Chapter 79: Funeral
A trembling voice broke through the cold quiet.
"How can you kill people without any warrant?" Florence asked, visibly shaken. "They didn't even resist…"
She wasn't wrong. Killing trespassers was legal—but executing a group that seemed compliant was something else.
Raven turned toward her calmly.
"If you follow me to the dungeon, Miss Florence, I'll show you why they deserved worse."
He looked toward Jacob and Quincy.
"Sir Jacob. Quincy. Come with me."
He headed toward the narrow hallway without looking back.
"Wait—Mr. Holmes!" Florence hurriedly snapped pictures of the massacre before following him.
Jacob and Quincy exchanged grim looks and walked after Raven.
They moved through a cracked hallway filled with torn, dust-covered portraits, then down a concealed spiral staircase.
Cold air met them at the bottom.
In the underground chamber, the black Agith Door loomed eerily.
Jacob swallowed. "Why are we here, My Lord?"
Raven didn't answer.
Instead, he walked to the eastern wall.
He pressed his hand against the hidden seam and pushed it open.
A wave of rot slammed into them.
Florence gagged and vomited instantly.
Jacob and Quincy staggered back, covering their noses.
"What… what is this place?" Quincy whispered.
"Is this the Necromancer's doing? Was he a serial killer?" Jacob muttered, horrified.
Raven stepped further inside. The aether lamp illuminated hell.
Bodies hung from hooks.
Flayed limbs.
Blood-caked floors.
Organs floating in jars.
Raven didn't speak.
Instead, he whispered:
"Elapsed Illusion."
A ripple of power pulsed out.
Jacob blinked as his own hands faded from view.
He became translucent—an unseen observer.
Florence gasped as her body disappeared, though she still felt herself standing.
With a soft hum, the dungeon shifted.
They weren't alone.
A young Raven—the version from earlier—walked into the chamber. He inspected the room, eyes widening, then stumbled back and vomited from the stench.
He soon retreated, pale and shaken.
"My Lord?" Jacob called instinctively.
No reply.
"That is an illusion from the past," Raven's voice echoed nearby, though he remained invisible.
The scene jerked—time rewinding like a spinning reel.
A small mouse scurried into the chamber.
Then it grew.
Stretched.
Contorted—
—until a 130 cm humanoid creature stood in its place. Yellowish goblin-like skin, twisted grin, claws, tail.
Everyone shuddered.
"W-What is that?" Jacob whispered.
"A Demon Imp," Raven replied.
The creature sniffed the air and grabbed an iron axe.
Moments later, the door opened.
Evelyne and her group dragged a terrified young woman inside.
They laid her on the table.
The woman struggled. Muffled screams broke through the gag.
"Remove her clothes," the Demon Imp ordered.
Evelyne obeyed.
Her hands didn't even tremble.
The Imp dismissed them with a wave. They retreated.
Then it carved a hexagonal symbol into the woman's chest.
Placed candles.
Chanted an ancient incantation.
After five minutes, it raised the axe—
—and beheaded her.
Blood sprayed. The head rolled.
A translucent fog—the woman's soul—rose from the corpse.
She tried to flee.
The Demon Imp held out a golden jar adorned with a sparrow carving.
The soul was sucked in.
Then the creature began skinning the corpse, humming joyously.
The illusion shattered like broken glass.
Darkness receded.
Florence, Jacob, and Quincy reappeared—shaken to their core.
"The demon is no longer here," Raven reassured calmly.
Florence swallowed, voice trembling.
"I… I understand now. They weren't researchers—they were working with a demon…"
Jacob clenched his fists. "What happened to the soul inside that jar?"
"We don't know yet," Raven replied.
Quincy wiped her forehead. "No one will believe this…"
"I recorded everything," Florence whispered, clutching her camera. "But if I publish it fully, the Empire will link you to the Rebel Prince. They'll see similarities in the illusion spell."
Jacob's jaw tightened. "The Royal Family might target you."
Florence thought quickly, then nodded.
"Fine. I'll write the report differently. I came alone. I got captured by the demon. Your knights rescued me."
She looked at Raven.
"It'll protect you—and boost Legacy News."
"That would be helpful," Raven said.
He turned back toward the dungeon.
"We need to give the victims a proper burial."
He started toward the exit.
…
Jacob and Quincy followed Raven out of the dungeon, their expressions grim.
