REVERSE: 1999 STORY LOGS

01 | Flakes of Light

[Monastery]

Within the monastery, a crowd eagerly gathered on both sides of the wide-open courtyard gate. At the forefront there stood a man, shifting in place as if anticipating something.

Michael: Uhhem!

As if catching sight of something, he coughed into his throat and walked forward to greet the new arrival. His demeanor shifted quickly to something more flattering.

Michael: Lady Dikke, we’re sincerely delighted to have you⁠—

The young magistrate, striding through the door, waved her hand brusquely, as if to cut the welcome short.

Dikke: You know why I’ve come; your pleasantries won’t impact my assessment of the work here. So save your proclamations of piety and duty for your flock. They may be more inclined to play these tedious games with you than I.

The man managed an awkward, pleading smile.

Michael: …

Michael: Thank you for your … suggestion. The necessary records have already been organized; please follow me.

Dikke seemed uninterested in following, her gaze wandering between the passing worshipers and the flickering candles.

Michael: Lady Dikke…?

The proud bishop raised his head, seeming quite satisfied with the lively scene inside the monastery.

Michael: As you can see, there are many who still place their trust in us. They come to pray here each day…

Dikke: Hmm…

She chuckled briefly.

Michael: Do you doubt the sincerity of our faith or our convictions? I swear to you, My Lady; I would never bring dishonor upon our Lord…

The bishop raised his hand, deftly gesturing in front of his chest.

Dikke: Rest assured; I’m not interested in your oaths either, sir. Tell me, where might I find a tavern around here?

Michael: Oh, Ah?

His stance shifted, he stood his ground and spoke up.

Michael: My Lady, surely it would be improper to be seen drinking during work hours!

Noticing nary a change in her expression, he continued cautiously.

Michael: Moreover, the only tavern to be found here is a haven for vice… It is home only to drunkards, mud-raked and covered with lice… It would be unseemly of you to be seen there.

Dikke: …

At last, the bishop seemed to catch on, flashing a knowing smile.

Michael: Ah, but if you’re in the mood for some good wine… I happen to have some…

Dikke: You misunderstood me, Bishop Michael. I want only a straightforward answer. You failed to detail this in your records.

He smirked, laughing under his breath.

Michael: So then this is a request from the court, or …?

Dikke: It is a personal request.

Michael: I see…

He finally eased up. The bishop stood tall, reclaiming his usual air of arrogance.

Michael: No wonder you’ve become the youngest chief magistrate. You are not worried about upsetting the others? I’ve heard plenty of rumors about you.

The bishop feigned a look of paternal concern. To his dismay, he couldn’t detect even a hint of hesitation in the young woman.

Dikke: That’s something they’ll need to consider. No one is irreplaceable, Bishop Michael… myself included. The great plague claimed many lives. But we did little during that catastrophe, didn’t we?

Michael: It wasn’t our fault… there was nothing we could do…

Dikke: Yet doing something is better than nothing.

The daylight was blinding, yet she stubbornly raised her head into the sun, holding it above him with authority.

Dikke: I don’t intend to vex you, Bishop Michael⁠—

Dikke: Only that I feel the sun must spread its warmth to a few more places.

Michael: …

Dikke: Any more questions, Your Excellency?

Michael: No… I’ll arrange for someone to guide you.

Dikke: Very well.

Michael: May the Lord bless you.

02 | Song of Praises

[Outside, Tavern]

The rowdy sounds from the tavern spilled out into the air. But the ruckus outside the door wasn’t just drunken banter.

Pfft⁠—

George: Curse you! How much water did you sneak into this drink?!

Tavern Owner: Get lost, you babbling broke fool!

The drunkard, licking his lips as he slyly pulled out the cork, was more than pleased.

Tavern Owner: Quit cousin a scene. I can feel those pitiful coins tumbling in your pocket; though they don’t amount to much.

George: Gi… Give me another… I can pay!

Leaning casually against the dirty wall in her pristine robes, someone chimed in.

Dikke: Two glasses of your best white.

The innkeeper slyly masked his surprise and briskly swung the tavern door open, inviting the magistrate in.

