect their minds? This was a massive hidden danger!
Another question: who exactly was selling this manuscript? The merchant at that stall seemed like an utterly ordinary person. But if he was truly ordinary, where did he get this manuscript? Had he not read its contents?
And again, why did Leon have these dreams? Even if he suffered mental pollution from an Old God, there should be a trigger, right? He couldn’t have just started having these chaotic dreams out of nowhere, especially dreaming them for so many years!
Thoughts unrelated to the dream itself, but rather about Leon and the manuscript, swirled in Siles’s mind.
But soon, he shook his head, warning himself not to overthink it.
This world harbored danger, and he was merely a visitor who had recently arrived. He shouldn’t be thinking this much.
Even though Siles tried hard to clear his mind before bed, he unexpectedly had a dream that night. Siles’s sleep quality had always been excellent, and he rarely dreamed.
But today was an exception.
He dreamt of that scene. The sea, the isolated island, the mist, the marionette, the night sky, the stars. In the dream, he didn’t know who he was, where he was, or why he was there.
Like the very air of that scene, he floated quietly, blankly gazing at the imagery.
That almost constituted the entirety of the long dream.
Then, suddenly, he felt his “body”—air-like as it was—being brushed by something. A shudder went down his spine.
In the next second, the scene abruptly shifted. He found himself back in human form, wearing a well-tailored suit and leather shoes, as if he were about to visit a distinguished guest.
His feet stepped onto the soft, bright red soil that exuded a scent of decay.
…He jolted awake.
The moment he opened his eyes, he was thankful he was still breathing, that his breaths were still steady, and that his was the only breathing sound in the silent room. The dice didn’t prompt him with something like ‘Spirituality 99’ when he woke up, either.
His eyes wide open, he stared at the pitch-black ceiling. It was still early, probably only four or five o’clock. But Siles couldn’t fall back asleep.
He felt an indescribable sensation. He should have felt terrified and tense for actually dreaming about that scene, but at this moment, he was thinking: in Leon’s dream, Leon—the master of the dream—was merely a bystander.
Yet in Siles’s dream, he had actually moved and set foot on that isolated island.
With an exceptionally calm, icy emotion, Siles thought: Why?
This question bothered Siles until the rising sun broke the gloom of the room, interrupting his thoughts. He let out a sigh of relief, stepping out of that cold mindset.
But in that instant, he acutely realized what he was thinking—Look, the sun. That is the symbol of Lusmi.
His face as calm as still water, Siles sat up in bed.
He felt as though something had gone wrong with him in some aspect. On one hand, he was aware of his problem, but on the other hand, he genuinely felt that there was nothing wrong with him.
Having problems was the norm in this world. Just as Dominic had said, this era was full of lunatics.
Siles went to wash up as usual. He thought about his itinerary for the day and decided to visit the Church of the Past before heading to the History Society in the afternoon.
…How terrible. Siles judged himself harshly. Look at how many times you’ve been to the Church of the Past these past few days.
Was this world really that dangerous? Then why was he always running into these things?
With a sense of dissatisfaction, Siles looked at himself in the mirror.
Still black hair and black eyes, still a pale, handsome appearance. He thought he should thank the original owner for gifting him this body.
…No. That’s wrong. Siles forcefully wrenched his thoughts back. He had never cared about this body, nor had he ever felt it was a gift from the original owner. This wasn’t his world, his life, or his body.
He was He Jiayin. He was merely a passing traveler in this world. He needed to play the role of Siles Noel to the best of his ability.
He unconsciously closed his eyes, feeling his emotions surging in waves. After a moment, he completely calmed down and looked at himself in the mirror once more.
“He Jiayin,” he said, pausing after each word. “Do not forget where you came from.”
At that moment, he heard the sound of dice rolling in his mind. Twice.
[Willpower +1.]
[You need to make a Willpower check.]
[Willpower: 92/75, Success.]
[Congratulations, you have successfully broken free from the influence of certain things. Honestly, it might not even have been malicious. But regardless, your Willpower is your greatest weapon.]
Siles sharply gasped.
The man in the mirror could no longer maintain his expressionless composure, revealing a look of lingering fear.
He really hadn’t expected that merely reading a manuscript would subject him to influence without him noticing. Even though, according to the dice, this influence wasn’t malicious and was highly likely just an unconscious instinct, nevertheless…
Siles felt the dice were absolutely right; the Willpower attribute was indeed extremely important.
