Chapter 1 A Small Figure

A small figure stood at the cemetery gate—a girl who looked about eleven or twelve years old, wearing a dark brown woolen coat and a black skirt, along with warm little cotton boots and thick gloves. She seemed to have been waiting at the cemetery gate for a long time. Snow was falling in the Frosty City-State at dusk, and the gray woolen hat on the girl's head was covered with snowflakes, and faint heat rose in the twilight snow.

The little girl gently stamped her feet in place, occasionally craning her neck to look at the slope opposite the cemetery. When the watchman appeared, she immediately smiled and waved vigorously in this direction.

"...Here she comes again."

The old watchman couldn't help but mutter when he saw the girl, his tone seeming a little impatient, but he still quickened his pace slightly and came to the girl's side.

"Annie," the old man frowned, looking at the girl in front of him, "you ran here alone again—I've told you many times, the cemetery is not a place for little kids like you to come alone, especially when it's close to dusk."

"I already told Mom," the girl called Annie responded with a grin, "she said it's okay as long as I get home before curfew."

The old watchman quietly gazed at the smiling little girl in front of him.

Most people here didn't like the cemetery watchman, and even less did they like approaching this eerie and dangerous place, but there were always exceptions—like, a little girl who wasn't afraid of him.

"Grandpa Watchman, has my dad arrived here yet?" Annie looked up, her clear eyes, which frightened most people, not making him feel any easier as she looked at the stooped old man in black in the falling snowflakes of dusk, her eyes full of anticipation.

"...No," the old watchman replied as always, his voice as cold and hard as the wind swirling in the cemetery, "he won't arrive today."

"To shatter a child's expectations is a bit worse than that," a young and slightly hoarse male voice suddenly came from the side, interrupting the old watchman's muttering, "You didn't have to say that just now—a seventeen-year-old child will gradually understand what they should, and sometimes we hard-hearted adults don't need to pierce through any truths."

This time, the always stiff old man finally remained silent for a moment, until snowflakes fell on his eyebrows, and then his dark eyes turned slightly: "The dead will eventually gather in the cemetery and enjoy eternal peace on the other side of that door—but not necessarily in the earthly cemetery, nor necessarily in this cemetery."

Agatha paused here, her expression a little strange.

Agatha was silent for two or three seconds.

After thinking for a while, she said softly, "But there's another possibility. For upper-level beings like that, their sense of time is very likely different from mortals—the so-called revisit could be tomorrow, it could be years later, or it could be after you die, contacting you in some way beyond life and death."

"We haven't done much preparation here, but it seems that this 'Visitor' has no intention of returning here in the short term," he said casually after seeing the old watchman appear, "Are you sure this 'Visitor' revealed any information about coming again?"

This sentence was written in the church's classics, but when faced with the same proverb, adults and eight-year-old children will always have different understandings.

The old watchman grunted noncommittally, his gaze sweeping over the black-clad guards in the cemetery, and the lanterns quietly burning on the tops of their staffs.

But just as he had taken a few steps, the old watchman suddenly turned around: "Annie."

The old watchman turned around and saw Agatha, the "Gatekeeper" in black clothes with bandages wrapped around them, standing at the cemetery gate at some unknown time, and the previously locked cemetery gate was also not open.

Around these few coffins, at least two church guards stood next to each platform, and black and white staffs could be seen everywhere in the open space between the platforms—black staffs were the signature equipment of the Death Church guards, who stuck their staffs in the ground in the distance and hung sacred lanterns on top of the staffs to maintain a large-scale "holy domain," which could effectively resist the polluting power from these upper-level beings.

Shaking his head: "Let her continue to expect her father to be sent to this cemetery, and then she runs to this ghostly place alone on a cold, snowy day like this?"

"The essence of reality, the purest and most sacred substance, the 'True Drop' bestowed upon the mortal world by the Dark Holy Lord—that's how these heretics describe it," Agatha said, not hiding her dislike and sarcasm, "Beautiful words, it's disgusting to see them used by them."

He reached out and took the cookie, then casually patted the other person's woolen hat to shake off the snowflakes: "I'll take it, go home early."

Annie still looked up: "But he will come, won't he?"

