On Monday evening, Erich walked toward the graveyard along the path he had traveled countless times, just as he always did.
After finishing the tournament yesterday, they had feasted until midnight. When they returned to the dorm, Balin and the other two were so drunk they collapsed sideways onto their beds without even taking off their shoes. Erich had to expend a great deal of effort to flip each of them over and straighten them out, so he hadn't slept well himself. He had skipped his morning classes today, and Professor Morris had glared at him fiercely several times during the afternoon.
He was extremely familiar with this path to the graveyard; he knew exactly when the weeds by the roadside withered and when the moss on the low wall grew another layer thicker.
But today, he froze in his tracks.
Right next to Old Barto's gravekeeper's cabin, a brand-new little wooden cabin had appeared out of thin air.
Erich stood in place for a long time, not daring to move. He even looked left and right, checking the distant courtyard walls and the iron-barred gate. Yes, this was indeed the graveyard; he hadn't gone to the wrong place.
Then when had this cabin popped up?
As he was dazing, Old Barto's voice drifted over from the doorway of his cabin.
“You're here.”
The old man sat on the threshold, squinting at him.
“I'm here,” Erich said as he walked over, his gaze constantly drifting toward the new wooden cabin.
Old Barto glanced in the direction of his gaze and gestured toward the cabin with his clay cup. “I told my son about you. He applied for an assistant gravekeeper position for you, and that cabin is your workspace.”
Erich stared at the cabin for a long time before finally squeezing out, “...Assistant Gravekeeper?”
“Yes,” Old Barto smacked his lips. “From now on, you're officially part of the graveyard staff. I had him clean up your workspace. It has a bed, a desk, and chairs. You can move in right away.”
Erich looked at him. The old man's eyelids drooped just like usual, as if this were a completely trivial matter.
“No need to thank me,” Old Barto said.
Whether it was the angle of the setting sun or something else, Erich felt like the old man's expression carried a hint of smugness he couldn't quite hide.
Thus, Erich didn't say anything more and simply nodded.
After all this time, he had already figured out Old Barto's temperament. The old man hated rambling and disliked listening to polite pleasantries. Erich would keep this favor in mind and find an opportunity to repay it in the future.
“May I ask who exactly your son is?” Erich finally asked.
Old Barto waved his hand. “Just a teacher. Nothing major.”
Someone who could pull strings in the academy to easily secure a position and a new cabin for someone was definitely not just a normal teacher. But since Old Barto didn't want to say, Erich didn't press further.
“Oh, right,” Old Barto seemed to remember something. “The monthly pay is twenty silver coins. You get paid on the first of every month for the previous month's work. You'll get it once you complete a full month. Don't look down on it.”
Getting paid on the first of the month—what a generous employer.
“Alright, then I'll move in,” Erich said.
Old Barto gave a grunt and ignored him.
The wooden cabin wasn't large. A wooden bed rested against the inner wall, topped with a thick, freshly stuffed mattress. A desk and a wooden chair stood by the window, with a mana lamp placed on the desk. There was even a bookshelf and a wardrobe in the corner.
Erich stood in the center of the room, looking around. Then, he pulled out the chair, sat down, and took the urn out of his robes, gently placing it on the desk.
“I've secured an official position,” he said to the urn. “Just wait. I will definitely bring you back.”
That night, Old Barto uncharacteristically didn't head back home. The two cabins stood a short distance apart, each shining with its own light, with the silent graveyard nestled between them.
Erich sat at the desk, reading 《On the Composition of Mana》, which he had borrowed from the library. As he read, his mind drifted. Moonlight streamed in through the window, illuminating his freshly trimmed silver hair.
Just as he was feeling drowsy and planning to close the book and go to sleep, a knock suddenly sounded at the door.
Erich stood up and opened the door. Standing outside was Irene.
She was wearing her school uniform, her hair slightly disheveled by the night wind.
“Erich...” She kept her head lowered, speaking as if she had spent a long time gathering her courage. “Can I stay here for the night?”
“No need to be polite with me. Come on in.”
Irene walked into the cabin. Her gaze lingered on the urn on the desk for a brief moment before she sat down on the chair.
Erich closed the door and sat on the edge of the bed. Only a small patch of dim, warm light separated the two of them.
A long silence ensued.
It was so quiet that they could hear each other's breathing and the chirping of insects outside. Irene didn't speak, and Erich had no intention of breaking the silence either. He had grown accustomed to spending his time quietly alone lately, but having someone else share this quietness wasn't a bad feeling.
After a long while, Irene spoke, her voice low.
“If my father were still alive, he would definitely have liked you.”
“A Gravekeeper as young as you is very rare even within the Order.” Irene's gaze landed on the urn. “When I was a child, I followed him to the sanctuary in the northern territories. The youngest Gravekeepers there were at least in their mid-thirties.”
As she spoke, her eyes grew unfocused, as if she were reminiscing about something from the distant past.
Erich thought for a moment and said, “You could bring your dad's urn over. Who knows, maybe you'll advance too.”
The moment the words left his mouth, he wanted to slap himself.
He was actually being serious. Through simple control of variables, the day he had truly stepped over the threshold to become a Gravekeeper was precisely when he brought Isa's ashes into the graveyard. If Irene could bring her father's relic over, wouldn't she be able to walk the same path? But saying it out loud like this made it sound like he was making light of her father's death.
Erich wanted to explain, but before he could organize his thoughts, Irene spoke first.
“My father was the previous Pope of the Silent Order.”
Erich's voice caught in his throat.
“He led everyone in practicing the teachings of the Lord of Death, managing the dissemination of the Gravekeeper path, and ensuring that the power of death was not abused. The Order has been passed down in the northern territories for many years, generation after generation. But someone targeted the Order's inheritance. They lurked within the church and staged a rebellion right when my father was advancing to 【Ferryman of the Soul River】.”
“My father... he was left sunk in the Soul River forever.”
The light of the oil lamp flickered.
“I escaped under the cover of a few loyal subordinates my father left behind. I traveled all the way from the northern territories to this place to find my father's younger sister—my aunt.”
Silence fell over the room once more.
Erich suddenly felt a heavy tightness in his chest.
How far had Irene had to flee, falling from the status of a Pope's child to a state barely wealthier than Erich himself? What had she gone through to muster the courage to knock on this door tonight and say these things to someone she had only known for a month?
And yet he had actually said something like “bring the urn over to advance.” Erich cursed himself in his mind.
Only after a long while did he ask, “So, have you found your aunt?”
Irene shook her head, her voice weak and lost. “I don't know what she looks like. My father and my aunt lost contact a very long time ago... I only know she might be in the academy, but I have no idea what her current name is or how she's doing.”
“I see.”
Erich fell silent for a moment.
He recalled Isa's face. He would never forget the day she died in his arms for the rest of his life. If there was a chance to find the masterminds behind those people in black, he would probably be willing to do anything. Irene carried a similar burden, but her path seemed even longer than his.
He fell silent for a long time again before saying, “It's fine. Even if we can't find her, I will help you get revenge.”
Irene looked up. In the dim, warm light, her eyes were slightly red as she quietly gazed at him for a long time.
“...Thank you,” she said.
“Don't mention it,” Erich said, turning his gaze away. “We're brothers, after all.”
Irene didn't say anything more. The room fell quiet again. The two of them just stayed in the dim light—one sitting on the chair, the other on the edge of the bed—neither feeling any awkwardness.
Who knew how much time had passed when another knock suddenly sounded on the door.
Rate on N.U.