Tavern Owner: Need anything else? It’s snug, sure, but we’ve got everything you could want! And, of course, we offer services of the menu!

His suggestive wink went unnoticed; the speaker had no plans to step inside.

Dikke: I’m looking for someone. Someone who knows their way around here.

A scruffy man stepped forward with swaggering confidence.

George: Me name’s George. I’m the man you’re after! Want the juicy details about noble affairs, or are you after some excitement? Trust me, my rates are fair…

He thumped his chest with genuine conviction.

Dikke: Here, these are for you.

George: Oh Lord, praise be to your name! To be trusted by a person of your stature; I vow you have made a wise choice!

Taking a deep breath of the lingering scent of wine, he turned his head away from the innkeeper.

George: Care for it well! And remember, not a drop of water ⁠— I’m won’t be so easily fooled!

Tavern Owner: Tsk.

…

The figures moved through the streets and alleys.

Dikke: Is this the market?

George: Yes, Your Honor. Merchants from other towns come here to buy and sell their wares. If you’re willing to spend a bit, you can find all sorts of treasures. As for that tall structure there… well, before it was abandoned, it was our tower.

He lowered his voice and leaned in.

George: Since the great plague, no one has taken care of it… Everyone says there are ghouls inside… My Lady, I advise you to stay away from there.

Dikke looked around. The few people that passed by avoided eye contact, their faces marked by strange expressions. She traced the path of their gaze over to a mound nestled in an alley beneath the tower and a solitary cross peeking out from the shadows.

Dikke: Hmm…?

Dikke: It seems this is not a market but a graveyard.

Without waiting for a response, Dikke walked towards the alley.

As she entered under the tower’s shadow, the mound became fully visible. Withered wildflowers and tangled hay lie around it, the decaying wooden cross sticking out from above. Ants were crawling in lines over it.

Dikke: Is this grave one of the market’s specialties?

George: This… it must be new… I haven’t seen it here before… Oh… Recently, there have been rumors about these ghouls. Perhaps…

Suddenly, an approaching man pushed George aside, glaring harshly at him.

Malachi: Step back, filth! Do you dare taint the robes of our honorable magistrate!

The man wheeled around on his heels, bowing in a respectful gesture.

Malachi: Ah! Honorable Magistrate, I am Malachi. You’ve graced us with your presence, at last. Even now, we are patiently awaiting you at the monastery. But, why are you out here all alone, Father Malachi?

Dikke: It’s a habit of mine.

He nodded, then feigning realization adopted a fearful expression.

Malachi: This drunkard is a madman. If he said anything foolish to you, I beg you forgive him.

Malachi: …

He gave the other man a stern look, and his nose twitched.

Malachi: Huh? You smell of Languedoc? Where did you steal such good wine? ⁠— You’ve committed a crime, boy!

George: Pah, I stole nothing!... This was my hard-earned reward.

Malachi: We’ll deal with this later!⁠— Magistrate!

He put on a new smile to accompany his changed face.

Dikke: I believe you have another matter to discuss. Unreported deaths, is that right?

Malachi: No, no, no, My Lady, you misunderstand. Of course, we were planning to report this to you, but… we needed first to organize the complete records.

The man spoke haltingly.

Dikke: No matter, I had no intention of combing through your tedious records. You may state your case in person.

Malachi: He…

The sound of an impatient rapping of fingers rose and fell along Lady Dikke’s sword, echoing into Malachi’s ears.

Dikke: You have nothing to fear. Please … continue.

Malachi: …The deceased was a monk… Brother Chester.

George: Ah! It’s him…

Malachi shot him another glance.

Dikke: Go on.

George: I’ve heard some rumors; people say he’s the one you’ve hidden away, the one that had turned into a ghoul…

Malachi: Shut your mouth, or would you like to forfeit your rations?

George: …

The man pulled back his neck.

Malachi: According to our initial investigation, Chester appears to have died due to a drunken misstep…

He nervously scanned the surroundings.

Dikke: Father Malachi, is there something you’d rather not discuss openly?

