Deep Sea Embers

Frost is a very cold place. Eighty percent of the time in a year, this city-state is bathed in the turbulent cold wind of the Cold Sea—cold air blows continuously from the Frozen Sea farther north. , whizzing across the towering walls of frost and the steep coastal cliffs, this coldness made many people flinch.

However, Frost is also the largest city-state in the entire Lenglie Sea. Despite the coldness, the center of this huge island has the most abundant boiling gold mine in the north, which is the most important raw material for the steam core, and can even be regarded as As the industrial foundation of today's era, the industrial system built around the boiling gold mine supports the operation of this northern city-state, bringing it endless wealth and prosperity.

and death.

Frost, on the edge of the mining area, at the entrance of the city-state cemetery, a black steam car has not been turned off, illuminated by bright gas street lamps, several morticians in thick black robes are working together to remove a coffin from the car Lifted out of the middle, another tall and thin figure in a black robe stood beside the car. The entire face of this figure was hidden in the shadow of the wide-brimmed top hat, and where the shadows intersected, one could see one after another bandages.

A few steps away, a shriveled old man with a slightly hunched body, whose whole body seemed to be shrouded in a low shadow, stood by the entrance of the cemetery, watching indifferently the bustle of corpse deliverers.

The corpse-bearers from the Church of Death were exceptionally silent. They didn't make any noise during the process of moving the coffin, only a slight knocking sound occasionally sounded, making the already gloomy cemetery even more eerie and dead.

After an unknown amount of time, the shady old man guarding the cemetery finally broke the silence: "The cause of death?"

"Falled and fell into the machine shaft," said the tall and thin figure wrapped in bandages. It was a slightly hoarse female voice, sounding very young. "Dead on the spot, has been baptized. The details are in the handover document." , you can see for yourself."

"How long will you stay?" The old man's expression and tone remained unchanged, as if he was discussing a stone that was about to be moved into his room.

The tall and thin figure covered in bandages quietly glanced at the sinister old man.

"Three days," she replied briefly, "three days to purify the soul, and then send it to the big melting pot."

"It's really short." The guard snorted through his nose, and looked up at the gate of the cemetery next to him. The dark carved iron gate stood like a cold and sharp thorn under the light and night, while in the Opposite this gate that symbolizes the separation between life and death, you can vaguely see many neat mortuaries, the narrow paths between the mortuaries, and the shadowy tombstones and huts in the depths.

This is a cemetery, but for most of the corpses sent to the cemetery, this is not their long-term resting place-except for a few long-term graves with special significance, the dead only stay here temporarily. From city-state officials to traffickers and pawns, no one can circumvent the rules here.

After they died, they were temporarily sent to the cemetery, and gradually calmed down under the watchful eyes of Bartok, the god of death. Turned into the smoke and dust in the sky, the good deeds of life were integrated into the neighing of the steam pipe, and a little residue was scattered on the land of the city-state, leaving no residue in the world.

Only one small headstone will be kept for them in the cemetery - very small, and it will soon be piled up deep in the depths of more headstones.

"The dead can't take the place of the living," the bandaged woman shook her head, "For the dead who died in a 'clean and innocent' process, three days is enough for the soul to restore peace."

"It's not just for this reason, is it?" The shady watchman raised his eyes, his yellow and turbid eyeballs quietly staring at the "bandage girl" in a thick black coat in front of him, "You are worried that the corpse will get up—like As in recent rumors."

"There is no evidence to prove that the dead in the city-state are really 'resurrected', and there are conflicting reports in the current reports, but even if it is only a short-lived recovery of the 'restless' phenomenon, it is worthy of vigilance," said the woman in bandages. Shaking his head, "So keep an eye on your cemetery. As for the affairs in the city-state, the church and the city hall will take care of it."

"I wish it were as simple as you say, Agatha," muttered the overseer, "I can assure you that no dead body will ever come out of this garden, but the 'cemetery' that you and your colleagues are to guard It’s much bigger than my little garden.”

The corpse bearer carried the coffin into the cemetery. These silent figures in black walked around the path of the cemetery like corpses. They found the empty mortuary table prepared in advance and placed the coffin on the platform. , and then stood at the four corners of the coffin, ready to perform the appeasement ceremony of Bartok, the god of death.

The guard and the priestess in black called "Agatha" also walked into the cemetery and came to the mortuary table.

