From Corpse to Crown: Reborn as a Mortician in Another World-Chapter 65: What Was Witnessed

Merry stared at the scroll. It was an execution order. "What did you do? I haven’t seen one of these in years."

Lucian stared at the scroll, which was still warm in Cadrel’s hands. 𝕗𝐫𝐞𝕖𝕨𝐞𝗯𝚗𝕠𝘃𝐞𝚕.𝐜𝗼𝚖

It had been written with living ink, and continued changing into various languages--some he had never even seen before. But it didn’t change what was on it.

His own name.

Lucian Bowcott.

For himself, it could be seen as a threat. But for whoever had given the Order, it was justice. And unfortunately, this masked messenger agreed.

I might have reintroduced death to a city that insisted they didn’t need it. But I had no idea that it would ripple as far as Saltline Village. Or beyond it, even. Who would have thought an action I’ve done warrants an execution?

"I don’t..." he murmured. "I don’t remember doing anything."

Merry studied his face carefully. "You wouldn’t forget something worthy of judgment from the Code."

"Mm. True, I wouldn’t forget about it so easily," Lucian whispered. "Unless I buried it."

He summoned his Echoheart System. It hummed faintly, the latest page half-faded like it was resisting something.

"Show me," he told the Grimoire. The page flickered--hesitated--and then revealed itself, the edge of the pages dripping black ink.

The words that followed were not his handwriting.

[ENTRY: CENSORED — SYSTEM OVERRIDE]

[FILED UNDER: MOURNING DEFERRED]

[MEMORY COMPRESSION DETECTED]

[WOULD YOU LIKE TO UNSEAL THE WITNESSED EVENT?]

Lucian hesitated.

Someone could do this to my Grimoire? It’s been by my side constantly, ever since I received it from the Q--what else does she know about me that I’m not aware of?

He wondered if it was even worth knowing by now. It might have been a false memory planted into his psyche. He wouldn’t put it past the Spymaster to do so, especially since he was able to visit Houndsberry Hollow.

Even if he tried to talk himself out of it, the curiosity got the better of him. So Mortician Bowcott pressed his hand to the page.

"Yes. I accept the consequences of viewing this."

+

Lucian’s world collapsed inward. Like the moment in the Vale of Unfinished Rites, it was pulled from his skull. But now the moment was painful to walk in--like it was built from a tunnel of regret and sweat and a scent he actively wanted to forget.

He looked down at his own outfit and all of the stored-up serotonin leaked out of his body immediately.

Lucian was dressed the same way he was at nineteen. The slightly oversized blazer over a crisp white button-down and the black jeans. His hair was tied back in a ponytail and he was wearing reading glasses.

Yup. Before I got contacts. Definitely nineteen.

He was still raw from the last exam at the Mortuary Academy on Earth. For his final assignment, he was going to embalm a recently-deceased patient and then organize a wake and the funeral.

It was a test to see if they had synthesized everything from 4 years of school and were fully prepared to work at funeral homes and, if they were inclined, open their own funeral homes in the future.

Lucian checked the clipboard that bore his name.

Patient name: Josephine St. Clair

Age: 55

Cause of Death: Unexpected. No will and no last instructions from family.

Note: The priest had gone missing two weeks before her death.

Address: 20 Veyron Hollow ABxx9, Tangerine City.

It was a small town. Population: 72.

Nowhere in the patient dossier did it mention that she had a child.

It was just a final exam for me. I just wanted to do it and get a nice coffee to treat myself for sticking with mortuary school for so long.

Lucian acted the rest of the scenario out, dread building in his heart. He started the car.

"In and out in less than an hour. That’s the goal."

+

When he stopped by the right address, he saw The Hollow was cold, even for spring. It was wind-scoured and quiet. It was a large manor home, and a maid verified his identity.

"I hope you give my lady the dignified rest she deserved." the maid said softly, her eyes wet in the corners. He’d said, "Of course, I will make sure she looks as beautiful as she did in life."

Lucian never understood what it meant, of course. It was just a bit of dialogue he’d heard on a TV show once. He thought it sounded good.

Before he went in, he looked at the deceased’s home. It was a simple and clean stone manor, sparsely decorated. The head funeral director made sure everything was prepared before they arrived.

The woman’s body was already on the gurney and, according to the document he was holding, ready for setting the features.

Lucian looked the body over carefully, in case there was any steps intentionally omitted for him to complete or correct.

He remembered this well.

I had been so proud of my composure, then.

Lucian had a mental checklist of things to do whenever embalming a body was concerned. He had gone through it so often, it was like muscle memory. Lucian carefully dipped one eyecap in vaseline and made sure the eye was properly closed.

He was almost concerned when the body didn’t move or speak to him. What was once his reality was now a very weird occurrence. Luckily, reliving this memory included hearing every thought he once had.

