The carriage left the suffocating slums of Old Mine Street and turned onto Truth Avenue, the broad, straight road that ran from the Inner Ring straight to Cain Wizard Tower. It headed south.
This was the Outer Ring District of Lion City, and the area where Tylen spent most of his time.
Compared with the decay and disorder of the suburbs, the streets in the Outer Ring District were much wider, with neat blue-gray flagstones paving the roads.
The ramshackle buildings that seemed ready to collapse at any moment were gone. In their place stood orderly rows of attached stone buildings, five to eight stories tall.
They featured the typical revival style of the Third Era. Their exterior walls were built of pale gray stone, their windows were narrow, and simple geometric reliefs decorated their facades.
Bustling shops filled their ground floors: alchemy supply stores, low-grade potion shops, and even tailors specializing in secondhand wizard robes.
The passersby were well dressed. Most were skilled artisans, small merchants, or low-ranking apprentices like Tylen.
The air held less of the ever-present smell of coal smoke and more of a blend of baked bread and spices.
Tylen drove the carriage skillfully through the bustling crowds. When he reached the Fiftieth Crossroads, he turned west.
Soon, a building with a pointed clock tower came into view.
It was a medium-sized church. Dark red ivy covered its gray stone walls, lending it a solemn, oppressive air.
Behind the church lay a vast cemetery. Rows of crooked headstones stuck out of the black earth like uneven teeth.
This was Saint Rest Church, under the jurisdiction of the Church of the Heavenly Father. It was also the largest funeral home in the area.
Tylen jumped down from the carriage, straightened his robe, and fixed his gaze on a figure standing at the church entrance.
The middle-aged man wore a black clerical robe. He was as burly as a butcher, and though he was short, he exuded a solid, oppressive presence.
He had a thick beard, and his square face was full of worldly cunning. He had none of the compassion one would expect from a man of the cloth.
Father Logan.
The priest responsible for funerals and burials in this parish—and an acquaintance of Tylen's, though their previous encounters had not been pleasant.
"Holy Father above, it is an honor to bask in your grace, Father Logan."
Tylen approached with an impeccable smile and performed the standard Theocracy salute.
Father Logan was picking his teeth. At the sound of Tylen's voice, he lazily raised his eyelids and glanced at him.
"Mm."
He grunted through his nose without even lifting a hand, his response utterly perfunctory.
"So, it's you. That corpse collector apprentice from Cain Tower."
Of course Logan remembered the boy.
The dull-witted pauper had once tried to discuss a corpse-retrieval business with him, but hadn't understood a single hint. He wanted favors without money? Logan had thrown him out on the spot.
"What do you want this time? If you're here to hawk your pitiful little service, get lost."
Tylen wasn't angry. Instead, his smile grew even brighter. He stepped closer and lowered his voice.
"You misunderstand, Father. I'm here to bring you business today."
He pointed to the carriage behind him.
"I have a poor old couple here who wish to be buried in the church's public cemetery, so they may rest in peace."
"Their last wish was to be buried together. I hope you'll make an exception for them, Father."
Logan glanced at the corpse bags on the carriage and sneered.
"Public cemetery plots are for one person. Since when do we allow couples to be buried together? That's for the nobles."
"Four hundred Purple Gold Coins per person. Eight hundred for two. Not a coin less."
That was the official rule, though there was plenty of room to work around it in practice.
But Tylen's smile didn't falter in the slightest.
"Father, you are merciful."
He stepped forward and warmly clasped Logan's rough hand in both of his.
"May the merciful Father grant these poor souls his blessing and give them a place to rest."
Logan frowned, instinctively trying to pull his hand away.
The pauper had a surprisingly strong grip.
Then, a moment later, he stopped.
A familiar sensation came from his palm.
A roll of banknotes.
His fingertips brushed over the faint raised security printing on the notes. As a seasoned "man of the cloth," Logan immediately identified their value: 100 Purple Gold Coins.
Logan's expression changed.
