Prologue: The Missing Corpse

1. The First Death

1-0. The Missing Corpse

It was a night when heavy rain poured down and covered the full moon.

At the small cemetery belonging to a church on the outskirts of the city, rain fell steadily over the rows of stone grave markers, making a constant, monotonous sound.

Among the old, neglected graves stood a small tombstone that looked as though it had only recently been made.

The name carved into it with exquisite detail reflected the pale light of the moon.

Cecilia Winterhall

Resting in eternal silence.

Unlike the other graves, her grave was covered only with a thin layer of soil and grass, without even a stone slab over it.

Before long, a crow broke through the darkness and landed on the tombstone. It stared at the full moon, blinking its go-stone-black eyes. Then it raised its head and let out a loud cry.

And then, unbelievably, the mound of earth began to move…

A pale hand suddenly burst out of the ground.

“…Phew!”

She emerged from the earth, coughing up dirt from her entire body.

“Cough, cough! Cough!”

She instinctively bent forward and spat out the dirt and other foreign matter that had filled her mouth and nose. The lungs that had stopped working suddenly began drawing in oxygen, and little by little, her senses returned to normal.

The nerves in her right ear recovered first. As she became aware of the silence of the empty cemetery, the sea-blue eyes whose light of life had once gone out slowly came back into focus.

Her leg muscles, which had lain as if dead for an entire week, finally managed to regain some strength. Cecilia staggered to her feet and stood in front of her own grave.

Her pure white hair and the dirt covering her burial clothes were washed away by the rain.

As the clouds cleared, moonlight enveloped Cecilia. She raised her head toward the sky that was pouring down the cold winter rain as if a hole had been torn in it, then spread both arms wide.

“Ahh.”

She let out a happy sigh.

“I’m free.”

.

.

.

The Count and Countess of Winterhall had only been married for four years. They were still newlyweds.

The servants of the mansion did not even know much about the circumstances of the couple, who rarely attended banquets or tea parties. But there was one thing that was certain.

They were by no means living a happy married life.

After all, Cecilia Winterhall, the mistress of the count’s household, went around saying the same thing every day.

“I’m going to die.”

And every time, her husband, Davion Winterhall, gave the same reply.

“Stop joking. I told you it isn’t funny.”

But Cecilia really did die.

It was just as winter was beginning.

The first person to discover her was her longtime physician, Sir Fernando.

Beside the bed, an empty brown glass bottle lay rolling around on the bedside table. Cecilia looked as though she were peacefully taking a nap. But the peach-colored skin that had been full of life had suddenly lost all its color, and although the doctor checked her pulse again and again, he could not feel a heartbeat.

And so, Cecilia Winterhall ended her life at the age of twenty-six by suicide.

The will she left behind was somewhat unusual.

Most people who make such a choice either blame the person who drove them to it, or apologize to their family for leaving them behind. But Cecilia’s will contained nothing except a dull list of requests, such as where she wanted her body buried, how much money she wanted as traveling expenses for the afterlife, and what items she wanted buried with her.

As though he wanted to get rid of even the last bit of affection he had left for her, Davion followed every instruction in the will.

The funeral was simple.

Many mourners came, but no one shed a tear. Cecilia had never been close to anyone while she was alive.

It rained all day that day, too.

With his black hair hanging down and dressed in a black coat, Davion looked just like an old ghost from the cemetery beneath the shadow of his umbrella.

The priest’s mass ended quickly.

Because they had not prepared a coffin, as Cecilia had requested in her will, her small body disappeared into the earth after only a few movements of the shovel.

And just like that, whether he had wanted it or not, the woman who had spent quite a long time with him vanished from the world.

“Captain Winterhall.”

The moment Davion heard the familiar voice, he mechanically saluted.

“Lieutenant Colonel MacGregor.”

“There’s no need to be so formal even at a funeral. And today, I came as an old friend of your father’s.”

The lieutenant colonel had a beard that extended all the way to his sideburns. Though he was old, he had an impressive build befitting a soldier.

He removed his black fedora and stood beside Davion in front of Cecilia’s small tombstone. His daughter knelt in his place and laid down a bouquet of flowers.

“It’s unfortunate that she had to die so young. I hear your marriage wasn’t exactly peaceful, either. You have no children, and you’re a good-looking man, so I’m sure you can find a good woman soon and start a new family.”

“Yes.”

“It isn’t good to remain trapped in grief for too long.”

The lieutenant colonel lightly gripped Davion’s shoulder before leaving.

As the rain grew heavier, the mourners one by one got into their cars and prepared to return to their estates.

After seeing them all off, Davion took out the handkerchief he had shoved into the pocket of his formal clothes and wiped Cecilia’s tombstone.

Cecilia Winterhall

Resting in eternal silence.

