The dead were crawling out of their coffins one after another, and the cemetery was filled with wandering corpses. They asked questions in confusion, walked aimlessly, or sat on the autopsy tables in a daze, futilely recalling and contemplating the slight sense of incongruity left behind after the old order dissipated, trying to grasp the unease and shadows that lingered in their hearts.

And the caretaker who was supposed to guard this cemetery, to prevent the dead from waking up and causing trouble, was guiding these awakened corpses, sending them away from this temporary resting place, sending them back home.

The dim streetlights illuminated this bizarre scene, and even Agatha, who could no longer feel the warmth of the living world, felt another kind of coldness slowly spreading from her soul. She stood blankly by the path, watching Duncan send the animated corpses away one after another, as if she were trapped in a bizarre dream.

"Alright, you're the last one," finally, the last staggering corpse set off on the road home. It was a young man who had died in a murder, with a horrific hole in his chest. Duncan supported the freshly dead man down the platform, gently and calmly instructing, "You still remember the way home, go back, difficulty breathing is normal, you'll get used to it soon... go home now, be with your family, don't think too much, live well—go out from here, go forward, don't look back, for a long time, you won't have to return to this place."

The stiff corpse finally walked away, the dim streetlights illuminating his figure, until he finally disappeared into the vast night in the distance.

Duncan finally came to the gatekeeper lady, and despite the thick bandages, a gentle and calm smile still appeared in his eyes: "Sorry to keep you waiting, Madam Agatha."

Agatha suddenly felt a little dazed, feeling as if she was about to forget something very important, but then she suddenly woke up, raising her hand to press her forehead while murmuring to herself: "The boundary between life and death has disappeared... Captain Duncan, what happened? I feel... something is not quite right, the cemetery here... that was not normal..."

Her body swayed, as if her consciousness had suddenly become intermittent, and she almost fell.

"Relax, Agatha." Duncan reached out and gently supported the gatekeeper, helping her slowly to a nearby autopsy table, letting her sit next to a coffin.

"Keep breathing—or don't breathe, the main thing is to keep your mind calm," he said slowly, just like he had comforted the restless dead, "Dizziness and slight tension and fear are normal, it will pass soon, Tyrian is fine now, and you will be soon too."

Listening to the words coming from beside her, Agatha felt that the tearing conflict in her reason had finally subsided slightly. Her cognition temporarily stabilized again. After a moment of silence, she said softly: "How much longer?"

"We are heading to the last node, the node of the God of Death. According to past experience, this will take about two to three days. After that, I can confirm Bartok's state," Duncan stared at Agatha's black-veiled eyes, "But if you are asking about after that, that final moment... that will still take some time."

"...What will the world become?"

Duncan did not speak, but still looked at her calmly.

At first, the sea lost its waves, and the boundless sea turned into a calm water mirror, and then, the dead no longer rested in peace, the concept of death was distorted, and the boundary between life and death became blurred. What next?

He suddenly remembered what the Black Sun had described to him—

One day, the ocean will forget the appearance of the waves, life will forget how to die, the flames will not remember how to burn, the wind will stop flowing, and the clouds will fall from the sky into the sea...

The gods are mired in oblivion, and the world forgets in oblivion—that is the "rotten future."

That is another lightless end corresponding to the "fiery future."

Agatha did not get an answer to her question, but in Duncan's eyes, she seemed to already know the result, and as the tearing and contradiction at the cognitive level faintly reappeared in her mind, she also vaguely realized... that such a thing may not have happened for the first time in this world.

"...I have undergone the most rigorous training and testing. I honed my skills and strengthened my will in the temple. I once swore before the statue of the Lord that I would use my strength and faith to protect those who follow us..."

She opened her mouth softly, and the coldness of the mortal world penetrated her mind, as if to freeze her thoughts. Her voice rang out in the cold night, as if it came from one grave, echoing in another—

"But how can I protect them in this situation? Captain Duncan, in the face of this... the collapse of the foundations of the world..."

"You are protecting them, and everyone in this city is also protecting this city in their own way—the way of life here, the memories here, everything here," Duncan's deep voice interrupted Agatha's words, "I know that even so, everything is still slowly moving towards extinction. The 'memory' of this world is disappearing like sand in your fingers. No matter how tightly you clench your hands, you are only delaying the process, but this is not anyone's fault."

