Chapter 560: Night Shift Confessions

I’m a loser. I barely even notice if the sun is shining these days since I simply don’t have the time.

My parents can’t support me, I don’t have much of an education, and I’m alone in the city trying to find my future.

I’ve applied for one job after another, but no one hired me. Maybe it’s because no one likes someone who’s awkward, keeps to themselves, and can’t prove they’re capable.

To read the latest chapters, please download the app for ad-free updates. The website no longer updates the latest chapters. The newest content is already updated.

There was a stretch where I survived on just two loaves of bread over three days. Hunger kept me up at night, but at least I’d paid rent ahead for a month, so I still had my dark basement room. I didn’t have to face that biting winter wind out on the streets.

Finally, I landed a job—night watch at a hospital. It was my job to guard the morgue through the night.

Turns out, the hospital was even colder at night than I’d expected. The corridor lights weren’t on, so everything was gloomy. The only way to see my feet was that bit of light spilling out from the rooms.

The place reeked. Every now and then, someone would wheel in another corpse, zipped in a body bag. We’d help carry them into cold storage.

It wasn’t a great job, but at least it meant I could afford bread. And the long, empty nights gave me time to study. Hardly anyone came near the morgue unless they had a body to drop off or pick up for cremation. Of course, I couldn’t afford books yet and didn’t see much hope of saving up for them anyway.

I owe this job to my predecessor. If he hadn’t suddenly quit, there’s no way I would’ve even gotten this chance.

I dream that maybe one day I’ll get to switch to a daytime shift. Right now, I sleep when the sun comes up and wake when night falls. It’s left me weak, and now and then my head throbs.

One day, a porter wheeled in a new corpse.

Word was, it was my predecessor who’d quit so suddenly.

I couldn’t help but be curious. After everyone left, I slid out the drawer and quietly unzipped the body bag.

He was an old man, face pale and bluish, wrinkles everywhere. Under that dim light, he looked downright spooky.

Most of his hair was gone and what was left had turned white. He wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing—not even a scrap.

The content updates lag on this site. Please use the app to read the latest chapters.

I noticed a strange mark on his chest, bluish-black, though I couldn’t really make out what it looked like. The lighting was just too dim.

I reached out and touched the mark—nothing happened. Nothing special at all.

Looking at him, I wondered—if I kept living like this, would I end up like him when I was old…?

I told him that tomorrow I’d go with him to the crematorium, to make sure I took his ashes to the nearest public cemetery, so those in charge wouldn’t just toss him in a river or on some patch of wasteland.

I’d lose a morning of sleep for it, but that’s alright. Sunday was coming—I could make it up then.

After that, I zipped up the bag and slid the drawer back in.

The room seemed even darker than before…

Ever since that day, I kept dreaming of heavy fog whenever I fell asleep.

I’ve got this feeling that something’s coming, that sooner or later, something—not quite human—will come for me. But no one believes me. They all think working nights in a place like that has made me lose it, that I ought to see a doctor…

A man sitting at the bar glanced over at the storyteller, who’d suddenly stopped:

“So what happened next?”

The man looked to be in his thirties, dressed in a rough brown wool coat and pale yellow trousers. His hair was parted flat, with a battered dark bowler hat on the table beside him.

He looked pretty ordinary—just another local, really. Black hair, light blue eyes, neither handsome nor ugly, nothing that stood out.

From his point of view, the storyteller was a kid of eighteen or nineteen. He stood tall and lean, with short black hair and strikingly blue eyes. Sharp features set his face apart—you’d remember him at a glance.

The young man stared at his empty glass, sighed, and said:

“What happened next?”

Download the app to read the latest chapters.

“After that, I quit my job, went back to the countryside, and ended up here swapping tall tales with you.”

As he spoke, a teasing grin crept over his face.

The man at the bar paused in surprise.

“Wait, you just made all that up?”

A burst of laughter rippled around the bar.

When the laughter died down a bit, a skinny middle-aged man looked at the embarrassed stranger and said:

“Outsider, you really believed Lumian’s story? It’s different every day! Yesterday he was a poor guy dumped by his fiancée. Today, he’s a night guard in a morgue!”

“Yeah, next he’ll be saying he spent thirty years on the left bank of the Serrence River and thirty on the right! All nonsense!” another regular chimed in.

They were all farmers from Cordu, this big village. They wore the usual black, gray, or brown short jackets.

The black-haired young man who’d been called Lumian pushed up from the bar with both hands and stood up slowly, grinning:

“You guys know these are real stories! They’re all from my sister—she loves writing and she’s even a columnist for the Weekly Novel Magazine.”

He turned, spreading his hands at the out-of-town guest, flashing a brilliant smile:

“Looks like she’s pretty talented after all.”