The four corpse bearers took out Bartok's charm—a triangular metal emblem with a door-shaped relief in the center that symbolizes the gate of life and death. They placed the charm on the four corners of the coffin and chanted in unison After reciting a short prayer, he took half a step back.

Agatha then stepped forward. She took off her wide-brimmed top hat and stared at the coffin on the mortuary table in the cold wind.

The light from the gas street lamps illuminated her appearance.

Layers of bandages were wrapped all over her body, even covering half of her face. Only where the bandages were not covered, she could still see some delicate and soft lines unique to women. A head of dark brown curly long hair hangs loosely in the air. In the back of her head, there was only peace and compassion in the same dark brown eyes.

"May the grace of Bartok, the god of death, take care of your soul and restore your peace in the last three days of this world... All your karmic debts with this world are canceled today. Lost, you can travel lightly..."

Agatha's low and hoarse prayers echoed in the silent cemetery, gradually blending into the deep night.

The guard with a gloomy temperament stood aside and watched the ceremony indifferently. He did not know when a heavy-looking double-barreled shotgun was added to his hand. Bartok's triangular emblem.

After a while, the ceremony ended, and Agatha turned her head to look at the cemetery guard: "It's done."

"I hope your prayers will be effective," the guard raised the double-barreled shotgun in his hand, "although I trust my 'old partner' more."

"The appeasement ceremony performed by me, the 'gatekeeper', should have some effect," Agatha said lightly, and then put on the dark wide-brimmed top hat again. She nodded to the cemetery guards and led the way. The corpse deliverers walked towards the exit of the cemetery, "It's time for us to leave."

Bartok's followers left, and the dark steam car drifted away in the night until the taillights gradually merged into the night of the city.

The cold night wind blew across the cemetery, the rows of mortuaries and the carved iron fences on the edge of the cemetery. The gloomy old guard stood at the door, looking at the direction of the hearse leaving, and took a long time to look away. Clothes tightened in the cold wind.

"The living are finally gone. I'm really not used to being so lively in the cemetery."

Muttering, clutching his reliable double-barreled shotgun, he walked slowly toward his caretaker's hut on the edge of the morgue.

After a while, the old man came out of the hut again. This time, he had something extra in his hand.

A small pink-white flower picked from nowhere.

He came to the newest coffin, picked up a stone from the side, and pressed Xiao Hua to a corner of the mortuary table.

The night wind blew across the path, blowing the delicate petals and trembling in the wind, and on the rows of nearby mortuary tables, you could see the same small flower pressed in an inconspicuous corner.

Most of the flowers have withered in the wind.

"Sleep, sleep well, it's hard to sleep so well when you're alive," the old guard muttered, "Your family will come to greet you tomorrow morning, according to the rules, say goodbye to them, and then rest assured Leave, the world of the living is actually not that good..."

The old man shook his head, bent down and grabbed the double-barreled shotgun, turned around and left slowly.

...

"We are sailing north, and our destination is Frost." On the deck of the Lost Home, Duncan found Fanna who was staring at the distant sea in a daze, and he stepped forward to greet her, "I see you have been staring at the distant sea in a daze. , guess you should be curious about the course of this ship."

"Frost?" Fan Na was a little surprised. She was indeed guessing the next itinerary of the Lost Home, but she didn't expect that Captain Duncan would take the initiative to mention this matter to herself, "Why Frost? Is there something going on over there?" ?”

"The reason is that Morris received a letter, a letter from a deceased friend." Duncan came to the edge of the deck, put his hands on the railing on the side of the ship, and looked at the endless sea in the distance under the night, "but there are more reasons It's because I became interested in it."

"Are you interested?"

"In a sense, Frost is Alice's 'hometown'," Duncan said with a smile, "although she doesn't have the concept at all."

"...I don't know much about Frost. I only know that the main belief there is Bartok, the god of death, but there are also some believers who believe in the Goddess of Storms. Frost's local industry seems to be very developed, and it is the largest economic pillar of the entire city-state. It is a boiling gold mine..."

Fan Na paused at this point, then subconsciously glanced at the direction of the cabin.

"Of course, Frost is most famous for the rebellion half a century ago - Alice doesn't mind if someone discusses this?"

"She doesn't mind—because she doesn't understand at all."

"……All right."