Chapter 345

345 A Man in Search of Identity #1

Perhaps it was because I learned Aura from Hippolyte.

Or maybe it was because I learned how to detect Mana from Elpride.

I was able to fairly sensitively detect quite a number of presences resting beneath my feet.

Innumerable corpses. Those that had already died and turned to skeletons, and were midway in turning to ash and earth.

However, these were all tangled together in a very complex manner.

To give an analogy, it was like improperly disposed waste, where different parts were forcibly fit together without organization.

I asked the Gravekeeper, “There seem to be quite a number of mixed-up corpses, don’t they?”

“That’s only natural,” replied the Gravekeeper with a snort and a slight sneer.

“It’s because the bones and bodies tangled up together while rolling, and the bodies of wanderers devoured by beasts have been buried indiscriminately, after all.”

Indeed, it makes sense.

I knelt on one knee and placed my hand on the ground. The cool sensation of the damp earth felt soothing.

“Arise, walk.”

I commanded as I had heard my Father do in my nightmares.

Squish, squish…

This time, unlike my first attempt at necromancy, I could feel something intense flowing from my hands into the ground.

I clearly felt it was some form of Aura or Mana. My body was consuming magical energy to call forth the dead, no doubt.

“Arise!”

I called out more forcefully, pouring strength into my voice.

Pusht, pusht…

At the same moment, something began to rise violently from the ground.

“Ugh, what, what is this?!”

Even the Gravekeeper was startled, his face pale with fear, as if he was about to faint.

Amidst the eerie, fog-laden cemetery that remained dark even during daylight, watching something rise irregularly from the ground was indeed terrifying, even to me.

Chirp…

Pusht…

Beyond the mist, the loud sound of the ground and tombstones cracking could be heard. While I understood that it was all due to my actions, even I wasn’t sure what was happening beyond the fog.

Calm amidst this chaos was surprisingly Paranoi alone.

Paranoi, instead, lifted both hands high and cried out joyfully:

“The dead are returning…!! Now, nothing can stop them…!! The time of Hell arriving in Sodomora is upon us…!! The time of destruction, massacre, pillage, and bl**d will come…!!”

It seemed he truly believed the necromantic force I had summoned would unleash a horde of the dead and bring chaos to the city. It also seemed he desired this.

However, when the mist gradually cleared and revealed the scene, Paranoi stopped his rant in surprise.

“What… what is this?”

And he cautiously looked at my face.

Truthfully, I was equally perplexed.

I thought I was performing necromancy, but the figures rising from the ground weren’t skeletal masses – they were bizarre, tentacle-like objects.

Tentacles?

What is this?

Is this an advanced form of necromancy?

Both Paranoi and I shivered in terror from the sight. However, the gravekeeper who was also startled, soon seemed to come to a decision, grabbed a shovel, and approached the tentacles.

The gravekeeper, indeed, appeared fearless, as one who works at a cemetery would be.

Crunch, crunch…

He slowly approached the strange tentacles and gently poked them with the shovel.

“Ah, this is roots.”

He concluded as if he had figured it out.

“Tree roots, it seems. Judging by the sight, weeds have grown here and there. The roots have risen from the ground.”

Tree roots?

On closer inspection, his explanation was correct. Tree roots were indeed protruding from the ground, splitting the cemetery and tombstones as they stretched eerily in all directions.

What is this?

“This fertile root growth from such a desolate tomb is rather strange. You, the son of the God of d*ath Pluto, do seem to have quite a peculiar set of abilities.”

The gravekeeper chuckled as if amused.

It was then that I recalled – this man had asked me to prove that I was the son of a god if I wished to purchase this land.

I had failed, then, hadn’t I?

While I was slightly anxious, the gravekeeper spoke up:

“But this itself is indeed a miracle worth that of a god’s son. I shall believe you are indeed the son of a god.”

“So, will you sell me the land?”

“Yes, but there’s a favor I need. Since the graves have been disrupted by the roots, and there are twenty bodies that need to be buried today, I’d be grateful if you’d lend me a hand.”

—

—

—

I was confident in my shovel skills.

Ever since I was a child, I had followed my father into the mountains and fields to dig out various roots, and I had served in the military as a frontline combat engineer who uses shovels a lot.

Pusht, pusht…

With my strength and endurance pushed to the brink, digging a hole was now a breeze.

Pusht, pusht…

With just two shovelfuls, a grave could be dug. Frankly, I might even be able to compete with an excavator at this point.

“Phew, I’ve never seen someone shovel so skillfully. You truly do seem worthy of being the son of a god.”

The gravekeeper was clearly astonished, more so by my machine-like shoveling than the strange roots I had raised.

Even I was impressed.

The feel of the dirt and the shovel’s metal — perhaps it was because I was manipulating the two attributes of earth and metal so cleverly, but I felt an immense sense of joy. Could I be Hassan, the god of shoveling?

Pusht, pusht…

Whenever I dug a hole, Paranoi would push the corpses, stacked in burlap sacks, into it.

“Honey and candies are the best — honey and candies are the best —.”

Despite the corpses being heavily decayed and emitting a foul odor, Paranoi sang cheerfully, unaffected.

“I like to eat even if my teeth are broken —!”

This grave-digging process, which I presumed he would find horrifying, seemed to genuinely delight him. Indeed, he must’ve truly been a former cultist to enjoy this.

“Honey and candies are the best –!”

In any case, we repaired the twenty graves the strange tree roots had destroyed and dug new ones for the bodies that the gravekeeper had intended to bury today.

Observing our work quietly, the gravekeeper chuckled in disbelief.

“Work done by ten strapping men — you’ve handled it all alone. It would’ve taken me two days at the very least.”

“Is there anything else to be done?”

“Not at the moment. Thus, we’ll have a little time to talk, won’t we? Do come in.”

