Chapter 211: The Funeral

Chapter Two Hundred Eleven
The Funeral

Beneath Saint Selena Cathedral, inside the guard room outside Chanis Gate.

Leonard Mitchell leaned back against his chair. Both legs were raised and resting on the edge of the desk. His eyes were empty and unfocused.

Even after treatment through ritual magic, his complexion remained extremely poor, like someone whose serious illness had only just eased and had not yet begun to recover.

At that very moment, the powerhouses sent by the Sanctuary were rearranging the seals behind Chanis Gate. Because Saint Selena’s ashes had been lost, their opinions had diverged. Some hoped to use a new sacred relic to compensate for the missing power. Others believed there was no need to go to such trouble. After all, to the entire Church of the Evernight Goddess, sacred relics were extremely rare and precious. Their proposal was to lower the position of Tingen City’s Nighthawk team, transferring items with living characteristics or difficult sealing conditions either to the headquarters, the Cathedral of Serenity, or to the Backlund Diocese, while leaving behind only the portion easy to watch over.

They planned to send a telegram requesting that the Pope call a meeting, with the archbishops and high-ranking deacons voting on the decision.

Leonard felt nothing at all toward those arguments. He felt as if he had become a living corpse. No pain. No sorrow. No agitation. No excitement. He was numb to an abnormal degree, unwilling even to face other people, wanting only to stay alone in a corner.

Occasionally, a few doubts flashed through his mind. One of them was why the “murderer” had taken only Klein’s Beyonder characteristics, yet left behind Captain Dunn Smith’s.

Tak, tak, tak.

Footsteps echoed in the corridor. Siga Teon, her right arm wrapped in white bandages, appeared at the doorway of the guard room.

While Dunn and the others had besieged Megose and tried to save Tingen City, she and the internal guards of Chanis Gate had also been resisting several Sealed Artifacts. If the Mandated Punishers and members of the Machinery Hivemind had not arrived in time, and if the Sanctuary’s reinforcements had not finally reached them, she might have suffered a miserable death as well.

Even so, that aged internal guard had failed to endure until the end. He had died in battle at his post.

“Leonard, I found a telegram in the Captain’s office—one that had not yet been decoded. It should have been sent by the Sanctuary earlier,” Siga Teon, the part-time author, said.

Leonard’s emerald-green eyes moved. His whole person finally seemed to return to life. He vaguely remembered that he had indeed heard the sound of a new telegram arriving earlier, but the battle had been about to erupt at the time. Neither he nor Klein had had any attention to spare.

“What does it say?” Leonard discovered that his voice was exceptionally dry.

Siga Teon, white-haired and black-eyed, answered without hesitation.

“Beware Ince Zangwill. Beware Sealed Artifact 0-08.”

“Ince Zangwill, a runaway archbishop, a Gatekeeper who failed to advance… Sealed Artifact 0-08, a quill pen that looks very ordinary…”

Leonard first murmured blankly what memories he could dig up. Then he tilted an ear to the side.

Suddenly, his eyes narrowed. All the dejection and despair over him vanished at the same time.

“So that was it…”

Leonard abruptly pulled his legs back and stood. Within his green eyes, flames seemed to burn.

He looked at Siga Teon and said, “I plan to apply to join the Red Gloves.”

The “Red Gloves” were the elite force within the Nighthawks.

Generally speaking, each Nighthawk team was stationed locally and had its own jurisdiction. Without permission, they could not pursue criminals outside their assigned area. Yet some evil people always fired one shot and moved elsewhere, creating great inconvenience.

For this reason, the Church of the Evernight Goddess had specially established the Red Gloves within the Nighthawks. They were carefully selected elites and even controlled certain sacred relics. Their mission was to reinforce Nighthawk teams that sent out distress signals, and to track and capture marked evil individuals without being restricted by jurisdiction.

In certain circles, they were called “Trackers” and “Hounds.”

“The Red Gloves? But their minimum requirement is Sequence 7… and the dangers Red Gloves face are several times higher than those faced by ordinary Nighthawk teams,” Siga Teon said, concerned and puzzled.

The corners of Leonard’s mouth curved into a smile that held no joy.

“I can almost advance.”

His eyes turned cold, and he silently muttered through gritted teeth:

I want revenge!

Ince Zangwill, you had better stay alive until I become strong enough!

“All right…”

Siga seemed to guess Leonard’s thoughts and sighed.

“Half, or perhaps even more, of our team members will be new faces. Even among Nighthawk teams, such a miserable loss is rare…”

Leonard’s eyes darkened. He bit his teeth and asked, “Have the bodies been handled properly?”

“Mm,” Siga nodded almost imperceptibly.

Leonard suddenly took a step toward the door.

“I will go inform their families.”

I will go face the scenes I least want to face.

I will…

…

2 Daffodil Street.

Melissa sat in a single armchair, repeatedly studying the three tickets in her hand, studying the text printed on them, studying the date and seat numbers.

Benson sat to her side, smiling as he watched his focused sister. His posture was extremely relaxed.

Suddenly, they heard the doorbell ring.

Ding-dong. Ding-dong.

Melissa glanced toward Bella, who was busy in the kitchen. Holding the three tickets casually in her hand, she stood in slight confusion and trotted to the door.

Her black hair had gained much more luster than before. Her face was no longer thin and pale, now carrying a healthy, attractive flush. Her brown eyes were especially bright and full of life.

