The Whisperer from the Graveyard
Nathan froze at the name. Ulukabo. ‘What kind of person is named Ulukabo—wait, what kind of elf names their kid that?’ Among their kind it might actually be considered normal. But if a name given by one’s parents ends up belonging to a rotting, parasitic limb, that’s nothing short of horrific.
Nathan rummaged through his memories, groping in the dark. No matter how hard he thought, nothing came up. He couldn’t recall ever meeting someone with such a striking appearance. “Have we met before?”
“Haven’t we?”
“Why are you asking me that?”
Nathan gave a tiny shake of his head. Ulukabo pressed both hands to his temples and sank into deep thought. A long, uncomfortable silence stretched between them. The sinister intruder who had suddenly appeared in the room where the two lovers had just been tangled showed no intention of leaving on his own.
This guy’s insane.
Nathan’s mood grew increasingly grim. I don’t care who you are. Just get the hell out.
He quietly clenched his fist. It looked like the only solution would be to beat the bastard senseless.
At the same moment, in a back alley not far from where Nathan and the intruder were caught in mutual bewilderment, a shabby-looking Eleim was furiously kicking a tablet whose screen had frozen.
“Why does this shit only happen when I need it?!”
The tablet, smashed against the wall until its breath gave out, split in half and spilled its guts onto the street. Mana circuits and battery components splattered across the ground in a pathetic mess. The Eleim man kept screaming at the corpse of his device until he suddenly flinched and clamped his mouth shut. Not out of regret for destroying his own property.
“Who the hell is making all that noise?”
What silenced him was the hulking gangster who kicked open a nearby door.
“Goddamn scrawny lunatic. Why the fuck are you screaming right in front of someone else’s business? I thought someone was getting their throat slit!”
The brute who stepped out grabbed the Eleim by the scruff and hoisted him up. The elf, whose head was as much of a wreck as his appearance, finally came to his senses. He had been so thoughtless it bordered on suicidal. If he’d realized he was standing in front of a gang office, he would have swallowed every harsh word.
The thug who had been glaring at him suddenly broke into a bright, cheerful smile.
“Oh, if it isn’t our dear debtor. I didn’t recognize you in the dark, valued customer. Shall we step inside and have a nice, slow chat?”
“Y-yes, sir, that’s exactly why I came. I’m terribly sorry, but there’s something I need to tell you—”
The open door might as well have slammed shut. The gangster’s face twisted back into pure darkness.
“You don’t talk. You pay.”
A tattooed hand seized the back of his neck. A choked gurgle escaped. The gang member, sensing the usual tricks, snarled.
“I can already hear the next line and it’s pissing me off. ‘Just a little more time, I don’t have the money.’ That it? If you don’t want to die, did you just let my warning about the due date go in one ear and out the other? Want me to carve off those ears so you can’t ignore me anymore, customer? Maybe turn them into little pointed dishes like a Sapiens?”
The iron grip shook him by the neck bones. The debtor let out a whistling scream.
“Wait! I’m not saying I won’t pay!”
“Obviously. You blew it all on gambling again. Hey, customer, did you happen to watch ‘King of the Arena’? Bet on that Sapiens fighting the Northern Prince? Did you go all in on the underdog or the favorite?”
The Eleim debtor’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. The thug had hit the bullseye.
“Hah, nailed it! Yeah, I get it. Everyone lost their minds over that footage. But it’s all fake, teacher. They say the light mage cooked it up for attention. Makes sense, right? A prince suddenly turning into some unheard-of monster? Who’d buy that?”
Rumors that the footage had been manipulated were already spreading across the few conversation channels still functioning. For gamblers who had wagered thousands of credits each, it was enough to drive them insane. If the video was fake, the illegal duel-broadcast channel ‘King of the Arena’ was obligated to refund its customers. But every system had been locked down. The channel no longer operated normally. No one knew when it would be restored. Until then, the debtor’s betting money would remain in someone else’s hands. Whether the underground, unofficial channel would cleanly refund anything was highly doubtful.
“You know you might never get that money back, right?”
“Hehe, no way.”
The deranged optimism of someone with no other options. The thug let out a long sigh.
