Chapter 129: Death and Rebirth
Blackthorn Security Company, a little later.
Leonard Mitchell sat in a daze on the broken steps, his face pale, his eyes hollow. Facing the Backlund Nighthawks who crowded around to question him, he had to force every ounce of attention just to stay focused enough to answer.
Yet even so, the faces of the dead colleagues still surfaced before his eyes from time to time.
Lu Ze, heart pierced through, charred and withered;
Klein, astonishment frozen on his face;
Dunn, still fighting to his last breath.
He kept drifting off, occasionally wondering why the black-handed mastermind had taken the Beyonder characteristics of Klein and Lu Ze, yet left Dunn's, along with those the Shepherd had Grazed.
Everyone died; only I survived.
Facing the Backlund Nighthawks, he was even seized by a wild thought—how much better it would have been to die in that battle as well.
That way, at least, he would not have to endure the interrogation within: if only he had played his role diligently and advanced sooner, the outcome might have been different.
Leonard's mind was in chaos; he even found the Nighthawks before him irritating.
Just as he was about to send them away, the crowd parted like a tide, and at the far end stood Crestet Cesima's deep, calm eyes.
'I found no trace of Cecilia rondall.'
Crestet's first sentence sank Leonard's heart to the black earth beneath the steps.
Lu Ze is dead, his little sister taken by evil men, and I haven't even found a clue.
He shut his eyes in pain.
'I'm certain Ince Zangwill and Sealed Artifact 0-08 are behind this,' Crestet said, stepping before Leonard. 'Under such circumstances, staying alive is already no small feat; you need not blame yourself.'
Yet Leonard paid no heed to the consolation, catching only the key words.
Ince Zangwill, the defected archbishop, the failed Gatekeeper; 0-08, a seemingly ordinary quill… He recalled the information from memory, ears twitching slightly.
Because Crestet stood right in front of him, he dared not make any obvious listening motion, only quietly hearing the voice in his mind.
Very soon, the dejection on his face vanished completely.
'He is the mastermind behind all this, isn't he?'
he asked.
Crestet nodded slowly.
'Your Honor Cesima, I request to join the Red Gloves.'
Leonard stared at Crestet's gloves, so scarlet they seemed about to drip blood, and spoke earnestly.
The Red Gloves were the Nighthawks' elite unit, charged with pursuing Beyonders involved in crimes nationwide; the work was perilous, but advancement came faster. As a High-ranking Deacon, Crestet was one of the three chiefs of the Red Gloves and wielded great authority in such matters.
'Our minimum requirement is Sequence 7.'
Crestet said calmly.
'I can advance at any moment.'
Leonard replied; bitter hatred made his green eyes flash with a chilling light.
He did not know why he had survived, but even if only for the sake of the dead, he would grow strong and exact revenge on that damned bastard.
'…Then write to me after you advance.'
Crestet gazed into his eyes. 'Hatred can make a man grow swiftly, but do not forget: do not let it steal your soul.'
There's one more thing: your teammates' bodies have been dealt with; someone must report to their families.
'I'll go.'
Leonard stood up, pain welling in his eyes—not only because he would have to face Klein's siblings, but also because he realized
Lu Ze had no family left to inform… Goddess, such an end for the rondall siblings who struggled so hard to survive is too cruel. Grant them a little more mercy.
Several days later, Tingen City, Raphael Cemetery.
Dunn's and Klein's funerals were over; the sorrowful Melissa dropped a theatre ticket and a copper whistle found on her brother into the grave, and the crowd gradually gathered before Lu Ze's plot.
Leonard, Kenley, Frye, and Brite carried the light coffin and lowered it into the earth.
Before the grave stood Lu Ze's headstone, bearing his photograph: handsome and young, smiling brightly.
Beside him, Cecilia in an elegant dress sat on a chair; her lovely face wore a trace of shyness, eyes avoiding the camera, yet the corners of her mouth curved in a smile.
It was a photo they had found in Lu Ze's home, taken recently after he bought his sister the dress.
'I will do everything I can to find Cecilia.'
Leonard stood before the stone and silently spoke to the coffin.
With no family left, the rondall grave could only be filled by colleagues, handful after handful of earth until the coffin was completely covered.
The dead have gone, granted the Goddess's gift of peaceful sleep; yet those who still survive must bear life's hardships, hearts scorched by flames of fury and hatred until the end.
When the burial was done, the mourners—however grief-stricken—slowly dispersed.
Night soon enshrouded the cemetery.
The first to awaken was Klein.
He broke through the earth, startled yet half expecting to find himself alive again. After that, he accepted his situation, realizing he could not remain in Tingen—for resurrection was too shocking in a world where true gods existed, and he might be seized and dissected.
He could only cover his tracks, use divination to bid farewell to his captain and to Lu Ze, then leave the grave carrying the sorrow of parting from his family and the fire of revenge.
Under crimson moonlight, the place soon returned to quiet.
But the quiet did not last long.
Thud… thud…
Heavy footsteps sounded from the depths of the cemetery—dreadful and dreary, like a stiff corpse come back to life, walking with difficulty. Had anyone been among the graves, they would have fled in terror.
In the moonlight, a huge shape slowly appeared; closer, it proved not one person but a delicate, beautiful girl, carrying on her back a handsome young man covered in blood, as if flayed.
The girl's hands were caked with soil, nails lined with blood and muck.
'…Fall and Darkness are the Lord's gifts; blessed are those who hear His teaching…'
The Monster-like youth murmured, involuntarily reciting blasphemous, insane verses, half mad.
His words were like invisible knives, tormenting the girl, blood seeping from her delicate nose and eyes.
Yet even so, she did not release his hand; steadfast, she carried him on, gently comforting him:
'Hold on, big brother… we promised to live, to live together…'
The two figures slowly walked away, left the cemetery, and vanished at the street's end.
At last the graveyard knew true quiet; the crimson moonlight poured down with boundless tenderness, as if ready to grant the dead infinite peace.