Chapter 60: Customized Resurrection Services (Please Recommend and Bookmark)

“So? Did you find out where he is?” As soon as Haborwick returned, President Lisper hurried forward to ask.

“I spoke to a few acquaintances nearby, but none of them know where Skinny Monkey went. They said a stranger came looking for him a few days ago, and after that, he packed up in a rush and left. No one has seen him since.”

The ranger continued, “But I did find out where he’d been staying recently.”

“Where?”

“Gran Road, East Street.”

The three of them then made their way to East Street. After a brief search, they found Skinny Monkey’s lodging, but it was already deserted. Like the black market stall, a layer of dust covered everything. Judging by the scattered items on the floor, he must have left in a hurry.

Lisper couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Just when they finally found a clue, it slipped away again.

At that moment, Bohn suddenly asked, “President, can we get reimbursed for the expenses we’re incurring?”

“Hm?” Lisper was taken aback. She still wasn’t used to Bohn’s occasionally odd remarks, but she understood his general meaning. She nodded mechanically.

“Y-yes, we’ll put it on the Arcane Society’s tab.”

“That makes things much easier.” Bohn smiled faintly, walked to the bedside, and gathered some fallen hairs from the pillow.

“What are you doing?” Both the president and the ranger were puzzled, but Bohn just smiled enigmatically and said nothing.

Leading the way, he took them to the nearest Jaeger Temple.

To call it a temple was generous; it was more like a stone mausoleum. Normally, mausoleums would be built outside the town, but Jaeger’s mausoleum-temples were an exception, found within the city.

Jaeger’s clergy—priests or ministers—were usually employed as scribes, cemetery workers, or undertakers.

As time went on, people came to both revere and fear Jaeger’s church. Jaeger was a cold and merciless master of death—the god of death himself! No sane person would worship darkness or revere death, so Ammanata, the god of order and light, was much more beloved and respected.

As a result, Jaeger’s temples were few and far between, and most were lifeless mausoleums, morgues, or dry, dust-laden catacombs.

“Boss, why are we here? Aren’t we looking for a living person?” the ranger asked nervously, swallowing hard.

He couldn’t understand why his boss had brought them to a place so heavy with necromantic energy; as a druid, he was extremely averse to such places.

“Not necessarily. He might already be dead,” Bohn replied calmly.

He knew all too well how nobles operated. That secondhand dealer, Skinny Monkey, could very well be dead by now. After all, the Dupont family were nobles in Sevenden, and the fewer people who knew about such underhanded dealings, the better. Sometimes, to tie up loose ends, they’d even kill their own, let alone a lowly peddler.

As both a necromancer-judge and servant of the death god, Bohn was familiar with the oppressive aura of Jaeger’s temple, saturated with negative energy. Within fifty meters of the temple, no living animals or plants could be found. Jaeger’s priests were known as the “Notaries of Doom” or “Recorders of Fate.”

The clergy of Jaeger often said: the moment of your birth, your place of eternal rest is already determined. Life is merely the journey to find that place and receive eternal peace.

But Jaeger’s priests were not entirely without desires. With a little financial persuasion, Bohn soon met the priest he needed.

The president and the ranger could both sense that this priest was not exactly “human.” They knew Jaeger’s clergy were mostly undead, so it didn’t surprise them too much.

This Jaeger priest had a bald head, wore a simple gray robe and long white gloves, and donned a mask shaped like a praying mantis’s head, his face smooth and pale, his eyes bulbous.

That day, they finally witnessed the truth of the saying: money makes even the dead turn their wheels.

Thanks to Bohn’s generous payment, even the undead treated him with deference. Using the hair Bohn provided, they quickly confirmed that Skinny Monkey was indeed dead.

President Lisper finally understood why Bohn had asked about expense reimbursement—he had located a high priest of the temple. Each high priest of Jaeger bore the title “Notary of Doom.”

As the two stood in stunned silence, Bohn commissioned a resurrection contract from the high priest, stipulating that after Skinny Monkey was “revived,” he would testify for Cook. In exchange, Bohn would pay the resurrection fee.

When the three left the mausoleum, the president and the ranger were both still in a daze. It took Lisper a long moment before she asked, her voice trembling, “How much did all this cost?”

“Hmm…” Bohn thought for a moment. “About twenty thousand gold, I’d say.”

Lisper was dumbstruck. As president of the Arcane Society, she knew they likely didn’t even have ten thousand gold in total.

“That price is a bargain. Once the resurrection contract is signed, they’ll go to great lengths to revive the dead—fortunately Skinny Monkey wasn’t a professional, or the price would be even higher. If I remember correctly, most resurrection contracts cost upwards of twenty-five thousand.”

Sensing her distress, Bohn smiled. “Don’t worry, we can put it on credit for now. When Cook returns, we can transfer the debt to him.”

Her eyes lit up. “Of course!”

Bohn couldn’t help but laugh. This woman’s priorities were certainly unique. Shouldn’t they be glad they could spend money to save someone? Why was she so fixated on the cost?

In truth, Bohn overlooked the fact that not everyone in the academy ran their own business—most people wouldn’t spend this much money in five years.

The two of them had certainly learned something new today. They never expected Jaeger’s temple to offer custom resurrection services, and that the undead “revived” were even considered “legal” afterward!

Though the resurrected would continue as undead, wasn’t that a kind of immortality in itself? They wondered if the undead around Sevenden had come about this way, and even thought of whether any of their own relatives might become undead someday…

When the three returned to the academy, the president rushed back to the Arcane Society to stabilize the situation until Cook returned—no more problems could be allowed to arise.

Bohn settled his new underling, the ranger, in the temporary warehouse of the Layman Trade Guild—fortunately, Layman happened to be there and Bohn left the man with him before heading back to his own basement.

…

(Featured at the top! So happy, and the best part is seeing so many people debating the setting. Honestly, I’m thrilled—I totally get why people are nitpicking, because I used to do the same! So many people know D&D; it proves that fantasy still has a place! Please drop me a vote if you can!)