But the good news was that his Willpower had increased by another point.
Siles secretly breathed a sigh of relief, subconsciously narrowing his eyes to examine himself in the mirror. Suddenly, he realized he had instinctively narrowed his eyes yet again.
…Am I becoming a bit nearsighted? He thought this once again.
He tilted his head and gazed out the window, feeling like it was mostly fine, though there was indeed a slight blurriness. But he was still shaken and couldn’t tell if it was just an illusion.
Then he suddenly realized he could seemingly use this as an excuse to visit the campus hospital and see Chester?
Siles made a mental note of this, then left the washroom, changed his clothes, and grabbed what he needed—he cautiously drank a potion and performed the [The Silent Heart] ritual.
Only a high Willpower of 94 could bring him a sufficient sense of security.
Before stepping out, Siles took a deep breath to maintain his calm. He figured that even if he was unlucky, his dice-rolling luck seemed pretty good.
Comforting himself this way, he left the third floor.
It was Monday again. The start of another week. Siles sincerely hoped this week wouldn’t be as fraught with disasters as the last.
He went to the cafeteria for breakfast and arrived at exactly nine o’clock at the activity room on the first floor of the main castle, the meeting place agreed upon with Horatio Dwight, president of the Chronicles of Torture Society.
In Lamifa University’s main castle, the fourth floor housed the professors’ offices, the third floor had the elective classrooms, the second floor had the major-specific classrooms, and the first floor consisted of student and professor activity rooms, study halls, reading rooms, seminar rooms… essentially, a variety of open rooms and auditoriums.
If needed, professors or students could report to the university’s administrative office in advance to reserve them.
When Siles walked into the activity room he had agreed upon with Horatio, this handsome student with his firm gaze and composed demeanor left a deep impression on Siles at first glance.
Of course, what was even more impressive was the brilliant blue radiance emitting from Horatio’s body.
Another student wandering around after drinking a potion of 10% purity. Siles wore a faint, polite smile, though inside he thought his students were truly full of hidden dragons and crouching tigers.
“Good morning, Professor,” Horatio’s voice was slightly hoarse, but his expression and tone were extremely respectful, far more serious than those of Siles’s two apprentices.
Siles felt his behavior could be described as “reverent.” However, this respect felt more like distant politeness than true understanding and admiration for Siles himself.
“Good morning,” Siles replied in a deep voice.
Horatio invited Siles to sit down and immediately cut straight to the point.
He explained his original intention for founding the society—he was deeply interested in the self-restraining behaviors humans exhibited due to faith, and he had gathered a group of similarly curious students to study such behaviors.
Siles listened with interest, then asked, “Will Brancani be the center of your research?”
Horatio pondered for a moment, then replied, “Professor, in truth, it’s not just the followers of Brancani who practice such behaviors.”
Siles was slightly surprised and said, “I’d like to hear the details.”
Horatio seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, then immediately said, “In some historical records, the followers of other Old Gods also exhibited corresponding acts of self-restraint and suffering.”
Siles nodded.
Horatio asked, “For instance… do you know of Thaddeus?”
“The God of Death and Disaster,” Siles paused. “The curtain at the end of death, Thaddeus.”
Horatio explained, “Because the deity they worshiped ruled over disasters, the followers of Thaddeus believed that any misfortunes in their lives were tests handed down by their god.
“Sometimes, they even took pride in this, comparing the disasters they encountered with one another. Some extreme believers thought that the severity of the disaster symbolized the degree of the deity’s favoritism toward the follower.”
Siles thought for a moment, then shook his head. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
A hint of excitement flashed across Horatio’s face. “This is a secret I found in one of the books in my family’s collection. It’s precisely because of this that I am so interested in these related behaviors.”
“To what extent does a follower’s faith constrain their behavior and beliefs? That is exactly what I want to know.”
Siles listened in silence.
A secret from a family book collection?
Forgive him, but hearing about this sort of thing now just made him feel endangered and uneasy.
Siles let out a soft sigh in his heart. Looking up at Horatio, he said in a low voice, “Horatio, I am not opposed to your research or your spirit of exploration. However, I hope you can embark on your journey with a calmer, more rational, and more thorough mindset.”
Horatio froze.
Siles continued, “This world is far more complex and dangerous than we imagine.”
