Chapter Sixteen: What Happens After Death

No one can truly define what “death” is.

At first glance, it seems a simple matter. When a living being loses its life—ceases to grow, to act, to think, and is no longer watched over or blessed by the supreme deity Darimos—then it attains “death.”

But if you think carefully, it’s not as straightforward as it appears. Someone dies, yet their body remains. Their hair, skin, blood, bones—all are intact, unchanged. He is still himself; in terms of fundamental physical composition, there is no difference from when he was alive.

Why is this so? He lies there in such peace and silence, as if all the anxieties and joys he endured in life no longer concern him.

Anyone can pose countless questions about death. They may sound childish or laughable, but once you are willing to contemplate, you find they are as deep as the trenches beneath the sea, drawing your thoughts into an endless black hole:

What is death? What does it feel like? Does death have a color? Does death have a shape? If I die, what will I become? Will the dead “me” still be “me”? If death means I am no longer “me,” then what am I when alive? Am I truly existent when living? Does my existence continue after death? If my life is certain, and death means my nonexistence, why does a mere change in the state of life utterly overthrow my absolute philosophical “existence”…?

Death seems not a matter of flesh, but of soul.

Every creature has a soul—we all know this, for when they die, we can see the souls they emit. But does death mean the soul dissipates, or does it transfer to another place?

The body of Longbow Sunshot lies at my feet, and I cannot help but blame myself. My mind spins with wild thoughts: If killing an opponent lets one take their soul, did the bandit chief Lidadis capture our dwarf companion’s soul? But we killed him—does that mean his soul now resides within us?

The thought of him being with us lifts my spirits a little.

Yet why is it, deep within my soul, I cannot sense even a trace of that rough, wild dwarf’s character?

Just as I was lost in melancholy, Yangtze Delta came over and patted my shoulder.

“Thanks. If not for you, I’d have been done for too.”

I knew his gratitude was sincere, but the words still felt a little harsh to my ears. We all knew things didn’t have to end this way, if only I could have…

“I… actually should have been able to block him…” I answered awkwardly.

“Don’t be silly…” Song of Strings also came over to console me. “…Who knew that guy would roar in fear? And Longbow was out of his mind, holding all those potions and not drinking more—his play was just terrible…”

“Exactly, Song of Strings is right…” Yangtze Delta chimed in, then spun the elven ranger by the shoulder. “…Besides, don’t say these things to me, I’m Yangtze Delta—the warrior is behind you.”

Though I knew the Voidwalkers were casual about death, I still couldn’t adapt to their lighthearted attitude toward the loss of an adventuring companion.

“Longbow… how could you just die, Longbow… why is it you, the priest, who died… how am I supposed to bear this…” To my surprise, the one most grief-stricken over the dwarf priest’s death was the sorceress Feyin. She lay atop Longbow Sunshot’s corpse, shaking his collar fiercely, her face full of sorrow, unable to weep, as if she could not accept the news of his death.

This changed my view of her considerably. Perhaps beneath that cold, tough, greedy exterior, she hides a gentle and kind heart.

“…My bat wings and hyena pelts are still in your backpack… Those could fetch a good price… Couldn’t you have given me the stuff before you died…”

Ah, regarding Feyin’s “gentle nature,” I suppose I must reconsider.

Just as I was drowning in grief over Longbow Sunshot’s death, a familiar groan suddenly reached my ears…

“Ow… Miss Feyin, if you keep shaking my bones, they’ll break… If you want to murder me, at least wait until I return your things from my bag…”

Impossible!

I turned in astonishment to see the dwarf priest, gripped by Feyin like a rag doll, slowly open his eyes. The fatal wound on his neck had vanished, and all other injuries were gone as well. Now, his face was flushed with life, radiating vitality, utterly different from the deathly pallor moments before.

“What’s going on?” Before I could ask, Yangtze Delta already exclaimed in surprise. But it seemed his concern differed from mine.

“How did you revive so quickly?” The half-orc wanderer showed neither joy nor shock at Longbow Sunshot’s resurrection. He seemed familiar with such things; only the speed of revival surprised him.

“Yes…” Song of Strings was only slightly astonished. “…Isn’t the resurrection point in the city? With those stubby legs of yours, it should take ten minutes at least to hop all the way here. We were ready to leave—if more monsters respawn here, we can’t handle them.”

