Chapter 90: Rookie

Chapter Ninety
Rookie

North Borough, Alka Street.

Kapusti Reid sat blankly in the armchair inside his living room. To one side, charcoal burned in the fireplace.

As a senior instructor at a public school, his weekly salary was above four pounds. For a bachelor, that was enough to live quite well. Yet the clothes he wore at home were sewn with many patches, and the teacup on the table was also extremely plain.

When not removing his wig, Kapusti’s most striking features were his high cheekbones and slight pigeon chest—a deformity in which the sternum protruded forward.

Spread open on his knees was a collection of poems written in ancient Feysac, yet for a long time he had not turned a single page.

Kapusti stared without focus. Suddenly, he heard someone chuckle beside his ear.

“I am rather puzzled. You did not run away, but stayed at home. Are you not afraid the police will come knocking?”

The voice was low and hoarse, like a boy going through puberty.

Kapusti trembled all over and almost jumped out of his armchair.

He abruptly turned his head and saw, on the sofa only a few steps away, a figure seated there at some unknown time.

The figure wore a linen shirt and light trousers suited for summer. His face was hazy and indistinct, impossible to see clearly.

“Who—who are you? What are you here to do?” Kapusti gripped the arms of his chair and asked repeatedly.

Using his Illusion Creation ability, Klein leaned back, interlaced his fingers, and spoke leisurely.

“Last night—heh, technically, this morning—I saved all of you.”

“Saved us?”

Seeing that the other party did not seem particularly malicious, Kapusti relaxed slightly.

“You—you are the person in the forest? You dealt with the corpse we awakened?”

As he spoke, he moved uneasily, showing obvious fear.

He could slip in without my noticing while I was awake. I definitely cannot resist him…

Such thoughts flashed rapidly through Kapusti’s mind.

“You were fortunate enough. I happened to pass by. Otherwise, that place would have been covered in corpses—corpses torn and bitten into pieces,” Klein said with a smile. “Let us return to the question from earlier. I am very curious. You actually dared remain at home. Do you understand what crimes you committed?”

From Kapusti’s behavior before and after carrying out the “resurrection ritual,” Klein had confirmed that this man was a rookie. He could not possibly have techniques for concealing the true colors of his emotions. Therefore, Klein planned to understand the cause and course of the matter using only questioning and spirit vision, at most verifying things afterward with divination.

“I—I know. Privately buying corpses and digging up other people’s graves are crimes that can put me in prison for more than ten years. And—and I will certainly also be punished by the Church.”

Kapusti, who looked not yet thirty, inhaled and smiled bitterly.

“But as long as nothing too serious comes of it, those children and their parents will not report me, because they did the same thing. Even with reduced sentences for merit or surrendering themselves, they would still end up in prison for a while.”

“Heh.”

Kapusti laughed self-mockingly.

“Some children have already told their parents who I am. Their families found gang members to warn me, telling me to resign within a week and stay far away from the school. I agreed.”

Klein nodded lightly.

“A change of environment is a good thing. Of course, do not do anything similar again. Bewitching ignorant children into committing crimes is an enormous evil.”

“I will not. Never again. I did not actually think it would be so dangerous. I only saw that they had the same interest as me and thought to teach them, to lead them in searching for the secret of immortality. As for digging graves—many doctors did that in the past,” Kapusti said, sighing with lingering fear.

His emotional colors match his current state… Listening to him, he does not seem like a member of the Numinous Episcopate…

Klein thought for a moment, then asked directly, “Where did you learn the spirit dance?”

“Spirit dance? Ah, I usually call it the dance of death.”

Kapusti first froze, then understood.

“An old gentleman taught it to me.”

“An old gentleman?” Klein pressed.

Kapusti fell into a daze as he recalled.

“He was a tramp. Because of a severe illness, he fainted at my front door.

“At the time, I did not know he was ill. I thought he had simply fainted, so I helped him into my house, gave him hot towels, and applied medicinal oil to him.

“After he woke, he told me not to send him to a hospital or clinic, and mentioned that death is not the end.

“I had experienced the deaths of my parents and several relatives, and I have always been interested in such matters, so I began chatting with him. I discovered he had profound knowledge in this area and a philosophy worthy of admiration. He also seemed quite satisfied with my curiosity. In the end, he even performed a miracle: he swatted a mosquito dead, then awakened it again.”

That beginning… I read at least ten novels like that in my previous life. A kind-hearted person picks up an old grandfather who is about to die, then gains a fortuitous encounter…

The corner of Klein’s mouth twitched before he asked, “So you kept him in your home?”

Kapusti nodded solemnly.

“Yes. If there had been enough time, I would even have wanted to become his student.

