Chapter 826: Chapter 823: The Burial

Under the cover of nightfall, countless figures cloaked in black silently made their way towards the same direction, the twilight glow from some unseen dimension illuminated their night-like robes, casting a phantasmal light around these towering apparitions as they walked across the desolate plains, gradually converging into rivers of dusk flowing through the darkness–until at last, these rivers of dusk reached the center of the Wilderness of Death, encircling the funeral proceedings there.

There stood a gate, its triangular doors silent and solemn. At first, Duncan even mistook it for a small hill, but in the blink of an eye, he found himself near that door, seeing it tower magnificently high like a vertical stretch of land, while the triangular center remained firmly closed, with dark red lines like veins covering the door, binding it in chains.

The order of death was locked behind this gate, and now the deity who had locked it sat quietly on the throne in front of the gate–He was taller than Duncan had imagined, even surpassing Tarrikin, towering even while seated, his form almost as large as a house.

He was clad in a tattered black robe as dark as the night, outside of which writhed dark red thorns, and beneath the shadow of the robe there was no face to be seen, as if He had never had one to begin with, and only a shadowy outline could be discerned under the robe–just as described in the sacred scripture of the Death Church:

Death is a faceless shadow, hidden within a cloak called darkness, ever-present, and when you see Him, He too sees you.

But now the faceless shadow of death had died, His chest pierced by a twisted and sharp dagger resembling an alien thorn, almost nailing Him to the somber throne, His hood tilted to one side, as if in His last moments, He looked back at the door representing the order of life and death.

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

This was the most unique spectacle among the “Gods who had died”–at the end of death and decay, Bartok performed upon Himself a second “slaughter.”

Numerous twilight-clad apparitions stood around the door, silent and still like frozen tombstones, motionless, yet among them was a small path as if deliberately left for visitors, leading from the wilderness straight to the somber throne.

The tall guide approached slowly, Duncan and Agatha following behind, passing through the silent phantoms lining the path, the twilight glow from those figures reflecting upon them. Duncan was unaffected by the glow, but Agatha, originally semi-transparent and ethereal, began to solidify within the light, seemingly briefly acquiring a corporeal form.

They eventually stopped before the throne, the guiding sentinel nodded silently, then moved aside to join the other sentinels.

Duncan lifted his gaze to the figure on the throne, larger even than Tarrikin, looking upon the first and the last dead of this world.

No wonder the “dead” manufactured by Agatha had failed to attract the attention of the guardians–because the true, final Death was here.

Agatha looked up, staring at the god clad in darkness for a long time, Duncan not knowing what thoughts were occupying her mind at this moment–this “guardian” who bore all the memories of the faithful of the Death Church, but who was just an “imitation,” never imagined she could come here, to this place unattainable by countless devout Believers after a lifetime of rigorous practice, nor did she ever expect to witness this scene, the funeral of Death itself.

She stood silently for a long time before slowly turning her gaze away, speaking in a complicated tone, “…Captain, what do we do next?”

Before Duncan could speak, another sentinel standing beside the throne silently came over, this towering phantom bent down to place something in Duncan’s hands, then turned back to rejoin the formation around the throne.

Duncan looked down to see an ancient and exquisite hourglass in his hands–he recognized it, having seen another just like it in the palace where the Leviathan Queen took her final rest.

But this hourglass he now held contained no sand.

Duncan unconsciously furrowed his brow, raised his head intending to question the sentinel who had given him the hourglass, but suddenly, he seemed to hear a deep murmuring in the whisper of the wind, understanding something.

Under Agatha’s concerned gaze, he stretched his hand above the hourglass, a cluster of flames tinged with starlight danced on his fingertips, then flowed slowly through the hourglass’s shell into the glass chamber–the life that the hourglass had once chronicled briefly revived in the flames, starting to flow with the reversal of the hourglass.

The next second, Duncan heard the ethereal howling of the wind by his ear, light and dark silently shattered, then swirled and reformed in his field of vision.

He stood atop a small mound, illuminated by a sourceless gentle glow, but the surrounding darkness stretched far into the distance, invisible at its end, while unnamed wildflowers bloomed beneath his feet, swaying in the wind, emitting a phantom-like fragrance.

The sound of a shovel digging came from nearby, Duncan turned his head to see a small, lean old man bending down, digging into the ground with effort.

