Steampunk: Sixth Era Epic

Chapter 239 The Truth About the Murder

"The expression is normal, with no signs of aggression towards the living. When it appeared, it didn't cause people nearby to unconsciously fall into a state of panic, and only I, the Circle Sorcerer, could observe it... Not an Evil Spirit, just a soul that's unwilling to leave."

Shard silently summarized in his heart, but outwardly remained expressionless as he looked toward the old woman reminiscing about her past life behind the small pulpit of the church.

There are many reasons why a soul does not depart with the physical body upon death. In this world, where the Transcendent and Mysticism exist, relics, the power of gods, the power of strange Evil Objects, unfortunate places of death, coincidental birth and death times, peculiar ways of dying, and the soul's own traits, among others, all could cause this phenomenon.

Attacks on ordinary people by Evil Spirits are actually the most common supernatural occurrences dealt with by the True God Church in Steam City, and they are also among the most dangerous incidents for ordinary people.

The reason is simple: the Soul Bodies in this world have the trait of being "completely immune to physical damage." That means that if ordinary people are really attacked by an Evil Spirit and are not devout believers wearing the Holy Emblem, they essentially can only run for their lives; even if their whole body were strapped with Steam Bombs, it would be useless.

The soul by Shard's side was not an Evil Spirit, just a soul lingering in the world of the living; otherwise, it would have already been eradicated by the power of the Church. As for the reason why it appeared, Shard did not know, nor did he want to know, since it had not caused any adverse effects.

"This is probably Mr. Worsent's soul, it will disappear after the funeral,"

he hoped for the current scenario optimistically; unfortunately, he was wrong.

Pretending not to see the soul beside him, he maintained his gaze forward for five minutes, when suddenly a chilly breath appeared on his left, and a second man's voice emerged:

"It's really interesting, I can actually see my own funeral."

Shard glanced to the left again, and indeed, a second soul had appeared.

The two souls, both appearing to be middle-aged men in their forties, stood side by side on the carpeted aisle leading from the church entrance to the pulpit. They were nearly blocking the church entrance, and neither seemed to notice someone quietly watching them.

From the words of the second soul, it turned out he was the deceased Mr. Worsent.

"I didn't expect you to have died as well, Mason,"

Mr. Worsent said. Shard's ears twitched slightly; Mason was the surname of Mrs. Worsent before marriage, also the surname of the man who killed Mr. Worsent.

Shard focused his attention, his interest piqued by the upcoming conversation. After all, compared to a dull stranger's funeral, the conversation between two souls was bound to be more exciting.

"Yes, I died fifteen years after you, and I never expected to see you here,"

Mr. Mason remarked. The two souls kept their gaze forward, not looking at each other, as if merely engaging in a casual chat during the funeral.

"I don't know why I appeared here either, just heard her crying, so I came. The aging Greta is still so beautiful, I really wish I could have lived to see this scene,"

Mr. Worsent lamented.

"I also wish I could have lived to see my sister grow old, alas..."

Mr. Mason sighed. Shard hadn't thought that souls could perform such actions:

"Have you harbored any resentment since appearing here?"

Mr. Mason asked casually, to which Mr. Worsent replied:

"That was more than thirty years ago, what's the use of holding resentment against her?"

"Her? Why resent Mrs. Worsent, shouldn't it be directed against Mr. Mason?"

Shard thought curiously, but his expression remained unchanged, fearing that getting caught eavesdropping might prevent him from hearing the entire conversation.

"Yeah, that rainy night thirty years ago, I went to your house to deliver red wine. Greta, who opened the door, was reeling drunk, smelling of alcohol and blood..."

Mr. Mason paused:

"I always knew you both had deep conflicts, never thought she would actually go as far as to kill you."

Shard blinked; he wasn't really concerned about what he was seeing, he found the conversation between the two ghosts more interesting. Apparently, Mr. Worsent was not killed by his wife's brother but by his own wife.

"That day, she drank a lot, then asked me about Miss Emma... you know I couldn't explain."

Mr. Worsent's tone was complex. Shard was not the type to decipher multiple emotions from a single sentence, but he at least knew this soul was feeling helpless, annoyed, and regretful now.

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"Yes, you couldn't explain, after all, that woman was carrying your child. Look, that middle-aged man in the third row, he's also 32 this year."

Mr. Mason pointed out, and the conversation paused for a while as Mr. Worsent's soul looked up for a long time:

"Greta didn't give them a hard time? I had already confessed before I died."

