Frost is a very cold place. For 80% of the year, this city-state is bathed in the endless cold winds of the Frozen Sea - cold air blows continuously from the Frozen Sea further north.
, whizzing past the towering city walls and steep coastal cliffs of frost, this chill kept many people away.
However, Frost is also the largest city-state in the entire Cold Sea. Despite the cold, the center of this huge island has the richest boiling gold mine in the north. It is the most important component raw material in the steam core, and can even be regarded as
As the industrial foundation of today's era, the industrial system built around the Boiling Gold Mine supports the operation of this northern city-state, bringing it endless wealth and prosperity.
and death.
Frost, on the edge of the mining area, at the entrance to the city-state cemetery, a black steam car has not yet turned off. Under the bright gas street lamp, several corpse bearers wearing thick black robes are working together to lift a coffin from the car.
When he was lifted out of the car, there was another tall and thin figure wearing a black robe standing next to the car. The entire face of this figure was hidden in the shadow of a wide-brimmed hat, and where the shadows intersected, one could see one after another.
of bandages.
A few steps away, a wizened old man with a slightly stooped body, his whole body seemed to be shrouded in deep shadows, stood by the entrance of the cemetery, watching indifferently the people who were delivering the corpses.
The corpse bearers from the Church of Death were exceptionally silent. They made no sound during the process of carrying the coffin. Only slight bumps occasionally sounded, making the already gloomy cemetery look even more eerie and lifeless.
After an unknown amount of time, the sinister old man guarding the cemetery finally broke the silence: "Cause of death?"
"I lost my footing and fell into the shaft," the tall and thin figure wrapped in bandages spoke. It was a slightly hoarse female voice that sounded very young. "He died on the spot and has been baptized. The details are in the handover document.
, you can see for yourself.”
"How long?" The old man's expression and tone remained unchanged, as if he was discussing a stone that was about to be moved into his room.
The tall and thin figure covered with bandages looked at the sinister old man quietly.
"Three days," she answered briefly, "Three days of pure spirit, and then sent to the melting pot."
"It's really short." The caretaker snorted from his nose and looked up at the cemetery gate next to him. The dark carved iron gate stood like a cold and sharp thorn under the light and night.
Opposite this gate, which symbolizes the separation between life and death, you can vaguely see many neat morgues, narrow paths between the morgues, and shadowy tombstones and huts deeper inside.
This is a cemetery, but for most of the corpses sent to the cemetery, this is not their long-term resting place - except for a few long-term graves with special significance, the deceased only stay here temporarily.
From city-state officials to traders and pawns, no one can circumvent the rules here.
After they died, they were temporarily sent to the cemetery, and gradually returned to peace under the gaze of Bartok, the god of death. It could take as short as a few days, or as long as ten days and a half months, and then they were sent to the melting pot adjacent to the cemetery, where they would be punished for their sins throughout their lives.
Turned into smoke and dust in the sky, the good deeds in his life were blended into the roar of steam pipes, and a little bit of residue was sprinkled into the land of the city-state, leaving nothing left in the world.
Only one small tombstone will be reserved for them in the cemetery - very small, and it will soon be piled deep among more tombstones.
"The dead cannot take the place of the living," the bandaged woman shook her head. "For the deceased whose death process was 'clean and innocent', three days is enough time for the soul to regain peace."
"Isn't it just because of this?" The sinister guard raised his eyes, his yellow and turbid eyeballs quietly stared at the "bandage woman" wearing a thick black coat in front of him, "You are worried that the corpse will crawl up - like
That’s the latest rumor.”
"There is no evidence to prove that the dead in the city-state are really being 'resurrected'. Several current reports are also contradictory, but even if the 'restless person' phenomenon is only a short-lived resurgence, it is worthy of vigilance," the bandaged woman shook her head.
He shook his head and said, "So keep an eye on your cemetery. As for matters in the city-state, the church and the city hall will take care of them."
"I wish it were as simple as you say, Agatha," the caretaker muttered. "I can guarantee that no corpse will leave this garden, but you and your colleagues are guarding the 'cemetery'
It’s much bigger than my small garden.”
The bearers carried the coffin into the cemetery. These silent figures in black were walking along the paths of the cemetery like corpses. They found the vacant morgue prepared in advance and placed the coffin on the platform.
, and then stood at the four corners of the coffin, preparing to perform the comfort ceremony of Bartok, the God of Death.