"Their 'evolution' has not actually stopped until now. As of when he left the cathedral, these things were still constantly presenting new forms and properties. In the past, they even briefly presented states similar to metal and rock, giving people the feeling... as if those Annihilation cultists occasionally mentioned something in their heretical doctrines."

Annie wasn't discouraged, just smiled as usual: "Then I'll come back tomorrow to ask."

Agatha shook her head, said nothing, and turned to walk into the cemetery's inner path.

At this moment, dusk was deep, and the snowy day made the sky darker than usual at this time. In the increasingly dim cemetery, the lanterns hanging on the tops of the staffs burned quietly like will-o'-the-wisps, releasing a quiet yet eerie atmosphere.

But suddenly, Annie laughed and waved to the old man with a smile: "Then just think of me as coming to see you specifically. Mom said that old people need people to talk to them often."

The girl stopped, looking blankly at the cemetery watchman.

Annie nodded with a smile, tidied up her scarf and gloves, and then stepped onto the path leading to the city's residential area.

"All these arrangements are just our self-protection," Agatha said, "After all, although you said that you were in a state of spiritual vision loss because you inhaled too much incense, none of us know whether this 'Visitor' has a tendency to actively release mental pollution—to face upper-level transcendents directly, we must at least ensure our own sanity."

"...Old people..." The old watchman watched the girl's departing figure, and only after she had run far away did he mutter, "This kid has bad intentions too."

"Isn't it good? At least when he's talking to that child, he seems to have some warmth."

"This is the result of discussions by the Vatican's advisory group."

"It's not possible today," the old man shook his head, "Cemetery No. 3 is in normal condition, with church guards stationed inside. It's not open to the public today. You should go home, girl."

"Ah?"

"...Can't you wish me something good?"

The old man looked at the things in the girl's hand and at the snowflakes on her body.

The old watchman followed, first turning around to lock the gate, then going to his watchman's hut to put away the things he had bought, completing the handover with the daytime watchman, and then coming to the mortuary area of the cemetery, finding the "Gatekeeper" who had arrived here earlier.

Compared to before, the current mortuary was obviously much emptier. Most of the stone platforms were empty at the moment, with only a few plain coffins placed on a few platforms at the edge.

"…That's like something a Gatekeeper would say."

Seventeen-year-old Annie stood blankly for a long time, the black-clad cemetery watchman standing like a stiff iron statue at the towering and locked gate, with fine snowflakes dancing between them, and the winter cold permeating the dusk.

"Oh," Annie responded, but it didn't seem to register in her mind at all. She just turned her head, glanced at the locked fence door, and then asked curiously, "Can I go in and take a look? I want to warm up in your little house…"

The little girl turned and ran away, lightly floating like a swallow over the gradually snowy path. She slipped at the end of the slope, but immediately got up, patted the snow and dust off her skirt and thermal pants, and quickly left.

The old watchman quickly frowned: "Are you talking about... 'elements'?"

"Are you talking about these cultists, or this pile of 'corpses' that have melted into sludge?"

"...Okay," Annie nodded a little dejectedly. Then, she rummaged in her small bag and took out a small package wrapped in rough paper and handed it to the old man, "This is for you—it's a cookie baked by Mom. She said I can't always cause trouble."

"I will come tomorrow too."

"You shouldn't doubt the hypnotic skills of professional psychiatrists," the old watchman shrugged, then paused and added, "I don't remember most of what happened that day, and those buzzing noises are gradually dissipating from my mind, but after several hypnoses, I can vaguely recall some things... The clearest of which is the 'Visitor's' intention to revisit, which he revealed before leaving."

"Okay, Grandpa Watchman."

"Regarding these cultists, there's nothing to say. Pawns of the Annihilation Sect, and transcendents deeply symbiotic with demons—their strength is not bad. Even special church guards would be in danger against them. It's a pity that these heretics obviously lacked good luck. As for those 'sludge'..."

"…I only hope that these arrangements will not anger that 'Visitor' and will not be misunderstood as some kind of offense or trap—after all, we know too little about him."

The old watchman remained noncommittal, but after a slight hesitation, he suddenly changed the subject: "What conclusions have you drawn from the samples you took away before?"

The dead will all come to this cemetery—no matter how wandering and scattered they were in life, Bartok's hall will become their final place of reunion.