Malachi: Several residents reported witnessing odd behavior from Brother Chester, that he had a peculiar offensive odor about him… some even claim to have seen him sneaking into the tower… And others say they saw him carrying a corpse through the town at night. Convinced that he was a ghoul.

Dikke: And is there any truth to these claims?

Malachi’s voice dropped.

Malachi: Of course not, My Lady! Ghouls are nothing more than superstition… Yet, heaven only knows… Perhaps he was a wizard.

Dikke: Huh…

Malachi: …The elders think so too.

Dikke: So, then you assume his death came from a spell that backfired?

He leaned in, whispering in a voice only the two could hear.

Malachi: My Lady, it doesn’t really matter what the truth is. Should it be revealed that the monastery concealed a wizard, it wouldn’t sit well with the townspeople.

His breath ran thin as he advised the young woman in front of him.

Malachi: Though the Great Plague is over, the people’s trust in us has not yet been restored. “Can the monastery really protect us? Can they?”⁠—You must have heard such doubts. Whether a wizard or ghoul, either one would profane the monastery by their presence. It leaves us in a precarious position, I’m sure I need not say more.

He nodded in approval, as if he were satisfied by his own words.

Dikke: You have your reasons.

Malachi: Hmm…

Dikke: But I don’t accept them.

Malachi: What…?!

He stared in astonishment at the young magistrate.

Dikke: As of now, I’m unsure where the truth lies. What I do know is that it won’t be discovered in empty words or false advice.

Malachi: You should know… the affairs of wizards are most elusive, it will be difficult for us to gather substantial evidence.

Dikke: That, father… is precisely my work.

Malachi tried to suppress his anger.

Malachi: Perhaps you don’t quite understand what I’m saying… The people need the comfort of reassurance, not harsh realities, my Lady.

Malachi: Please, you should⁠—

Dikke: What you should do, Father, is provide me useful information. Not stand in my way and presume to dictate my mission.

“Woosh⁠—!”

Malachi: Of course, of course…

He nodded fervently.

Dikke: I thank you for your assistance.

The cold metal blade dropped, as if finally satisfied.

03 | Confession and Trauma

[Living Area, Monastery]

The anxious monk scrunched his neck, his hands tightly gripping at his robe.

Dikke: Uhhem!

Monk: My Lady! Please spare me your blade⁠—I am but a poor sinner. Alright I admit, I fell asleep during prayer last week, but I swear to you, I never wavered in my faith!

In an act of total submission, the young monk bowed his head lower than in any prayer before, his devotion palpable.

Dikke: Heh … your confessions are beneath my concern.

A subtle dark smiled played against her lips.

Monk: Ahh…!

Dikke: But I shall pass it on to the father for you.

Escaping the judgment he had feared, the monk breathed a sigh of relief.

Dikke: Do not be afraid; this place is too secluded and, without witnesses, not fit for a trial. I summoned you to discuss other pressing matters. You may keep the affairs of your faith to yourself.

Monk: …As you wish.

The Lady that stood before him didn’t seem as ruthless as rumored; he boldly continued.

Monk: Then, My Lady, I am at your service, what do you need to know?

Dikke: Did Chester live here?

Monk: Yes, though he was a recluse, we rarely spoke with him. The night watchmen would spy Chester sneaking out at night, Heaven only knows to what end … He was always strange …

Dikke leaned over the table, filling out in her mind the image of this peculiar monk. The phantom image sat invisibly on a creaking, decrepit chair, hunched over the table, leaving behind an unmistakable oil stain. Every monk possessed a book symbolizing the holy scriptures and its guidance, it hung close to their chests as a reminder to unwaveringly pursue brilliance and purity.

But she held Chester’s in her hand; it was rough, stained with oil, and clearly bearing the marks of hasty damage.

Dikke: …Hmm?

Her hands flipped through the pages, stopping as she gently pulled out a loose parchment sandwiched between them.

Monk: Did you find something?

Dikke: Continue please.

Monk: I…

As if finding a fresh source of redemption, the fearful monk blurted out another recollection.

Monk: I once saw Brother Chester take a bottle of very expensive wine to meet with one of the elders…

Dikke: An elder?

