Chapter 221: The Town You Can’t Return To

Chapter 221: The Town with No Turning Back

In the diffused mist, the funeral procession moved slowly, like a black canoe ferrying the deceased into the dim, silent realm of death.

The six men carrying the wooden board were professional "funeral bearers" in the town. As this was the only special occupation that allowed multiple trips between the old and new districts, they held a high status among the residents.

The seven people following the bearers were the elderly man’s family, friends, and neighbors. Influenced by the town's unique culture of life and death, they did not feel sorrow at his departure, only a tinge of reluctance and a hope for reunion.

"If only we could... get to the old district faster," someone at the back muttered, "then we could reunite sooner."

"The funeral requires silence."

The lead bearer gruffly reminded them, and the cold tone immediately silenced the person at the back, who uncomfortably looked around at the scenery.

As they walked on, one of the residents suddenly felt puzzled:

To reach the old district from the end of the street, it should only take crossing a circular square. Why was it taking so long?

Perplexed, he glanced left and right but dared not speak up again, keeping his doubts to himself.

The funeral procession moved silently forward, walking and walking... yet never reaching the end.

It seemed as if the space on the square had been warped and altered, trapping them in an endless loop. They were like lost ants, helplessly twitching their antennae, harboring a tiny hope as they aimlessly continued forward...

What is going on here?

The resident was stunned.

He could sense that he was not the only one harboring such suspicions—

His companion beside him was already breaking out in cold sweat at the nape of his neck, trickling into his black robe; even the professional funeral guides leading the way ahead, whose steps were originally steady and powerful, now showed signs of hesitation, their pace gradually becoming disordered.

The entire funeral procession consisted of thirteen people, all of whom vaguely sensed that they were enveloped in some unknown anomaly, as if entangled in an unshakeable mist.

But they could not pinpoint the cause of the anomaly, nor could they interrupt the funeral proceedings, so they could only continue moving forward...

Of course, they could not comprehend the anomaly.

For this was a mysterious ritual conducted by Jason, one that pointed towards the divine.

Under the response of the Lord of Fate, the entire square was distorted into infinite symbols, with neither beginning nor end.

This forced the funeral procession to keep circling along the path, buying time for the actions of the ascetics.

Amidst the anxious advance, none of the members of the funeral procession noticed the fine threads of spores floating in the wind.

These spore threads were so thin as to be invisible to the naked eye, so light as to have no weight, gradually adhering to the corneas, nasal cavities, and exposed skin of the residents at the rear of the procession, then rapidly multiplying and penetrating their bodies.

The Ability "Spore Evolution" granted spores boundless evolutionary potential, giving them an incredible rate of reproduction, a tenacious vitality that defied environmental conditions, and the ability to secrete various toxins...

And at this moment, the evolutionary direction of these spore threads was—components that induced hallucinations by interfering with the brain's reception of thermal signals.

If there were no rules prohibiting mutual harm, the ascetics could have taken more direct measures.

But to circumvent the rules, they had to choose to make these residents voluntarily remove their black robes and masks.

"So hot..."

Gradually, some of the residents began to murmur in a dazed state.

He felt as if he had been thrown into a blazing furnace, his skin unbearably hot, hotter than the most scorching season, yet his body remained dry, not a single drop of sweat escaping.

It was as though invisible flames were climbing up his spine, tongues of fire spreading throughout his body, burning through to his brain, causing the scenes before his eyes to blur and layer upon layer, his consciousness growing hazy and muddled.

He began to lose track of where he truly was—

Was he on the road to the old district,

or in an endless, scorching desert?

As those at the front could not turn back, the formation at the rear began to disintegrate, residents falling behind one by one.

They followed the procession in a daze, unconsciously unbuttoning the tight collar around their necks, shedding the cumbersome black robes, even removing their masks, gasping for air.

Amid the mist, the members of the Ascetic Order took over the discarded black robes and masks, donning them silently.

Fortunately, there were seven members of the Ascetic Order, and the residents at the rear, who did not need to carry the wooden boards and were easier to replace, also numbered seven.

'It's done.'

Jason nodded quietly, putting on the pale, crying face mask.

The ritual dagger in his fingers sliced through the air with a crescent-shaped glint, sweeping across the ceremonial candles, extinguishing the flames in unison.

—The ritual ended, the cycle concluded.

The funeral procession could finally proceed as usual, soon reaching the side path of the church.

No one noticed that the last seven people in the line had been silently replaced.

The ascetics followed the undertaker through a muddy path overgrown with weeds to the mysterious old district of the town.