He had excavated a shallow pit; next to it lay a pile of black soil. He continued to dig, shovel by shovel; even though the pit was shallow, it felt as though he had been digging here for a hundred centuries.

Watching this, Duncan then stepped forward towards the man who was still digging.

“I’m here… Sorry, I may be a step late.”

“Not late,” the old man said, continuing to dig, “Death is never too early, nor too late, arriving at just the right time.”

He reached out to point at the small mound next to him–at some point, an extra shovel had been placed on the piled-up black soil: “Can you lend a hand?”

Duncan didn’t say anything, just stepped forward to pick up the shovel, then silently joined the old man, bending down with force into the soil.

For a while, only the sound of digging remained on the small hillock.

It was after an indeterminate amount of time had passed that the frail old man suddenly spoke again, “The other three… it has been a long time since I last saw them. Since then, I could only stay in touch through the ‘channel’ left by Navigator II. How are they doing now?”

“They are well,” Duncan said calmly while earnestly digging the soil, “I have made a promise with them, to meet again in the new world.”

The old man nodded, “Oh, that’s good…It’s something to look forward to.”

Duncan fell silent for a few seconds, looking up at the old man beside him, “Is this your true appearance?”

“No,” the old man did not look up, continuing to dig solemnly, “I have no face, never had one from the beginning, but I thought… since I’ve decided to leave, I might as well leave behind a visage.”

“You have no face?” Duncan asked, surprised and curious.

“Yes, I am different from the other three–I am ‘Death’ itself,” the old man spoke faintly.

Duncan did not speak; he waited for the old man to continue.

“The destruction of each world is always different–some lasted for years, some even longer, and some… those civilizations fought desperately, employing various measures to postpone the end, persisting for as long as a century.”

As he dug the earth beneath his feet, the old man continued.

“In my world…everything happened very quickly–too swiftly to experience any form of decay or resistance, yet not so brief that people were unable to notice the moment of annihilation; it was… just enough for everyone to be aware of the process of death’s arrival.

“Many people–all of them died in that moment. Death howled through time and space, even shaking those tottering stars. In the last second of my home world, ‘Death’ became the most dazzling, universal, and sole entity born throughout the cosmos.

“And all the beauty, ugliness, fear, courage, resilience, yet fragility of human nature and thought were compressed into that second.

“Thus, Death was born after death–I opened my eyes; the first time I blinked, everything was crumbling before me. By the second blink, the scorching chaos of ashes had replaced my homeland, glimpsed only once.”

The old man pressed down on the shovel, scooping out earth from the hole and tossing it aside.

“I’ve been digging for a long time. Since the day Shelter was established, I began digging this hole. But this task is almost impossible to complete–death struggles to kill death itself, but luckily, you’re here to help, Usurping Flame.”

“Don’t you want to visit the new world? If you wish, there might still be a way…”

“No, thank you for the invitation,” the old man gently shook his head, scooped up another shovel of earth, then calmly looked up at Duncan, “I am different from the other ‘people’, as you might have guessed–I am not a survivor of the old world, but a product of the Great Annihilation. I am part of these burning ashes and for this reason, the task of setting the rules of decay for this world could only be finished by me–Shelter needs a ‘recycling mechanism’ like me to complete the full cycle of birth and demise. But in the new world… the demise of things should not be executed by a similar ‘god’, even the mere possibility should not be allowed.

“What is born from great annihilation should remain with the great annihilation.”

Duncan stood in silence for a moment, tossing another shovel of earth into the grave.

“Don’t you feel any regret?”

“No,” the old man revealed a slight smile, “I have completed all I needed to do; to enjoy an eternal rest undisturbed by anyone is the greatest reward for ‘Death.’ However, to you… I have a piece of advice.”

Duncan paused the movement of his hands.

“Don’t speak lightly of sacrifice. Although you may think it odd coming from me,” the old man gazed calmly into Duncan’s eyes, “I detect the scent of courting death upon you… a scent I’m very familiar with, but it should not be found on you.”

Duncan did not speak; he just stood silently.

And beside him, there was no old man, no second shovel–there was only him standing alone.

The god of Death lay quietly in the grave, most of his body already covered by soil. His eyes were closed in tranquility, as if he had been lying there from the very beginning.

After a prolonged silence, Duncan bent over and continued to sprinkle earth into the grave.