Monk: Yes… Father Malachi. I recognized the bottle of wine in Chester’s hand… I’d seen it in the tavern before. The proprietor keeps it on the highest shelf, off-limits to common patrons.

Dikke: Did Father Malachi partake often?

Monk: I think so… the abbot doesn’t restrict us from imbibing, so long as it is in moderation it is perfectly acceptable. You should understand that it’s the elders who deem the limits of moderation. So that’s why Chester…

Dikke: Sought redemption from a drunkard?

Dikke tapped the sword in her hand, as if sentencing him for his impudence.

Dikke: Or perhaps it was only an attempt at bribery …

Monk: Oh, forgive me, My Lady! Pretend I said nothing!

Dikke: As you wish, you are free to go.

Monk: Ahh…!

…

Sharp gusts of wind swept through the street. A familiar, respectful face approached, wearing a sincere and flattering smile.

George: My Lady, you’ve finally arrived! I knew you’d return. You’re different from the others, like the wine fermenting in the Loire Valley or a breeze that graces a beautiful estate!

Dikke: Silence.

George: Yes, My Lady!

Dikke: Tell me, how the rumors about this ghoul spread?

George: Well… At first, someone said they saw Brother Chester roaming the cemetery at night.

Dikke: The cemetery…

George: It’s east of the city, within a forest of withered trees. In the past, when people died, they would be taken there. The bodies piled up like mountains there, carried in carts… My father was one of them.

For a moment, George jesting nature broke and revealed a mournful look beneath it.

Dikke: Did they all die from that great plague?

George: I don’t know, My Lady, I simply don’t know… The great plague devoured everything, arriving so swiftly that my father passed with nary a word!

Dikke fell silent for a long time before resuming.

Dikke: So, then they say Chester turned into a ghoul while wandering around these heaps of corpses?

George: He had no business there, My Lady. He never lost anyone to the plague…

He scratched his head.

George: I can’t make sense out of it, but the people talk amongst themselves… “See? Those monks are either a bunch of lazy good-for-nothings or a collection of the strange and wicked… They sat comfy in their halls while the plague hit, and now they’ve come out only to disturb the remains of our loved ones…”

George: “Do you really think they can be trusted with our faith…?”

George: And the people spreading these ideas? They’re serious as the grave. They claim to know the details, like the shovel Chester used, and they can recount every weed and clod stuck to it. More people began to join in, claiming they saw Brother Chester sneaking into the monastery with a dead body…

Dikke: A scandal.

George: You mean…?

Dikke: They were merely rumors.

George shivered.

George: Ahem, I swear, I never bought into their stories.

Dikke: But we can’t let them off the hook.

George: I would speak against them, My Lady! I know those people, and I know they can’t hold their liquor. On that day, they downed three whole bottles. What they claimed was certainly booze-fueled nonsense, not a word to be trusted… And they didn’t leave a drop for⁠—!

As the drunkard danced around with his hands, a rough notebook was handed to him.

…

George: …?

Dikke: Do you recognize the symbols on it?

He swallowed hard.

George: My Lady, I don’t know what it says, but perhaps I might lead you in the right direction…

Dikke: This is Chester’s notebook, “Mysteries of the Human Body.” He kept it well hidden…

George: Heh, I thought monks vowed to keep no secrets from their brothers…

Dikke: This book… it details a variety of dissections performed on the dead.

George: ……?!

The hand flipping the notebook stopped abruptly.

04 | Grace of the Goblet

George: My Lady, do we really have to do this?

George looked around nervously, clutching a delicate glass bottle tightly, the crimson liquid swaying inside.

Dikke: The monks themselves told me, moderate drinking is allowed.

George: And to make him blind drunk, is that considered moderate…?

Dikke: That interpretation isn’t up to you.

George: Well, just in case…

Dikke: …

George: Ah, I see!

George slipped into the room, bathed in the gentle light of stained-glass windows.

…

The faithful had long finished their prayers and left. George slowly approached, bowing in front of the priest’s altar.

George: Father, I’ve come to seek the Lord’s forgiveness. I am a sinner, Father.

Malachi: You’ve come late, George… and empty-handed. Confess then, and our merciful Lord will forgive your sins.