“Customer, I’m saying this because I’m genuinely frustrated—if you can’t pay it back, stop gambling and just run. Go to the district where they’re tearing down buildings for that green park project. Live like a wild animal, eating mushrooms off the ground.”
Stopping gambling was the rational choice. The system was designed so that if you kept playing, you eventually lost everything. But earning back the principal and interest through honest work would take hundreds of years. That was why he couldn’t stop. Even though he knew the pain would only stretch longer the more he lost.
“Or you could cut off one hand as payment and head down to Graveyard Valley. There’s a place called Graveyard House, right? Some lunatic supposedly attaches arms and legs for free. I don’t know if it’s true, but testing your luck might not be a bad idea. It’s not like you’ve got money to spend on proper prosthetics anyway.”
After hurling a few more insults, the thug finally grew bored and released the debtor like a cat dropping a half-dead mouse.
“Here. A hundred credits for the trouble of shaking you around. You look pretty drunk. Go buy some offal stew or grilled intestines, sober up, and start paying me back bit by bit like an honest man. Otherwise you’ll never crawl out of this hole, you idiot.”
A hundred credits could buy fifteen bowls of offal stew with money left over. But the Eleim’s chest ached. The sight of himself groveling and eagerly accepting the money made him feel utterly pathetic.
Burdened with crushing defeat, the Eleim trudged away. Then something caught his foot and he shrieked, tumbling to the ground. What he had kicked was a plump rat. Just a rat—but the Eleim scrambled backward on his rear as if he had seen a monster.
The creature’s body bore no tattoos. Thankfully, no lightning struck. Things smaller than a human sole were spared the thunderbolt. The Eleim let out a sigh of relief, then rose in a surge of fury.
How dare a filthy little rat scare me?
Rats were targets for extermination. If they ate well they could grow as large as cats. And if the Heavenly Gods grew angry at the existence of a king rat sleeping somewhere underground, innocent Eleim on the surface sometimes died by stray lightning. Therefore, what he was about to do was the rightful duty of a model citizen.
The Eleim picked up an empty corn can lying in the street. He stuffed the rat inside and sealed the lid. Then he carefully stepped back and kicked it with all his strength. He heard the stunned rat wake up and squeak. The sensation of something soft bursting under his foot. Blood leaked from the can that had rolled across the alley.
Having vented his violence, the Eleim grinned. He was three hundred and thirty years old this year. He had no idea. It wasn’t only the blood and fluids from the can that soaked into the ground. Something was also leaking out from inside his own body, flowing down into the asphalt. But the man noticed nothing.
Maybe there were more rats wandering around. Today he would become a model citizen of pest control. The filthy Eleim, eyes gleaming with excitement, slipped deeper into the alley.
Ulukabo suddenly stiffened. Nathan’s discomfort doubled instantly.
Now? Should I twist his jaw while he’s distracted?
But if things went wrong, Benny would be in danger too. He needed to be more cautious. Nathan first reached under the blanket and began pulling on his pants.
“Today the air is especially thick with particularly vile sins,” Ulukabo said, inhaling deeply. His jaw trembled as he let out a satisfied sigh. “Oh, false citizens who have lost their purpose and can only moan. You long-lived race that are worth less than the rats that trip over your feet.”
Nathan felt rage boiling up inside him. This wasn’t an ordinary lunatic. Ulukabo, now in a much calmer mood, spoke as if to himself.
“You were right, Sapiens. Come to think of it, all you must have seen was my bloodstain.”
Only then did Nathan remember. The corpse. The body wearing the exact same cloak as this man, its head burst open by ice. A chill ran down his spine. Of course he hadn’t considered it. How could he have guessed that a dead man would come looking for him alive?
Nathan tried to stand. But his body wouldn’t obey, as if paralyzed. The bastard had clearly done something. “Burnt tongue. Rotting limbs. The one who first called Graveyard Valley by that name—Ulukabo of the Graveyard. There was a time when even grown adults would cry just hearing the name. After I stepped back from history, I no longer had such pleasures.”
Ulukabo stared into empty air and muttered. His hand slowly drew out a rosary and placed it on his knee. The beads threaded on the string were eyeballs preserved in glass.