Longbow Sunshot lifted his head proudly, almost contemptuously eyeing his questioning companions: “No experience, huh? It’s obvious you haven’t died much. Let me tell you, there’s a graveyard halfway up the hill—I turned into a spirit right there…” He looked healthy, his mind clear, which eased my suspicion of him being a mere corpse.

“Bah, what’s so proud about dying often?” Yangtze Delta and Song of Strings simultaneously made a gesture, stretching thumb and forefinger in front of Longbow Sunshot. Perhaps it held some deeper meaning, of which I was unaware.

Longbow Sunshot ignored their attitude, spat ungracefully, and continued: “I noticed the death maiden at the graveyard is quite pretty. If I hadn’t stared at her a bit longer, I might have revived even faster.”

“That’s why you’re always eager to die—pervert!” Yangtze Delta looked at him with scorn.

“Necrophiliac!” Song of Strings summed it up succinctly.

From their conversation, I gleaned some understanding about “death.” Apparently, when one dies, their soul appears at the nearest graveyard. When their soul finds their body again, they can be resurrected. Perhaps this is why these Voidwalkers treat death so lightly, even mock the dead—because death is temporary, while life is eternal.

This was completely unlike the death I had always imagined—absolute, irreversible. I don’t know who instilled this notion in me, and I haven’t yet been able to test its truth, for up until now, I have never died—nor do I plan to. Yet, from witnessing Longbow Sunshot’s revival, perhaps my beliefs are mistaken.

Another new revelation: the death maiden is female, and young and beautiful. For those who fear death, this might be a heartening message…

“Enough chatter, hurry up and loot the corpse!” Feyin had no interest in the men’s conversation. Her fervor for collecting spoils once again seized our beautiful caster, and under her command, we diligently searched every pocket on the saber-tooth bandits. Even so, the sorceress was not fully satisfied, sighing regretfully:

“If only human skin could be stripped and sold…”

As I’d wondered long ago, each of us found a severed head on the corpse of bandit chief Lidadis. I don’t know why this savage villain carried so many heads identical to his own, but this bizarre habit greatly aided us, letting everyone complete the bandit hunt task. Later, I discovered many others shared similar helpful quirks.

Finally, we all gathered beside a large chest in the corner. It was a finely crafted camphor wood chest, placed in the southwest corner of the room. The bandit chief had always stood before it, making it hard to notice, but now it was the most striking object in the room.

Yangtze Delta carefully tapped the chest’s sides, ensuring there were no traps or mechanisms, then gently opened it.

There wasn’t much inside: a few gold coins, two or three potions, a small stack of cloth, a few pieces of dry bread, and a sword.

It was a strangely shaped weapon. Compared to the longsword I had just lost, its blade was narrower and sharper, the edge gleaming with a chilling light, and the fuller bore some simple yet delicate engravings. Most notable, at both ends of the blade, instead of the smooth, sharp edge typical of longswords, there were two rows of fine serrations slanting toward the hilt. This sinister design allowed it to pierce an enemy’s body smoothly, but when withdrawn, it would cruelly tear and bite the wound, inflicting greater harm.

The sword bore a fierce name: Saber-tooth Ripper. Attack +15, Agility +3, 30% chance to inflict a rending effect, causing 10–15 points of life damage per second for nine seconds.

“Ah, what a beautiful sword!” Feyin’s eyes sparkled as she picked it up, admiring it from all angles. She checked its attributes: “Nice stats…” Then examined the patterns on blade and hilt: “…Looks pretty…” She awkwardly spun a sword flourish with her pale, slender hands: “…Holding it must look so cool…”

Finally, she gave a succinct evaluation: “…Definitely worth a good price!”

Song of Strings and the others looked embarrassed, especially the burly half-orc, Yangtze Delta, who blushed deeply. He glanced at me, coughed: “Er… Feyin…”

“What?” The sorceress continued playing with the longsword, her eyes shining like gold.

“This sword should go to Jeff—he’s the only warrior among us, always uses swords, and…” Here, Yangtze Delta gave me a grateful look. “…And he broke his own sword to save me. We ought to compensate him with a weapon.”

Feyin rolled her eyes, annoyed at being underestimated: “I was always going to give it to him—you think I’m that greedy? Don’t look down on me.”