The priest looked down at the penitent believer, a veneer of kindness on his face marred by hungry eyes. Then, he coughed twice.

Malachi: Have you paid your tithes, George. Where are our cattle, our lambs? Did you bring them hence?

George: I did not, forgive me, Father… I need all that I have left for winter.

The merciful smile faded a second as the priest leaned out of the light.

Malachi: No matter, George, your family comes first. But then have you some golden grain that might feed our faithful?

George: No, not that either, Father. I sold all that I had to spare at market…

The priest’s kindness vanished into a gritted smile.

Malachi: It seems you haven’t truly repented yet… Have you no concern for those who pray for you? Did you forget that the treasure shared with us in life, are stored doubly in heaven?

George: Forgive me then, father. That I only brought one such treasure with me.

George lifted his robe, revealing the top of a glass bottle.

George: That you might not forget me in your prayers, I beg you take it…

The warm light of mercy returned to the priest’s face., and he opened his hand.

Malachi: Ah!

Malachi: A delightful smell, surely as pure as the wine at Cana, of course, I will save it to share in a time of celebration. At last, I feel the sincerity of your repentance. Go now; your sins have been forgiven.

George: Thank you, Father Malachi.

“Pop⁠—”

The sound of the cork echoed against the empty chamber, hidden from the eyes of the stained-glass saints.

…

Father Malachi reeked of alcohol, he stumbled through the empty corridor, collapsing in front of the gaze of a statue. His steps were unsteady, and he hadn’t noticed Dikke standing in the shadows.

Malachi: Oh Lord! Forgive me… Burp⁠— I had only a little drink… I’m not drunk… I didn’t…

Dikke: Devoted as ever, Father Malachi.

Seizing the perfect moment, Dikke leaned against the angel statue, brandishing her flaming sword. It gleamed like the blazing sun, with fierce fiery tongues dancing below the feet of the angel.

Malachi: How… how are you here?

Dikke: While you sought forgiveness through prayer, I sought the truth. And I’ve found it. Brother Chester wasn’t the only one fallen to drunkenness, it seems, or am I mistaken?

Malachi: That poor wretch… It wasn’t me who did it. I swear …

Malachi: It was accidental! It was… I did not intend for him to fall…

Dikke: Of course, your drinking together that night was nothing more than an act of camaraderie. You share your labors, your prayers, your wine, and it seems to me you even share corpses.

Dikke’s shadow approached closer.

Malachi: Never … I had nothing to do with those corpses! But if I hadn’t discovered his wickedness, the abbot would never have permitted us to ostracize him… He, he’s lower than a carrion worm… ripe with the nauseating odor of a wizard!

Malachi: Go down to the basement and see with your own eyes. It’ll prove what I said is true… I’ve done nothing wrong!

Dikke: For your sake, I hope so.

He leaned against the statue, his gaze wandering.

Malachi: The great plague has been gone a long time… As long as we do not intervene, people will forget those horrible events, and they will continue to believe in us…

Dikke: …Was that his crime? A wizard trying to study corpses, awakening the painful memories of the people?

Malachi: It is the truth! Given enough time, we will regain the trust of the people and their donations…

MBut, you see…

Forgive me… Merciful Lord…

Malachi’s ramblings stirred with the alcohol on his breath, creating a swamp of stench and confusion. It was as if he didn’t even realize what he was saying; muttering to himself until he collapsed on the ground.

Dikke: … Maybe your prayers will be heard. Maybe your sins will be forgiven. But not right now, Father.

05 | The Killing Hands

Dikke returned to the grimy room. A persistent smell of burning tar covered a hint of decay, set against the old files on the shelves, created a somber dread-filled backdrop. Malachi’s heartfelt confessions, wine-soaked as they were, proved more helpful than he likely knew.

“Click⁠—”

She pressed against a concealed stone button. The secret table revealed itself, along with a neatly arranged assortment of knives and clamps, holding faint traces of dried blood.

Dikke: Hmm?

A solitary notebook lay on the stone table.

…

Dikke: This is the complete notebook.