With that, the gravekeeper led both Paranoi and me to his hut — a strange place that might as well have been called a shack. Amid the various medicinal herbs scattered within the dimly lit interior, though somewhat hesitant to enter, I reminded myself that this marked the opportunity to finally build a shrine. Such trivial darkness would be foolish to fear.

I sat on a roughly crafted chair made from tree trunks.

“Cinnamon tea. It may or may not suit your taste. Since the nymph lady sang about honey earlier, I added some honey I had saved.”

The gravekeeper served us both a peculiar brew.

“After a day of tiring grave-digging, there’s nothing better than something sweet.”

The tea smelled of cinnamon, warmed my body pleasurantly, and had a faint sweetness. It did seem to alleviate some fatigue, as he said.

“It’s delicious…!! Could I have more…?”

Paranoi apparently loved the honey-laden tea.

“If you want more, I’ll have to fetch some from the graveside.”

However, as I watched the gravekeeper respond to Paranoi’s request, my appetite vanished. Tea infused with cinnamon grown on graveyard soil seemed cursed in a way.

Of course, Paranoi drank over six cups without a second thought.

“It’s delicious… more, please…!!”

Seeing this, I decided to cut him off before our conversation got sidetracked entirely by tea.

“In any case, gravekeeper sir. Are you selling the land?”

“Yes, since you and the little nymph have shown good care for the graves. To you, these nameless graves…”

The man paused, his bandaged eyes gazing out the window. Behind the fog, he was probably seeing the cemetery.

After a long moment of contemplation, he continued:

“…You’ll take good care of these graves too, won’t you?”

I could sense his attachment to this eerie and lonely cemetery despite his deteriorating physical state.

There must be some story here. And that story must be why his mouth, buried under those bandages, continued to move restlessly.

“…”

The man seemed to have something to say but was holding back, fidgeting and hesitating.

Finally, he gazed at the teacup in front of him and absentmindedly traced its edge with his gloved hands.

I realized he was deeply conflicted about something, perhaps even discussing the price. Is he trying to gauge how much I’ve budgeted for the plot?

Still, after taking a sip of his cinnamon tea, the gravekeeper slowly opened his mouth, as if resolved.

“In a place like this, dealing with corpses while my body decays alive, but originally, I was a very wealthy merchant leading a prosperous trading company.”

“Is that so?”

“I was surrounded by beautiful women and golden, radiant jewels — not the corpses and barren sands you see here now.”

As the gravekeeper reminisced, I found it hard to believe this eerie man had once been incredibly wealthy.

However, it also seemed reasonable. After all, a man owning such a vast cemetery plot likely had substantial wealth.

The man continued speaking:

“But I have committed too many sins. I shall undoubtedly end up in Tartarus. I lived fearing neither heaven nor earth, but now, knowing my days are numbered, I fear hell.”

I couldn’t fully understand what the man wanted to say, but I agreed that his life seemed to be nearing its end.

The gravekeeper was evidently suffering severely from the world-specific disease called Corpse Sickness, and his respiratory system didn’t seem to be in good condition either, as evidenced by the coughing fits.

Drinking cinnamon and honey tea likely stemmed from his lung condition.

A long few years at most, a short few months at least — that’s how I estimated his remaining lifespan.

It was understandable for someone nearing d*ath to worry about what lay beyond in the afterlife.

Older folks often turn to religion. Likely, the fear of d*ath that they had been postponing throughout their healthier days slowly starts consuming both mind and body.

Perhaps that ability to forget and avoid the thought of one’s eventual d*ath is the peculiar grace bestowed upon humans.

However, this man appeared to have keenly sensed his approaching fate.

“I fear d*ath. You said you’re Pluto’s son, didn’t you? As such, you must know what happens after I d*e, yes? Am I destined for Tartarus…?”

What did he expect me to know about that? Hence, I hesitated slightly on how to respond. Finally, the man firmly placed his cup on the table.

“Never mind, it’s too obvious a question. Anyway, I’ve decided. I’ll sell you the land.”

“How much?”

“A thousand gold is the minimum I need.”

d*mn it.

I had anticipated this, of course, but actually considering having to pay this sum made my hands tremble.

A thousand gold for such a deathly place like this cemetery.

Even though it was quite an extensive area, it still felt like an outrageous price. This man surely has a one-way ticket to Tartarus.

“Fine with me, thank you.”

Of course, I didn’t have much choice in this. After all, it’s not every day someone offers you land after circling the entire city.

“Paranoi…”

“Understood…! Bleehhh…”

At my command, Paranoi spoke, and a deluge of coins began to tumble from his mouth.

Clang, clang…

“Phew…”

Witnessing the table rapidly covered in a mountain of gold coins, the gravekeeper clearly appeared taken aback, audibly swallowing his saliva.

Though his face was wrapped in bandages, making expressions hard to discern, his eyes seemed to be overtaken by the alluring magnetism of gold.

I wondered what this man, who was dying from a disease akin to leprosy, might do with this thousand-gold fortune. He didn’t seem to have family or children to leave it to.

Could he possibly spend such a vast sum before his remaining days run out?

It wasn’t really my concern, but honestly, I envied him deeply.

Sleek…

“Here, this document gives you the rights to 300 pyeong of land. It’s yours to use as you wish.”

I carefully stashed the paper in my bosom. 300 pyeong… they often say one pyeong equals the space where a person can fully stretch out, so 300 pyeong feels fairly accurate when you consider the cemetery likely holds around 300 corpses.

In any case, this land is now mine.

The misty, damp, eerie atmosphere was a bit off-putting, but the important fact remains: I can now build a shrine on this land and appoint priests.

Which means new locked entries will open up soon.

I’m greatly anticipating what I’ll be able to accomplish next.