"She had drunk too much that night, and the next day she couldn't remember what she had heard or done. It was I who moved your body on that rainy night and wiped away the traces. Sister Greta only remembers that you had a big fight and then you stormed out of the house."

As Mr. Mason's soul recounted the past, Shard also had a question. Of course, he didn't intend to voice it; he didn't want to lose the privilege of listening to the story because of his interjection.

"Later you 'disappeared,' and Sister was very sad. I advised her to travel abroad, and during that time, I transported your body back, hiding it in your family's basement, sealed behind a brick wall."

"So, she wasn't questioned by the police and could continue to lead a decent life?"

Mr. Worsent concluded.

"Yes, I was suspected of murdering you, so I turned myself in. I then spent some unforgettable days in prison, fell ill, and not long after my release, I died. I never spoke of that night's events; after all, it wasn't her fault."

The two men discussed these past events without showing much emotion, as if they were just chatting with an old friend.

Meanwhile, Shard, who was eavesdropping, already thought about telling Miss Luisa about today's events, which could be great material for writing. He had accepted this commission merely wanting to relax before a great battle and to see Mr. Sparrow. Now, having heard such an interesting story, the time spent this afternoon was already worth it.

Mr. Worsent and Mr. Mason's conversation paused there as they stood side by side, watching Mr. Worsent's former friends say their goodbyes one by one. The two souls just occasionally commented on their old friends' aged appearances but didn't talk much else.

When the last priest took the stage to evaluate Mr. Worsent's life, Mr. Mason mocked the phrase "loyal in love," and when hearing "he was naturally generous and charitable," he even scoffed at Mr. Worsent beside him.

The latter wasn't angry but calmly explained his life. Shard heard Mr. Worsent's full confession, and if what he said was true, he was typical of a lecherous, greedy middle-aged businessman.

He was not greatly evil, but definitely not a good person either.

At the end of the church funeral service, everyone stood up, praying for Mr. Worsent together with the priest. Shard also stood up, repeating the blessings along with the elderly priest's voice.

The two souls did not join in speaking, only when everyone sat down and the priest announced the coffin could be moved to the underground cemetery did Mr. Worsent suddenly pose a question that Shard had wondered about during the story:

"You say... did Greta truly forget about that rainy night's events, or was it merely..."

"...an unwillingness to bear the guilt of murdering her husband, eventually letting her own brother end up in prison?"

Mr. Mason finished the sentence.

Hearing this, Shard quickly glanced at the two souls, worried they might suddenly turn into evil spirits. Fortunately, they just raised the question, still calm in demeanor.

Everyone stood up, and the church's professional pallbearers raised the coffin that had been placed on the aisle's stand. The priest, Mrs. Worsent, Shard, and Mr. Worsent's brother, Johns Worsent, were the first to leave the church, followed closely by the elevated coffin, and lastly, the friends and family who had come to pay their respects.

The two souls didn't leave, nor did they linger in the church but moved along with the procession, staying right by Shard's side.

Shard watched Mrs. Worsent being supported by a middle-aged bodyguard as she cried while continuing to listen to the two souls' conversation.

They proceeded along the stone path leading from the chapel, turning left after a hundred steps. The underground cemetery where the coffin was placed represented a more upscale burial method. Large families could even have a whole section of the underground cemetery, allowing each generation of the family to slumber together after death.

Of course, its costliness and upscale nature were not because the underground cemetery was well-decorated, but merely because that was the tradition.

"Hearing you say that, I, too, want to know if she really forgot or simply chose not to remember."

Mr. Mason said softly, glancing at Mrs. Worsent ahead.

"Although what's done is done, I still want to know. After all, her forgetting about it is why it took thirty years for me to be buried."

Mr. Worsent said as well.

"Then we might as well just ask her directly."

"Do you know how to make her see us?"

"I don't."

"Nor do I."

The souls' conversation was monotone. Shard understood that what the books said was right; unprotected mortal souls could not remain intact in this world. The two souls beside him were probably only remnants, slightly stronger than the soul echoes Shard could summon with "Soul Echo."

Even without interference, it seemed they would soon dissipate.

The cemetery's wild grass and trees grew prolifically during the summer, but the diligent tomb guardian kept his managed area well-maintained. The wild grass between the stone path's cracks was not taller than the steps, and in the gaps between neat grave markers, the trees cast mottled shadows on the tombstones.