13 Mink Street

Alfred put the notebook away and straightened his back in his seat. Ever since leaving Allen Manor at the young master’s side, Alfred’s clothes had ceased to be as ornate and luxurious as before. He now deliberately chose plainer outfits, yet his figure and bearing were so exceptional that even ordinary clothes acquired a certain style on him. The contrast became even sharper when he was seated across from Pike and Dinkom.

His gaze moved from Saman lying in the coffin to his young master at the wheel of the hearse, and Alfred sighed inwardly. Every destiny already has its price marked out in secret by god.

He did not write that sentence into the notebook. Despite always having treated his young master as a god, Alfred knew very well that the core ideas recorded in that black notebook were a form of criticism of the gods.

He treated his young master as a god only because, for the time being, Alfred still did not know what exact title should be used for someone who stood above the gods.

Of course, it was only after following his young master that Alfred had gradually completed the mental transition of the word “god” from a noun to an adjective.

Once they passed the next intersection, they would reach Ivy Cemetery. However, standing in the crossroads was a group of figures in blue priest’s robes. What was meant to be would always come to pass.

Karon slowed the hearse to a stop and turned the headlights on. Believers of the Church of Pamireth stood in front of them, making gestures of reverence, saluting the hearse with solemn devotion.

“You have so much prestige within the Church of Pamireth?” Karon asked over his shoulder.

“What prestige?” Saman replied. “At most, my craftsmanship was a bit better than most, and I could make some things that others couldn’t. Aside from that, I made no outstanding contributions to the church, nor left behind any story worth singing about. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have spent thirty years as a cemetery caretaker without a single ‘relative’ ever coming to visit.”

Karon pointed ahead. “What’s in front of us doesn’t exactly match that description.”

“I imagine this is because of certain things I left behind in the Herald’s Domain back then. The recent war probably forced the Herald’s Domain into full operation, which exposed them. That’s when they realized, ‘ah, so our church once did produce a real genius.’”

“I feel like the word ‘genius’ is usually reserved for the young, or at least for people who still look young.”

“That’s just your prejudice speaking. In the long river of history, every one of us is young.”

Saman lifted a hand, and Alfred, seated beside the coffin, at once offered a cigarette and lit it. The old man took a drag and exhaled before saying, “Step on the gas and drive through them. The older you get, the less you can stand hearing or seeing this sort of thing.”

“Afraid you’ll grow soft?”

“Afraid I’ll grow sick, especially after that full meal.”

“You’re difficult to please,” Karon said, shaking his head. “You’ve been thinking about your church this whole time, yet now that it’s showing you a bit of warmth, this is your reaction?

“What I treasure is my past, because Pamireth existed in that past of mine. But if you ask me to accept the church again and fold myself back into it, never mind that they can no longer represent the Pamireth in my heart, even if they were identical and unchanged, what were these last thirty years of mine for?

“There’s no starting over. It’s better to preserve a few more memories of the past. I scarcely dare to live for even a few more days, out of fear that if I do, I’ll discover that even the beautiful memories I have of the past are actually mixed with falsehoods.”

Karon nodded. “I see now. You’re treating the Church like your ex-wife.”

“Heh... Hahahahaha!” Saman burst into hearty laughter.

Karon started the hearse back up and drove on. The priests of the Church of Pamireth slowly stepped aside. There was no scene of anyone vowing to block the road to the death. At the gate of Ivy Cemetery, Delius appeared.

The wound on his forehead was still clearly visible, though he no longer needed a cane to stand perfectly upright. The church hospital’s methods really were extraordinary; An ordinary man with such severe injuries would not have gotten out of bed in less than half a month.

The hearse continued forward. Delius still did not move.

Karon felt that this Divine Progeny truly did not understand how to ask favors, nor how to handle social interactions. In truth, Saman was easy enough to placate. Instead of showing up and kneeling to profess his faith, Delius would have done better bringing a bottle of liquor, a bag of drinking snacks, and a change of plain clothes to take to the old man for a late-night meal.

After all, to Saman, Delius was like the child of an ex-wife; There was bound to be various emotions attached to that, even if the child did not share a drop of his blood.

