Chapter 377: Chapter 377

The air in the countryside was noticeably colder than in the city. Stepping out of the carriage, Jenkins handed a few shillings to the driver. The day's expenses had already exceeded his budget.

After a brief pang of regret, he looked out at the sprawling cemetery, and his mood grew heavy once more.

He had been worried that a stranger attending the funeral would stand out, but to his surprise, it seemed Mr. Pisco's funeral was filled with strangers.

Passing through the iron gates, he followed the long, stone-paved path through the thick fog and realized that quite a few people were heading toward the cemetery chapel.

His keen hearing allowed him to inadvertently overhear snippets of conversation. As it turned out, Mr. Pisco, a renowned playwright, had a wide circle of friends. Combined with a number of admirers and curious citizens drawn by his fame, Jenkins blended in seamlessly.

He wasn't sure how it was managed, but green shrubbery lined both sides of the path. They must have been a variety that retained its verdant color even in late autumn. At that thought, Jenkins took a few steps to the side, shielding his right hand with the bouquet. A wisp of green energy from his Breath of Healing seeped into the flowers, making them bloom with a visibly greater vibrancy.

"Hmph. Just as I thought," he muttered. "This isn't healing at all. It's an exhalation of life itself!"

His leather shoes clicked against the cold stone pavers. Adjusting his black formal hat, he noticed a familiar figure ahead.

"Oh, Jenkins, you came as well?"

He didn't ask about Jenkins's relationship with Mr. Pisco, which only confirmed that many strangers were in attendance.

According to local custom, funerals were usually held in the cemetery's small chapel. For remote village cemeteries without a church, a priest from the Church of Death and End would be specially invited from the city.

This chapel, naturally, belonged to the God of Death. The unassuming building stood at the end of the path, in the center of the cemetery. Its walls were mottled from exposure to the elements, and above the main entrance hung a holy symbol forged from pieces of black iron.

It possessed no special power, yet the very shape and design of the emblem evoked a deep sense of unease.

He and the professor paused reverently at the entrance for a moment before stepping inside.

The church's interior was austere. Before the rows of long pews stood a priest in black vestments. He was an Enchanter, but only level one.

The small chapel was already full. By the time Jenkins and Professor Burns arrived, only the last row had any seats left.

Jenkins knew nothing of Mr. Pisco's family situation, but custom dictated that relatives sat at the front. He hoped to see the young woman from the photograph in Mr. Pisco's hand when he died, but after craning his neck to scan the front rows, he couldn't find her.

The funeral was scheduled to begin at two in the afternoon, but it was just now one. The chapel clearly couldn't accommodate so many guests, and a few acolytes were hastily trying to coordinate seating.

After yesterday's brief warm spell, the temperature had dropped again. Such fluctuating weather was perfect for catching a cold. The air inside the chapel was exceptionally chilly, and combined with the somber atmosphere of the funeral, even the most robust young man would regret not wearing an extra layer.

They couldn't just sit and wait for the service to start; they had to queue up to place their flowers by the casket. During this procession, Jenkins finally saw Mr. Pisco's relatives.

There was a young lady and an old gentleman. From the introductions, Jenkins learned the young woman was Pisco's niece, and the gentleman was his uncle.

Because he had been using his Black Robe's concealment ability when he visited Mr. Pisco, no one knew he was the one who had first discovered the body.

The young woman seemed to recognize the famous author, and she exchanged a few pleasantries, thanking him for coming to the funeral. Jenkins, however, only managed a strained smile.

At some point, it had become customary to display a photograph of the deceased at funerals, likely due to the recent advances in photography. Staring at the black-and-white portrait of the stern-faced Mr. Pisco, Jenkins felt a storm of complex emotions.

"Everyone has to die."

Once they were seated again, the professor sighed softly.

"You may not feel it at your age, but in recent years, I've said goodbye to many old friends."

Jenkins nodded, his gaze distant as he watched the mourners:

"All men must die. We all will."

Hearing this, the professor couldn't help but chuckle.

"How old are you to be saying such things? Besides, at the rate you're advancing, it's only a matter of time before your lifespan exceeds its natural limits. We are all mortal, and the meaning of a finite life is to realize its infinite potential. Look at Mr. Pisco—his life was brilliant enough. Though it was brief, at least we will all remember him. Oh, what a great playwright. May his soul be with God!" Official source ıs N0velFire.ɴet

In the end, the number of guests exceeded the chapel's capacity, forcing people to stand in the aisles to listen to the old priest's eulogy. Everyone was quiet, the only sound coming from the priest, who stood before the casket with his arms outstretched, speaking in a common tongue thick with a Nolan dialect:

"...soul, absolve him of his trespasses, and grant him the glory of renewal. May he join the saints and the chosen in everlasting life. Through me..."

These were standard words, taken from the *Book of Departed Souls*, a classic text of the Church of Death and End.

The service lasted for half an hour, punctuated by the soft sobs of men and women.

Afterward, relatives and a few friends carried the casket, leading the guests to a pre-dug grave. They lowered the red velvet-draped casket into the ground and began to fill the grave with earth.

Throughout the process, Jenkins stood far at the back of the crowd. His height, decent enough, allowed him to just barely see what was happening around the gravesite.

To his great surprise, it turned out that Professor Burns and Mr. Pisco were very distant relatives. As a result, the professor had to temporarily part with Jenkins to speak with family and friends he hadn't seen in perhaps a decade.

Planning to return to the city with the professor later, Jenkins gave him a quick word and drifted away from the crowd, wandering aimlessly around the cemetery. He truly couldn't bear to watch the burial. Mr. Pisco's passing had left him exceptionally grief-stricken.

Near a withered tree at the edge of the burial grounds, he ran into another acquaintance. It was Mr. Kevin, the pianist. They had enjoyed a pleasant conversation just the other night during the seance.