From Corpse to Crown: Reborn as a Mortician in Another World-Chapter 34: Candlemaker’s Refuge

"Of course he visited you," Gethra said unkindly during breakfast. "The Spymaster wants to sink his slimy claws in any and everyone it can possibly get."

Alexander smothered his some butter on his bread and said quietly, "Do you have a place to stay? You're welcome here, of course, but we don't have the means to defend you yet."

Lucian was a little concerned. "I...is there a need for violence?"

The prince shrugged. "Betrayed me the first chance he got. I wouldn't be surprised if he came in with the Royal Guard and stabbed me with a bayonet."

"All right," Lucian said. "We'll leave tonight and if there's any way we can get weapons to you—"

"I would be extremely grateful. Be well on your way."

Maybe this is how main characters feel like in all those games Niko used to play. Lucian always felt a little overwhelmed whenever his friend told him about all of the quests he accepted.

I wish I could tell him I understand how it feels now. Being sent to different places and talking to people...but unlike a game, I don't have a save file.

+

The sky was completely dark when they left Staesis. Lucian and Alice bid goodbye to their driver.

"No one's running after you, so you can go back to Atreaum."

The driver tipped his stained blue cap. "Hope to see you again someday, Lord Mortician. I'll keep my ear to the ground for you."

Lucian nodded gratefully. "Thank you." He gave one last glance at the driver and his fire-maned horses. Then he, Alice, and Gethra stepped through one of the many hidden passages beneath the annex.

"This one leads back to the farm," Gethra said, gesturing to the wooden plaque with a bucket carved into it. "I'll stay behind to keep the others safe, and protect the library. Good luck, Lord Mortician."

+

Gethra gave Alice a lantern before they left, and it cast long shadows over the tunnels made of brick, dirt, and bone.

She asked no questions and only lit the way, walking beside Lucian. The sound of Lucian's cane hitting bone and dirt echoed through the tunnel, and he was acutely aware of how alone they were. Just him, her, and a lantern.

It was comforting and frightening.

What if something ambushes us? I barely know how to cast proper rituals--I don't even know offense magic! Lucian shook his head and tried to comfort himself. Gethra was a friend and she had no reason to betray them. If she said the tunnel led to Sweetwater, he had to believe her.

"Are you afraid?" Alice asked suddenly. He glanced at her. "What gave it away?"

"Sometimes you claw at the walls." He looked at his left hand and sure enough, there was dirt beneath his fingernails.

"I've never explored this far before," he explained. "I preferred staying at home or working."

She looked at him with some sadness in her eyes. "Wasn't it lonely?"

Lucian patted her head. He didn't know how old Alice was, but her questions were more curious than judgmental. "I didn't think so, because I enjoyed my work."

+

The tunnel snaked beneath Staesis like a buried lung, stale with time and occasionally chalked in old warding glyphs. Some were already fading and others were weeping ink.

Lucian didn't read them.

He felt them.

They emerged beneath a collapsed shed on the outskirts of Sweetwater Farm. It was crumbling and the garden was overgrown with vines, but the cold wind was familiar and comforting, compared to Staesis.

The silver-leafed trees now had white blossoms, and the winter frost was no longer there. Instead, it looked like spring had finally arrived. Even the wind smelled different here.

Alive.

Lucian stumbled once as they walked down the narrow dirt path. The weight of the bell still lived in his bones. Alice looked up in awe.

"Rosa's memories made it look like a land shrouded in winter," she breathed.

"It used to be, before our visit."

+

A voice called out — soft, familiar.

"Lucian?"

He turned.

It was Lucy. She stood at the path, basket in hand and her apron stained with wax. Beside her, Lira held a broom like a weapon.

Alice stepped behind him instinctively.

Lucy approached slowly and Lira lowered her broom.

"We didn't think we'd see you again."

Lucian managed a small smile. "I wasn't sure either."

+

Inside the farmhouse, they sat around a low table with cold tea and even colder conversation.

Lucian explained as much as he could. When he mentioned the bell, Lira flinched.

"I heard it," she whispered. "I thought I imagined it."

Lucy set down her tea. "Are you being hunted?"

Lucian didn't answer.

He didn't need to.

Alice quietly peeled a candle label off a jar, her hands trembling slightly.

Michael entered an hour later, wax-dusted and curious. When he saw Lucian, his eyes widened — not in fear, but something close to recognition.

He didn't ask questions.

Instead, he said: "You can stay in the workshop. No one checks on the candlemaker."

Lucian looked at him, surprised.

Michael shrugged. "They fear quiet people. That's why I'm still alive."

+

The workshop was shaped like memory.

Everything smelled of beeswax, earth, and boiled thread. Dozens of half-carved molds sat on a central table, and thick red candles waited to be cut.

Lucian slept on a cot beside the furnace. Alice curled up in a nest of old cloth and crates, muttering in her sleep.

That first night, Lucian didn't open the Grimoire.

He just watched the wax melt.

+

The next morning, Michael handed him a box of mismatched tools and pointed to the far table.

"Cut these," he said. "Then tie the labels."

No more words.

Lucian worked quietly, and for the first time in days, the Grimoire didn't whisper.

+

They settled into a rhythm.

Lucian helped clean jars and mend the windows. Alice dried petals in an old baking tin. Michael carved slowly, shaping votive candles that never looked the same twice.

One evening, as Lucian wiped wax from a pot, he asked:

"Don't you get lonely?"

Michael tilted his head, thoughtful.

Then shrugged.

"I do. Mima stopped that for a while."

Lucian nodded.

Michael wiped his hands on a cloth, then added softly:

"Now I'm figuring out how to fit other people in my day."

+

That night, Alice stared at the flame of her lantern.

"I don't feel like Rosa anymore," she said quietly. "But I don't feel like me either."

Lucian looked over.

"Do you feel safe?"

She thought a moment. "With you? Yes."

A pause.

"But inside? I'm still haunted. Just... not by ghosts."

+

The next morning, a letter arrived.

Folded clean, with no return mark.

Michael passed it over while Lucian was wrapping a jar of honey wax.

The seal was heavy — the Queen's sigil.

Lucian didn't open it immediately.

He felt it first.

It pulsed like a lie.

When he finally did read it, the words inside rang cold:

"Your rites spiral, Lucian. I feel them from the palace. You've broken three of my scrying mirrors. Come back and renounce your autonomy. Let me shelter you. My authority is your conduit.

Without it, you will ruin more than you mend."

Lucian studied the final line.

The ink shimmered too evenly.

Someone had tampered with the letter.

"I will not be a puppet," he wrote back, and sealed the reply with plain wax. He handed it over to Michael. "Please mail this for me. Let her wait."

Later, while Lucian marked a new rite for spiritual silence, a faint clucking echoed from the rafters.

Alice froze.

"Why did you say no?" she whispered.

Lucian looked up. "What?"

But she was staring at the ceiling, eyes wide.

He didn't hear it again.

But the Grimoire wrote a single warning:

Echo-Class Interference Detected.

Thread Signature: Queen Guinevere — proximity influence possible.

Lucian frowned.

Queen Guinevere? Who's that? 

Sometimes dealing with his Grimoire was like trying to uncover a long history lesson.

+

That evening, Lucian sat outside the workshop, looking at Sweetwater's fields in the horizon. The sky above them was pale with mourning fog.

The Grimoire opened beside him and whispered:

"Welcome to the edge."

He stared at the page, then asked:

"Is this exile?"

The answer came slowly.

"This is freedom. But freedom is where grief has no instructions."

Lucian closed the book.

Outside, the wind carried the sound of bells — or bones.

He couldn't be sure.