Florence lingered for a heartbeat longer, staring at the butchered young woman's remains—at the empty space the Demon Imp had once stood.
Her knuckles whitened around her notebook before she hurried after them.
The climb up the spiral staircase was silent. Their boots struck stone in a slow, muted rhythm—step after step, each heavier than the last. When they emerged into the ruined mansion, the metallic scent of blood still tainted the stale air.
Rebecca and the young knights were already clearing the hall, dragging corpses into a corner and stacking them like unwanted debris.
Marcellus stood guard at the entrance, sword out, an unmoving sentinel.
Nearby, Reece's crow-like familiars flapped overhead, their caws echoing faintly as they scanned the perimeter.
A moment later, Reece returned and reported,
"No humans within a mile, My Lord."
He slipped away again, exploring the mansion with quiet steps.
"Oh—they've returned," Marcellus said when he spotted Raven's group approaching.
Rebecca stepped forward and bowed.
"My Lord, all clear. No remaining enemies."
Raven nodded once.
"Good. Let's bury the bodies first."
Quincy hesitated.
"These corpses too?" she asked, eyes shifting toward Evelyne's and her group's heads and bodies.
"No," Raven answered coldly. "They don't deserve ritual."
Florence frowned, confused.
"His corpse?" she echoed his earlier words.
Quincy responded before Raven could.
"I stored the Necromancer's body in my spatial ring, My Lord. Do you want these corpses stored as well?"
Raven thought for a moment and nodded.
"If we bury them together, tracking spells might reveal their presence. Cremate them in the woods—far from the cemetery."
"Yes, My Lord," Quincy replied immediately.
Jacob stepped forward.
"What about the outlaws? Mass burial?"
Raven shook his head slowly.
"No. Those who died in the dungeon deserve proper rest. We'll bury them with dignity."
Jacob frowned. "But with over a hundred corpses… we lack coffins, and digging graves will take until nightfall."
"Then we make coffins." Raven's tone was firm but not unkind. "We have a carpenter. The rest can dig."
He raised his hand and issued a series of quick, efficient orders:
Knights were to collect wood outside the ruins.Wizards to prepare tools and assist with cutting timber.Scouts to secure the area.
"Marcellus," Raven continued, "go to the mountain. Cut stone for gravemarkers. Quincy—accompany him, then cremate the outlaws."
Marcellus grinned faintly.
"Slicing rocks, eh? Haven't tried it since reaching Expert Rank. Should be fun."
Jacob stepped near.
"I'll store the stones in my ring."
They left.
For the next two hours, the knights, wizards, and mercenaries worked relentlessly.
Trees fell one after another.
Wood was stripped, cut, shaped.
The carpenter guided them, turning raw timber into simple coffins.
Raven returned briefly to the dungeon, storing the corpses of the victims in his spatial ring.
He paused by the Agith Door but found no new clues—only more questions.
When he emerged again, the sun was high and glaring over the ruins.
Outside, everyone had assembled.
The piles of timber had been transformed into neat rows of coffins.
Marcellus approached.
"Gravestones are ready, My Lord. But we don't know their names."
"I will handle that," Raven said quietly.
Jacob strode over.
"My Lord, where should we dig?"
"Outside the town," Raven replied. "We will make this a public cemetery."
They carried the coffins to the outskirts—a silent parade through cracked earth and abandoned paths.
By 2 P.M., digging had begun.
"Wide and deep," Raven instructed. "Space them properly."
The rhythmic clink of iron shovels filled the lonely field. Dust rose with each strike.
Raven moved to a coffin and gently lowered a corpse inside.
The skinned remains made several knights look away.
"Mr. Marcellus," Raven said. "Place a gravestone."
Marcellus obeyed, carving the number 1 on a stone slab.
"My Lord… will we engrave names later?"
"Yes." Raven handed him a notebook. "Write this down. The first victim—Beatrice Ashdown."
Marcellus froze.
"…How did you know?"
Raven said nothing and walked to the next coffin.
"Celeste Langston."
"My Lord—wait—write first!"
Marcellus hurried to jot the name, then marked gravestone number two.
On and on it went.
One hundred names.
By the time the last coffin was placed near a grave, Raven had read out every victim's name without faltering.
Near sunset, Quincy and Florence brushed dust from the faces of the dead.
Rebecca and the others wrapped each body gently in white cloth and placed flowers on their chests.