For a moment, Siles stared intently into Horatio’s pupils, sensing a flicker of panic and astonishment in the young student’s gaze.
Finally, Horatio nodded earnestly and said, “I will, Professor.”
Siles didn’t sense the madness typical of Old God followers from him, but Horatio’s obsessive research habits gave him a slight feeling of worry.
Afterwards, Horatio explained his society’s plans to Siles. There were currently ten people in the society, all of whom were Horatio’s friends or classmates.
“My major is Theology,” Horatio said. “You might not have heard of this major; it was just established this year.”
Siles was somewhat surprised. He asked, “What specifically do you study?”
“We study the Old Gods,” Horatio said. “We study Their past abilities, Their followers, the impact They had on humanity and human empires, and the traces They still leave behind in human society today.
“Although everyone knows the Old Gods have fallen, you know that deities like Ligadia, Atkinia, and Menavaca still have a considerable reputation among some people.”
Ligadia was the God of Leaving Home and Travel, Atkinia was the God of Music and Art, and Menavaca was the God of Commerce and Oaths. Their godhoods had strictly corresponding domains, and they were remembered by the people associated with them.
Siles nodded in agreement.
Horatio brought the topic back: “After September, I plan to hold a society activity every Saturday night. The content will roughly involve studying and discussing the materials we’ve gathered and summarized. The ultimate goal is to produce a thesis.
“If you are free, you’re welcome to participate in our society’s activities. If you aren’t free, that’s fine too. Every week, I will write you a letter detailing our discussions or deliver it to your office—on the fourth floor, correct? I hope you can provide some advice.”
Siles nodded and said, “I understand.”
“Professor, regarding our society,” Horatio said in a measured tone, “do you have any suggestions?”
Siles thought for a moment, finally saying meaningfully, “I hope you all don’t actually try to practice those ascetic and self-restraining behaviors.”
Horatio froze, looking at Siles in shock.
Siles calmly nodded at him, then said his goodbyes and left.
Left alone in the classroom, Horatio was dazed for a moment before muttering in a low voice: “Is the Professor… a Revelator?” He thought of the mysterious and handsome man. “But how did he know I am one, too?”
Horatio couldn’t make sense of it no matter how hard he thought.
Leaving the room, Siles didn’t linger. After checking the time, he went straight to the campus gates to catch a public carriage, arriving at the History Society a little past ten.
Part of the reason he came so early was to try his luck and see if he could get any news about Brewer Darrow sooner.
To his surprise, however, he ran into Carol rushing out of the History Society’s entrance.
“Carol,” Siles called out to him.
“Siles? Why are you here so early?!” Carol asked in surprise.
Siles walked up to him. Noticing the beads of sweat on his face and the unease in his expression, a bad premonition suddenly arose in his heart. He paused, then said, “For Brewer.”
Carol fell silent for a moment before suddenly sighing. “We found Brewer’s body. Do you want to come along?”
Brewer Darrow was dead?!
Siles opened his mouth, almost in a daze, wanting to say something, but finding himself instantly speechless. Finally, he just asked, “Where?”
Carol patted him on the shoulder and said, “Follow me.”
They walked over to a carriage parked in a corner beside the History Society building. The driver had them get in and sit down, then drove the horses off in a certain direction.
Watching the road turn from smooth to muddy, Siles suddenly realized, “We’re going outside the city?”
“Yes,” Carol said. “His body was found in the suburbs. A family heading to camp nearby found him this morning and reported it to the police. After the police verified his identity, they notified us.”
Carol took a deep breath and said quietly, “I never expected…”
Siles frowned and said, troubled, “If the mastermind’s goal was to obtain the Darrow family’s archives, are they silencing him after succeeding, or did they resort to murder because they failed?”
Carol shook his head. “My colleagues are already heading to the Darrow family. We can wait for the results of their investigation.”
Siles fell silent. Brewer’s body gave him a very bad feeling. He suspected that the investigation at the Darrow family might not yield any useful information either.
But…
The news of Brewer’s death was far too sudden.
On Saturday afternoon, when they realized Brewer’s disappearance was abnormal, they still thought he was merely under house arrest. Since the mastermind likely needed something from Brewer and his family, they shouldn’t have done anything too drastic.
But they were wrong.
Siles silently took a breath, feeling a thick, dark cloud looming over the city of Lamifa, much like the painter’s drawing at the edge of Atherton Square.
