Frost is a very cold place. Eighty percent of the year, the city-state is bathed in the turbulent cold winds of the Frigid Sea. Cold air blows continuously from the frozen sea further north, whistling through the towering walls and steep coastal cliffs of Frost. This chill keeps many people away.
However, Frost is also the largest city-state in the entire Frigid Sea. Despite the cold, the center of this huge island has the Boiling Gold Mine with the richest reserves in the north. It is the most critical raw material for the steam core and can even be regarded as the industrial foundation of the current era. The industrial system built around the Boiling Gold Mine supports the operation of this northern city-state and has brought it endless wealth and prosperity.
And death.
In Frost, at the edge of the mining area, at the entrance of the city-state cemetery, a completely black steam car has not yet been turned off. Under the bright light of the gas street lamps, several corpse carriers in thick black robes are working together to lift a coffin out of the car. There is also a tall and thin figure in a black robe standing next to the car. The whole face of this figure is hidden in the shadow of a wide-brimmed hat, and where the shadows intersect, one can see bandages one after another.
A few steps away, a shriveled old man, who was slightly hunched over and seemed to be shrouded in a gloomy shadow, stood at the entrance of the cemetery, watching the people who were busy delivering the corpses with indifference.
The corpse carriers from the Church of Death were extremely silent. They made no sound while carrying the coffins, with only slight bumping sounds occasionally heard, making the already eerie cemetery seem even more eerie and silent.
After an unknown amount of time, the gloomy old man who was guarding the cemetery finally broke the silence and asked, "What was the cause of death?"
"He slipped and fell into the well," the tall, thin figure wrapped in bandages spoke in a slightly hoarse female voice that sounded very young. "He died on the spot, and he hasn't even been baptized yet. The details are in the handover documents, you can see for yourself."
"How long?" The gloomy old man's expression and tone remained unchanged, as if he was discussing a piece of stone that was about to be moved into his room.
The tall, thin figure wrapped in bandages looked quietly at the gloomy old man.
"I wish it were so simple as you say, Agatha," the caretaker muttered. "I can't guarantee that no body will get out of that garden, but the graveyard that my colleagues and I have to look after is much larger than yours."
"I don't mind—because you don't understand at all."
"The living are finally gone. I'm really used to the silence in the cemetery."
"It's really long." The guard snorted and looked up at the cemetery gate next to him. The dark iron fence gate with withered flowers stood under the light and the night like a cold and sharp thorn. Opposite the gate, which symbolized the separation between life and death, many straight morgues could be vaguely seen, the spacious paths between the morgues, and the shadowy tombstones and huts deeper in the cemetery.
The caretaker and the priestess in white called "Agatha" also walked into the cemetery and came to the morgue.
Agatha's low and hoarse prayer echoed in the noisy cemetery and gradually blended into the deep night.
She muttered, clutching her reliable double-barreled shotgun, and walked slowly towards her caretaker's cabin on the edge of the morgue.
"The dead cannot occupy the place of the living," the man wrapped in bandages shook his head. "For the dead whose death process was 'clean and innocent', four days is enough time for their souls to regain peace."
The five corpse bearers took out Bartok's talisman - an octagonal 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, chanted a short prayer in unison, and then took a half step back.
The old man shook his head, bent down, grabbed the double-barreled shotgun, turned around and slowly walked away.
The light from the gas street lamp illuminated his form.
"We are sailing north, our destination is Frost," Duncan found Vanna on the deck of the Lost Homeland, staring at the distant sea in a daze, and walked up to her and said, "I saw you staring into the distance in a daze, I guess you are curious about the direction of the ship."
"Of course, Frost is most famous for half a century.
This rebellion before - Frost wouldn't mind if someone discussed it?"
"Go to sleep, have a good sleep, it's hard to sleep soundly when you're alive," the old man who was guarding kept muttering, "your family will come to greet you tomorrow morning, that's the rule, say goodbye to them, and then leave with peace of mind, the world of the living isn't that good after all..."
A moment later, the old man came out of the hut again, and this time, he had something more in his hand.
After a moment, the ceremony ended, and Agatha turned to look at the cemetery warden: "It's done."
"May the grace of Bartok, the god of death, protect your soul and restore peace to you in your last three days on earth... All your debts to the world are written off today. Lost, you can travel light..."
