Chapter 157 - 157: That Cat

In a secluded patch of woods outside Green Cemetery, Klein stood high amidst the treetops, gazing out at an open, flat clearing not far away. In his line of sight, seven or eight boys and girls in black robes were gathered around a corpse, performing a strange, twitchy, almost frenzied dance. The dance had a distinct rhythm to it, faintly tinged with a mysterious aura. Tonight, Klein had originally been tasked with protecting the jeweller's son, Adol Colloman. However, after Klein had driven away the Spirit clinging to him, he had gleaned information about a suspected gathering of the Spirit Cult. Initially, this gathering took place once a week, around three in the morning every Friday, conducting resurrection rituals near the outskirts of Green Cemetery. But two weeks ago, the schedule abruptly changed: now they held rituals every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, at three different times—9 PM, midnight, and 3 AM. And today was Monday. At this moment, the dance reached its climax. A bald, robed adult man lifted his head, removed his wig, revealing several eerie tattoos etched onto his bare scalp. He raised both arms high and chanted loudly: "God of Death!" "Respected God of Death!" "Is about to return!" Then they carried out a black cat with emerald eyes and threw it toward the corpse lying on the ground, trying to leap over it in a bid to resurrect it. Just then, a clear voice rang out. "If you don't leave now, you might die later, you know?" Everyone was startled, frantically searching for the source of the voice. Klein immediately looked up and spotted a short-haired girl in black perched casually atop a nearby tree, her little legs dangling and swinging idly in the air. A black-haired, black-clothed little girl? Klein was momentarily stunned. Such a coincidence? Seeing that it was just a child, the bald man, Kapusky Reid, relaxed slightly and called out, "Little one, it's so late. Shouldn't you be home sleeping? What are you doing here?" Priscilla lightly leapt down from the tree, looking up at the group and huffing, "Well, isn't it because you people are making such a racket in the middle of the night that I can't sleep?" She glanced at the corpse on the ground. "Hey, if you don't run now, in a moment..." Before she could finish speaking, the black cat suddenly fluffed up, let out a sharp screech, and bolted. In the same instant, the corpse sat bolt upright! The group of young spirit dancers reacted not with fear, but excitement. "It worked! It worked!" The next second, the corpse stretched out a hand, grabbed the nearest person, pulled them close, and sank its teeth into their neck with a gruesome squelch, blood spraying everywhere. "Ahhhh!!!" Only then did panic finally set in. Kapusky, the bald man, was visibly flustered. He hastily pulled out a brass whistle, put it in his mouth, and blew hard. Immediately after, he chanted in Hermes: "In the name of the God of Death, I command you!" But after a brief moment of stiffness, the corpse abandoned the young man it was biting and instead roared and lunged straight at Kapusky. Priscilla, who had been coldly observing from the sidelines, only started to move when the corpse pinned the bald man to the ground. She rolled up her sleeves and began striding forward. At that moment, with a burst of flame, a garishly dressed clown, his face smeared with red, yellow, and white paint, appeared amidst the firelight. He made a finger gun, puffed up his cheeks and made a sound similar to the firing of a gun. Bang! The corpse's skull shattered partially, rotten liquid oozing out, but it still struggled to bite Kapusky. Bang! Bang! Bang! Klein fired multiple air bullets in quick succession. First the arms, then the neck, and finally—Boom!—the head exploded entirely. The undead finally collapsed, lifeless, atop the bald man. Kapusky scrambled backwards, shoving the corpse away in terror, retreating in a frantic crawl. Klein tossed out a matchstick, instantly setting the corpse ablaze with eerie green-tinged flames, reducing it to ashes and waxy sludge in moments. "What are you all still standing there for?!" "Never participate in this kind of thing again, and don't you dare breathe a word of it." "Otherwise, you'll all die. Every last one of you." The group of young dancers fled in panic. Klein, meanwhile, approached the bald man, intending to interrogate him further. Priscilla stared at Klein, muttering under her breath, "Busybody." She then looked at the pile of ashes and waxy residue on the ground, frowning in dismay. Could she still digest the potion with what's left of the corpse? Klein was speechless. Miss Death, I just saved these little children, you know? This corpse had clearly been different from ordinary undead—far beyond the strength of a regular corpse collector. But alas, such was the burden of being a caring Fool. Klein stooped down and picked up the brass whistle Kapusky had dropped. At first glance, it looked somewhat similar to the one Mister Azik had given him, though the differences were obvious: one was a legendary-grade artifact; the other, a cheap, plain knockoff. "Where did you learn the spirit dance? And where did you get this whistle?" Nervously and with painstaking detail, the bald man recounted how he had stumbled into the mystical world