The carriage bumped along the road, kicking up clouds of dust. The road conditions outside the city weren’t as good as those inside, so it took them more time. About half an hour later, they reached their destination.
It was a stretch of rolling hills planted with many trees. Among the flickering shadows, Siles could see people in police uniforms walking around.
Siles followed Carol up the hill. The land further away seemed somewhat desolate. Siles knew that scattered villages surrounded the roads connecting the different cities of the Duchy of Konst.
Siles Noel came from exactly this kind of village. Aside from the slightly more populated villages, vast stretches of land remained perennially desolate and silent.
Therefore, in a fleeting moment, this scene unexpectedly stirred Siles’s feelings toward certain images in his memories.
These emotions dissipated the instant he saw Brewer’s corpse.
Brewer Darrow was scarcely clothed, his entire body covered in wounds. However, the wounds showed no signs of bleeding; it appeared they were inflicted post-mortem. His eyes were wide open, hollow and dead. His stiff body was contorted, splayed out on the ground in a spread-eagle shape.
That arrogant, somewhat impatient man, who had told Siles he fell in love with his fiancée at first sight, had died in this deserted outskirt.
Siles couldn’t help but close his eyes briefly.
A nearby police officer walked over. He clearly recognized Carol and greeted him before stating professionally: “This is not the primary crime scene. The deceased likely died early this morning and was then moved here.”
Carol nodded and asked, “Was anything found on him, or around the area?”
“Uh, no.” The officer shook his head. “There’s nothing here except his body and his clothes. We haven’t found anything else.”
“How did he die?”
The officer glanced at the body and said, “A single, fatal knife wound. The person who killed him must be a very cold-blooded killer, but someone mutilated his body after he died.”
Both Siles and Carol frowned.
Siles remarked, “That is somewhat inconsistent with the killer’s method of dealing a single fatal blow.”
Carol nodded. “It looks like a group operation. The killer and the person who later mutilated the body are not the same individual.” He then asked, “Did the people who found the body say anything?”
The officer said, “They arrived here around seven in the morning. A couple with their two children. They were originally at the foot of the hill, and when the children ran up the slope to play, they found the body.”
Carol asked, somewhat puzzled, “Why would they camp here? This doesn’t seem like a good spot.”
“They were actually heading back to a nearby village in their own carriage. They stopped here for a bit, planning to eat breakfast and rest up. But they didn’t expect…”
Carol sighed. Usually fond of hearty laughter, he now looked rather miserable.
Just from the scene alone, they couldn’t gather much information. The location was incredibly remote, and no one had seen the body dumpers. There was only a single corpse lying solitarily on the ground.
Carol shifted his gaze back to the body, deep in thought.
At that moment, the officer nodded at Siles and Carol before walking away with the other policemen.
Siles asked, “Are we going to use… a Revelator’s method now?”
“What?” Carol snapped back to reality, then said, “Oh, yes, yes. But I’m afraid this won’t be that simple.”
“Why?”
Carol said, “I once said that the followers of the Old Gods didn’t dare to make a move in Lamifa. But now they’ve actually murdered someone, and the descendant of a noble family at that.”
A biting wind brushed past their faces, bringing a sharp sting.
Carol took a deep breath and continued, “So they must have reached an absolute peak of madness. Either they’re planning a major operation inside Lamifa, or they’ve already fled far, far away from the city.”
Siles thought about it and said, “But the killer struck a single, fatal blow. Such decisiveness and coldness doesn’t seem like the work of… a madman.”
Carol shook his head and replied, “We’ve arrested some Old God followers before, and their mental states are like… simultaneously mad and calm. Aware that they have a problem, yet feeling like there’s nothing wrong with them at all.”
Siles was momentarily taken aback, subconsciously recalling his own state when he woke up from his dream this morning. He instinctively narrowed his eyes slightly and asked impassively, “Is that the pollution from the Old Gods?”
“Yes, but… it’s hard to say for sure,” Carol said. “Some people aren’t followers of the Old Gods, yet they still get polluted. These people can’t be called followers of the Old Gods.” He glanced at Siles and added, “There are people like that within the History Society.”
Siles wanted to say something.
Carol stopped him. “The History Society is a very pragmatic organization. To some extent, we don’t care that much about the pollution of the Old Gods. In our process of searching for Time Traces and reproducing rituals, this is a phenomenon that very easily occurs.
“Everything is judged by their actions.”
