— Inherited Burden —
Elias took out his rolling paper and tobacco again. He rolled a cigarette, lit it, and drew in a deep lungful. The earlier agitation had faded; he seemed calmer now.
"Mind if I sit?" I asked softly.
"Suit yourself," he said, his tone flat.
I settled beside him, keenly aware of the unusual energy radiating from him—a faint distortion in the air that marked him as anything but ordinary.
He exhaled a plume of smoke and spoke without looking at me.
"How much is Victor paying you?"
I blinked, caught off guard, but answered truthfully.
"I don't know. Money hasn't been discussed."
He stubbed the cigarette out against the ground. For a moment, he said nothing, his gaze drifting somewhere beyond the rows of graves.
"The Rowans have only one son each generation," he began, voice low and even. "When the boy turns twelve, the father dies."
So my mother raised me alone.
"She worked from dawn till dark—tended our plot, took odd jobs in town. Those years were hard. She went hungry more often than not, but she never let me miss a meal."
The wind brushed past the headstones, carrying the faint scent of damp earth.
"I watched her change," he continued. "From a beautiful woman into someone weathered and worn down by years of exhaustion. I swore then that when I grew up, I'd make money. Enough to give her a comfortable life."
His eyes returned to his mother's headstone.
"But when she learned what I wanted, she didn't speak to me for a month. Then she said, 'You are a Ghost Craftsman's son. You will take up your father's work. That is how you repay me.'"
I brought my hands together and bowed slightly toward the grave.
"After that, I devoted myself to the craft. Maybe I had a knack for it—I became a true Ghost Craftsman faster than most. I learned things... things beyond ordinary understanding."
He paused, pressing his lips together, as if weighing whether to continue.
"And from then on, money meant little to me. Just a way to eat. All I cared about was my mother's health."
His eyes reddened again. When he looked at me this time, his gaze was sharp and unblinking.
"She still had years left," he said. "What they did showed me how little a life means to them. Those cold faces... their hollow condolences."
His fingers curled slowly into his palm.
"I hated their hypocrisy. I hated my own helplessness. And the night she died, I decided to make them pay."
I understood that kind of pain. No words could soften it now. I reached over and rested a hand lightly on his back.
"That night," he said, "I went to the film set and laid down the Eight-Ghost Funerary Array."
His gaze hardened as he spoke the words.
"...I'm sorry, Mr. Rowan. I didn't know any of this. If I had..."
My voice trailed off. I wasn't sure I would have acted differently, even if I had known.
He let out a quiet, humorless laugh.
"If you'd known, you would have gotten involved anyway," he said. "You're not like the other practitioners I've met. You have a sense of integrity."
He finally looked away from the grave.
"You wouldn't turn your back on something like this."
Maybe he was right.
---
— The Nightmare General —
"Mr. Rowan... can you tell me what's buried beneath that ground?"
He wasn't surprised by the question—almost seemed to expect it. After a pause, he answered,
"Before I laid the array, I had no idea something like that was down there."
I could hear the regret in his voice. A crow cawed in the distance, and the branches overhead shifted against the wind.
"The array was just meant to draw wandering spirits—to haunt the place, disturb their peace. But instead... it stirred something that was sleeping. It woke the Spectral Legion."
"You're saying you didn't know what was sealed there?"
"Not at first. I only learned after returning home and searching our family records. My ancestors settled here for one purpose: to seal away the Nightmare General."
"The Nightmare General?"
"That's what the locals called him. He only appeared after dark, and no one knew his real name."
"Why was he sealed here?"
He shifted slightly, brushing his fingers over the moss-covered edge of a stone.
"According to our records, there was a time when anyone passing through this area at night was found beheaded. The magistrate sent men to investigate. None returned.
The king then dispatched a court sorcerer. He recognized it as the work of a general's vengeful spirit and attempted to construct a sealing ritual. He was beheaded that same night.
The king sent dozens more—mages, Daoists, onmyōji, monks. All died. Finally, he offered a royal bounty.
My ancestor couldn't bear more bloodshed. He came alone. It took him a month to craft nine hundred and ninety-nine spectral soldiers, and a hundred days of continuous ritual to finally suppress the general.
But the effort cost him his life. He collapsed, coughing blood, and with his last breath decreed that our family must remain here to watch over the seal. That was over a thousand years ago."
Though the Ghost Craftsman's arts defied the natural order, the Rowans' sacrifice to protect this land commanded respect.
"Your ancestor was a remarkable man," I said quietly.
Elias let out a long breath, his eyes scanning the distant peaks. He didn't respond directly, only murmured,
"To better contain the general's rage, he named this plain 'General's Flat.' The mountain beside it became 'General's Peak,' to remind people to tread with reverence."
So that was the true origin—not the mere grave some shopkeeper had guessed at.
"And the Nightmare General's identity... is it recorded?"
Elias thought for a moment. "Aurelius Kael."
"Aurelius Kael... I know the name. A general of the Kingdom of England, trusted by Harold II. But the wars of that age had many heroes. His name never made it into the official histories."
Elias nodded. "They say he was incredibly strong—wielded a battle-axe that weighed as much as a man. He fell at Hastings, tricked and killed.
The king wanted him buried with honor, so his body was sent back toward the capital.
But the procession was ambushed here. Everyone was slaughtered. Kael's remains were dismembered... fed to dogs.
His spirit became trapped here. With no body to rest, no way to move on, his resentment festered. That's what the records say."
A chill ran down my spine. No wonder the general's malice ran so deep. Such desecration after death would poison any soul.
"The other night, I saw the Spectral Legion. They seemed to be under his control—summoned through some ritual at the film set. If he's fully awakened now... will he slaughter as he did before? If so, no one near that studio will know peace again." I gave Elias a brief account of what I'd witnessed.
His gaze grew distant, and he rubbed the back of his neck.
"This is my fault. I've failed my ancestors. They guarded this evil for centuries, and I... in a moment of anger, I set it loose. I don't deserve to call myself a Ghost Craftsman."
"It's not entirely your doing," I said, shaking my head. "Victor's family studied The Book of Lu Ban—a forbidden craft manual passed down for eight generations. He carries the accumulated fortune of eight lifetimes. Your array might never have reached the general if it hadn't touched a destiny that strong."
It wasn't entirely true—but it served its purpose. Fate had little real bearing here, but if it eased his guilt, the lie was worth it.
"Really?" He looked up.
I met his eyes and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Really. What matters now is how we fix this—not who's to blame."
The faint hope in his eyes dimmed. "Thank you for saying that... but I can't help you. After my mother died, I turned my back on the world."
His resignation was clear. I wouldn't push further. Rising to my feet, I said,
"Alright. I respect your choice. Thank you for telling me."
I turned to leave, but after a few steps, I glanced back.
"Your life still has value. What happened to your mother is done. She pushed you to become a Ghost Craftsman because she believed you could achieve something worthy of the name."
Elias merely looked at me, silent. The wind rustled the treetops behind him.
I walked away from the clearing with a clearer understanding of what we faced—and a heavier weight on my shoulders.
"Mr. Arcturus, are you alright?" Victor and the others were waiting on the path below. He stepped forward as I approached.
Jasper looked me over as if checking for injuries. I took a steadying breath.
"I'm fine. I know what we're dealing with now. Let's go back."
"Back?" Victor glanced toward where Elias remained. "Is there... a way to resolve this?"
"We'll discuss it back at the studio."
Without another word, I started down the hill.