From Corpse to Crown: Reborn as a Mortician in Another World-Chapter 8: Rejection’s Sting

Lucian didn't know which was worse: the bitter cold after being thrown out of Sweetwater or Lira's refusal. For a few minutes, he just stood there, staring at the bloated wood and warped iron handle, tea rapidly cooling in his hand.

Visit freёnovelkiss.com for the 𝑏est n𝘰vel reading experience.

I can't believe this. Rejection sat heavy in his stomach, like a sack of potatoes. He had prepared himself for some resistance, not outright dismissal. He wanted—very badly—to put his boot through the door. It looked flimsy, and by the state of the house, Lira hadn't maintained its integrity.

There's nothing stopping me from making her rest. A strange surge of dark energy rose within him, manifesting on the soles of his feet.

With a soft popping noise, his Grimoire appeared in front of the door with a short note:

[CODEX - WARNING]

Forcing a soul to accept your decision makes you no better than a necromancer.

Your job is to bring them peace, not violence.

Disregard this, and the Queendom will respond accordingly.

"I'm not even allowed to be upset?" Lucian hissed at the book. His breath fogged in front of him and then he heard a sharp cracking sound, followed by pain. The teacup exploded in his hand. Shards of glass fell into the snowy porch like dead rose petals.

Instead of tea, a thick sludge steamed against his coat sleeve. He flinched, blinking at the mixture of syrup, blood, and glass shards spread across his palm.

I get your point, loud and clear. Lucian thought bitterly.

He heard the soft creak of carriage leather and remembered he wasn't alone. Lucian turned and saw Rosa leaning against the side of the carriage, a comforting silhouette against the starless winter sky. The driver moved the carriage closer so he wouldn't have to walk alone in the dark, and he felt grateful.

+

She carried a glowing iron lantern and gave him a long, quiet look, like a mother would give to her child. Rosa tilted her head toward the open carriage. "Tea didn't go well, I take it?"

"Mm." Lucian walked stiffly toward the carriage, tea dripping from his palm onto the snow. He slumped in his seat, fingers curled around the injury. Rosa sat beside him and pulled out a scrap of cloth from her apron. "I'm guessing she didn't want to be friends."

"She didn't even look at me," Lucian muttered, looking like a rejected puppy. "I tried. I really did."

Rosa hummed in sympathy as she gently cleaned his wounds. "Souls like hers...are a little stuck in their ways. Duty, guilt, routine. Over time, they forget they can leave." She dabbed the cloth against his wrist. "But hey, she didn't throw a chair at you. Or a kitchen knife."

Lucian snorted. "Small mercies."

They felt a bit of movement and heard the driver jump down from the front of the carriage. He'd been dead awhile, from how gray-blue his skin was. The driver pulled his cap down low and held out a roll of bandages without a word. Lucian thought he saw the imprint of a boot on his wrist, but didn't comment.

"You...keep first aid up there?" He asked instead. The driver chuckled, low and raspy. "Was alive once. Served under three noble houses. Got stabbed in two. You pick up a few things." Lucian didn't argue. He held out his hand and the driver wrapped it, mumbling to himself.

Lucian didn't quite understand the words, but instinctively he knew it was undead dialect. The driver coughed and said "Sorry. Forgot you weren't dead. I said 'scalded by grief and politeness.' Rare mix."

I have to keep reminding them I'm not dead. I wonder why. Lucian made a mental note to ask the Queen or Rosa later. The driver returned to his perch and Lucian exhaled. His hand needed time to mend, and for the first time, he regretted not having access to healing magic.

That's something I've never considered before. I'm mending the dead, but in this world, who mends me? Lucian felt the manor taunting him in his failure. He looked up when he heard Rosa's knitting needles clicking. "You did your best. Maybe it's not her time yet."

Lucian was about to agree...but then looked behind the estate.

"Huh. Wonder why she didn't get me water. Or...let me get water."

Rosa's knitting needles stopped moving. "Excuse me?"

"Back at the estate. Lira offered me some tea. When I asked for some water, she stiffened. Like she didn't want me going near it." He stood up and opened the carriage door. "And since she threw me out, I don't need permission to check."

"Well then," Rosa smiled. "If you're going to the well now, there's an extra lantern under my seat."

+

Lucian walked past the stone fence and the pine trees until he stood before the old well. The stone was scratched in several places. Its mouth was rimmed in frost—he could almost imagine fog rising from within. The old lantern above it flickered gently and cast a soft spotlight over moss-covered bricks.

He observed how the pine trees blocked any light that dared to come close. It was far too easy to imagine creatures staring at his every move. Rosa wasn't kidding. Sweetwater shadows are something else.

Lucian set his lamp down and grasped the crank, slowly lowering the bucket into the well. The handle squeaked and the bucket bumped against the stones as it descended, the sound echoing deep into the darkness below.

Agh, damnit. Relax, Luci. If Lira decides to investigate...I really don't want to think about it....

Heart filled with dread, the mortician looked toward the estate and waited. So far, the only thing that moved was candlelight. He waited a little longer--just in case--and then drew the bucket back up. Lucian hoped the water wasn't full of fish or bugs.

He checked the bucket and gasped. The water had a weak shimmer that didn't come from lamplight, and it looked clean. Lucian cupped some of it in his hands and drank.

It didn't taste stale. The water was refreshing, but it also felt cleansing. Lucian felt the water spread warmth across his throat, and it numbed the ache in his injured hand. The mortician wanted to remove the bandage, but the driver made sure it was secure.

It doesn't feel like magic. Lucian knew it was a weird thing to think about, especially in this new world. Instead it felt familiar, like a long-forgotten memory. Like the warmth of hands that reached out when he was at his weakest. Or of being told 'I believe in you.' when no one else did.

He stared at the water—and then it moved.

Its surface rippled and twisted into the same tendril he saw from the estate's window. Up close, it looked like liquid silk and stretched upward, shaping itself into arms, a torso, a head...

A girl's head.

Dark-blue hair, eyes like a dying sunset, and a soft smile across her pale blue face. She emerged halfway, her form slightly more solid now, and leaned on the bucket with her chin.

"Hi there," she said cheerfully, like they were old friends.

Lucian blinked. "You...you just...you're..." he paused and took a breath. "You just climbed out of that well."

"Mm-hmm!" she said. "I do that sometimes."

"I'm Lucy. Want another drink?" she asked, tilting her head. When he just continued staring, she laughed. "Ah, yeah. Let me slip into something less...distracting." She rose from the water in a shimmer, trailing ripples that curled into a dress and shoes with each step.

"There we go. Anyway, you look like you've been hurt in more ways than one. So. Drink?" She held the bucket out to him.