Even as he rubbed the name carved into the tombstone, Davion did not shed a single tear.

* * *

Returning to the cemetery only two weeks later had not been part of the plan at all.

Davion had wanted to follow Cecilia’s wishes, but the members of the family had insisted that they should still make a proper coffin and bury her in the family grave.

But what Davion and his aide, Liam, saw when they arrived at her grave was…

“It’s empty.”

The grave was literally empty.

“The Countess’s body… How could anyone dare do something like this?”

Not only the body. The items buried with her and even the money meant for her journey to the afterlife had all disappeared without leaving a single coin behind.

Davion knelt down and rolled some dirt around in his hand.

“…”

The dark soil that had covered the body had dried out completely.

It meant that the ground, which had been carefully leveled, had been dug up and turned over once.

“Could the grave have been robbed already?”

“Ever since the men who robbed Princess Jane’s grave were publicly executed, grave robbers have practically disappeared. And if it had been grave robbers, they would have been in such a hurry to escape that they wouldn’t have taken the time to fill the grave back in like this.”

The cemetery keeper who had come with them pointed toward the pit, which had been filled completely with branches and stones.

If it really was a grave robber, then he had to be incredibly bold. If it wasn’t, then whoever had done it was at least insane.

Davion didn’t know who was responsible, but he felt as though the person who had left the grave in this condition was making a fool of him.

“Then if it wasn’t grave robbery, how do you explain my wife disappearing like this?”

“My lord.”

Liam, who had gone off for a moment with the hunting dog to inspect the surrounding area, interrupted them.

“This boy says he witnessed something strange on the night two weeks ago.”

Unexpectedly, he was accompanied by a young boy.

The boy, who looked to be only about twelve years old, began trembling the moment he saw Cecilia’s tombstone.

Davion frowned and stood up. Perhaps intimidated by his huge frame, the boy took a frightened step backward.

“I-I live over there.”

Gulp.

He swallowed nervously and pointed toward a small hut beside the cemetery.

“I heard a crow cawing in the middle of the night, so I-I came out to chase it away, but suddenly a woman came bursting out of the ground! S-She stood here for a long time with her arms raised like this, and then she took a whole bunch of things out of the grave and went into the church!”

The boy did not seem to be lying.

Davion was about to light his cigarette when he stopped and exchanged a look with Liam.

After going over the boy’s rambling explanation several times in his mind, he put the lighter back into his pocket and bent down.

“What did the woman look like?”

“I-It was raining really hard, and her face was too far away for me to see clearly… But she was completely white from head to toe. She wasn’t very tall, either.”

“…Did she have a crow or a snake with her?”

“Y-Yes! It looked like she and the crow were t-talking to each other! I-I thought I’d seen a ghost and ran away because I was scared, but when I checked the next morning, there were f-footprints!”

“There were footprints that appeared to belong to a woman, but they stopped in front of the church. And we found this inside the church as well.”

Liam held out a crumpled burial shroud and a pair of shoes.

The shroud was the one the undertakers had personally dressed Cecilia in.

And the shoes…

The heels were horribly crushed.

Considering Cecilia’s usual habit, there was no doubt that she had worn them.

Cecilia had definitely died.

Davion, the doctor, the undertakers, and many others had handled her body and confirmed her death.

That was why the situation felt not only confusing to Davion and Liam, but almost like a dream.

“I’ve never seen a moving corpse, even on a battlefield where hundreds of people died.”

“Neither have I, my lord. So I also think this is completely impossible. But judging from what I’ve seen…”

Even though there was no one else in the cemetery, Liam lowered his voice.

“This is definitely not grave robbery. The Countess climbed out of her own grave and left this place herself.”

…Could that really be true?

Davion bit down on his unlit cigarette as he considered one possibility after another.

But every explanation he came up with was full of contradictions and lacked credibility.

This time, he turned his thoughts back to Cecilia’s death.

The empty medicine bottle found on the bedside table.

They had examined the substance that remained inside it and could only guess that it was some kind of poison. No one had been able to identify its exact ingredients.

Cecilia Winterhall had never been an ordinary woman from the beginning.

She was a woman who was not merely unique, but downright strange.

People went around saying that magic had completely disappeared as technology developed, but Davion knew otherwise because of Cecilia.

He knew that traces of magic still remained throughout the world, and that sometimes they could cause phenomena that went beyond common sense.

At the end of his chain of thoughts, one conclusion finally emerged.

Light filled the black eyes that had been empty until now.

Davion lit his cigarette and took a deep breath.

He lifted his head high toward the cold winter sun and slowly closed his eyes.

‘My wife is alive.’

As he exhaled a cloud of gray smoke, his lips curved into a strange smile.

‘Cecilia is alive.’