Chapter 5: He Wants to Kill Me?

Chapter 5 He... Wants to Kill Me?

Mr. Hoffen lay sprawled upon the floor, and Kaelen stood before him.

At this moment, if Kaelen so desired, he could easily speed Mr. Hoffen along his journey to the next world ahead of schedule.

The older man’s previous demeanor and words had weighed upon him with an immense, suffocating pressure.

Having been reborn into this world, he was already plagued by a profound lack of security. Thus far, he survived only by clinging to this borrowed identity; once that skin was stripped away, into what terrifying unknowns might his life descend?

Furthermore, this involved more than just "life" in the conventional sense; there were clearly other forces at play, forces far beyond Kaelen’s current understanding.

Had it been a mere matter of being expelled from the house, Kaelen would not have felt such crushing dread. The real fear was that it would not be so simple—indeed, it could never be that simple.

Kaelen felt a prickle of that same frantic, pervasive terror that a medieval witch must have known.

He stepped forward.

He bent down.

Kaelen extended his hand.

A simple squeeze of the throat would do it.

Or perhaps he could lift Mr. Hoffen’s head, feigning an attempt to rouse him, and slam it once more against the porcelain tiles to deliver the final blow.

If he did, this sudden, swirling vortex of crisis would dissolve into nothingness before it could swallow him whole.

So, should he do it?

To harbor such a thought was not actually strange. Even the most ordinary, normal, and gentle of souls will experience these sudden outbursts of violent impulse and fleeting malice in their lives.

Yet in the end, Kaelen remained standing exactly where he was, utterly motionless.

He waited until Mina began calling out as she hurried down from the second floor, waited until Aunt Mary emerged from the basement, and waited until Paul came running over to lift Mr. Hoffen.

Only then, amidst Aunt Mary’s frantic cries, did Kaelen snap out of his trance. He stepped forward to help support Mr. Hoffen, loading him into the Inmales family hearse.

Paul started the engine, leaving Kaelen in the rear cabin to accompany Mr. Hoffen.

This modified Nutshell brand vehicle was essentially an elongated version of a standard sedan. The front passenger seat had long since been removed to create extra room, leaving more than enough space to accommodate a coffin.

Mr. Hoffen lay there, perfectly still.

He was a fortunate soul. In this era, ambulances were hardly a common sight, yet here he was, immediately provided with a vehicle to rush him to the nearest hospital.

More fortunate still... even if the doctors failed to revive him, he already had a ride back, and a specialized one at that.

Given his relationship with Grandfather, they might even offer a steep discount on the funeral arrangements. The only one truly suffering through this was Aunt Mary.

"Heh..."

Kaelen suddenly let out a soft laugh, reaching up to gently rub his own face.

Just then, the golden retriever that had followed its master into the vehicle nudged close to Mr. Hoffen’s side and licked his fingers.

After lingering by its master for a moment, the dog pad padded slowly over to Kaelen.

Kaelen reached out. The retriever did not shrink away, allowing him to stroke its head.

Seeming to find comfort in the touch, the dog simply lay down and rested against Kaelen’s legs. When Kaelen stopped petting it, the dog nudged his hand with its snout, coaxing him to continue.

"Sigh..."

Kaelen looked down at the unconscious Mr. Hoffen once more and could not help but sigh.

Leaning his back against the cabin wall, he gave the dog’s head a few more strokes.

"Whatever happens, happens."

...

The vehicle pulled into the hospital, and Mr. Hoffen was rushed into the emergency room.

While Paul busied himself running back and forth to handle the paperwork, Kaelen sat on a bench by the flowerbeds, holding the golden retriever’s leash.

After they had been sitting there for about half an hour, Paul came trotting over with a smile on his face.

"Young Master Kaelen, the doctor says that although Mr. Hoffen remains unconscious, he is officially out of danger."

Kaelen let out a long breath, feeling a slight sense of relief mixed with a strange touch of disappointment.

The old man was resilient, it seemed. To lose such a massive pool of blood and still pull through... he possessed a stubborn grip on life.

"The bill has been charged to the house account," Paul added.

The Inmales family ran a funeral home, so their relationship with the local hospital was exceptionally good.

How good, precisely?

Aunt Winnie, who managed the family accounts, regularly kept a list of patients currently in critical condition at the hospital.

Sometimes, even while a patient was still being resuscitated inside, Uncle Mason would already be waiting out in the parking lot, quietly smoking a cigarette.

Wherever profit existed, a chain of connection naturally formed.

Thanks to this relationship, cutting through the red tape was a swift affair.

"Does he require someone to watch over him?" Kaelen asked.

"Uh... we can hire a caregiver."

"Then hire one."

"Um... very well, Young Master. I shall arrange it."

"By the way, Paul, do you have any cigarettes?"