A plus that dead bodies don’t really move anymore. It’s mostly up to you and how you go about it. Just make sure they look presentable for the family.

Lucian, reliving the memory in his nineteen year-old body with the mentality he had before being reborn in another world, felt disgusted.

All I wanted was to make sure the body was presentable. Not that the body looked similar to how they remembered their family member. I would do so many things differently now, if I could return.

He was about to apply a bit of makeup onto the deceased to bring back some color to her cheeks when he heard it.

A soft knocking sound, from the wardrobe.

Lucian, young and arrogant, turned toward the door. Wondering if the funeral director had someone hiding in it to scare him.

Why was he so convinced that he was so important the funeral director would have wasted time on something like that? Even he didn’t know.

But he opened it, prepared to laugh at whoever was inside.

Instead of staff or one of his classmates, he found a young girl. She must have been no older than seven.

She was clutching a gold locket in her tiny hands. Her brown curls were messy and her lips were severely cracked. It looked like she’d been there for days.

Lucian saw her clearly. She blinked up at him, looking more feral than a child. Then, after a moment, she whispered: "Is Mama sleeping?"

He froze.

A child on the premises hadn’t been on the report. They didn’t have mock training for grief with an audience. In fact, no one besides himself, other mortuary students, and the staff were supposed to be there.

Relax, Lucian, he’d told himself. You can quickly deal with a child and then return to your work.

+

So he took a deep breath and saw this as a minor setback. Just a little bump in the road and then he was free to go back to business. Lucian offered her some tea with milk and lit the fire in the hearth, back in the sitting room.

"No, your Mama isn’t sleeping--she’s dead. I will let you say goodbye to her when she’s ready."

She nodded and took a sip, then started just took a deep swig. Her face showed discomfort from the drink’s temperature, but it was more important for her to devour tea than wait for it to cool.

Lucian understood that feeling, and didn’t scold her for it.

"O-okay," she whispered. "Call me when I can say goodbye."

Instead of doing that, he completed the embalming while she was asleep. The funeral and wake were planned before dawn, and the funeral director declared his exam complete.

She was still asleep when he got into the car and left. The funeral director would handle the rest, he said. It was, after all, his responsibility to make sure everything went smoothly for the graduating class.

+

The guilt gnawed at him for around twenty minutes as he drove back to his dormitory.

He rationalized it.

I couldn’t have allowed her to see her own mother like that. Who knows how she would have reacted...it wouldn’t be good to traumatize a child like that. She’ll forget about it. She’s young. Won’t even remember me in a few years.

And he never saw or heard from her again.

The Grimoire blurred.

Lucian sat back, hands trembling as he crawled out of the memory. "She didn’t get to say goodbye," he whispered. "I told myself it was to protect her."

He looked miserable and told his Grimoire, "Surely a mistake I made on Earth wouldn’t matter over here?"

The book opened to a new page.

"Grief transcends worlds. Everyone lives, dies, and grieves for something. And the Code of Justice does not forgive omissions in grief."

"But she was alive," Lucian said. "She was safe."

"Yes," the Grimoire said. "But she remembers."

Back at the camp, Alice watched Lucian from a distance.

She saw his hand move through the firelight, hovering over the Loom still clasped in his satchel.

Saw his breath quicken, his mouth shaping words no one else could hear.

She didn’t know what he had seen.

But something around him felt marked.

Threaded.

As if the Loom had stitched his fate tighter.

Gabriel stood at the edge of a frozen bridge, three valleys away.

He reached into his coat again—not for a scroll.

But for a bone sliver. Carved with an ancient glyph.

He cracked it in half.

Wherever Lucian was, the air around him suddenly grew colder.

Not ice. Not magic.

Just judgment.

Lucian looked at Merry.

"I left a girl behind. She trusted me. And I didn’t let her say goodbye."

+

Merry said nothing at first.

Then:

"How long have you been a mortician?"

"Since I was nineteen."

"You were barely an adult."

"That doesn’t excuse it."

"No," she said. "But it explains why it hurt."

He looked at the scroll again.

"Why now?" he asked. "Why witness me now?"

Alice’s voice answered from behind him.

"Because now you know how to finish what you started."

+

In the dark, the Loom pulsed once.

A new thread appeared.

White.

And woven with a memory Lucian didn’t recognize.

A village. A snowed-over road. A grown woman walking alone.

Clutching a locket.

Eyes full of something deeper than sorrow.

Recognition.

And the faintest whisper echoed from nowhere:

"You didn’t stay."

Lucian blinked hard.

"She’s still alive."

He looked up.

"She remembered."

And now...so did the Code.

In the distance, the thread of the Loom began to pull tighter.

Gabriel had crossed the first valley.

He did not run.

He did not wait.

He did not sleep.

He did not forget.

The Code had witnessed. And soon, it would act.