Crown of Silence

Chapter 169 Where there are flowers

The pale moonlight hung high in the sky, illuminating the silent city and the turbulent city. The moonlight reflected the indifferent silver-white marble palaces and the shacks that collapsed in the flames.

Wisps of mist travel through the burning firelight, lingering in the city like living creatures. The mist was misty, covering the blood and killings with a cold white color.

Deep in the mist, a hoarse and distant song could be heard vaguely.

It was a song of mourning.

Lower Town Area, Whitechapel District, Highgate Cemetery.

Mist hangs over this silent and desolate land, and the black iron gate of the cemetery opens wide, revealing the road leading to the world of the dead.

The gray-white tombstones were stuck on the ground like trees, and the dead trees pointed slantingly at the sky, and there was a dead silence.

Seabirds arriving from afar brought seeds, and patches of white wildflowers the size of a thumb grew between the muddy mulch.

The fine petals have yellowish stamens, stained with dew, and swaying gently in the cold wind, like the last breath of a buried person exhaled from the ground.

Just between the tombstones, the shaman was standing in the mire, wearing dark sacrificial robes.

He stared at the tomb in front of him. In the tomb lay a simple wooden coffin.

It was a corpse that had long been cold, as if it was still alive. The corpse stared at the sky angrily, as if it was preparing to draw a knife to separate life and death from the enemy.

His enemies beheaded him and he died, but his companions were victorious and brought back his body.

"——Ivli."

The shaman pressed his hand on the wooden coffin, his eyes pitiful and complicated. His hoarse voice echoed in the cemetery, as if introducing this new member to the world after death:

"He is my loyal subordinate, a heinous villain. He will follow me until death and never change his original intention.

He is addicted to alcohol and violence. He is not a good husband, not a good father, and not a good person.

he died. "

The shaman opened his palm, put the two silver coins in his hand over the eyes that were still staring at death, and paid for the boat fare for him to cross the River Styx.

He took one last look at the face of the deceased and said farewell softly:

"——Avalon Thank you for your dedication."

The coffin lid closed, the shaman drove a nail into him, and watched the deceased sink into darkness and enjoy eternal peace.

A new wooden coffin was brought up. The face of the deceased did not look ferocious or peaceful, but he was just sleeping quietly.

"Eric?"

The shaman looked at that face and said, "I know you. It turns out you are dead too."

He wiped the dust from the deceased's face with compassion and declared softly:

“He was a small gangster from the Lower City, a wallflower, drifting with the crowd, and had done many things, but none of them had been successful.

He was once full of enthusiasm to do something big and couldn't wait to stand out, but then he did everything wrong.

He accomplished nothing. "

The shaman put the silver coins on the eyes of the deceased and whispered goodbye:

"May you find the meaning of life in your endless sleep."

The coffin lid was closed, and the shaman took the hammer and nailed his 'bag' to the kingdom of the dead.

The wooden coffin sank into the mire and disappeared.

-

A new coffin was brought up, but this time, the shaman couldn't help but sigh softly.

"People from Tianzhu have many corpses."

He looked at that twisted face, his eyes showed no sadness or joy, just pity: "We meet again, let me say goodbye to you."

He smoothed out the distorted face of Silajita and declared softly:

“Sixteen years ago, he came here, and this city did not reject his arrival.

In order to get ahead, he sold banned drugs to make a living and opened brothels. He had two sons, one died and the other was sent back to Tianzhu. He did not dare to let his son know what he was doing.

In order to make money, he poisoned many innocent people, but his arrival also brought the chaotic drug control under control, and a few people were spared.

He deserved to die, but he was not worthy of death. He was just a poor man who could not reach both ends.

He has contributed a lot to this city and has followed the rules.

Unfortunately, he took the wrong path. "

The shaman put silver coins over his eyes, closed the coffin lid for him, and hammered the nails in:

"Rest in peace, your name will remain in Avalon's memory."

-

The last thing that was delivered was a heavy iron coffin. In the iron coffin, the man wearing heavy armor had passed away.

As if he had been slashed by swords, burned by fire, and stabbed by arrows, the deceased was completely covered with skin, but he did not let go of the heavy sword in his hand until he died.

Thick blood remained on the crack of the broken blade, which trembled gently in the cold wind, like the sigh of the soul.

"Dwarf Werner, leader of the Asgardians, you died with dignity."

The shaman wiped the blood from his face with a handkerchief and folded his hands on his chest. Looking at his face, he seemed to see the courage and roar of his life:

“More than ten years ago, he and his men came here, replaced the One-Eye, sold their own force, and plundered wealth.

Avalon selflessly accepted him and gave him a place.

He had no special survival skills, no outstanding long-term vision, and never relied on emotions to live. He only worshipped power and followed power.

He was fearless until death and was an outstanding warrior. He could have made this city better, but unfortunately..."

He covered the dead man's eyes with silver coins, his expression cold and regretful:

"--He failed this city. "

The iron coffin closed and sank into the mud.

The shaman turned around and looked behind him, looking at the coffins sent from the end of the white fog. The dead were sleeping in those coffins. Some of them were his friends, some were his enemies. Those who couldn't survive in the sun died tonight and were buried in the darkness, forever sinking into the shadow of this city.

He would witness their death and give meaning to their meager lives, even if this meaning was as light as a feather.

-

During the long funeral, the ghost hand supported himself with a cane and staggered behind him, whispering something. The shaman nodded, indicating that he understood.

The ghost hand was silent for a moment, and asked softly: "Do we really not care about the lunatic asylum?"

"I asked the butcher to go, just to let him bring back Alberto's body. He did it, and that's enough. The rest of the things will be solved by others."

The shaman said: "We only solve the things we should solve. "

Ghost Hand nodded and heard the shaman's hoarse murmur:

"Ghost Hand?"

"Yes."

He looked up and looked at the shaman's back.

The old man stared at the tombstones that gradually grew out of the mud pond, as if talking to himself, or sighing faintly:

"We planted so many corpses this year, and there will definitely be a lot of flowers next year, right?"

No one responded.