"I do... Young Master, would you like one?"

"Yes."

Paul pulled a half-empty pack from his pocket and handed it to Kaelen along with a lighter.

"Thank you."

"Please, think nothing of it. I will go arrange the caregiver now."

"Alright."

Kaelen drew a cigarette and placed it between his lips. In this era, public smoking bans were not strictly enforced. Even here in the hospital courtyard, Kaelen could see numerous people with cigarettes dangling from their mouths, and the passing nurses offered no reprimands.

He struck a flame and took a drag.

His brain immediately fired off alarms against the intrusion of toxins, and his body reacted with violent rejection, bringing on a sudden wave of nausea and gagging.

But Kaelen ignored it.

He felt that he, much like the act of smoking itself, was incredibly foolish.

The chain-smoker had stubbornly resisted his body's discomfort to forcefully master a vice that would continually ravage his health;

Whereas he himself,

Had actually let Mr. Hoffen be sent to the hospital and escape danger, while sitting by and watching himself slide step by step into an unknown abyss.

He was reflecting on his errors, though not very intensely;

He was also feeling regret, likewise not very intensely;

He felt he was being foolish—ah, this feeling was incomparably intense.

"Whew..."

With a burning cigarette clamped between his fingers,

Karen leaned back, resting against the bench.

Right at that moment,

A shadow suddenly appeared before him; Karen froze, realizing the cigarette had been taken from his fingertips.

"You... Grandfather?"

The person appearing before Karen was Dis.

Dis was still wearing the same clothes he had on when he left the house, but Karen noticed distinct stains on the cuffs of Dis's trousers, and there seemed to be black marks on the hand holding his cigarette.

Was it mud?

Dis tossed the cigarette onto the ground and asked,

"When did you learn this?"

"I..." Karen hesitated. In truth, a moment ago, he had felt an impulse in his mind to tell "Grandfather" the "truth," because he instinctively sensed an unusual flavor after connecting today's "dream" and Mr. Hoffen's "interrogation" of him.

One had to know that Grandfather Dis and Mr. Hoffen were old friends.

It wasn't that he was worried about what Mr. Hoffen would tell Grandfather upon waking up, but rather that compared to a retired philosophy professor who merely loved "divination" or what one might call "metaphysics," his grandfather, who ran a funeral parlor and worked part-time as a priest, seemed to be... no, absolutely should be the most mysterious one.

If Mr. Hoffen could know about it, would Grandfather... be completely unaware?

So, would resistance bring severity, while confession brought leniency?

But looking at his grandfather's face,

Karen's "true words" circled around his throat before being swallowed back down,

And he said,

"Uncle Mason taught me."

Hearing this, Dis's brow furrowed slightly.

"Mr. Hoffen is inside, the doctor says he's out of danger," Karen reported.

Dis nodded and asked, "Mary told me about it. Were you frightened?"

"No... well... yes, I was frightened."

Karen's answer was somewhat incoherent, but Karen felt it wasn't his own fault.

"I'll go see him. Wait a moment."

"Alright, Grandfather."

Dis walked inside;

After about a quarter of an hour, Dis walked back together with Paul. Karen also stood up and followed them to the parking lot.

"When did you learn to drive?" Dis asked Paul.

"Not long ago. I watched it a lot, so I learned," Paul replied somewhat timidly.

"Did you get a license?"

"I did," Paul answered immediately.

"Starting next month, your salary will be increased by one thousand lubis per month."

"Thank you, Mr. Dis, thank you, Mr. Dis."

There was a stark contrast between Paul and Ron in character. Ron liked to drink and play cards; today, as soon as he finished up in the basement, he immediately clocked off and slipped away, likely hanging around some tavern by now, whereas Paul stayed behind to wipe down the car.

"Let's go back." Dis glanced at Karen and repeated, "Go home."

It was still Paul driving, with Karen and Dis sitting in the back. Because there were no seats, the two sat face-to-face on cushions.

"Do we need to notify Mr. Hoffen's family, Grandfather?"

"No need, his children cut ties with him long ago and aren't in Luojia City anyway. Remember to come over in a few days to check on his condition again."

"Alright, Grandfather."

After the brief exchange ended,

Karen saw Dis reach out his hand and roll up his sleeve.

To Karen's shock, a third of his grandfather's left hand was a "charred black" color, looking as though it had been rolled over a charcoal fire.

"Pliers," Dis said.

"Huh?" Karen blanked for a moment, then immediately came to his senses. He stepped forward to open the black box beside his grandfather, which contained a set of small surgical instruments along with some items that clearly didn't belong to normal times,

Such as a few bottles of bizarrely colored liquid, translucent beads, oddly shaped iron plates, a leather whip made of unknown material... and most eye-catching of all, a sword hilt with a hollowed-out center.