“You… what the hell are you?”
“I’m more curious about who you are, Sapiens. You pointed a blade at the son of the Winter King and not only survived—you’re lying here without a trace of fear for the future, sleeping with a woman. Have the three royal families of the Eleim truly fallen so low? How amusing. False kings who cannot even frighten a seventeen-year-old child.”
The words spoken while counting the beads clouded Nathan’s mind. His muscles locked up, choking off his breath. He felt the paralysis crawling up his neck. He had probably been under this sorcery for quite some time. There was a reason the creature had boldly approached so close. Nathan had never had a chance to fight back.
“Mornid… were you his subordinate? Are you here for… revenge?”
“Subordinate. Subordinate, he says…” Ulukabo clicked his tongue. “I attached a demon to the son of a concubine who carried thin royal blood, and the wretch forgot all gratitude and acted like he owned me. Thanks to that, hiding in the shadows became much easier.”
He chuckled, then his painted face suddenly twisted into something hideous.
“The blood of a greedy man who hung many lives on his own karma. The frozen blood of the Winter Princess. And above all, the demonic holy blood mixed with royal lineage. I tried to claim it, but you fools called down divine punishment and I lost it. My offering was burned pitch-black by the hand of a foolish god. The son of the Great Forest will pay the price.”
It seemed that speaking incomprehensible nonsense was in fashion in the Heavens. Nathan was thinking he might actually cry when the next moment he recoiled in disgust. Ulukabo suddenly lifted the hem of his robe and exposed his stomach.
What is this perverted bastard trying to—
A creeping voice. A face melted into the flesh whimpered from beneath the skin. Though only its shape was visible, Nathan recognized it instantly. How could he forget that face?
The face protruding from Ulukabo’s side was… Kada Sakano. The owner of the Floating Arena.
[Wh…ere?]
“I barely managed to salvage this one.”
Ulukabo spread both arms as if showing off a rare curiosity. “Do not touch him. He is barely clinging to this world. Even slight stimulation could kill him.”
Honestly, killing him would be more merciful.
Even if the thing begged to be touched, Nathan had no intention of doing so. In the first place he couldn’t move a single fingertip, and if he could have, he would have grabbed Benny and fled immediately. This creature was an abyss sorcerer. One who worshipped the abyss deities and wielded their power. And, by Nathan’s guess, far from an ordinary one.
[Save… Mornid… sir…]
As the plea grew louder, Ulukabo’s eyes widened and he quickly covered the stomach again. “Shh, shh. Quiet now. You might wake the young lady.”
If you’re worried about that, you shouldn’t have come in at all. Nathan ground his teeth. “Don’t… touch Benny…”
“I have no interest in her. I don’t enjoy getting too many people tangled in my affairs. Those barely two hundred years old are overflowing with curiosity and become annoying.”
Ulukabo slowly extended his hand. Toward Nathan’s forehead. He moved deliberately, as if every second carried meaning.
“If you don’t want that girl involved, you would do well to cooperate quietly.”
Closer and closer. The tattoo engraved on the palm became clearly visible. A figure bound to a stake and burned alive. Nathan’s pupils trembled. If he didn’t dodge now, it was over. The moment that hand touched his forehead, something terrible would happen.
Damn it, move. Move!
Suddenly sensation returned. Starting from the fingertips he had miraculously regained. Nathan let out a groan and struggled desperately. Heat spread. From his hands, to his wrists. Then through his entire body. But it was too late. The hand was coming faster…
“Hey.”
Whoosh—thud.
The sound of something slicing through air and the impact came almost simultaneously. The palm carrying the chill of a curse suddenly jerked away. The abyss sorcerer’s body staggered violently. What had pierced his shoulder in an instant was a massive arrow.
“The son of the Great Forest will pay the price? You dare speak the name of Migilpyure with your own mouth, servant of the abyss?”
Beyond the quietly opened door of Benny’s room, several figures in patient gowns could be seen. At their head stood Hrozka, drawing a great bow with an arrow nocked. The easygoing demeanor he had shown during the day was gone. The archer growled in a low, tiger-like voice.
“Get away from the Federation citizen. Or the son of the Great Forest will make you pay the price.”