"What a strange person."
The Ashen Witch Elaina sat gracefully on her magical broom, her pale legs dangling beneath her robe as she gazed down at the young man below, who was carrying a massive coffin on his back.
She hadn't seen him when she passed this way half an hour ago.
Ron sensed the witch's gaze from above.
'Looks like I've crossed over again,' he thought.
Having already experienced one reincarnation, he merely glanced up at the hovering witch before refocusing his attention on the scene before him.
An elderly man lay before a freshly dug mound of earth, his breath as faint as a flickering candle in the wind. Beside him lay nothing but an old broom.
The old man strained to open his cloudy, yellowed eyelids. His gaunt chest heaved laboriously several times before he managed to croak out a slurred question.
"Young man... what do you want?"
Ron's voice remained calm and even as he stated a simple truth.
"You're dying."
The old man's breathing hitched for a moment before he whispered in response.
"I know."
Ron continued, his tone casual as if making a casual observation.
"That's why I'm waiting for your corpse."
This blunt, almost cruel statement plunged the old man into a long silence.
Perhaps the words were too absurd to process quickly, or perhaps his dwindling energy simply couldn't sustain a rapid reaction.
A long while passed, so long that Elaina, watching from above, began to grow impatient. Finally, the old man spoke again, his voice even weaker than before.
"Are you waiting for me to die so you can scavenge my wealth?"
He seemed to want to force a smile of understanding, but his strength failed him.
"Thank you for your 'kindness,' but there's no need. All my money has already been promised to someone..."
Before he could finish, Ron gently shook his head, correcting him.
"No, you misunderstand. I'm a necromancer. Corpses are my only interest."
He pointed at the old man, then at the coffin behind him, nearly as tall as himself.
"It was mere chance that I came here, and mere chance that I found a body on the verge of death. This is a gift from fate."
"So, after you die, I'll take your corpse."
A flicker of confusion appeared in the old man's clouded eyes as he chewed on the word "necromancer."
"A necromancer?"
His gaze struggled to sweep over Ron's attire, which bore no resemblance to the garb of any spellcaster he knew.
"But you're not a Magi, nor a witch... And if you want my corpse, why not take it now?"
Ron's expression turned even more puzzled than the old man's.
"Why would I do that?"
"Do you and I have some kind of grudge?"
The old man shook his head weakly.
"No."
"But... didn't you want my corpse? Why wait?" he asked with difficulty.
Ron scratched the back of his neck, as if puzzled by the old man's logic.
"But you're still fighting to live, aren't you?"
"Since you're alive, and we have no quarrel, and you're about to die naturally anyway..."
"Why would I bother killing you?"
"I can just take your corpse after you die, right?"
The old man was stunned by this peculiar reasoning. He struggled to ask, "Why? Wouldn't killing me be the most efficient choice for you?"
Ron's gaze settled on the old man's eyes, now almost devoid of their former luster. His tone turned serious.
"Only when a living being fights with all its might, clinging to life until the very last second, does its corpse become a true testament to its life's struggles."
"That is the most cherished gift a necromancer could receive."
He looked at the old man, his eyes gleaming with the anticipation of admiring a masterpiece nearing completion.
"Since you haven't asked me to kill you now, it proves you're still fighting against death."
"Old man, I admire your attitude toward life, and I'll admire even more the corpse you'll become after you die."
"That's why I'm willing to wait, until the very moment you breathe your last."
The old man sighed deeply, the breath seeming to carry away the last of his strength.
"It's truly unbelievable."
"As a traveler, I always expected to die on the road back home."
"But I never imagined that even my corpse wouldn't be able to face my homeland in death."
Ron nodded, acknowledging the sentiment.
"It's a great pity."
"So, since you're still struggling against death, is there some lingering wish or regret you haven't fulfilled?"
The old man's eyes were half-closed, his eyelids heavy as if they might shut completely at any moment.
He spoke in a voice as faint as a thread.
"Regrets?"
"My only regret is not reaching the next kingdom to deliver the letter entrusted to me by an old friend."
Ron remained silent.
He stood there quietly, as if waiting for something inevitable to happen.
The old man, on the other hand, grew restless. Perhaps it was a final burst of energy, but he pressed Ron.
"Aren't you going to ask about the letter?"
Ron shook his head, his face showing no curiosity.
"There's no need. You didn't ask me to deliver it, nor did we make a deal. So I won't be helping you with that."
The old man forced a smile, a hint of relief in his eyes.
"It's alright. Someone's already taken care of it. A beautiful and kind witch."
Following the old man's gaze, Ron looked up at the sky beyond the old man's vision. He pointed.
"Is that her?"
Before the old man could strain his neck to look, a figure gracefully descended on a broom, landing before them. A gentle breeze lifted her long, silver-grey hair.
"The letter's been delivered," Elaina said with a smile, her voice light and soft as she sat sideways on her broom.
The old man had no strength left to speak.
It seemed he had been clinging to his last breath, and only released it when he saw the witch before him.
With a slow exhale, he offered Elaina a faint yet sincere smile before gently closing his eyes.
Elaina shifted her gaze from the old man, hopped off her broom, landed gracefully, and slowly approached Ron.
Up close, she finally got a clear look at the strange figure carrying the coffin.
His appearance and age seemed to straddle the line between youth and adulthood, his features distinctly Eastern, yet his skin was an almost sickly pale.
He wore neither a typical mage's robe nor the simple cloth garments of a traveler, but rather a uniquely styled black trench coat. The coat's surface seemed specially treated, radiating a luster like aged bone, with rigid patches resembling vertebrae sewn onto the shoulders and elbows.
The buttons were miniature skulls, and a black, spiked collar encircled his neck.
His lower half was clad in dark, sturdy trousers, reinforced at the knees. A heavy metal chain hung from his waist, clinking softly with each subtle movement.
She turned to face Ron, her smile still polite but, to his eyes, somewhat forced.
"I'm Elaina, the Ashen Witch, a traveling witch."
As she introduced herself, she deliberately puffed out her chest, drawing attention to the star-shaped brooch that marked her status.
A finely crafted wand materialized in her hand, its tip shimmering with magical energy.
Ron's gaze lingered on Elaina's wand for a moment, sensing the unfamiliar magical energy stirring around them.
With a sweet, practiced smile, Elaina said, "Oh, sir, making a lady wait is quite rude, you know. Aren't you going to introduce yourself?"
"Just call me Ron. I'm new here too."
He looked at Elaina, his curiosity piqued.
"Is 'witch' your local term for a magician?"
Elaina ignored his slightly ridiculous question, her gaze fixed on the strange figure before her: a man carrying a massive coffin, dressed in dark, somber attire, and exuding an unsettling aura.
Her smile remained fixed, but her wand subtly guided the surrounding magical power.
"Forgive me for overhearing your conversation earlier," she said. "But I must ask you a serious question."
Ron nodded, signaling her to proceed.
"Ask away."
Elaina's gaze sharpened, her wand tapping lightly against her left palm like a teacher's pointer.
"Well, given your cold-blooded remarks earlier, I simply want to know: what do you intend to do with this poor man?"