He withdrew his hand without a word, slipping the roll of banknotes into his wide sleeve as smoothly as water flowing downstream. It was clearly a trick he'd practiced hundreds of times.
"Ahem."
Logan cleared his throat, forcing a professional smile onto his previously cold face.
The boy's finally learned how things work, he thought.
Seeing this, Tylen pressed his advantage.
"It's fine if they're buried together, even if they have to squeeze in."
"I can contribute 500 Purple Gold Coins as a funeral fee, in the form of a donation to the church's renovation fund."
Five hundred Purple Gold Coins.
With the 100 he'd just slipped Logan, that made 600. After handing over the required 300, Logan would still pocket a handsome sum.
Logan looked Tylen up and down.
The boy was still wearing the same apprentice's linen robe, but his whole demeanor had changed.
His composure, his shrewdness, and the practiced way he handed over money made him seem like a seasoned old hand.
Has some old monster possessed the boy? It's been half a month, and he seems like a completely different person.
The thought crossed Logan's mind, then disappeared just as quickly.
Whether Tylen had been possessed or had suddenly learned the ropes, all that mattered was that the Purple Gold Coins were real.
"Since you're so devout, the Holy Father will surely forgive their sins."
Logan quickly pocketed the other 500 Purple Gold Coins Tylen handed him, his attitude turning around completely.
"Come with me. We'll use the side entrance."
The church's backyard.
It was a typical medieval cemetery.
Tall black iron railings separated it from the outside world. Several lush green pines stood straight and tall, casting dappled shadows.
Gravestones crowded together like a gray forest, and the air was thick with the smell of earth and rotting flowers.
Father Logan might have been greedy, but he was undeniably good at his job.
A large oak coffin was already waiting nearby. The wood wasn't especially fine, but it had been polished smooth.
Everything needed for the funeral rites was ready: anointing oil, a silver bell, and holy water.
"Choose a spot," Logan said, pointing to an open patch ahead.
Tylen looked around, then pointed to a corner near the western side.
A few nameless wildflowers grew there. The midday sunlight fell through the leaves onto the spot, giving it a rare air of brightness and peace.
"Let's use that spot."
Logan waved a hand.
Four burly men wearing white, pointed masks that exposed only their eyes walked over with shovels.
They were gravediggers specially trained by the church, strong as oxen and taciturn.
In just ten minutes, they had dug a deep, neatly shaped grave.
Tylen went to the carriage and gently untied the corpse bags.
He tenderly lifted out Old Jack and Granny Linda's bodies and carefully laid them in the oak coffin.
The two bodies lay side by side. Their faces were withered, but their expressions were peaceful.
After a moment's thought, Tylen lifted Old Jack's thin arm and gently placed it around Granny Linda's shoulder, arranging them in an embrace that would last forever.
"That way, you won't be cold."
Tylen spoke softly, a trace of tenderness flickering in his eyes.
Then the coffin lid was closed and the iron nails were hammered in.
The four gravediggers lifted the coffin and slowly lowered it into the grave.
Father Logan stood beside the grave, ringing the silver bell in his hand.
Ting-a-ling—ting-a-ling—
The clear chimes echoed through the silent cemetery.
"Dust to dust, earth to earth, and spirit to the Heavenly Father..."
Logan chanted the familiar words, dripped a few drops of anointing oil onto the coffin lid, and sprinkled it with holy water.
As the earth was shoveled back in, the coffin gradually disappeared from view.
In this public cemetery, where every inch of land was precious, no one was allowed to erect a headstone without paying extra.
Soon, the spot would be leveled, and another dead person would eventually be buried there.
But Tylen couldn't afford to pay extra for a headstone.
He stood before the freshly turned earth and bowed deeply three times.
"Uncle Jack,"
he silently prayed.
"May you and your wife find peace and tranquility in eternal death."
"May you remain deeply in love through all the cycles of the afterlife."
"May you be spared the suffering and torment you endured in this life."
The wind blew through the treetops with a rustle, like the dead whispering their final words.
The funeral was over, and the gravediggers had left.
