Chapter 557: Mist, Lies and a Glass of Absinthe

I’m a failure. These days I barely notice if the sun is shining or not—there simply isn’t time.

My parents can’t support me, my education’s nothing special, and I’m out here in the city all alone, searching for a future.

I tried for so many jobs but got rejected every time. Maybe it’s because no one likes a quiet guy who doesn’t talk much and can’t prove his worth.

For the latest chapters, download the ad-free app. The website no longer updates with new chapters.

I went three whole days eating nothing but two loaves of bread. Hunger made sleep impossible, but luckily I’d paid my rent a month in advance, so at least I could stay in that dark basement, shielded from the brutal winter wind outside.

At last, I landed a job—night watchman at the hospital, looking after the morgue.

The hospital at night was colder than I ever imagined. The wall sconces in the corridor were unlit, everything was draped in shadows, and I could only move around thanks to the faint glow leaking out from under doors.

The place reeked. From time to time, they’d bring in bodies zipped up tight in body bags, and we’d help carry them into cold storage.

It’s definitely not a good job, but at least it pays for bread. The long empty nights give me time to study, since no one ever comes here unless they’re bringing in or taking away a corpse for cremation. Of course, I still can’t afford books, and saving up looks impossible.

I’ve got my predecessor to thank. If he hadn’t suddenly quit, I wouldn’t have gotten even this job.

I dream about covering day shifts one day. For now, I sleep when the sun’s up and work once night falls—it’s left my body weak and I get these sharp headaches now and then.

One day, a couple of porters wheeled in a new body.

Word was, this was my predecessor who’d left without warning.

I was curious about the guy. When everyone left, I slid out the tray and quietly unzipped the body bag.

He was old; his face looked both bluish and pale, wrinkled everywhere, and under the dim light he seemed almost ghastly.

He hardly had any hair left and what remained was white. They’d stripped him entirely, not leaving a single scrap of clothing.

Website updates are slow—download for the latest chapters.

I noticed a strange mark on his chest, dark blue-black in color. I couldn’t make out the details; it was just too dark.

I reached out and touched the mark. Nothing happened.

Looking at my predecessor, I couldn’t help but wonder—if I keep living like this, will I end up the same way when I’m old?

I told him I’d go with him to the crematorium tomorrow, personally take his ashes to the nearest free public cemetery. Otherwise, the guys in charge might just toss him into some river or wasteland out of laziness.

It’d cost me a morning’s sleep, but with Sunday just around the corner, I could catch up later.

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

The light in the room seemed even dimmer than before…

From that night on, every time I slept, I dreamed of thick, endless fog.

I’ve got this feeling something’s about to happen, that soon something—not quite human—will come for me. Of course, no one believes me. They think spending all that time in a job like mine has made me lose my mind, that I need to see a doctor…

A man sitting at the bar turned and looked at the storyteller, who had suddenly stopped.

“And then what?”

This man looked to be in his thirties, dressed in a brown tweed jacket and pale yellow trousers. His hair was pressed flat, and a plain dark round hat sat on the counter beside him.

He looked utterly ordinary—just like most folks in the tavern. Black hair, light blue eyes, neither handsome nor ugly, nothing remarkable to stand out.

To him, the storyteller looked like a youth of eighteen or nineteen. Tall and long-limbed, with short black hair and light blue eyes too, but his sharp features made him instantly striking.

The young man stared down at his empty glass and heaved a sigh.

“Then what happens?”

Download the latest chapters to read more.

“Then I quit and moved back to the countryside—came here to swap tall tales with you.”

As he spoke, a sly smile tugged at his lips.

The man looked stunned.

“So all that was just a tall tale?”

Laughter burst out around the bar.

When the hilarity faded, a wiry middle-aged man shot the outsider an amused look.

“Stranger, you actually bought into Lumian’s stories? Every night he spins a new one. Yesterday he was a poor guy dumped by his fiancée, and tonight he’s a morgue attendant!”

“Yeah! Last time it was thirty years east of the Serrence River, thirty years on the right—it’s always nonsense!” another regular piped up.

They were all farmers from Cordu, a big village. Their jackets were either black, gray or brown.

Lumian, the black-haired youth, propped himself on the bar and stood up slowly, grinning.

“You know I’m not making these up. They’re all my sister’s stories. She loves writing and even has a column in Weekly Novel Magazine.”

He turned to the outsider, hands splayed in apology, his smile bright as ever.

