Chapter 827: Chapter 824 After the Reaper’s Rest

Black soil scattered and covered the modestly-sized grave, as the night sky closes at the end of time, burying the eternal death. The god, born after the Annihilation of All Things, now rests here, at the moment this world meets its end, turning into a small mound on the hill.

The disorderly wind blew from the dark, gently caressing the mound, where nameless wildflowers and weeds swayed in the wind, making a soft rustling sound. Duncan stood in the wind, holding the shovel with both hands, gazing long at the pile of fresh soil before him.

Then he lifted his head, looking around–Death had not prepared a tombstone for itself, and there were no materials around that could serve as one.

Duncan then forcefully stuck the shovel, which had been used to dig the soil, in front of the mound, and used his hands to gather some soil around it to reinforce it, thus making it a makeshift tombstone.

After finishing these tasks, he took a deep breath and placed his hands on the shovel handle for the last time.

A faint green ghostly light accompanied by dim starlight slipped through his fingers, slowly covering the “tombstone” of Death, and then disappeared.

“Rest in peace, Bartok, farewell,” Duncan said softly, his figure slowly disappearing in the wind.

The turbulent, breaking wind turned into a short howl. Light and shadow spilled from the darkness and instantly reassembled, and after a brief period of weightlessness and sensory change, the feeling of solid ground returned. The scene before Duncan quickly stabilized.

The majestic Gate of Death still stood quietly at the center of the stony wasteland, and in front of the triangular gate, the large figure sitting on the dark throne was silently and slowly disintegrating, as if a broken, dissolving Dreamscape awakening in the morning. The invisible shadow covered by the dark robe scattered with the wind, and the robe itself fell, decayed, and weathered like the night sky.

In the fluttering black fragments and dust, only a dimly starlit faint green fire flickered in the wind.

Duncan looked down and saw the edges of the hourglass in his hand twinkling with a dim glow, and vague whispering sounds seemed to ring near his ear. He realized something, then took a few steps forward and placed the ancient yet exquisite hourglass beside the throne where Death once sat.

He stepped back, seeing Agatha standing quietly on the spot, somewhat absently staring at the now empty throne. After an unknown time, the gatekeeper born from illusion slowly turned her head, her eyes reflecting complex emotions: “… Has He rested?”

“Yes, I accompanied him on his last journey,” Duncan nodded slightly, then added, “The hourglass contains a part of His power which I’ve left beside the throne, so the mortals in the Death Church can still briefly use some ‘blessings’… They still need it now.”

Agatha slowly nodded, seeming to want to say something else but unable to speak. In the end, her thoughts and sentiments turned into a barely audible sigh.

“We should go back now,” Duncan slowly said, “The final countdown has begun; we must return to the Queen Leviathan’s node immediately.”

Agatha responded with a “hm,” looking up toward the direction she and the captain had come from, but only seeing a stony wilderness devoid of any landmarks.

The gloomy night shrouded this silent realm of death, and there was no return path on the pathway of the dead.

But just then, she saw the “gatekeepers” standing around the throne of Death suddenly move–the silent, towering illusions slowly raised their hands, one after another, pointing towards a direction in the dark. A twilight-like glow seemed to seep out from beside them, then gathered along with the direction of their fingers, invisibly extending and flowing.

Under the guidance of thousands of towering phantoms, a small path appeared in the stony wasteland, draped in twilight, with nameless wildflowers blossoming by its side, gently swaying in the wind.

After the mechanisms of death halted and Death itself rested, for the first time in this realm of death, a path allowing the living to return appeared.

Agatha watched this scene in astonishment, instinctively looking up at the tall gatekeeper who initially led her and the captain, only to see that the gatekeeper was silently waving at her.

Leave now, do not look back, do not interact further with the realm of the dead.

Understanding the implication, Agatha turned and, together with the captain, started walking down the path leaving the stony wasteland.

On the way back, there was no guidance from the “gatekeepers,” only an intermittent breeze blowing from the dark, accompanying Agatha and Duncan as they walked the path for an unknown length of time, until the stony wasteland disappeared, and the black and white unnamed wild grass once again entered their view, until they returned deep into the wilderness where the wild grass swayed, and the massive figures of Homeloss and Brilliant Starship appeared in their sights–then, merely taking two steps towards the direction of Homeloss, Duncan and Agatha returned to where they had initially left.

The paper-folded small boat was still parked on the ground, and Lucretia was somewhat absent-mindedly standing at the prow. Seeing Duncan, she looked a bit surprised as she raised her eyebrows, then immediately jumped down from the boat and approached them.