“Sorry for confusing you.”

The brown-coated, ordinary-looking man didn’t mind. He stood up and smiled back:

“That was quite the story.”

“How should I address you?”

“Isn’t it basic manners to introduce yourself first before asking?” Lumian shot back, smiling.

The visitor nodded:

“I’m Ryan Coste.”

“These two are my companions, Valentine and Leah.”

He meant the man and woman sitting just beside him.

The man looked to be twenty-seven or twenty-eight, his blond hair dusted with powder. His eyes were darker than lake blue, not too large, and he wore a white vest, blue tweed jacket, and black trousers. You could tell he’d made an effort before coming out.

His face carried a distant, even cold, air—barely glancing at the local farmers and herders.

The woman was younger than the men. Her long, pale gray hair was tied up in an elaborate bun, with a white veil wrapped as a hat.

Her eyes matched her hair, a cool gray. She looked at Lumian with open amusement—seemed to think the whole exchange was quite funny.

Under the glow of the bar’s gas lamps, Leah’s delicate nose and beautifully curved lips stood out. For a place like Cordu, she was really something special.

She wore a fitted cashmere dress in white, topped with an off-white jacket and a pair of Marcille boots. Both her veil and boots were fastened with little silver bells that jingled with every step—back when she’d entered the bar, every man’s head had turned to follow the sound.

To them, that kind of fashionable look belonged in provincial capitals like Bigo or the big city of Trier, not here.

Lumian nodded to the trio of out-of-towners:

“I’m Lumian Lee—you can just call me Lumian.”

“Lee?” Leah blurted out.

“What, is there something wrong with my last name?” Lumian asked, curious.

Ryan Coste helped Leah explain:

“That surname is legendary. I almost couldn’t keep my voice steady when I heard it.”

Seeing the puzzled faces of the locals, he added:

“Anyone who’s met sailors or sea merchants knows this saying that’s gone around the Five Seas:

“Better to cross paths with pirate lords or even kings than with a man named Frank Lee.

“That’s his surname too.”

“Is he that terrifying?” Lumian asked.

Ryan shook his head.

“I can’t say for sure, but with a reputation like that, he must be something else.”

He changed the subject, turning back to Lumian:

“Thanks for the story. It deserves a drink. What’ll you have?”

“An Absinthe,” Lumian answered right away, sitting down again.

Ryan Coste frowned slightly.

“Absinthe… that bitter spirit? I should warn you—absinthe can be dangerous. It could mess with your mind, maybe even cause hallucinations.”

“Didn’t think Trier’s fads had made it all the way out here,” Leah remarked with a smile.

Lumian made a little sound of surprise.

“So Trier folks like Absinthe too… For us, life’s hard enough already. Little extra damage doesn’t matter much. That drink just helps us relax a bit more.”

“Alright.” Ryan sat down and looked to the bartender. “One Absinthe, and another Fiery Heart for me.”

“Fiery Heart” was a famous fruit brandy.

“Why don’t I get an Absinthe too? I was the one who called out the truth, and I could even tell the full story about this kid! Outsider, I know you still aren’t sure if any of that was real!” protested the skinny middle-aged man who’d first outed Lumian.

“Pierre, you’ll do anything for a free drink!” Lumian called back loudly.

Before Ryan could answer, Lumian added:

“Why can’t it be my story? That way I get an extra Absinthe out of it!”

“Because nobody knows if what you say’s true.” Pierre grinned slyly. “Your sister loved telling kids the story of ‘The Boy Who Cried Wolf.’ Lying too much, nobody will trust you.”

“Alright.” Lumian shrugged, watching the bartender push a pale green drink toward him.

Ryan looked his way, seeking approval.

“It’s fine—so long as your wallet can cover all these drinks,” Lumian replied, not bothered.

“Then one more Absinthe,” Ryan agreed, nodding.

Pierre beamed with delight.

“Generous outsider! This kid’s the biggest prankster in the whole village, better keep your distance.

“Five years ago, his sister Aurore brought him back to the village. He hasn’t left since. Think about it—he was only thirteen then. No way he could’ve been working nights at a hospital. The nearest one’s way down the mountain in Daliege—a whole afternoon’s walk away.”

“Brought back to the village?” Leah asked, sharp as ever.

She turned her head a bit, bells chiming as she moved.

Pierre nodded.

For the latest chapters, download the ad-free app. The newest content is already up. The website won’t have further updates.

“After that, he took Aurore’s last name—Lee. Even the name Lumian was given by her.”

“I can’t even remember what he used to be called,” Lumian said with a grin, taking a sip of absinthe.

It didn’t look like having his past dragged into the open made him feel ashamed at all.