Silent Crown Chapter 165

The pale moon in the sky illuminated both the quiet cities and the rioting cities. The moonlight shone on the cold white marble palace, as well as the sheds that collapsed in the turbulent flames.

Strands of mist suffused the flames, like living creatures walking through the city. Mist floated above, covering the blood and deaths in cold whiteness.

Deep in the mist came a hoarse yet distant song. It was a mourning song for the sacrifice.

Highgate Cemetery was located in the Whitechapel area of downtown. Mist hung above the quiet and desolate land. The black iron gate of the cemetery was open, revealing the path to the world of the death. Gray-white tombstones stood haphazardly in the ground like tree stumps. Withered trees grew obliquely toward the sky. Everything was deathly silent.

The seabirds had brought seeds here from far away, and countless white flowers grew from the muddy decayed soil. Delicate petals surrounding a yellowish core and stained with dew swayed gently in the cold wind, like the last breath of the dead buried under the earth.

The Shaman, clad in a black ceremonial robe, stood among the tombstones in the mud. He gazed at the tomb before him and the shabby wooden coffin within it.

The corpse in the coffin was already cold, but it seemed to still be alive. The corpse’s eyes were open, glaring at the sky as if he was prepared to pull out a knife and kill his enemy.

But his enemies had cut off his head, and he had died. However his companions had won and brought back his body.

“Everley.” The Shaman pressed on the wooden coffin with a complex look of pity. His hoarse voice echoed in the graveyard, as if he was introducing this new member to the afterlife.

“He was my loyal subordinate and a heinous villain. He followed me until his death and never swayed. He was addicted to alcohol and violence. The man was neither a good husband nor a good father, and definitely not a good man. Now he’s dead.”

The Shaman extended his hand. He put the two coins in his hand on the pair of eyes still open in death. He paid the fee to cross the Styx River. Taking one last glance at the dead man’s face, he bid farewell quietly. “Avalon thanks you for your devotion.”

The coffin lid closed. The Shaman nailed it for him and watched as the dead man sank into the darkness to enjoy his eternal peace.

A new wooden coffin was carried up. Neither ferocity nor serenity could be seen from the dead face. He was just sleeping peacefully.

“Eric?” The Shaman looked at that face and said, “I know you. I can’t believe you’re dead too.”

He wiped the dust off the victim’s face in pity, and announced softly, “He was a small gangster of downtown, someone who played on both sides. He went with the flow and did a lot of things, but never succeeded. He once had the enthusiasm for doing big business. He couldn’t wait to stand out among the people, but he spoiled everything. He achieved nothing in the end.”

The Shaman put the coins on his eyes and whispered goodbye too. “May you find the meaning of living in your endless rest.”

The coffin lid was closed and the Shaman took the hammer, nailing the “luggage” marked for the afterlife. The wooden coffin sank into the mire and disappeared.

A new coffin was brought in. This time, the Shaman could not help sigh.

“Silo, an Indian.”

He looked at the twisted face with compassion, rather than sadness or joy. “We meet again. Let me send you off.”

He smoothed the twisted features for the corpse, and whispered, “He came here sixteen years ago and the city did not reject him. In order to stand out, he sold illegal drugs and ran many brothels for a living. He had two sons. One of them died because of this, the other has been sent back to India. He did not dare to let his sons know what he was doing.

“In order to make money, he poisoned many innocent people, but his arrival also resulted in the regulation of illegal drugs. A small handful of people were spared. He deserved to die, but he was not the most evil. He was just a poor man who was stuck in the middle. He had given a lot to the city and once obeyed the rules. Unfortunately, he went astray.”

The Shaman put the coins on Silo’s eyes. He closed the coffin and nailed it shut for him. “Rest in peace. Your name will be remembered by Avalon.”

The last one was a heavy iron coffin. The man with heavy armor in the coffin had already passed away. The deceased’s body was broken as if he had been hacked by swords, burned by fire, and shot by arrows. But even in death, he did not give up the sabre in his hand. Heavy scarlet remained on the broken blade of the sword remained heavy scarlet. The blade shivered in the cold like a soul sighing.

“Basset Hound Werner, the leader of Asgard people, you died with dignity.” The Shaman wiped the blood off Werner’s face with a handkerchief and folded his hands on his chest. He looked at Werner’s face as if seeing all the bravery and roars in throughout his life.

“More than a decade ago, he and his men came and replaced One-Eye. They sold their own strength, and robbed others for wealth. Avalon accepted him generously and gave him a place.

“He did not have any survival skills or an outstanding long-term vision. He never relied on friendship and only worshipped strength, following strength. He died without fear and was an excellent warrior. He could have made the city a better place. However”

He put the silver coins on the dead man’s eyes. His look was cold and regretful.

“He let down the city.”

The iron coffin was closed and sank into the mire.

The Shaman turned back, looking at the coffins sent in from the other end of the white mist and the death resting in the coffins. Some were his friends while others were his enemies. Those who were not able to live under the sun had all died tonight and were buried in the darkness. They would forever be in the city’s shadow. He would witness their deaths and give meaning to their meager lives, even if the meaning was light as a feather.

During the long funeral, Ghosthand limped behind the Shaman on a crutch and whispered something. The Shaman nodded to show that he understood. Ghosthand was silent for a moment before asking lightly, “Do we really not need to worry about the Asylum?”

“I told the Butcher to go and bring Alberto’s corpse back, and he did it. That’s enough. Someone else would take care of the rest,” the Shaman said. “We only do what we must do.”

Ghosthand nodded. He heard the Shaman’s hoarse murmur.

“Ghosthand?”

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“Yes?” He raised his head and looked at the Shaman’s silhouette.

The old man gazed at the tombstones that sprouted from the mud. He seemed to be speak to himself or lament quietly, “We planted so many corpses this year. A lot of flowers will bloom next year, right?”

There was no response.