“Great.” Yangtze Delta sighed in relief, reached for the sword:

“…Didn’t you say you’d give it to Jeff? Why are you… holding it so tight…”

“I’m not… holding it tight, I just want… to look at it a bit more…”

“All right, you’ve seen enough, let go…”

“Just one more look, just one… ah…”

With Feyin’s cry, the tug-of-war for sword ownership ended with Yangtze Delta’s victory. Ignoring Feyin’s sulky protests, he shoved the sword into my hands:

“Take it. You’re due for a weapon upgrade anyway…” He then glanced behind, warning me, “…If this girl asks to borrow it, don’t lend it to her…”

“You’re awful, you fatty! I’m not that pathetic!” Seeing the sword irretrievably lost, Feyin protested in embarrassment. Yet, after her declaration, she couldn’t help but gaze longingly at the sword in my hands, her regretful expression oddly adorable, so unlike her fierce demeanor.

“This sword is my gift to you—not to that fatty…” she insisted. Yangtze Delta only smiled wryly, not arguing.

“…And you must use it carefully, cherish it, repair it often, don’t break it, and definitely don’t toss it away like before…”

Though her advice was somewhat redundant, I nodded. For a warrior, a good weapon is invaluable. I am not one to squander precious arms.

“…And, if you one day outgrow it, could you sell it and send me the money…”

“Feyin!” Yangtze Delta cried in despair.

“…You really need to rein in your obsession with money!”

We delivered the bandit chief’s head to Sheriff Gerald, and each received thirty silver coins and a “Vitality Ring” that sped up life recovery. Feyin complained about his stinginess, even tried to snatch the pendant from Gerald’s neck—of course, Yangtze Delta and Song of Strings held her back in time.

At the local general store, Feyin sold most of our collected loot, keeping only potions and items needed for skill practice. Things like bat wings and wild dog eyes weren’t worth much individually, but accumulated into a tidy sum. Altogether, we earned just over three gold coins, and with what we had looted and found in the chest, our total reached nearly ten gold coins.

To my surprise, Feyin divided the money fairly among us, not taking even a single copper extra. Song of Strings, disliking the hassle, suggested giving Feyin the change, but she firmly refused, scolded him, and extorted a staff from him for some indefinite future—who knows when that will be paid.

When Yangtze Delta told me Song of Strings already owed Feyin hundreds of debts, some for legendary artifacts, and seeing the elf ranger agree without hesitation, I finally understood the meaning of “the more lice, the less itches; the more debt, the less worry.”

Though Feyin had shown a near-maniacal pursuit of money, I felt she wasn’t truly greedy. At times, her actions and decisions were the opposite of her apparent character, and in those moments, she seemed more genuine, more natural. It was as if she enjoyed playing that role, using it as a way to relate to her friends. It made things easier for her, and brought joy to those around her.

This strange feeling applied to the others as well: Longbow Sunshot was not necessarily bloodthirsty, Song of Strings not as weak as he appeared, and Yangtze Delta not a lurking assassin. They behaved so simply because they chose to. They liked to interact in this way, breaking down barriers through mutual teasing and jibes.

Some say everyone wears a mask of falsehood in life. But I think, wearing a friendly and witty mask like theirs is not necessarily a bad thing.

Having completed the quest and divided the spoils, they planned to go hunting for experience outside the city. I thought it over and declined. Just days ago, I was troubled by not having enough to pay for alchemy lessons, but now, in half a day, I had become a “rich man” with two gold and thirty-seven silver coins in my purse. Seizing this chance, I decided to begin learning this life skill.

I returned to the home of the alchemist Edgewell and requested to learn alchemy.

“One gold, ninety silver,” he said, sticking to his minimum fee.

I handed over the money, the coins issuing a crisp “clatter” as they changed hands, sounding to me like the shattering of my heart.

It was a fortune!

With the fee paid, a pauper with only forty-seven silver coins left began his first alchemy lesson…

(Strictly speaking, given this novel’s popularity, plugging someone else’s book—especially a hit—is rather absurd, but I’ll recommend it anyway: “Hand of God” by Leaf Forgetful. It’s a novel about “Age of Empires” esports, and rumor has it the author is a master of the game, possibly even a former pro. For super amateurs like myself, who play by tossing big groups of units into enemy swarms, he’s practically from Mars. Fair warning: this book has a learning curve, and as a total newbie, I don’t understand a lot—but that doesn’t hinder the enjoyment (whenever you don’t get it, just assume it’s a “brilliant tactic”), and you’ll appreciate the author’s deep understanding and expertise. Here’s the portal: http:///book/189664.aspx)