Those who could not find flowers placed leaves—anything to offer a final kindness.
The wind softened.
The field grew still.
Raven stepped forward.
He closed his eyes, raised both hands, and began to chant:
**"Beloved spirits of the Eclipse Land,
We gather beneath the heavens to honor the fallen
Who have crossed beyond the mortal veil.
O Winds of the Four Directions—hear our call.
Guide their souls on the path of eternity.
To the East, light their way.
To the South, warm their hearts.
To the West, cleanse their sorrows.
To the North, guard their rest.
Mother Twilight, Keeper of Souls,
We entrust them to your embrace.
May they find peace among the stars,
And dance in the night sky
Until we meet beyond the veil."**
The chant faded.
The silence that followed felt sacred.
One by one, the coffins were lowered.
Earth returned to the graves.
Wildflowers rested atop the fresh mounds.
Raven bowed his head.
The funeral ended without applause, without prayer—only quiet resolve.
Then the knights gathered their tools.
Raven turned toward the ruined town and spoke softly:
"Let's go."
And they walked back into the ruins, leaving behind a field of souls finally at rest.
…
Raven took out his pocket watch, flipped open the brass lid, and checked the time.
"It's already five," he muttered. "We'll use these tents as temporary shelters tonight."
The knights and mercenaries nodded, already securing the abandoned bell tents scattered through the ruined town square.
Raven then took the notebook from Marcellus and handed it to Rebecca.
"There are fifty-two victims' names inside. Tomorrow, you'll return to Giaris City with Sir Marcellus and search for their families."
Rebecca frowned. "Finding all their families may take months, My Lord."
Florence stepped forward.
"No—it won't. Once we publish the names through Legacy News, people will come on their own. Missing family members… they never stop searching."
Raven nodded, impressed.
"That's a good idea."
His gaze shifted to the Lucas Company group standing nearby.
"Site Manager Luke," Raven called. "I'd like a word."
Luke—middle-aged, blond, refined, wearing a bowler hat and pince-nez—removed his cigar and tossed it aside.
"Of course, Mr. Holmes."
Raven pointed toward the mansion. "Bring your architect and two engineers."
The group followed him inside the ruined mansion, crossing the hollow hall, then climbing the creaking staircase. Raven said only one word when Luke asked where they were going:
"Up."
They stepped out onto the flat roof—more of an elevated platform surrounded by rusting iron rails. From there, the entire broken town lay in view: shattered rooftops, collapsed homes, overgrown pathways.
Raven pulled chairs and a table from his spatial ring and arranged them casually.
"Mr. Luke," Raven said, leaning against the railing, "tell me—how much money do I need to restore this entire town?"
Luke didn't answer immediately. He surveyed the decayed townscape, then spoke.
"It's not just money, Mr. Holmes. There are foundational problems. First, this town lacks a stable route. Frostvale Town is closer, but it doesn't connect to the railways. Ythendale, about thirty kilometers away, has a rail route connecting Watchel to Margrave Blackwater's territory. Transporting goods through that route would be much easier."
"How far did you say?" Raven asked.
"Thirty to thirty-two kilometers."
Raven nodded. Emanuel had once suggested something similar.
"Estimate the cost for a road from here to Ythendale."
"It depends on the terrain and road type," Luke replied, pulling a notebook from his Gladstone bag. "A gravel road would be around thirty thousand gold coins. A cobblestone road can double or triple that."
"We'll go with cobblestone," Raven said. "I'll meet Baroness Elara and secure the land rights."
Luke looked stunned.
"Mr. Holmes… raising sixty to ninety thousand gold coins isn't a small matter. If you truly possess that much capital, investing directly in your territory might be wiser."
Raven chuckled, tapping his spatial ring. A long rifle appeared in his hand.
Everyone flinched.
"Relax. This is only to make a point," Raven said, offering Luke the rifle.
Luke froze, staring at the Aether weapon like it was a mythical treasure.
"You know its value," Raven said softly, taking it back. "I own several."
Luke removed his hat and bowed. "My apologies for doubting you, Mr. Holmes."
"Your doubts were reasonable," Raven replied. "After all, you're not just an employee—you're the owner of Lucas Company."
Luke's eyes widened.
"You knew?"
"Of course."
Raven laid a map of Azmar Territory across the table.
"Now—give me your honest opinion. How do we make this territory safer and livable?"