She turned the handle and pulled open the door. Then she froze, because she did not recognize the visitor.

It was a young man with black hair and green eyes. He was quite good-looking, but his face was abnormally pale, and profound sorrow hid within his eyes.

“May I ask who you are?” Melissa asked, confused.

Leonard had deliberately worn a black formal jacket over his white shirt. Hearing her question, he answered in a low, hoarse voice, “I am your brother Klein’s colleague.”

Melissa’s heart suddenly skipped. By instinct, she stood on tiptoe and looked behind Leonard, but she found nothing there.

For some reason, her voice trembled slightly as she asked, “Where is Klein?”

Leonard closed his eyes once, inhaled, and said, “I am very sorry. Your brother Klein, in order to save others, died at the hands of a vicious criminal. He was a hero. A true hero.”

Melissa’s eyes widened bit by bit. Her body swayed almost imperceptibly. The three tickets in her hand slipped weakly to the ground.

They landed face-up, bearing the name of the play: The Return of the Count.

…

Inside the Moretti family’s living room, Leonard scarcely dared look at Melissa and Benson opposite him.

Yet their appearances kept uncontrollably flashing through his mind.

The girl, full of the air of youth, had her eyes open. She did not say a word. Her pupils had no focus. She was as quiet as a doll.

The man who bore some resemblance to Klein was working hard to maintain a normal posture, yet he always fell into a daze now and then, and his speech would slow by half a beat.

“That is the situation. For this, I am deeply sorry. I could not stop it in time. Blackthorn Security Company, the police department, and those who received help have all promised to give you a pension—about six thousand pounds…”

Leonard’s gaze wandered slightly as he spoke.

Suddenly, Benson interrupted him, asking in a hoarse voice, “His body? I am asking, where is Klein’s body?”

He pressed his lips together, paused, and said, “When can we see him?”

“At the company. You can go now,” Leonard answered, unable to conceal his grief.

“All right.”

Benson tugged at the corners of his stiff mouth.

“I will go to the washroom first.”

Without waiting for Leonard’s reply, he strode into the first-floor washroom and shut the wooden door with a bang.

Walking to the washbasin, Benson turned on the faucet, letting running water pour down with a rushing sound.

He bent, lowered his head, cupped water in both hands, and repeatedly splashed it onto his face.

Splashing again and again, his movements abruptly stopped. For a long while, he did not move. Inside the whole washroom, only the sound of running water echoed.

Only after several dozen seconds did Benson raise his head and look into the mirror. He saw that the face opposite him was covered in droplets, and his eyes were so red they could no longer be hidden.

…

Several days later. A corner of Raphael Cemetery.

After Dunn’s funeral ended, everyone gathered before a new tombstone. Upon it was Klein’s black-and-white photograph, a photo rich with a scholarly air.

Melissa stood before the grave pit, her eyes blank and unfocused. Beside her, Elizabeth kept wiping tears from her eyes.

Leonard, Benson, Frye, and Bright carried the coffin over and lowered it into the grave.

After the priest’s eulogy and each person’s prayer, rustle, rustle, rustle—the earth began to cover the coffin. The black coffin was gradually buried from sight.

At that moment, Melissa half crouched and threw the copper whistle that had been found on her brother into the grave.

Leonard turned his head and watched this scene. His heart ached, and at the same time, he admired the girl’s strength. Ever since learning the terrible news, she had neither cried nor made a fuss. She had been silent enough to make one’s heart hurt.

The grave was filled. The stone slab covered it. Leonard gave Klein’s tombstone one final look.

Its epitaph held three lines:

“The best elder brother;”

“The best younger brother;”

“The best colleague.”

Within the mournful atmosphere, the people from Blackthorn Security Company gradually left. Selena and Elizabeth, urged by their families, also said their farewells. Only Benson and Melissa remained at the site.

“I will go hire a rental carriage…”

Benson’s condition was extremely poor, as if he had not slept in a long time.

“All right,” Melissa said softly with a nod.

Watching her brother’s back recede, she turned blankly and looked once more at the tombstone.

Suddenly, she crouched, burying her face in her arms.

In the silence, after some unknown length of time, Melissa abruptly cursed in a muffled voice:

“Idiot!”

She began to cry. Silently, she shed tears, continued shedding tears, and could not stop shedding tears.

…

Nighttime, Raphael Cemetery.

Azik, bronze-skinned, stood before Klein’s grave holding a bouquet of white flowers. For a long time, he said nothing. Finally, he sighed and muttered, “I am sorry. I arrived ten minutes too late.”

“But I should know who it was…”

He bent down and laid down the bouquet. Then he turned and left the cemetery, leaving Tingen as well. But he did not take away the copper whistle.

Crimson moonlight shone over this place, giving it an indescribable quiet and desolation.

Suddenly, the stone slab sealing the grave pit was moved.

A slightly pale hand stretched out from the earth.

It stretched out!

Crash!

The stone slab was pushed aside. The coffin lid was pushed open. Klein sat up, somewhat bewildered, and looked around.

His memory was still fixed on that pair of polished leather boots and the hand that had seized Saint Selena’s casket. After that, it had been as though he had entered a dreamless, deep sleep.

Klein instinctively lowered his head, unbuttoned his shirt, and looked at the left side of his chest.

He saw that the hideous wound and the missing portion of his heart were wriggling and healing. It was like the bullet hole in his temple he had once seen rapidly recovering in the mirror. The only difference was that this time, it was slower and much more difficult.