It was deep in the night.
Pitch-black darkness shrouded the quiet village, and all living things had long since fallen into a deep slumber.
A carriage trundled slowly along the muddy country lane, making not a single sound. The man perched on the driver's seat sneezed, wrapping his cloak tighter around himself. He exhaled a cloud of white breath, reached into his belt for a wine skin, and took a small sip. The fiery burn of the strong liquor quickly chased away the cold, making him shiver involuntarily with pleasure.
*Perfect!*
Gerry flicked his whip, urging the two old horses forward. He glanced back at the "cargo" in the rear of the carriage, wrapped tightly in thick felt blankets—from the outside, it looked no different from ordinary goods. In truth, no guards had bothered to inspect the shipment marked as "large timbers." As long as they were paid enough gold coins, they never cared what slipped past their watchful eyes.
But when Gerry turned his gaze forward again, toward the village growing steadily clearer in the distance, he let out a long sigh. After taking on this lucrative commission, he had already mapped out his future: return home, buy a farmstead, and live out his days as a wealthy man of leisure. That would be the life he had always dreamed of, the life he had yearned for—no longer hiding in dark, sunless rooms, living a tense, dangerous existence on edge. He was tired of rummaging through tombs and among the dead, "clearing" valuable trinkets from their rotting corpses and desiccated skeletons.
Still, compared to his previous jobs, this commission had been oddly bizarre yet surprisingly easy. After all, not everyone could afford to bury their dead with grave goods. Poor families usually just rolled the corpse in a shroud, tossed it into a pit, and stuck a wooden marker on top—that was the extent of the burial. But corpses were corpses, no matter how demanding the client's requirements. If you knew where to look, they were never hard to find.
A flicker of firelight glinted at the village entrance.
Gerry slowed the carriage, his eyes fixed warily on the glow. In their line of work, caution was everything. They were not slave traders with extensive connections, nor bandits with brute strength. They certainly were not like those smugglers who could even bribe local garrisons to escort their questionable merchandise. For small-time grave robbers like them, without a few tricks to protect themselves, they would have been picked clean long ago.
Gerry drew a sharp breath of the frigid night air, clearing his head. He shook off his thoughts and urged the horses onward once more.
The carriage pulled to a stop beside a warehouse on the outskirts of the village. Gerry climbed down, creeping cautiously toward the building. He knocked on the door in a rhythmic pattern. After a brief pause, another short, shadowy figure slid the warehouse door open silently.
"Well? Did you get it done?"
"All taken care of."
Gerry drove the carriage inside, only then allowing himself to let out a long, relieved breath. He hopped down and pulled back the felt coverings in the rear. Five plain, black coffins lay there quietly, without a hint of anything amiss.
"Hurry up and finish this," the shadowy figure urged, more anxiously than Gerry. He grumbled under his breath, glancing involuntarily at the five other coffins lined up on the opposite side of the warehouse. Even though they had spent most of the night yesterday procuring this "merchandise," it had been no easy task for the two brothers. They were used to dealing with corpses in tombs, but selling them as goods was a whole different matter—and it had them on edge.
"Ten bodies total… finally got them all. Now what?"
"How should I know? Didn't the client say he'd come himself? Did you tell him the meeting spot?"
"I haven't seen hide nor hair of him since he left the other day."
A lazy, relaxed voice suddenly sounded behind the two brothers. They nearly jumped out of their skins, their eyes widening in shock as they stared at the tall, dark figure stepping slowly into the dim firelight at the warehouse entrance. If years of their "profession" had not taught them to stay calm in unexpected situations, they would have screamed loud enough to wake the entire village.
*How did he get in here?*
By the faint glow of the fire, Gerry glanced back at the warehouse door behind him. It was still shut tight, not a crack to be seen. And this warehouse had no windows. How had this ghostly figure managed to appear inside?
"Hello, sir," Gerry said, pushing his confusion aside—business was business, after all. He forced a smile. "We've delivered the goods as you requested… please inspect them."
"Excellent."