At the entrance stood a wooden sign, on which an old and rough piece of parchment was pasted.

Jason glanced sideways and quickly memorized the text on the sign:

"Rules of the Old District"

"1. The Old District is a world of death; the moment you step here, you are declared dead under the laws of Sombera."

"2. No turning back; once you move forward, everything behind you is no longer your concern."

"3. Do not grieve for death; 'life' and 'death' are closely intertwined in the Twelve Cities. Wait quietly, and you will have the chance to return to the New District."

"4. Each deceased person can have a house exclusively for themselves, and the undertaker will engrave your full name and date of death at the door."

"5. Do not enter or occupy others' houses without permission, or you will bear the consequences."

"6. The undertaker must not stay in the Old District for more than 15 minutes, or they will bear the consequences."

"7. Believe that the Twelve Cities is a harmonious, loving, fair, and just community where every deceased person has an equal opportunity to return, with an average interval of 25 to 30 years."

Up to this point, the handwriting was consistent, and based on the ink's smudging and blurring, these five rules were written around the same time.

However, the next lines showed a change in handwriting, seemingly added many years later:

"8. In recent years, due to a decrease in the number of new residents in the New District, opportunities for return are scarce. Please be patient."

"9. Deceased persons are prohibited from leaving the Old District, harassing normal residents, or gathering to cause disturbances!"

"10. Effective immediately, those who have died within the last ten years are prohibited from leaving their homes."

"11. Effective immediately, Rule 10 is repealed; those who have died within the last twenty years are prohibited from leaving their homes."

"12. Effective immediately, Rule 11 is repealed; those who have died within the last fifty years are prohibited from leaving their homes."

"13. Rule 2 is repealed; visitors are welcome to return."

"..."

The further down, the more illegible the handwriting became, as if an unexpected and unsettling chaos had erupted.

Correspondingly, the rules for the dead grew increasingly stringent, until finally, even those who had died within the last eighty years were confined to their homes.

Jason deduced that some kind of incident must have occurred in the town, reducing the so-called "opportunities for the dead to return" until they were nearly nonexistent.

This change meant that the town could no longer function as it once did, with life and death cycling endlessly.

From the rules, it was clear that the old district used to be a temporary stopover, where each spirit held out hope of one day returning to the living world.

If this cycle were ever broken, and the dead gradually realized they might wander the silent realm forever, with no hope of return...

How furious, how resentful, how despairing would they become?

Amidst the wails of the dead, the once orderly system would surely collapse, along with the unique town built on the culture of life and death.

At the end of the rules, written in blood, were the stark words:

"All the rules are lies!"

"The new district hasn't seen this for a long time."

"We've all been deceived, expelled!!"

The blood-red exclamation marks stood like two sharp spikes at the end of the sentences, piercing into the eyes of the ascetics.

Jason sighed silently.

Seeing the suffering of all beings, he felt the urge to pray... but now was not the right moment.

Passing by the wooden sign, the group continued in silence, and the old district came into view.

Compared to the flat and wide cobblestone streets of the new district, the buildings in the old district stood directly on the earth, constructed from large and small black circular stones, clearly much older, exuding an oppressive atmosphere.

There were no signs of human activity here.

Only a cold wind blew through, whistling mournfully between the gaps of the buildings, accompanied by the names and death dates carved at the doorways of the houses...

This cluster of black stone buildings resembled a silent cemetery, devoid of any life.

Passing through one quiet house after another, the funeral procession stopped before a particular house.

The doorway of this house had yet to be inscribed, suggesting it was unoccupied, or perhaps an unused grave.

The undertaker gestured for the ascetics to bid farewell to the elderly woman. Though they were not her true kin, they gently stroked her hand, and Spore Evolution quietly offered a flower made of spore threads, placing it beside her cheek.

The soft white petals reflected in the elderly woman's cloudy eyes, causing her to suddenly shed tears.

"It's time to part ways."

The undertaker spoke, and the four men carried the old man into the house. The other two took out iron nails and a hammer, and with a series of clinks and clangs, they carved the old man’s name on the door.

After the funeral, the spore threads silently crept back into the undertakers' bodies, making them feel as if seven footsteps were following them as they left the old district.

"The rules at the entrance to the old district..."

Feet of Time paused, hesitating, "Do you feel that something is off with time?"

"Go on," Jason nodded.

Feet of Time said, "Judging by the wear and tear, the rules for the old district were written much earlier than those for the new district... even the additional rules added later in the old district."

"This suggests that the rules we saw by the church in the new district might not be the original version."

"The rules targeting outsiders could have been altered later—possibly with malicious intent."