Dikke: “As for preventing another outbreak of the great plague… The disease seems to spread most readily through rats or perhaps fleas… the scent of the patients’ corpses and these creatures carry a similar odor…”

Dikke: “The tower’s state of decay has permitted the presence of many vermin which might carry the disease. A thorough cleansing of the tower would seem a prudent move…”

Dikke: “Testing method… senses far beyond those of a normal person… body immune to infection…”

Dikke: “It is true, I am a wizard, but please trust me, my intentions are pure…I just don’t want a repeat of the tragedy of this plague.”

She closed the notebook.

Dikke: So… not a ghoul, but an arcanist. A wizard, fearful of being discovered … shunned and reviled by everyone. Yet, you continued your work from the shadows. Only for them to call you a ghoul.

No one appreciates what you’ve done. Was this the result you envisioned? But, no matter how righteous or noble your intentions were… Dissecting corpses is a serious violation of the Church’s dictates, an indefensible act, Brother Chester.

The flaming sword rested on the stone table, leaving scorch marks on its surface.

Dikke: …

Dikke: But in any case, your crime did not merit your death.

After a while, she opened up a record, one she had long carried but before now left unfolded.

…

The monastery was filled by an eerie quiet.

Civilian: Father, will we find salvation?

Clergy: Of course, my child, all you must do is pray sincerely.

Civilian: But we’ve been praying, yet still my family is bedridden… They are pious, Father… They have put unwavering trust in our merciful Lord.

Clergy: Yet, the duty to pray is ours … and you have not forgotten yours, have you?

Civilian: So… what should I do? Please, tell me, Father.

Clergy: We will need a pure silver coin. Heed me, it must not be mixed with copper or iron… A pure gold coin would be better still … Bring it here, and drop it into the redemption box. Reciting your prayers as you do. When you hear a clear ringing sound, you will know your prayers have been heard.

Civilian: …And if there’s no sound?

The priest laid a hand gently on his shoulder.

Clergy: Then that’s simple… you haven’t offered enough.

Civilian: But father, will this heal my family?

Clergy: …

Clergy: Perhaps something stronger is needed … bring us a ream of parchment, on it we will write our prayers for your kin. Oh- uh, mind you—fine parchment.

Clergy: After reciting the prayer … and dropping your coin, we will return the transcribed parchments to you, cut and ground into a powder. Dissolve it in the water and have your family drink it.

Civilian: Thank you for your guidance, Father.

Clergy: May the Lord bless you.

The faithful man bowed his head, reciting his instructions earnestly.

…

Dikke: Frankly, I loathe these records. They exist only to stubbornly cling to memories, more of a burden than an aid.

Dikke: Such outdated things. They should have been discarded long ago.

Tossing aside the old documents, she stood up.

Dikke: “render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and unto God the things that are God’s.”

06 | Plague Memorial

Dikke: Quiet down.

Dikke: For what reason have you come here?

The buzzing crowd finally hushed, eyes darting around, involuntarily shrinking backward.

Civilian I: My Lady… We were told that you were here, that you came here to protect us!

Civilian II: We’ve heard that you have powers! That you can drive back the undead and evil wizards!

Dikke: …

Civilian I: We beg you to protect us! Please, My Lady!

Dikke: Calm yourselves—! As long as I’m here, you have nothing to fear.

Civilian I: We’ve seen a ghoul!

Civilian II: An ill spirit seeking vengeance on the living! It… it is coming to kill us, we’ve got no doubt!

Dikke: Strange… There are decades of records here, but I’ve read no mention of hauntings or ghouls before—

Civilian I: My Lady, please believe us.

Dikke: If you would have me believe you, then present your evidence.

Several pairs of eyes met, and finally, with trembling words, they spoke a name.

Civilian I: We believe the ghoul to be—Brother Chester! He was an evil wizard! And now he’s become a ghoul! Returned from beyond the grave, he refuses to let the town rest in peace!

Dikke: According to my investigation, Chester was only a monk, not some vile creature of the night. For that matter, ghouls rarely trouble the living, why would you fear him?

Civilian II: Because this creature is different, My Lady…

They each nodded their heads in fearful agreement.