The hilt featured two exquisite carvings on either side: on the left was a distorted skull, and on the right was a benevolent holy maiden.

Although this hilt lacked a blade, Karen still carefully avoided it when grabbing the items, as if an invisible sharp edge might truly slice off his fingers.

Karen handed the pliers to his grandfather.

His grandfather took the pliers with his right hand, clamped a corner of his charred black skin, and slowly peeled it away.

Even though the car was moving, Karen's ears still clearly caught a brittle tearing sound resembling paper being ripped apart.

The golden retriever that had come back along with them stared with wide canine eyes, curled up in the corner, trembling violently.

As if no one else were present, his grandfather used the pliers to tear off two pieces of charred black skin by himself, then spoke,

"Tweezers."

"Oh, alright." Karen handed the tweezers over.

But his grandfather didn't take them; instead, he placed his hand before Karen, while his right hand proffered the pliers as well.

In "Karen's" memory, such a scene had never appeared before.

Nevertheless, pursing his lips, Karen took the pliers in his right hand and the tweezers in his left. First, he used the tweezers to pull open a gap in the charred black skin, then used the pliers to pull the entire layer off.

Beneath the charred black skin was bright red, tender flesh, with blood faintly seeping through.

From beginning to end,

Dis never cried out in pain,

His expression did not even flicker.

By the time all the charred black skin was cleaned away, Dis's left arm looked as though it had just been plunged into boiling water.

"It is done," Karen said.

"Mhm."

Dis reached out, picked up a bottle of purple liquid, flicked the cork open with a fingertip, and then poured all of its contents over his left arm.

"Sss..."

The sharp intake of breath came from Karen.

For he watched as white smoke began to rise from Dis's left arm, accompanied by a crisp, crackling hiss akin to hot oil being poured into a pan.

After a long while,

Dis exhaled a long breath and let his sleeve fall back down.

"Does it not need bandaging?" Karen asked with concern.

Dis shook his head.

So Karen said nothing more, remaining seated upright.

Just then, the car came to a halt; they had arrived home.

Karen led Mr. Hoffen's golden retriever out of the vehicle, while Paul pulled the car over to the side of the road by the courtyard gate.

"Mr. Dis, Master Karen, I shall head back now. I will arrive early tomorrow to set up the mourning hall."

"Very well," Dis nodded.

Having received a raise, Paul happily trotted off toward his own home.

Karen, however, lingered by the entrance, making no move to go inside, because Dis had not moved.

Two men, one dog,

Standing just like that at the courtyard gate.

Upon the windowsill of the villa's third floor, Pu'er stood up, her feline eyes staring intently down at them.

Inexplicably,

It was as though the background music of a stage play had suddenly shifted style,

A transition so abrupt,

Yet so entirely distinct;

Karen felt his lips begin to tremble, his breathing growing rapid.

The golden retriever held by Karen raised its head in slight confusion to look up at him, for it had noticed that its leash was shaking... because the hand of the man holding it was shaking.

Humans possess a sixth sense,

It can be told to you by the wind, told to you by the sunlight, or even told to you by the flowers and grass within the fence;

Karen did not know if a person's sixth sense grew stronger after dying once and returning to life; in truth, he had absolutely no peace of mind right now to indulge in such idle thoughts.

He felt as though he were a fresh egg just taken from a chicken coop, being tossed and caught continuously by the hands of a mischievous child;

Run?

Karen turned his neck as far as he could, looking to the side where the road lay, a road that could allow him to bolt and run all the way to the end...

Immediately after, Karen began to turn his neck toward the other direction, but halfway through the turn, he lowered his head involuntarily.

Having lowered his head,

He saw his own trouser legs,

He also saw his grandfather's left arm,

And even more, he saw the sword hilt in his grandfather's left hand—a hilt he had clearly placed back into the black case, yet which was now being held;

For a moment,

Karen felt tears beginning to brew in his eyes, his nose stinging as if fluid were about to fall, and the muscles of his face spasmed slightly;

Before his eyes,

It seemed no longer to be the Inmerles villa at No. 13 Mink Street,

But layers upon layers of descending ground,

While he himself,

Stood at the center of a high platform, beside a gallows prepared just for him.

"Karen."

Dis's voice was like a clap of thunder exploding right beside his ear.

"Grand... father..."

Karen's teeth were chattering.

Yet in stark contrast, his innermost mind was incomparably calm, a profound sense of tearing between spirit and flesh.

"Karen, where is this place?"

Karen opened his mouth,

In the periphery of his vision,

Karen noticed that his grandfather's left arm had already risen, reaching toward his own back.

At this hair-trigger moment of life and death,

Karen suddenly snapped his spine straight,

And in a hoarse, low voice... nearly bellowed:

"Home!"