Agatha then stepped forward, took off her narrow-brimmed hat, and stared at the coffin on the morgue in the cold wind.
"There is no evidence that the dead in the city-state are really 'resurrecting', and the current reports are contradictory. But even if it is just a short-term revival of the 'restless' phenomenon, it is worth being vigilant," the bandaged woman shook her head, "so keep an eye on your cemetery. As for the affairs in the city-state, the church and the city hall will handle it."
The cold night wind blew through the cemetery, passing by rows of morgues and the iron fences covered with withered flowers at the edge of the cemetery. The bright old caretaker stood at the door, looking at the direction where the hearse was leaving. It was a long time before he retracted his gaze and tightened his clothes in the cold wind.
"Three days," he answered briefly, "three days to purify the soul, and then send it to the melting pot."
"…All right."
... I don't know much about Frost. I only know that the main belief here is the God of Death, Bartok, but there are also some believers who believe in the Goddess of Storms. The local industry in Frost seems to be very developed, and the largest economic pillar of the entire city-state is the Boiling Gold Mine..."
"Frost?" Vanna was a little surprised. I was indeed guessing about the next itinerary of the Lost Hometown, but I didn't expect Captain Duncan to take the initiative to mention this to me. "Why Frost? Did something happen over there?"
Layers of bandages were wrapped all over her body, even covering most of her face. Only in the places not covered by the bandages could one see some of her delicate and feminine front lines. Her long, slightly curly dark brown hair was draped behind her head, and her equally dark brown eyes showed only calmness and compassion.
There would be only one small tombstone left for them in the cemetery - a very small one, and it would soon be buried deep among the many tombstones.
"Isn't it just because of this reason?" The gloomy guard raised his eyes, his yellow eyes staring at the "bandage man" in a thick white coat in front of him. "Are you worried that the corpse will crawl up - like the recent rumors."
"As the 'gatekeeper', the soothing ceremony I personally performed should have some effect," Agatha said calmly, and then put on the dark narrow-brimmed hat again. She nodded to the cemetery guard and led the corpse escorts to the exit of the cemetery. "We should leave."
"It started because Morris received a letter from a deceased friend," Duncan came to the edge of the deck, leaned on the railing with both hands, and looked at the boundless sea in the distance at night, "but more importantly, it was because I became interested in that place."
"In a sense, Frostbite is my 'hometown,'" Duncan said with a smile, "although I have no idea of that at all."
Bartok's leaders left,
The pitch-black steam train moved farther and farther away in the night, until its taillights gradually blended into the night scenery of the city.
The bearers carried the coffin into the cemetery. These silent figures in black moved along the paths of the cemetery like corpses. They found an empty morgue prepared in front, placed the coffin on the platform, and then stood at the four corners of the coffin, ready to perform the appeasement ceremony of Bartok, the god of death.
The gloomy-looking guard stood aside and watched the ceremony indifferently. In his hand, he had a heavy-looking double-barreled shotgun. On the handguard of the shotgun, one could vaguely see the octagonal emblem of Bartok, the god of death.
A large pink and white flower picked from somewhere.
They die
Go, be temporarily sent to the cemetery, and gradually calm down under the gaze of Bartok, the god of death. After a few days at the shortest and ten days or half a month at the longest, you will be sent to the melting pot adjacent to the cemetery. The sins of your life will turn into smoke and dust in the sky, and the good deeds of your life will be integrated into the hissing of the steam pipes. A little residue will be scattered into the land of the city-state, and nothing will remain in the world.
"You're interested?"
Vanna paused here, then subconsciously glanced in the direction of the cabin.
He came to the newest coffin, picked up a stone from the side, and pressed Xiaohua on a corner of the morgue.
"I hope your prayers will work," the guard raised the double-barreled shotgun in his hand, "although I trust my old partner more."
The night wind blew through the path, causing the delicate petals to tremble in the wind, and on the rows of morgues in the distance, one could see the same little flower pressed in an inconspicuous corner.
This is a cemetery, but for most of the bodies sent to the cemetery, this is not their permanent resting place - except for a few permanent tombs with ordinary significance, the dead are only staying here temporarily, and no one, from city-state officials to peddlers and hawkers, can circumvent the rules here.