“Guess her writing’s pretty convincing.

Sorry for the misunderstanding.”

The man in the brown tweed jacket didn’t seem upset. He stood and smiled back.

“That was an entertaining story.”

“And your name?”

“Isn’t it only polite to introduce yourself before asking others?” Lumian shot back with a laugh.

The traveler nodded.

“Ryan Coste. These two are my companions—Valentine and Leah.”

He meant the man and woman sitting beside him.

The man was about twenty-seven or eight, a bit of powder dusted onto his blond hair. His eyes were a shade deeper than lake blue. Dressed in a white vest, blue fine-wool jacket and black pants, it was clear he’d taken care with his appearance.

His expression was distant, barely sparing a glance for the local farmers and herders.

The woman seemed a little younger than both men, her long light gray hair arranged in an intricate updo, a white veil serving as a hat.

Her eyes were the same color as her hair. The look she gave Lumian was full of open amusement; she clearly thought the whole exchange was fun.

With the warm glow of the tavern’s gas lamps brushing her features, Leah’s pretty nose and elegant lips became even more striking. In a rural place like Cordu, she was an undeniable beauty.

She was dressed in a white, seamless cashmere dress, topped with a cream jacket and knee-high Marcille boots. Both her veil and boots had little silver bells tied to them—when she’d come in, those bells jingled every step, turning plenty of heads.

To their eyes, only women from big cities like Bigo or Trier—the capital—dressed with that kind of style.

Lumian nodded at the three strangers.

“I’m Lumian Lee. Just call me Lumian.”

“Lee?” Leah blurted out.

“What’s wrong with my surname?” Lumian asked, puzzled.

Ryan Coste explained for her.

“That name is famous—almost legendary. Just now, I nearly lost my composure when I heard it.”

Noticing the confusion among the farmers and herders, Ryan continued.

“Anyone who’s dealt with sailors or merchants knows the phrase repeated across the Five Seas:

‘You’d sooner face pirate generals or kings than run into a man named Frank Lee.'”

“His surname is Lee, too.”

“Is he really that scary?” Lumian asked.

Ryan shook his head.

“I couldn’t say, but if they make up legends, there must be something to them.”

He dropped the topic and turned back to Lumian.

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

“A glass of Absinthe,” Lumian answered without hesitating, sitting down again.

Ryan Coste frowned slightly.

“Absinthe? …You know that stuff’s bad for you, right? It can mess with your mind—cause hallucinations, even drive you mad.”

“I didn’t realize Trier’s fashions had already made it out here,” Leah added with a smile.

Lumian let out an ‘oh.’

“So people in Trier drink Absinthe too? Huh… For us, life’s already hard enough—what’s a little more? At least it helps us unwind.”

“Alright then.” Ryan sat back down and nodded at the bartender. “One Absinthe—and get me a Fiery Heart, too.”

“Fiery Heart” was a famous fruit brandy.

“Why not get me some Absinthe, too? I’m the one who outed him and I can tell you everything you want to know about this troublemaker! Stranger, I can tell you’re still not sure whether that story was true!” The wiry middle-aged man from earlier complained loudly.

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

Before Ryan could say a word, Lumian added.

“Why can’t I just tell it myself? That way, I’d get another glass of Absinthe!”

“Because no one knows whether to believe you,” Pierre smirked. “Your sister’s favorite story for the kids is ‘The Boy Who Cried Wolf.’ A liar never keeps his credit!”

“Alright, alright.” Lumian shrugged and eyed the pale green liquor the bartender slid his way.

Ryan glanced at him, checking.

“Is that okay with you?”

“No problem, as long as your wallet can cover it,” Lumian said, completely unfazed.

“Then bring another Absinthe,” Ryan agreed.

Pierre’s face immediately lit up.

“You’re a generous stranger. Just watch out—this guy’s the biggest prankster in the village. You should keep your distance.

Five years ago, his sister Aurore brought him back to the village and he’s stayed ever since. Before that, he was only thirteen—how could he have worked as a morgue attendant? The closest hospital is down the mountain in Daliege. That’s a whole afternoon’s walk!”

“Brought back to the village?” Leah asked sharply.

She tipped her head, making her little bells jingle.

Pierre nodded.

For the latest chapters, download the ad-free app. The website no longer updates new content.

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

“What was his original name? I can’t even remember.” Lumian took a sip of Absinthe and grinned.

Apparently, having his past thrown out in the open didn’t bother him at all.