North District, Alca Street. Copyste Red sat motionless in an armchair in the living room, gazing into space, the fireplace behind him glowing with burning coals. As a senior staff member at the public school, his weekly salary exceeded four pounds—a comfortable income for a single man. Yet, the clothing he wore at home was patched in several places, and the tea cup on the table was plain and modest. Most striking, without removing his wig, were his high cheekbones and a slight pectus excavatum—a condition in which the sternum protrudes forward. He had a volume of poetry written in the Gufsa language open on his knees, but had not turned a single page for a long time. His gaze was unfocused, and then, suddenly, he heard a soft, clear laugh from beside him: "I find it hard to believe you haven't fled and are still at home. Don't you fear the police will come knocking?" The voice was low and husky, like that of a boy in the midst of his voice change. Kopstey trembled slightly, nearly leaping from his armchair. He suddenly turned his head, and there, at the sofa just a few steps away, he saw a figure seated—there, without any prior notice! The figure wore a summer linen shirt and light trousers, its face hazy and indistinct. "Who are you? What do you want?" Kopstey gripped the armrests, asking in a steady stream. With the power of illusion, Klein leaned back, clasped his hands, and spoke calmly. "Last night, yes—probably this morning—I just saved you all." "Saved us?" Kopstey noticed the figure seemed neither hostile nor urgent, and relaxed a little. "You—you're the one from the woods? The one who dealt with the corpse we awakened?" As he spoke, he fidgeted slightly, clearly showing his apprehension. He could have slipped in unnoticed while I was awake and fully alert—how could I possibly have resisted that? Such thoughts raced through Kopstey's mind. "You're lucky I happened to pass by; otherwise, there would have been a litter of corpses, torn to pieces by the beasts." Caine smiled. "Back to our earlier question—I'm genuinely curious, how dare you still stay at home? Do you even know what crimes you've committed?" He had observed Copist's behavior before and after the "resurrection ritual," confirming that he was still a novice, lacking the skill to conceal his true emotional tone. Therefore, he intended to uncover the full story through simple questioning and his own intuitive perception, possibly verifying the details with a divination spell at the end. "As for me—I know. Procuring corpses without authorization, digging up others' graves—these alone would land me in prison for over a decade, and certainly, I'll also face penalties from the Church." "Kopusti, who looked under thirty in appearance, took a deep breath and offered a bitter smile. 'But as long as I don't create major issues, neither the children nor their parents will file complaints against me—because they've done the same thing themselves. Even if they receive credit for good performance or early confession, they'll still end up spending time in prison.' 'Hmm,' Kopusti chuckled self-consciously. 'Already, several children have told their parents about me. The parents have reached out to the local crime syndicates to warn me, demanding that I resign within a week and step away from the school. I've agreed to that.' Klein nodded gently. 'Changing environments is a good move—though, certainly, let's avoid anything similar in the future. Manipulating innocent children into committing crimes is a serious offense.' 'Never again. I never expected it to be this dangerous. I simply noticed that the children shared my interests and thought it would be a good idea to guide them, to help them uncover the secrets of immortality. As for digging up graves—that practice, in fact, has been carried out by many physicians long ago.'" "Kopusti sighed with a sense of apprehension. His tone matched his current state... he didn't sound like a member of the Spiritual Order at all. Kline thought for a moment, then asked directly, "Where did you learn 'Spirit Dance'?" "Spirit Dance? Ah, I usually call it the Dance of Death." Kopusti was momentarily taken aback, then it dawned on him. "A elderly man taught me that." "An elderly man?" Kline asked. Kopusti paused, slightly dazed by memory. "He was a wanderer who collapsed at my doorstep due to a serious illness." "At the time, I didn't realize he was ill—I thought he had simply fainted—and so I helped him back into the house, gave him warm towels, and applied medicinal ointment." "When he came to, he asked me not to take him to the hospital or a clinic, and mentioned that death wasn't the end." "I've experienced the deaths of my parents and several relatives, so I've always been deeply interested in such matters. Thus, I began talking to him, and discovered that he possessed profound knowledge and a truly admirable philosophy. He seemed equally pleased by my curiosity, and even performed a miracle—killing a mosquito and then bringing it back to life." This opening... I've read at least ten novels like this in my previous life, each featuring a kind-hearted protagonist who brings a nearly dying old man home and then experiences a series of wonders. Klein's嘴角 twitched slightly as he said: "So, you kept him at home?" Kopsiti