Without surprise, the Divine Progeny was knocked down by the hearse’s front bumper, and then was run over. Fortunately, the chassis sat high enough that after driving him over, Karon glanced in the rearview mirror to see the Divine Progeny climbing back to his feet.

The cemetery gate was not locked, so Karon did not stop. He simply drove straight through, using the hearse’s bumper to push the gate open.

“That was excessive,” Saman complained.

Karon patted the steering wheel. “I’m planning to replace this hearse anyway.”

His captain had mentioned he wanted to use his influx of credits to build a luxury car, but Karon did not share such lofty ambitions. Still, upgrading to a high-end hearse seemed perfectly reasonable.

“What I care about is my gate,” Saman retorted.

“You’re about to be buried, yet you still care about that?” Karon replied indifferently. As he drove down the path that led through the cemetery, he asked, “Where’s your grave?”

“Turn right. It’s in the northwestern corner.”

“You like quiet that much?”

“Mostly, I know the residents here too well. When I move in, everyone will be too welcoming, so it’s better to be somewhere quiet. When I want peace, I can lie there. When I’m bored, I can get out and wander around visiting.”

Karon checked his rearview mirror again and saw that everyone from the Church of Pamireth remained outside the cemetery’s gate. Not a single person had followed them in. Clearly, they understood that if they stepped inside, they would be treated the same way their Divine Progeny had been yesterday.

They had arrived at the grave, and Karon stepped out of the hearse. Saman stood beside him.

The area was empty. There was nothing around them but unused grave plots. Saman stood at Karon’s side and kept stretching, no doubt aware that once he lay inside the coffin, the available space would be very cramped.

Karon suggested, “Do you want to use the toilet first?”

“A fine suggestion, but we’re too far away. You should have stopped at the entrance and let me go in the house.”

Karon pointed ahead. “Find a place in the grass. We’ll turn our backs.”

“This is where I’m going to sleep forever! Who relieves himself in his own bedroom? Even your dog understands that much.”

“My dog? You’ve seen him?”

“Yes. A very clever golden retriever. The only flaw is his little bald forehead.”

“Can’t you think of any other way to describe him besides very clever?”

“What else do you want me to say? That he’s as clever as a person? He’s just a dog, after all.”

“Yes. Quite right. Just a dog.”

Alfred helped Pike and Dinkom unload Saman’s coffin and place it within the open grave.

Saman then began pacing around the coffin, occasionally signaling for Alfred and the others to adjust its angle. Very few people, one imagined, were in a position to give such detailed instructions at the moment of their own burial.

Even so, Saman was not deliberately dragging things out. In his heart, he already possessed enough courage to face death. “It can begin...”

At that point, Saman suddenly turned his head to look back towards the gate. “I didn’t expect an uninvited guest.”

“Outside the cemetery?” Karon asked.

“Yes, outside the gate. He doesn’t dare come in.”

“Bishop Byrne?”

“Yes. Him.”

“Do you want to go see him?”

“I should. I can’t very well show cowardice right before dying. Besides, I have a great many things I want to curse at him.”

“Then we’ll wait here for you.”

“Don’t worry. It won’t take long.” Saman stepped forward. His figure twisted for a moment, and he then vanished.

In front of the cemetery gate, the followers of the Church of Pamireth had already been ordered back. Only Delius remained, still stubbornly standing there on his own. Then, a ring of black light appeared beside him, and his father stepped through it.

Today, Bishop Byrne was not wearing priest’s robes, but a gray sweater and a brown cane.

Looking at his son, who only seemed to know how to stand there like a fool, Bishop Byrne sighed. “This isn’t enough.”

“But I think only this can represent my faith and my respect.”

“Faith in whom, and respect for whom?”

“The god Pamireth,” Delius answered firmly.

“Heh.” Bishop Byrne smiled. “But the man you’re dealing with may have long since let both his faith and his respect go rotten. In a certain sense, he can even be considered an apostate, only one who chose escape instead of clawing his way back.”

“I can feel that his devotion is still there.”