and obtained the whistle, allowing Klein to confirm that this man was just an extraordinarily clueless, unlucky normal person who had brushed against the world of mysticism by accident. "Take me to see the old man's corpse." "Y-Yes, of course." Having eavesdropped the entire time, Priscilla immediately chimed in. "I'm coming too!" Klein replied calmly, "No, I think you should go home and sleep." Priscilla pouted, waving her tiny fists, "No way! You destroyed the corpse I was supposed to retrieve. I'm using this as compensation!" Compensation...? Seriously? Fine. You're young—you win. "Let's go." ——— An hour later, the group returned to the home of the bald man, Kapuski Reid. Along the way, he more or less realised that while these two weren't ordinary people, they didn't seem like bad ones either. As long as he did what they said, he should be safe. As soon as they entered, he grabbed some tools, led Klein out the back door of the kitchen, and into the withered, overgrown garden. They stopped in front of a slanted tree, where he skillfully dug into the ground, slowly revealing the stone slab buried beneath the soil. Once the top layer was cleared, Kapuski used his tools to pry the slab open. A pale red moonlight, faintly filtering through the clouds, spilt into the shallow tomb below. "Ah!" Kapuski gasped and stumbled back, falling to the ground. Inside the grave, there was no rotting corpse, no bones. Instead, the bottom was scattered with white feathers—white feathers tinged with a faint yellowish grease. Klein's heart skipped a beat. White feathers? An angel!? Priscilla jumped into the grave without hesitation, pulling out a corpse-wrapping bag from her satchel and started gathering the feathers. Klein's eye twitched. "What are you doing?" While packing, she replied matter-of-factly, "The person buried here has already left on their own, but these feathers are a sign that they've died once. Collecting and properly burying them is still part of a corpse collector's duty." Did Azik not teach you that many things in the world of the Beyonders are extremely dangerous? "All done!" Priscilla slung the half-filled bag of feathers over her back, scrambled out of the grave in a few swift moves, and waved a small hand. "I'm off~" After a few steps, she suddenly turned back to Klein. "Oh right, that bronze whistle you picked up earlier—it's very dangerous." Klein asked, "Then what should I do with it?" She thought for a moment, then stretched out her small, pale hand. "Give it to me. I'm not afraid of danger." "…" Why does it feel like you're trying to scam me again…? "If you won't, then forget it." She spun on her heel and skipped away with light, fluttering steps. A strange smile crept onto Klein's paint-covered face. "Good night, Miss Death." Priscilla stumbled and turned around with a shocked expression. "Eh?! You—you…" Klein turned to Kapuski. "About this whistle—" "Keep it!" Kapuski hurriedly waved his hands. "It's yours now." "Alright. I'll make sure it's properly handled." Klein pocketed the bronze whistle. "As for what happened tonight, I suggest you forget everything. And never try dancing the Spirit Dance again…or sooner or later, something strange will kill you." "I-I understand," Kapuski said, pale and nodding rapidly. "Good night, Miss Death." With a snap of his fingers, Klein vanished in a burst of flame. Priscilla shouted and chased a few steps, "Hey! You haven't told me who you are—hey!" Seeing the confused look on Kapuski's face, she glared at him. "What are you looking at?! This is all your fault!" Kapuski: "…" Yes, yes, everything you say is right. With that, she turned around, kicking her little legs as she quickly vanished into the distance. Elsewhere, Klein first returned to the jeweller's home to make sure everything was in order, then headed home to the world above the grey fog to divine the origin of the bronze whistle. Sigh…what a busy night. ——— The night deepened. Even the crimson full moon quietly sank westward, as the world approached the darkest hour before dawn. In a dim, spacious grey hall of the Sanguines. From a heavy, iron-black coffin forged like cast iron, a powerful yet decayed aura occasionally leaked from its seams. A well-dressed middle-aged gentleman in a black tuxedo, with blood-red eyes, quickly entered the hall. He bowed respectfully toward the coffin and spoke softly: "Grandfather." After a brief silence, an aged and deep voice slowly sounded from within the coffin. "Well?" "We've monitored the area for days but found nothing…until just now, when we sensed a burst of Beyonder power from the underground of the manor." "So, the person who was asking Emlyn questions…slipped past all of you and entered the manor unnoticed?" "I'm sorry, Grandfather." "It's fine. I was just curious anyway." The middle-aged man hesitated, then suggested, "Should we…assign someone to follow Emlyn? He'll eventually come into contact with that person." "No need," the voice in the coffin rejected firmly. "That's enough. You may go." "Yes, Grandfather." The gentleman left quickly. The grey hall returned to its long, silent stillness. After some time, the Sanguine Marquis let out a faint, confused sigh. "Ancestor…in the vision you gave me last time, what exactly does that cat…mean?" ——— [Note]: Don't forget to VOTE. It keeps me motivated.