“During those few days, he taught me the dance of death and much knowledge. Unfortunately, that time was far too short. Just as I was entering the state, he died, leaving behind only a copper whistle.”

Before his voice had fully fallen, Kapusti took out an exquisitely crafted copper whistle that did not look ancient.

“This is it.”

I have one too… probably ancestor-level…

Klein lampooned inwardly, then asked thoughtfully, “How long ago was this? What did he look like? Where did you bury him?”

“Half a year ago. His most obvious traits were graying hair and a red birthmark on the side of his face. He told me to bury him in the garden behind the house,” Kapusti answered after calculating the date.

Not Mr. Azik, but most likely a member of the Numinous Episcopate. His Sequence may not have been low…

Klein shifted to another question.

“Apart from the spirit dance, you learned only that resurrection ritual?”

“I had only learned half of that ritual. I could only use scattered knowledge and the folk legends I found to slowly complete it, improving it attempt by attempt,” Kapusti answered with great honesty.

Completing it based on folk legends? Oh, that poor black cat. May the Goddess bless you…

Klein held back the impulse to draw a crimson moon on his chest.

“And besides that?” he pressed.

“Mm. There is also this copper whistle. I feel it is the key to communicating with the world beyond the senses.”

Kapusti lifted it and blew, then sighed.

“Every time I blow it, I can feel the surroundings turn cold. I can feel someone watching me, and feel something tugging at me…”

As he spoke, in Klein’s spirit vision, ripples like water spread across the ground. A cold aura followed, while the firelight and lamplight grew dimmer.

Immediately afterward, a skull with three dead-fish eyes emerged from there. Around it were black, jointed tentacles tangled in disorder.

One tentacle stretched out, sometimes touching Kapusti’s leg, sometimes tugging at his clothes, appearing rather impatient. Yet Kapusti gave no response at all, as though he had not noticed.

Is this a messenger? Copper whistles all summon the corresponding messenger… You summon it, then do not give it a letter? What is that supposed to mean?

Klein was stunned by what he saw.

At that moment, Kapusti looked at him with excitement.

“Did you feel it? The surroundings turned cold! The gas lamp dimmed too!”

“It is true. Someone is watching me. Something is tugging at me!”

The terrifying-looking messenger worked hard to touch Kapusti again and again. In the end, however, it still received no letter. Helplessly, it sank back “underground.”

The corner of Klein’s mouth twitched slightly as he watched, and he silently murmured inwardly:

“I take back what I said. He is not just a rookie. He is so rookie it is tragic.

“He is not even a Beyonder!

“I thought he was only new to mysticism, but now it seems he has not even found where the door is…

“A Corpse Collector, Sequence 9 of the Death pathway, can directly see ghosts and spirit bodies…”

Combining this with Kapusti’s use of the copper whistle to command the living corpse after the ritual, Klein completely believed that he had not lied. He could only sigh soundlessly.

Immediately afterward, he thought of a problem:

“If I write a note for that messenger just now, where will it deliver it?

“To a true member of the Numinous Episcopate? A senior member?”

Suppressing the thought, Klein nodded.

“It did become cold.”

After answering, he swiftly changed the subject.

“Since that old gentleman died, have you sensed anything abnormal?”

“Mm… Not before, but in the past two weeks, I have occasionally felt that someone nearby looked like a corpse—the kind that could be awakened,” Kapusti said, half frightened and half confused. “Is that an illusion?”

That matches what Adol said. He is not lying…

Klein glanced at the colors of Kapusti’s aura and sincerely reminded him, “I suggest that for the next two months, you go to church at least three times a week. Attend Mass and listen to prayers.

“If you do not wish to do that, you may first reserve yourself a grave.”

“All right…”

Kapusti responded, faintly disappointed.

He had thought that was a sign of his own progress.

Klein considered for a moment, then said in a commanding tone, “Take me to see that old gentleman’s corpse.”

“Ah? All right.”

Kapusti had wanted to refuse, but he recognized reality in an instant.

He took up tools and led Klein out through the kitchen’s back door, entering the withered garden. They stopped before a crooked tree.

Klein stood to the side and watched Kapusti skillfully dig open the soil, little by little exposing the stone slab underneath.

Once the top layer was ready, Kapusti used his tools and pried the slab open with effort.

Thud!

The stone slab fell onto the freshly dug soil. Faint crimson moonlight, barely penetrating the clouds, spilled into the shallow grave.

Kapusti instinctively focused his gaze inside, then suddenly screamed, retreated several steps, and fell sitting to the ground.

Inside the grave, there was no rotting corpse and no white bones. At the bottom, scattered in disorder, lay sheet after sheet of white feathers—white feathers stained with pale-yellow oil.