Civilian I: He… has a reason to hate us—To attack us!

Dikke: Ah, the truth comes out. So, you confronted him? Was that how he died?

Civilian II: No, My Lady, you’ve misunderstood! We didn’t intend to hurt him; we were just… investigating his odd behavior.

Civilian I: Yes, we wanted to catch him. To prove he was defiling bodies, to confirm his crimes! We chased him, but he escaped… and then next thing we knew, he was dead …

Dikke: Fruitless as your chase was, I can now see clearly what occurred that night. You’ve given me all the evidence I needed.

Crowd: …

…

George stumbled into the tavern, out of breath, and yelled out to the patrons.

George: Haven’t you heard? Has no one said anything about it!

Civilian I: Don’t keep us in suspense, man, spit it out!

George: Chester’s returned from the dead…

Civilian I: That ghoul?! You’re drunk again… After that fall from the tower… bones crushed, blood everywhere, not even a ghoul could survive that. I saw it with my own eyes.

George: Yes, I saw it too! But! Well, my stomach was giving me grief this evening, and I was hunting for a tree for some privacy… So, I wandered into that grove near the graveyard! That was when I saw some creature dragging around a corpse, holding a shovel. Strike me down if I were lying—it was Chester himself!

Civilian II: …You’re drunk, you old hog!

George: Believe me, this is not the drink, I haven’t the coin to buy a sip!

He shook out his empty pockets.

George: If you don’t believe me, you can go check his grave. The cross that marked it is gone. Whoever has the courage, go dig open that grave and take a look!

The crowd collectively shrank their necks.

Civilian II: …

George: You’re scared? Don’t worry, I have the means to ward off the ghoul!

He proudly produced an amulet, shaking it above his head like a prize.

George: This took me quite some effort to acquire. But I was told ghouls fear it like sunlight…

Civilian I: Well, tell us, man! Where did you get it from?!

George: I sought out the magistrate, Lady Dikke, and she gave it to me for protection. The monastery here doesn’t have such things!

He no sooner finished then he ran out the door.

George: Hey! Where are you going?

Civilian II: Tell us, is the magistrate still staying at the monastery?

George: Last I checked!

Crowd: Then, wait for us——!

07 | When the Bell is Tolled

The monastery was crowded far beyond its usual numbers. But those that had gathered there came neither for prayer nor to celebrate a holy day.

Monk: My Lady, I received no notice from the abbot. Were your actions sanctioned through the proper channels? To gather such a large number of the faithful here, we need some authorized reason.

Dikke: Those gathered here are not just the faithful of your monastery. They are perpetrators and victims both, trapped by rumors and prejudice.

Monk: But…

Dikke: We will proceed with the trial immediately.

Dikke walked straight to the altar, and the hushed conversations below her fell into a fearful silence.

Dikke: Chester, a brother of this monastery is dead, I stand here to contend that he was killed, and I shall preside as the prosecutor of this case. The accused is—

Dikke: —everyone present.

Dikke’s voice wasn’t loud, more like a sword raised slowly before an execution. Her words echoed between the monastery’s gray walls and stained-glass windows, a distant thunder in the ears of the gathered crowd.

Crowd: …..?!

Dikke: Let us present the first witness.

Civilian I: My Lady, you promised to protect us!

Dikke: I am here now, protecting you, am I not? Protecting innocent people plagued by fear and rumors.

She glanced coldly over the crowd, subduing countless pairs of terrified eyes.

Civilian I: …

Dikke: You believed he was a ghoul.

Civilian I: That’s what the rumors said… We came to warn him, that’s all. They… They all said so…

Dikke: Your claim is that you had a simple argument with the deceased, “only advising him against wandering around the cemetery with wild notions,” is that so?”

Civilian I: …Yes, that’s right.

Dike: Yet the deceased doesn’t appear to agree with your version of these events. Now I will call for the second witness.

A withered corpse was presented. To the shock and horror of those assembled.

Malachi: Lady Dikke, you have committed a grave sin! To desecrate our brother’s corpse like this … this …

Malachi: This is a serious violation!

