Death of the Past

The garden was something Lia had put together on short notice.

To call it a garden was a stretch; it looked more like a makeshift safe zone carved out of the edge of a horror dungeon.

Withered vines clung to the stone gazebo, adorned with a few bizarrely colored blossoms whose petals rhythmically opened and closed as if secretly snapping at invisible creatures in the air.

The weeds on the ground reached past her ankles, and the soil was sticky and soft, giving off a faint, lingering scent of decay.

Stepping onto it, Isolde couldn't help but wonder if her crazy predecessor had buried any corpses here.

The thought was unsettling, but thankfully, the table before her saved some face for the concept of "afternoon tea."

Atop a clean tablecloth sat black tea, pastries, smoked meat biscuits, and a fruit cake she had specifically requested.

Seeing the cake, Isolde cast a rare look of approval toward Lia.

Ur arrived right on time.

He walked in through the garden archway, still wearing his long coat adorned with bronze bells, tiny vials, and unidentified animal fur.

His white smiley-face mask looked exceptionally punchable under the shifting shadows of the flowers, and the bells along the brim of his top hat chimed like a signature open-for-business sign.

He tipped his hat and bowed elegantly.

“Good day, beautiful master of the castle.”

Isolde looked up. “Good day, wandering merchant who nearly scammed my employee.”

Ur put his hat back on and chuckled softly. “It seems Miss Lia reported that minor misunderstanding to you.”

“Expired frog beans and soul installments,” Isolde said with a smile. “That misunderstanding has quite the sense of humor.”

Ur's tone was incredibly innocent. “I was merely trying to provide a brand-new dietary option for the castle's staff.”

Isolde stared at him. “The faceless servants don't have mouths.”

“Which is why I thoughtfully threw in a temporary mouth-modification blueprint, completely free of charge.”

Isolde maintained her awkward yet polite smile.

“How very thoughtful of you.”

“I appreciate the compliment.”

Isolde: “...”

Lia stood quietly to the side, pouring tea from the kettle.

Ur sat down across from Isolde and elegantly lifted his teacup.

“However, compared to my modest little business, your exploits yesterday, Miss Isolde, were truly earth-shattering.”

Isolde took a sip of her tea. “Go on.”

Ur's voice was laced with amusement. “The Grey Dove Monastery collapsed, the Mooncrown Lock is missing, and a Silver-Robed Inquisitor had his soul destroyed...”

“Wait,” Isolde interrupted. “His soul was destroyed?” She looked up at him. “The outside world shouldn't know about that yet. How are you so well-informed?”

Ur chuckled. “As a qualified merchant, I naturally have my ways and means of gathering information.”

Seeing how mysterious and eerie he was being, Isolde felt an involuntary shiver run down her spine.

Heaven only knew what methods he had used.

Not wanting to press the matter, Isolde waved her hand.

“Fine, continue.”

Ur cooperatively resumed. “In short, you made quite a splash. One of the Holy Court's vaults was cleaned out, and the torrent of resentment has followed old debts back to various cities. Do you know what this represents?”

“It represents that the Holy Court's warehouse management system isn't rigorous enough, and their security awareness could use some improvement.”

Standing nearby, Lia gave a very slight nod, as if in agreement with this analysis.

Ur let out a low chuckle, the bronze bells on his cloak jingling wildly.

“You truly are... even more interesting than I imagined.”

Isolde set down her teacup and picked up a silver fork. “And your methods of gathering information are likely even more disgusting than I imagined.”

Ur spread his hands, his tone carrying the smugness of a merchant.

“My noble lady, I am a merchant. A merchant's feet may stop anywhere, but his eyes and ears never do.”

“The wind brings news, the birds bring news, and even the pockets of the dead bring news.”

Isolde sneered inwardly.

She shifted the subject. “What are they saying outside?”

“Nothing good.”

“How bad is it?”

“Panic is spreading, and rumors are flying. Some say it's a dark mage rebellion, others say it's revenge from foreign races, some claim there's a traitor within the Holy Court, and still others say...”

Ur paused slightly, the smiling face on his mask looking somewhat eerie in the shadows of the flowers.

“...that this is the work of someone aiming to become a Demigod Candidate.”

Isolde let out a dismissive laugh, causing Ur to tilt his head slightly in confusion.

“You don't seem interested?”

“Not in the slightest.” Isolde popped a forkful of cream into her mouth. “What does a troublesome thing like a Candidate for the Divine Seat have to do with a witch like me?”

In her past life, she had heard such rumors so often her ears had grown calluses.

Back then, the Descenders' Guild was in constant chaos every single day over the prospect of “ascension.”

Some firmly believed that farming enough reputation would ignite the divine fire, while others thought slaughtering the followers of old gods was the only true path.

There were even those who went around swindling people with half-forged, ragged scrolls, claiming they possessed the guide to ascension.

Every batch of players rushed forward like rabid dogs catching the scent of blood.

Farming monsters, stealing resources, assassinating quest NPCs, and monopolizing hidden storylines.

While shouting that “opportunity belongs only to the strong,” they would turn around and push defenseless, weaker players into traps of eternal damnation.

Back then, Yu Lingye was the very one they pushed to the frontlines to trigger all the traps.

In those days, she struggled just to stay alive. Becoming a god?

That was a luxury for those with too much time on their hands.

Having a second chance now, she still had no intention of hoisting herself onto any altar.

Altars were too high up; standing on them only made you a lightning rod.

Right now, she only wanted to slaughter the people who deserved to die as early as possible, seize every single resource she could, and quietly repair her castle.

Power held firmly in her own hands was far more reliable than any Divine Seat.

Ur watched her through his mask, his voice carrying a hint of deeper meaning.

“For most people, even if such rumors were fake, hearing them would be enough to leave them shaken.”

“That is because they have too much food in their bellies and live too comfortably,” Isolde said flatly. “What they speculate out there is their business. As long as the fire doesn't reach my castle for now, it doesn't matter.”

She looked up at Ur. “By contrast, I am much more concerned with another matter right now. Our final payment.”

Ur leisurely crossed his legs, looking completely at her service.

“I believe I am ready.”

Seeing him assume this “speak, I am listening” posture, Isolde stopped beating around the bush.

“The condition you previously set was for me to pay with a segment of my ‘future’.”

“Indeed.” Ur nodded elegantly. “A segment of a possibility you should have possessed.”

“I do not like transactions where others dictate my fate.”

“I figured as much.”

Ur pulled a roll of black parchment emitting a decaying aura from his cloak and spread it across the wooden table.

“Therefore, I am willing to negotiate and modify the method of settling the final payment. You may choose to pay with something of equal value yourself. The premise, of course, is that the value must be equivalent. A wandering merchant never makes a losing deal.”

Looking at the contract, Isolde almost laughed out loud.

This fellow indeed never made a losing deal; he only engaged in face-to-face robbery disguised as legal compliance.

However, these abstract rules gave her the perfect opportunity to exploit a loophole.

Isolde pondered for a moment and asked, “Is this so-called final payment restricted by the laws of time and space?”

Ur paused slightly, as if searching through his internal regulations. “Theoretically, no.”

“And must the object of payment come from the ‘present’ Isolde?”

Ur fell silent for a moment before slowly speaking, “As long as the God of Contracts recognizes that the item possesses a collectible physical form and value, it is acceptable.”

“Excellent.” Isolde curled her lips, a devious smile surfacing on her witch's face.

She said, word by word:

“Then I shall pay with a segment of my past death.”