Black nodded, then strode slowly over to the carriage. The Gerry brothers hurried forward to lift the lids of the coffins for him, allowing him to examine the corpses directly.
As Black had specified, the coffins held the bodies of young girls in their teens—beautiful girls of different complexions and ethnicities. The brothers explained their origins: some had drowned in accidents, others had died of illness after being unable to afford medical treatment. Their beauty had not saved their lives; in fact, for some, it had been the very cause of their deaths.
"This one was a female militiaman from Buka Village to the west," Gerry said, his tone hesitant as he gestured to the body of a fit, comely young girl. "If I'm being honest, sir, I saw her a few times before. She was a real looker, and she had quite a fiery personality too. What a shame… the garrison commander took a fancy to her and wanted to make her his concubine. But she refused, and hanged herself before his men could come for her… lucky for us, she's only been dead four or five days."
It was still bitterly cold in early spring, and the frigid air had helped preserve the bodies, slowing down decomposition. That was precisely why Black had chosen this season to place his order for corpses—it had all been part of his calculation.
Following the brothers' explanations, Black inspected each of the girls' bodies one by one. He paid no mind to the obvious bruises and ligature marks around their necks; those were not what he cared about. As long as their internal organs were intact and undamaged, they would do. And from what he could see so far, the condition of these girls' bodies met his requirements perfectly.
But just as Black was about to move on to the next coffin, his eyes narrowed, and he came to a halt.
"This one… who is she?"
Lying before him was the body of a delicate, petite young girl. In death, all were equal—but some inequalities lingered even in the grave. The fine silk shroud she wore made it clear that she was no poor commoner like the others. In fact, if one only looked at her peaceful face, she seemed more like a sleeping princess waiting for a prince to wake her.
*A noble's daughter?*
Black frowned. He had no qualms about acquiring the bodies of commoners, but noble corpses were an entirely different matter. Unlike unknown peasants, nobles were not so easily overlooked. Take Ophelia, for example—even after thirty years of being dead, she still had to hide her face under a cloak whenever she was in public. No one would ever accept a flimsy excuse for why a girl with royal features was holed up in such a remote castle—not until he could come up with a plausible one, at least.
"Oh, this is the daughter of Lord Buckman," Gerry replied, taking a closer look at the girl's body. "Word is she was poisoned and died despite attempts to save her. Lord Buckman was absolutely furious about it—he had several healers executed, and even ordered the deaths of two of his daughter's handmaidens. No one's quite sure what kind of poison it was, though."
Incidentally, the two handmaidens were also part of the shipment. Otherwise, gathering ten bodies in just three days would have been next to impossible.
"Very well."
After carefully inspecting all the "merchandise," Black nodded in satisfaction. The bodies had no obvious external injuries, so their internal organs should be intact and uncompromised. His plan would go off without a hitch.
Satisfied that the goods were up to standard, Black reached into his cloak and pulled out a money pouch. The brothers' eyes lit up at the crisp jingle of gold coins inside, their greedy gazes shining brightly even in the dim warehouse.
"You've done well. Here is your payment…"
Black paused, his eyes flickering to the two brothers. The corners of his mouth twitched upward in a subtle, cunning smile—but hidden by the shadows, no one saw it.
"So, how do you plan to split it?"
"Huh?"
The brothers froze, caught off guard by the unexpected question. Split it? It was a thought that had never even crossed their minds.
"There are five pouches here," Black said, his hand moving as if by magic. Five red money pouches appeared in his palm, which he then set down gently on a nearby wooden table.
"Two hundred gold coins in each pouch… don't you think it's wise to settle how you'll divide the spoils before you finalize the deal?"
"That's hardly any of your business, sir," Gerry frowned, shooting a glance at his brother. To be honest, if Black hadn't "reminded" him, he would have completely forgotten that this money wasn't his alone to keep.
"I know," Black shrugged, taking a step back.
"I was merely making a suggestion. As the saying goes, even brothers should settle accounts clearly… perhaps I'm overthinking it."
With that, Black raised his right hand and made a gesture of farewell.
"Then—pleasant business dealing with you."