The caretaker and the black-clothed female priestess known as "Agatha" also walked into the cemetery and came to the morgue.
The four bearers took out Bartok's talisman - it was a triangular metal emblem with a door-shaped relief in the center symbolizing the door of life and death. They placed the talisman on the four corners of the coffin and chanted it in unison.
He recited a brief prayer and then took half a step back.
Agatha then stepped forward, took off her wide-brimmed hat, and stared at the coffin on the morgue in the cold wind.
The light from the gas street lamp illuminated her appearance.
Layers of bandages were wrapped all over her body, even covering less than half of her face. Only in the areas not covered by the bandages could you still see some delicate and feminine lines, and her long dark brown slightly curly hair was scattered.
Behind her head, there was only peace and compassion in the same dark brown eyes.
"May the grace of Bartok, the God of Death, shine upon your soul and restore peace to you in your last three days on earth... All your karmic debts with the world will be canceled today. You who are lost, you can travel lightly..."
Agatha's low and hoarse prayer echoed in the silent cemetery and gradually merged into the deep night.
The guard with a sinister temperament stood aside and watched the ceremony indifferently. At some point, a heavy-looking double-barreled shotgun appeared in his hand. On the handguard of the shotgun, a symbol of the God of Death could be vaguely seen.
Bartók's triangular emblem.
After a while, the ceremony ended. Agatha turned her head and looked at the cemetery guard: "It's done."
"I hope your prayer will be effective," the caretaker raised the double-barreled shotgun in his hand, "although I trust my 'old partner' more."
"The appeasement ceremony that I, the 'gatekeeper', personally performed, should have some effect," Agatha said lightly, then put on the dark wide-brimmed hat again. She nodded to the cemetery guard and led the way.
The corpse bearers walked towards the exit of the cemetery, "It's time for us to leave."
Bartók's followers left, and the dark steam car drifted away in the night, until its taillights gradually merged into the city night.
The cold night wind blew through the cemetery, blowing past the rows of morgues and the carved iron fences at the edge of the cemetery. The gloomy old guard stood at the door, looking at the direction in which the hearse was leaving. After a long time, he looked back.
I tightened my clothes in the cold wind.
"The living people are finally gone. I'm really not used to being so busy in the cemetery."
He muttered, grabbed his reliable double-barreled shotgun, and walked slowly towards his caretaker's hut at the edge of the morgue.
After a while, the old man walked out of the hut again. This time, he had something more in his hand.
A small pink-white flower picked from somewhere.
He came to the latest coffin, picked up a stone from the side, and pressed the small flower on the corner of the morgue.
The night wind blew through the path, causing the delicate petals to tremble in the wind. On the rows of morgues nearby, you could see the same little flower pressed in an inconspicuous corner.
Most of the flowers have withered in the wind.
"Go to sleep, have a good sleep. It is difficult to sleep so soundly when you are alive," the old guard muttered. "Your family will come to greet you tomorrow morning. According to the rules, say goodbye to them and then relax."
Leave, the world of living people is actually not that good..."
The old man shook his head, bent down and grabbed the double-barreled shotgun, turned around and left slowly.
…
"We are sailing to the north, and our destination is Frost." On the deck of the Lost Home, Duncan found Fanna who was looking at the sea in the distance in a daze, and came forward to greet her, "I see that you have been looking at the distance in a daze.
, I guess you are curious about the course of this ship."
"Frost?" Fanna was a little surprised. She was really guessing the next itinerary of the Lost Home, but she didn't expect Captain Duncan to take the initiative to mention this matter to her, "Why Frost? What happened over there?
?”
"The reason was that Maurice received a letter, a letter from his late friend." Duncan came to the edge of the deck, holding his hands on the railings on the ship's side, looking at the boundless sea under the night in the distance, "but there are more reasons.
It's because I became interested in it."
"Are you interested?"
"In a sense, Frost is Alice's 'hometown'," Duncan said with a smile, "although she has no concept of it at all."
"...I don't know much about Hanshuang. I only know that the main belief there is Bartok, the god of death, but there are also some believers in the Storm Goddess. Hanshuang's local industry seems to be very developed, and it is the largest economic pillar of the entire city-state.
It’s a boiling gold mine…”
Fanna paused for a moment after saying this, and then glanced subconsciously in the direction of the cabin.
"Of course, Frost is most famous for the rebellion half a century ago - Alice doesn't mind someone discussing this, right?"
"She doesn't mind - because she doesn't understand."