“Of course it is, but it is no longer the only thing there. That is what you need to improve.

“Perhaps the environment you grew up in made you suspicious and guarded. That made you mature very quickly, but it also left you exhausted and naïve at the same time. You long to embrace a pure spiritual world and enjoy pure personal relationships, but that is not how reality works.

“In fact, the way you believe to be right may be exactly what provokes disgust in the other person. That is why you were beaten yesterday.”

“Then what should I... do?”

“Sweep the floor. Cook. Chat.”

Delius turned to stare at his father with an expression that practically begged: Are you serious?

Bishop Byrne smiled. “When dealing with old people, those are often the most effective things.”

“And who are you calling old?” Saman’s figure appeared at the gate, glaring at Bishop Byrne.

The bishop reached out and patted Delius on the head. “I was merely teaching a child how to show filial respect to his elders.”

“Pretence is useless if he doesn’t want to do it deep down inside.”

Bishop Byrne shook his head. “Many old people know perfectly well that their children are only good to them for the sake of the inheritance, yet they are quite willing to feign ignorance.”

“I’m not like them.”

“I don’t think there’s much difference. You and I will both grow old.”

“I’ve grown old, yes. But you haven’t changed at all; still as treacherous, scheming, and shameless as ever.”

“Hearing you say that makes me very happy.” Bishop Byrne gave Delius a small push forward. “Whatever else, he is the current Divine Progeny of your Church of Pamireth, and barring any accidents, he will become its Pontiff in the future. I think you ought to leave him something.”

“You’ve already taken the nest, yet you still covet the scraps left behind by a lone bird that left the flock long ago. You father and son really do have equally thick skin.”

Delius spoke with sincerity, “Mr. Saman, it was the church elders who discovered some of the things you left in Herald’s Domain all those years ago. You know as well as I do that over the years, many of our church’s inheritances have been severed. Since you have mastered them, I hope you can pass them down once more.”

“I have no such obligation.”

“This is for the sake of the Church of Pamireth.”

“The Church of Pamireth belongs to you people now!”

“You should not doubt my piety toward the God of Pamireth.”

As soon as he heard his son say that, Bishop Byrne could not help closing his eyes.

“If god truly saw this scene, both you and your father would have your bodies and souls drawn into letter paper and sealed away forever!”

“Mr. Saman, I came here on behalf of the Church of Pamireth to make this request. I hope you will think of the Church, think of its future...”

A low hum sounded, and Saman appeared directly in front of Delius, kicking at him.

At the same moment, Bishop Byrne also appeared in front of his son, intercepting the blow with his cane. Blue and black radiance rapidly clashed in the air, then dissipated altogether.

Saman stared straight into Bishop Byrne’s face, then carefully enunciated each word, “Your son is very clever, and yet at the same time, very stupid.”

“He is still young.”

“Youth is not a crime, but if he is young, he should stay in the back where he belongs, instead of stepping forward and using that youth as an excuse to spout such hateful nonsense.”

Delius took a sapphire-inlaid scroll from his sleeve. “I have a letter written by the Pontiff.”

“Ha!” Saman laughed and looked at Delius. “Are you certain you want to open the Pontiff’s letter? Are you sure you want me to start doubting the Pontiff’s identity right now?”

Delius froze.

The instant Saman saw the change in his expression, his eyes began to grow red.

Bishop Byrne seized Delius by the shoulder and retreated with him at once.

“Heh... hehehe...” Saman looked at the retreating Bishop Byrne and asked, “What, not coming in to sit for a while?”

“I had no intention of stepping inside. There are too many uncertainties when dealing with a man who is about to die.”

“You think I’d drag you down with me? You think too highly of yourself. After I die, I have no desire to share my resting place with something filthier than a chamber pot.”

“Who can say?” Bishop Byrne smiled faintly. “But you ought to leave something behind.”

“What needs to be left behind is already in the Herald’s Domain. Spend a few decades slowly deciphering things, and that should be enough. I owe the Church of Pamireth nothing, and I owe the Church of Order nothing. All I want now is to die. If you people won’t even grant me the peace to do that, then I very much look forward to what happens next.