He turned his head and looked at the path in the cemetery, and the autopsy tables next to the path that were now completely quiet.

Some of those autopsy tables still had traces of bullets and blades hitting and chopping them, and there were also bouquets of flowers placed by the living for the dead, and even... there seemed to be traces of undried tears.

Someone once fought here for the boundary between life and death, someone once mourned those who crossed the boundary between life and death and went to another world, and now it is completely quiet here, and for a long time in the future, it may not have any more "guests."

People will gradually forget the role of the cemetery, and then, it is the "neglect" that cannot be resisted. Death will become a state transition that no one cares about, Bartok's priesthood will be blurred, and the concept of the Death Church will become a natural but incomprehensible existence that no one will even think of understanding. This dying world will undergo another "adjustment," and "ignorance" is another gift it bestows on all living beings—to prevent the fragile minds of mortals from accidentally glimpsing the terrifying corruption and decay hidden in the depths of darkness.

Agatha felt the cold air gradually filling her chest, and then slowly exhaled it with her breath.

It seemed that she had not breathed for a long time. After her body died, she became more and more accustomed to the identity of the dead, to the point that she slowly forgot about "breathing."

But now, she began to breathe naturally again.

The dark night gently enveloped the world, and she felt the trance in her mind gradually receding, and all the unease and anxiety slowly dissipating.

She heard Captain Duncan speaking beside her, his tone carrying a reassuring calmness and stability.

"Agatha, do you know? Human eyes can actually always see the tip of their nose—it blocks a large part of a person's field of vision, forming a black shadow that is theoretically impossible to ignore when the two eyes are focused.

"But your brain has been dealing with this 'trouble'. It has learned to ignore that black shadow, and 'fill' the blank space in the field of vision through incredible imagination, deception, and calculation. Only at specific angles and positions can you notice the existence of that 'blind spot'.

"At the same time, due to the influence of the nervous system, a person's field of vision is also upside down. Your brain needs to put in a lot of calculation and adjustment to turn the signals transmitted by the nerves into a normal appearance—so some people, when they encounter nerve lesions, will briefly see that upside-down world, and even find it difficult to move in that upside-down world.

"Humans are such imperfect creatures that the human brain has to use means of ignoring, forgetting, and even self-deception to survive rationally and normally in this world.

"And this world has the same 'correction' mechanism as your brain—those terrifying tears and contradictions will eventually be hidden under this correction mechanism, although they will accumulate more and more, although the whole world will still gradually sink... but this is the best that 'They' can do.

"Agatha, this world is so imperfect that its designers have to use means of ignoring, forgetting, and even self-deception to allow you to survive rationally and normally in this world, and now, this process is nearing its limit.

"Like those sands that slip through your fingers.

"But 'They' tried their best."

Duncan withdrew his gaze from the distance and quietly watched the gatekeeper sitting on the autopsy table.

"...I will return to the Cathedral."

Agatha suddenly said softly.

The ghostly green firelight jumped deep within her broken body, smoldering in the position of her eyes.

"People will come to the Cathedral for help, there will be other priests like me who have brief confusion and unease, they need me—and after that, when this 'process' is temporarily over, I will continue to fulfill my responsibilities... I should be with my followers, so that everyone's life can continue, even if it lasts one more day. And then..."

She breathed a sigh of relief, and then jumped off the autopsy table, agilely.

She stood in the night like a steady tombstone, and it seemed that the days of wearing a long skirt as a nun and praying in the Cathedral had not diminished her aura as a gatekeeper.

"Then, the world may get worse," Duncan's voice came from the side, "Life has forgotten how to die, and fire may also forget how to burn, wind and clouds, light and darkness, many things will gradually sink in this unstoppable decay—and the world's 'correction' will reach its limit, and someone will wake up in the darkness, and realize the terrible changes in this world, and then..."

Agatha raised her head, calmly meeting Captain Duncan's gaze, and a breeze gradually appeared beside her, and her figure gradually disintegrated into ashes in the wind.

A smile appeared on her face.

"I will still fulfill my responsibilities, and wait patiently—we all have our own things to do, right?"

Duncan nodded gently.

Agatha's figure turned into a gray wind, melted into the night, and left this quiet cemetery.

(End of this chapter)