nodded firmly: "Yes. If I hadn't been constrained by time, I would have even considered becoming his student." "During those days, he taught me the 'dance of death' and imparted me many other insights. Unfortunately, the time was too brief—I had only just begun to settle into his teachings when he passed away, leaving behind only a bronze whistle." "Before he finished speaking, Kopsiti produced a finely crafted copper whistle that looked neither old nor antiquated: "This one." I have one too... probably from an ancestor's lineage," Klein remarked, thoughtfully asking, "How long ago was this? What did he look like? Where did you bury him?" "Six months ago, his most striking features were his white hair and red spots on his side of the face. He asked me to bury him in the garden at the back," Kopsiti calculated. "Not Mr. Azk, but likely a member of the Spirit Church—perhaps of a high sequence." Klein then asked, "Besides the 'Spirit Dance,' did you learn the 'Resurrection Rite'?" "The rite—I've only just begun learning it. I've been gradually refining it based on scattered knowledge and folk traditions, improving it step by step," Kopsiti answered honestly. Refining it based on folk traditions? Oh, that poor black cat—may the goddess watch over you... Caine held back the impulse to draw the crimson moon upon his chest. "Besides that, though?" he asked. "Yes, there's also this bronze whistle. I believe it's the key to communicating with the world beyond the senses." Copist lifted it and blew gently, remarking, "Every time I blow, I feel the air around me grow colder, as though someone is watching me, as though someone is pulling at me..." As he spoke, Caine, whose eyes were open to the spiritual vision, saw ripples spread across the ground, the chill spreading through the room, and the fire and light dimming slightly. Then, a skull emerged, its face bearing three eyes of dead fish, with black, segmented tendrils tangled irregularly around it. One of the tendrils extended out, occasionally brushing against Copist's legs and tugging at his clothes, appearing quite restless—yet Copist paid no attention at all, as though completely unaware. Is this the messenger? The copper horn is meant to summon the corresponding messenger—yet you summon it and give it no letter! Kline looked rather stunned. At that moment, Copusti eagerly turned to him: "Have you felt it? The air has grown cold! The gas lamps are dimming!" "Indeed—someone is watching me, pulling at me!" The messenger, with a most unsettling appearance, repeatedly tried to touch Copusti, but ultimately received no letter. With a sigh, it retreated back into the 'underground'. Kline watched, his mouth slightly twitching, silently murmuring to himself: "I retract my earlier remark—he's not ordinary. He's ordinary, but with the feet of a picky person." "He's not even a special one! "I originally thought he was just a beginner in esoteric studies, but now it seems he hasn't even found the door yet..." "The 'Bierbearer' in the 'Death' path sequence 9 can directly see ghosts and spiritual entities..." Given Copist's demonstration of commanding the living corpses with a copper whistle during the ritual, Caine had no doubt he wasn't lying—silent breath escaped him. Then, a question came to mind: "If I write a note to that messenger just now, where would it go? To a genuine member of the True Spiritual Order? A senior one?" Suppressing that thought, Caine nodded: "It has indeed grown colder." With that, he swiftly changed the subject: "Since the old man's passing, have you ever sensed any unusual occurrences?" "Um... not before, but over the past two weeks, I've occasionally felt that someone around me seems like a corpse—someone who can be awakened." "Kopusti asked, half afraid, half puzzled, 'Is this just a hallucination?' It matches Atreus's account—he hasn't been lying... Kline glanced at Kopusti's aura and genuinely suggested, 'I recommend you visit church at least three times a week for the next two months, attend Mass, and listen to the prayers.' 'If you'd rather not, you can reserve a burial plot for yourself first.' 'Well...' Kopusti responded, somewhat disappointed. He had thought this was a sign of his progress! Kline considered for a moment, then spoke with a commanding tone, 'Take me to see the old man's body.' 'Ah? Well, then,' Kopusti had intended to decline, but instantly realized the reality of the situation. He took up his tools and led Kline out through the back door of the kitchen into the garden, where the vegetation had grown sparse and lifeless, stopping in front of a leaning tree. Kline stood beside him, watching as Kopusti skillfully dug through the soil, gradually uncovering the stone slab beneath. He stabilized the upper section, and with the aid of tools, forcefully pried open the stone slab. Pffft! The slab pressed down onto the freshly excavated soil, and the not particularly deep tomb was illuminated by the faint, crimson moonlight filtering through the clouds. Kopsiti instinctively turned his gaze, suddenly shrieked, and took several steps back, collapsing to the ground. Within the tomb, there were no decaying bodies nor any white bones—only scattered white feathers, unevenly laid at the base, stained with a pale yellow grease.