“Have you been waiting here all this time?” Duncan asked in surprise upon seeing the “sea witch” in front of him, “We’ve been gone for quite a while…”

“You had only left a few minutes–right after you and Agatha suddenly passed through a dusk-colored light screen, it was just a brief moment,” Lucretia exclaimed in astonishment upon hearing Duncan’s words, “I thought perhaps you suddenly returned because something had happened.”

“A few minutes?” Duncan frowned upon hearing this, but he quickly dismissed these incredulous thoughts–after experiencing so many strange occurrences, he had gotten used to it.

“Our business is finished,” he stated simply, “Now, let’s head back.”

Lukrecia glanced at Duncan, then towards Agatha, who was following beside her. She instinctively felt that within the past “few short minutes,” her father and Agatha seemed to have had an unforgettable experience or “witnessing,” but she ultimately didn’t ask anything, simply nodding gently: “…okay.”

…

The pale flames in the brazier went out, and the low, blurred murmurings also gradually faded in her mind. Agatha, who was kneeling and meditating in the prayer room, raised her head, as if sensing something, and turned to “look” at the mirror beside her.

Her eyes, covered with a black cloth, could no longer see the scenes of the worldly realm, but her clearer spiritual eye allowed her to see the “reality” from other dimensions more clearly than ordinary people.

In the mirror, she saw a graveyard, a wilderness plunged into darkness, and the twilight that was gradually dimming in the distance.

This brief “revelation” lasted only a second.

The young gatekeeper and Archbishop had already understood the truth conveyed to her by this scene.

She quietly knelt before the holy icon, bowed her head after a moment, and returned to prayer–her lips moved silently, reciting blessings offered to the deceased.

The prayer was not long, but she repeated it three times, then slowly rose from the cushion and walked to a nearby rack. She took out a dried flower with pale petals from a wooden box on the shelf and turned to place it beside the candlestick in front of the holy icon.

In the distant city, there was a faint disturbance crossing the streets, reaching into the church.

Slightly hurried footsteps came from the direction of the corridor, and shortly after, a voice of a church official came from outside the prayer room: “Archbishop, are you in there?”

“Come in,” Agatha casually responded.

The door of the prayer room was pushed open, and a middle-aged church official with black short hair and half of his face covered with bandages stepped in.

His gaze was soon drawn to the small white flower in front of the holy icon.

The middle-aged official instinctively frowned, feeling that the flower seemed to signify something, which led to some inevitable questions, but he found that he couldn’t remember exactly what it was. He opened his mouth, his pale and turbid eyes filled with confusion.

Then, Agatha walked over, positioning herself between the middle-aged official and the small white flower.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

The look of distraction on the middle-aged official’s face flashed past, and he quickly recovered, hastily reporting, “Archbishop, another group of people has come to the cathedral seeking Shelter and guidance, about a dozen people. Following your orders, I had Mark and Sister Natasha receive them.”

“Hmm,” Agatha nodded, and then casually asked, “How are those people? Where are they from?”

“They seem to be quite startled, in a state of shaking and doubt, yet unable to accurately describe what happened,” the middle-aged official reported, “The one among them who is in the best condition said he suddenly ‘woke up’ this morning, feeling that many things around him were not right, even his relatives and friends appeared strange and… terrifying. He was very scared, so he went to the small chapel for help, and then met other seekers there…”

“The pastor of the small chapel performed an urgent tranquillizing and blessing, then sent two guards through the city district to bring them here.

“Mostly they come from the southern port area, and three from the cemetery around the area, almost unfamiliar with each other, without any intersections, and their places of residence have no unified characteristics…”

Listening to the middle-aged official’s report, Agatha said nothing, just quietly nodded her head.

“People from the city hall will come later, the Shelter in the foothills has already temporarily arranged dwellings… The conditions are limited, but it’s safe there.”

“Okay,” the middle-aged official responded, and then looked at Agatha hesitantly and uneasily, observing the expression of the “acting Archbishop” while hesitating to speak,”Archbishop, what exactly… happened? These kinds of situations have been happening one after another lately, and even in the church…”

“John,” Agatha interrupted him, “do you remember what I said to the church officials the day before yesterday?”

The middle-aged official’s expression changed slightly, then he nodded.

“I can’t explain it to you right now because even if I were to explain, you wouldn’t hear those voices,” Agatha said calmly, “but when you suddenly ‘wake up,’ you’ll understand–then don’t panic, just head straight to the inner sanctuary, where someone will arrange for you.”