“Take your revolting son and leave my sight. Don’t ruin the atmosphere of me quietly dying.”

Bishop Byrne nodded. “Farewell.”

“Get lost!” Saman’s figure then vanished.

Delius said, “What he left in the Herald’s Domain truly is as he said; It will take decades to decipher and master. He was a spatial genius who remained buried in obscurity.”

“Divine Progeny, there is something I am curious about.”

“Please ask, Bishop.”

“Have you personally read the contents of the Pontiff’s letter that you hold?”

“The Pontiff ordered that it be opened only by Mr. Saman himself. I have not read it.”

At those words, Bishop Byrne frowned. “Open it now.”

“But...”

“You will not see him again.”

Delius pursed his lips tightly, then opened the letter. As the scroll was unfurled, it projected the figure of the Pontiff.

Yet the Pontiff did not offer persuasion, or comfort. He spoke only one brief sentence before the figure vanished, “Farewell.”

***

Karon saw Saman return, and also noticed that the old man’s back was even more hunched than before. “I take it that cursing him out didn’t make you feel much better.”

Saman shook his head. “No, but if I hadn’t cursed him at least once, I’d have felt the coffin pressing against my back the moment I lay down.”

Karon checked the time. “Can we begin?”

“You’ve got the nerve to hurry someone into dying?”

“I want to get back early and sleep.”

“Fine. Then let’s begin.” Saman walked to his coffin and began the rite. It was very simple, and was apparently some kind of spatial exile ritual, a traditional process of the Church of Pamireth.

Once the ceremony ended, Saman began delivering his own eulogy, “I once thought the first half of my life was splendid enough to sustain the dullness of the second half, but only in the end did I realize it was all the other way around.

“I do not know how to sum up my life. It was like a dream; I thought I had let it go, yet I carried it on my shoulders all along. I thought I had seen clearly, yet my eyes were always covered, and it was my own hands that were blocking them.

“If I could live it once more, I would not want to think, to hesitate, or to linger in indecision. I would want to be unrestrained. I would want to be free. I would want to be willful.

“Unfortunately, there is no second chance.”

Once he finished speaking, Saman slit his palm open with a fingernail, allowing the blood to drip into the coffin. The next moment, a blue light rose from the grave. Buried deep beneath it was, astonishingly, a teleportation array. “After I die, my corpse and this coffin will be sent into an unknown spatial torrent, beyond all search. I want the final step of my funeral to be, in the truest sense... spatial exile.”

At those words, Alfred’s expression changed. The corpse is going to be teleported away?

Karon, on the other hand, remained calm. He simply asked, “I’ve heard that space has coordinates. If someone searched within the correct range based on the initial coordinates, they should be able to find you.”

“Heh, but I don’t know those coordinates myself, and I don’t want to know. No one can know.” Saman spread his arms and cried out, “Because all I want is to end this life of mine! This life I’ve lived like a dog, in the roughest way possible.”

The moment the words left his mouth, Saman crooked a finger. The lid of the coffin floated up, and a blue flame suddenly ignited across his body. It vanished as quickly as it had appeared, yet at that instant, every vital function within his body was extinguished.

His corpse fell backwards into the coffin. The lid dropped down, sealing it shut.

Blue light instantly engulfed the coffin completely, and a huge field of starlight appeared, only to vanish in a flash. With, the coffin containing Saman’s remains also disappeared.

***

At that same time, within a cavern in the Herald’s Domain, a group of elders and scholars from the Church of Pamireth, who were struggling desperately to decipher the notes on the walls, discovered to their astonishment that the clues which ought to have taken immense time and effort to unravel were suddenly rearranging themselves, presenting the answers in full. Among them were many spatial Arts and forging Arts that had long been lost.

***

Simultaneously, in the partitioned room off of the master bedroom behind the courtyard of Pavaro Funeral Home, a golden retriever was lying on his dog bed, pawing at an exquisite compass whose rows of pointers were spinning rapidly beneath the motion of his paw.

“Woof!” (He really did treat me like a dog!)

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