Siles nodded. “I understand.”
Perhaps one day in the future, Revelators would possess some method to shield against the pollution of the Old Gods. However, in this era—an era where Siles became directly contaminated simply by reading a manuscript—they were powerless.
Siles debated whether he should inform Carol about Leon’s manuscript, but ultimately, he maintained his silence for the time being. The most important thing right now was the matter of Brewer.
Carol didn’t say much more, either. He crouched down, gazing into Brewer’s hollow, ashen eyes.
After a moment, he murmured softly, “Out of all the beginner Revelators I’ve guided, he’s the first one to die a tragic death without even completing the introductory course.”
Siles said, “It’s impossible to guard against.”
“Yes,” Carol sighed.
He took an object from his coat and showed it to Siles. It was a tiny crown, overall about the size of a ring. The gemstones and precious metals on it were still brilliant, yet it bore the wondrous traces of time’s touch.
Siles took a look, confirming that this feeling emanated from the crown’s… fragility, its vulnerability, a frailty that made it seem as if it would shatter in the very next second.
“‘The Last Sigh of Death,'” Carol said. “That is the name of this crown. Does it bring anything to mind?”
Siles replied, “The curtain at the end of death?”
“Yes,” Carol confirmed. “Legend has it that Thaddeus, the God of Death and Disaster, is a mass of black mist wearing a crown and draped in a cloak. His cloak is the destination of human spirituality, and His crown is the condensation of human willpower.”
Siles was slightly stunned inwardly.
In the tabletop role-playing game he used to play, each character had three basic attributes: Constitution, Spirituality, and Willpower. And Carol had just mentioned two of them right here. He found it hard to believe this was merely a coincidence.
“Spirituality and willpower,” Siles murmured. “What exactly are they?”
“I’m not entirely clear myself,” Carol admitted. “In any case, the individuals with extraordinary powers blessed by Thaddeus were known as the Messengers of the Dead. Every Messenger wore a tiny crown on their finger. It’s said that was the tool they used to command the undead.”
Siles thought to himself: Necromancers?
But it sounded like this world’s definition of souls was rather complicated.
Siles didn’t dwell on it at the moment, carefully choosing his words as he asked, “So, can we resurrect Brewer?”
“Resurrect? Not quite.” Carol shook his head. “We can only briefly awaken his willpower. The Messengers of the Dead, who once received Thaddeus’s blessing, seemingly had the chance to resurrect the dead. But we cannot do that. We can only communicate with the deceased briefly for a short time.”
“The crown… corresponds to willpower,” Siles said. “Are we conversing with the will of the deceased?”
“Perhaps.” Carol spoke vaguely. “I haven’t used this ritual much, but I’ve heard from the people in the Society who constantly study it that after humans die, their spirituality dissipates, and their fragile willpower can no longer command their heavy bodies.”
Siles pondered this explanation.
Spirituality was like… an adhesive? A bridge? Connecting willpower to the body. That was what Siles figured.
Carol didn’t continue explaining his half-understood theories. Instead, he said, “This ritual is called [Words of the Dead]. Its only function is to allow the dead, who passed within the last day, to speak with us for a brief moment.”
“Will he remember everything that happened prior?”
“Hard to say,” Carol said. “The terror of death might cause them to forget many things.”
Siles slowly nodded.
Next, Carol slipped the crown-shaped ring onto the index finger of his left hand. Then, using the pad of that finger, he gently touched Brewer’s stiff, cold forehead, tracing a circle there slowly and steadily.
After finishing the seventh circle, Carol withdrew his hand and began counting down in a low voice: “Seven, six… three, two, one. Brewer Darrow, awaken.”
Siles felt the originally clear, bright atmosphere around them suddenly become somewhat eerie. He couldn’t tell if it was just an illusion, or if the surrounding environment had truly changed.
He saw Brewer’s hollow eyeballs suddenly roll.
At the same time, the crown ring on Carol’s finger abruptly shattered into dust.
“Kill…” Brewer’s mouth opened and closed. The voice that came out was hoarse and dry, completely unrecognizable to Siles as Brewer Darrow’s voice. “Killed. Me.”
Carol asked calmly, “Who killed you?”
Brewer’s jaw moved slowly, like a wooden puppet manipulated by strings. Still lying on the ground, he stared blankly upwards.
Finally, he said, “I said, kill me. And then, she, killed me.”