Dikke: Your concerns are noted. Yet my actions strictly follow the methods described in Brother Chester’s “Mysteries of the Human Body”. Which I undertook to honor him.

Malachi: You’re desecrating the corpse… I must report this to the authorities immediately! My lady, forgive us.

Her actions were decisive, just like everything she did.

Dikke: The trial will proceed. Observe on the deceased here multiple blunt force injuries, skin lacerations, and at the wound sites, remains of soil and dry grass. Do you plead guilty?

Civilian I: …

Crowd: ……

Civilian I: I confess, we did hit him… but he didn’t die! We saw him rise from his fall alive. When we confronted him, he was in the midst of moving a body! He’s a ghoul, just as the rumors claimed!

Dikke: And yet, my trial continues.

The priest trembled on his feet, closing his eyes and muttering desperate prayers of forgiveness.

Malachi: Dear God, forgive me…

Dikke: Now, I turn to you, Father Malachi. On this night, was your meeting with Brother Chester in the tower mere happenstance? Or was it a planned encounter?

Sharp and incisive, Dikke swiftly honed herself upon the latest of her accused.

Malachi: He … had invited me to discuss an important matter …

Dikke: He wanted you to mobilize everyone in the monastery to copy the guide he had written and spread it to all of our followers─he claimed to be bringing a revelation to the people …

Malachi: My Lord, how could I trust the words of such a wizard, especially when he stood to blame us for our previous inaction during the great plague?!

His legs were trembling, teeth tightly clenched.

Dikke: So it was that you refused his request yet still took the wine he offered.

Malachi: It was a gift… What he said was hard to believe… I simply gave him a test! Were he truly a capable wizard, he should have easily been able to remove the dust from the clock on the roof of the building, right?

Dikke: So he fell to his death. And you went back to drinking, as usual, in “moderation”.

Malachi: …

Malachi: Please … please forgive me…

The dark cloaked lady ascended to the highest point in the room.

Dikke: I will now pronounce judgment. This was a silent murder to which all are guilty.

08 | Cadle and Lion

George: My Lady⁠—My Lady⁠—!

Dikke: …?

George: Are you leaving now?

Dikke: I am. So there are no more wrongdoings to be reported?

George: No, certainly not!

George stood tall as if to stand in her way, vigorously waving his hands as if to protest.

George: But where was your judgement? No one was punished, for Brother Chester…

Dikke: I made my verdict, do you doubt my judgement?

George: But I don’t understand…

Dikke: That the fearful do fearful things is in their nature … they will bring their own judgement on themselves in time.

George: But what if⁠—

George: They become afraid of me… what if they seek vengeance?

Dikke: Should that happen, I will return to carry out a harsher sentence.

George: …

Dikke: Oh, George… I left a reward for you. You will find it on the shelf in the tavern, the highest one.

George: Yes, My Lady⁠—! May the Lord watch over you, and have a safe journey!

The night had settled in.

…

The town returned to its usual peace and quiet. Some things slowly decaying, as others grew unheeded.

…

Dikke: All is finished here. The specific cases and evaluations for each person are to be sorted and filed as follows.

Dikke: …

Dikke: The numerous violations of trust by the monastery merit increased scrutiny and supervision of their order in the future …

Dikke: The local congregation sadly are of an impressionable kind, and had been easily swayed by their fears and the machinations of those that manipulated them. They will need additional guidance and admonition to grow wiser and more resilient

Dikke: …

Dikke: Malachi, the monk in charge of the daily affairs of the monastery. Has proven a greedy, cowardly, drunken lout…

Dikke: As for Chester, an arcanist working in the guise of a monk. Multiple instances of privately dissecting corpses.

Dikke: His cause of death is most complicated. Smeared by rumors⁠—Injured by the townsfolk⁠—Neglected by his brothers, who preferred superstitious fear to ⁠—Yet ultimately, in trying to prove his convictions, he slipped and fell from the tower to his death

Dikke: …

Dikke: The book “Mysteries of the Human Body” has been transcribed and is attached at the end of this report.

Some time had passed, and at last, Dikke completed her records.

…

The long night would eventually come to an end.

And the sun would rise once more.