Tylen wasn't in a hurry to go. With a smile, he walked over to Father Logan, who was putting away his ritual implements, and drew him to a secluded corner.
"Father, there's one more small favor I'd like to ask."
Logan shot him a sidelong glance. "What?"
Tylen lowered his voice and spoke quickly.
"I need two special corpses."
"First, an infant under one year old who died within the past twenty-four hours."
"Second, an ordinary person who died of an alchemical overdose within the past ten hours."
Logan paused, then turned to look at him, his gaze growing amused.
No one knew more about deaths in this area than the priest responsible for burying the dead.
To prevent corpses from rising, anyone whose family member died had to report it to the church immediately.
So if a child died, or some addict overdosed, Logan was the first to know.
This boy hadn't come here just to arrange a burial after all.
"Your requirements..."
Logan deliberately drew out his words, putting on a troubled expression.
"Are a little demanding."
"Especially the one who died from an overdose. The signs of the drug still need to be present. That won't be easy to find."
Tylen understood the hint. He slid another 100-Purple-Gold-Coin note from his sleeve and placed it in Logan's hand.
"I know how capable you are, Father. There's nothing in this neighborhood you don't know about."
Tylen flattered him with a smile, then offered his leverage.
"My senior apprentice Violet Star needs these materials urgently."
"Help me out this time, and if my senior apprentice needs anything in the future, I'll come straight to you."
"You know that someone of her stature certainly isn't short of money."
At the name Violet Star, Logan's lips curled into a scornful sneer.
Violet Star? The genius of Cain Tower, Master Makley's prized student.
And you think you can reach her?
"Hah."
Logan made no effort to hide his contempt. He looked Tylen up and down as if he were a toad that didn't know its place.
"You're nothing but a stray dog from the gutter. You think you can get close to Lady Violet Star?"
"Kid, if you're going to brag, at least make it believable. Don't think a little money makes you a big shot."
In the face of such blatant humiliation, Tylen's smile didn't change at all.
Not even his eyes flickered.
He simply reached into the inner pocket of his robe and slowly pulled out an item.
It was a token about the size of his palm.
Made of yellowish-brown metal, it bore a raised image of a roaring lion on the front. Its surface gleamed coldly in the sunlight.
"Don't be ridiculous, Father."
Tylen toyed with the token, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather.
"I've earned a little of my mentor's favor and attended a few of his lessons."
"My mentor was kind enough to place some basic trust in me and give me a few errands to run."
The instant Logan's gaze landed on the token, his pupils widened.
That was... Cain Tower's Personal Token?!
As a seasoned old hand who'd made his living in this area for years, he knew exactly what the token was worth.
It wasn't merely proof of identity. It represented the will of an Official Wizard!
Anyone who could get their hands on this thing was definitely no ordinary registered apprentice!
This kid... was he really Makley's man?!
The disdain vanished from Logan's face in an instant, replaced by a mixture of shock and surprise, followed by a quickly plastered-on obsequious smile.
His expression changed faster than the pages of a book could turn.
"Oh! I see! I see!"
Father Logan rubbed his hands together, smiling so sincerely you'd think Tylen was a long-lost brother.
"I knew it! Magnus, I've always felt you had tremendous potential. You're clever and quick-witted, and you're sure to go far!"
"See? My judgment was spot-on!"
He even patted Tylen on the shoulder with warm familiarity, completely forgetting that he'd just called him a "stray dog from the gutter."
"Come, come. Tell me your request again."
Logan leaned closer to Tylen and lowered his voice, acting as if they were "old friends."
"Babies under a year old, and drug addicts who died from overdosing, right?"
"Leave it to me! I'll check the records right away and do my best to get them for you at cost!"
"With a relationship like ours, how could I let you get the short end of the stick?"
Watching the priest swing from arrogance to deference, Tylen couldn't help but laugh to himself.
In this world, power and strength really were the most useful things.
"Sorry for the trouble, Father."
Tylen put away the token, his smile still gentle.
"I'll await your good news. I have other matters to attend to."
Before you continue