Chapter 17: The Endless Road
Translated by Addis of Exiled Rebels Scanlations
Editor: PlumSauce
A month later, on a weekend night, Coraci and John returned to Sir Kimplin’s estate.
The Clade dogs had already taken human form for the night and were lying on the carpet in a dog-like posture. The corgi man was in the position of a sunbathing crocodile, and the husky man was lying on his side, his light-colored eyes overflowing with sadness.
The banshee, who had opened the door for the guests, shrugged and left the hall. Coraci approached the corgi man, knelt down, rubbed his hair and said, “Don’t worry, it’s going to be okay.”
“It’s not going to get better,” the corgi man said sadly. “Mr. Burton won’t play with us anymore, and from now on, we’ll have to learn to bathe ourselves…”
His bathing you is outrageous, okay? John stood back and thought silently.
“Now, every night we can hear Mr. Burton screaming,” the corgi man continued. “He’s in pain. He’s always screaming ‘It’s so hot, it’s so hard, please take it out…’”
“What?!” John almost sat down on the carpet when his legs nearly gave out.
Coraci looked back at him helplessly. “You… Did you think of something?”
“I…”
“Anyway, it’s not what you think.” Coraci was well aware of what John was thinking. “I’ve shown you the ancient headless knight observation records. Think about it. What happens to people whose souls are harvested?”
John hurried to drive out the bad images in his head, and was very glad that the shapeshifter was not here.
Technically speaking, people whose souls were harvested by the headless knights were already dead. However, they still felt the burning longsword or scythe in their chests, tormenting them day and night until their original souls were eroded inch by inch, and turned into another kind of monster: mourning banshees. People always called them “banshees”.
In the accounts of the headless knights, it was often mentioned that they were often followed by mourning banshees, such as the banshees of Sir Kimplin’s house: they were generally weepy and looked different; some could play the piano, and some could fix cars.
In the dark years of the Middle Ages, people often associated unlucky things with women, and even fairy tales always had more female witches than male witches. In fact, these dark creatures were not necessarily female.
The mourning banshee was an ancient fae. Some of them were born as dark creatures, and some were transformed from the souls of ordinary living creatures.
It is just like the concept of “race of the dead”. In this category, there are things that were formed out of darkness or by evil miasma over time, and there were also the dead that had turned into the undead. John suddenly wanted to see the other “banshees” of the estate, and was very curious if there were any men among them. He remembered the muscular Witch Blood Descendant he had met during his training.
“Could Lord Burton have turned into a… banshee?” asked John. “Can bloodkin do that?”
Coraci sighed grimly. “Of course they can. But it’s very heartbreaking because the power of bloodkin in their lifetime is stronger than that of humans, it will take longer for bloodkin souls to be transformed.”
“So basically, he’s going to be in pain for a while before he gets better?”
“You could say that. But I’ve never seen a bloodkin turned into a banshee–probably no one has– so I don’t know exactly how long it will take. Also, a banshee that actively follows a headless knight will surround the knight’s ‘private domain’, such as a castle, tomb, or carriage; whereas a banshee formed because its soul was harvested will be bound around the knight’s weapon…”
“Around a weapon? Sir Kimplin’s sword?” John asked.
“I think so. Burton’s soul is pinned to the longsword and is not yet a solid body. Even after he turns into a banshee, he can’t get more than a few steps away from that sword.”
After a while, Sir Kimplin appeared in the hall with his head in his hands. He didn’t have the sword with him. If the Clade dog’s account was not exaggerated, Burton’s soul should still be struggling and moaning on the sword’s blade at this time.
After the usual polite greetings, Sir Kimplin said heavily, “Sometimes I wonder if this is too harsh and cruel a punishment for Burton.”
“I think so too,” John said. “Although he did go mad, the good thing is that the victims were out of danger after being rescued. He didn’t actually kill anyone… outside of Ms. Crystal.”
The knight’s head smiled bitterly, “Burton watched Crystal lie in a hospital bed for so many years, and then, I watched Burton torture himself for so many years. Now, this situation will remain for a long, long time…”
“Does Mr. Burton resent you?” Coraci asked softly.
“I don’t know. Perhaps he doesn’t have the capability to resent now.” Sir Kimplin wiped his face, as humans do when they feel physically and mentally exhausted. He did so with his head in his lap, which looked very odd, but in this atmosphere, no one found it funny.
The knight’s voice remained low and soft. “Sometimes I think that for Burton, what he’s enduring now is not for the innocent people he almost killed, but for the decision he made for Crystal back then. He thought she needed to be released, so he killed her… But who can guarantee that it was really Crystal’s will?”
Sir Kimplin said that the last time he reaped a human soul was hundreds of years ago, before he found his head, before he found his sanity, and before he met the bloodkin Burton. Before, Sir Kimplin did not know that Burton himself had killed the elderly huntress. Not long ago, when Coraci explained it to him with some reservation, he was so shocked that he was speechless for a long time.
Now he had accepted all this, and had also filled out the Association form. He had Clade dogs to help maintain contact with the outside world, and the Association was willing to assist when needed. He would remain in his estate with the spirit on the longsword by his side, waiting through the years until they could hold hands once more.
Finishing their black tea, Coraci and John prepared to leave when Sir Kimplin bowed slightly to them.
“You’re welcome to visit anytime,” the knight said, holding his head at his waist. “I have to go to my room to assist Burton today; he can’t change his own video disc.”
“He can’t what?” John almost thought he had misheard.
“He can’t change the video discs himself. I ordered a Blu-ray player and some classic TV series DVDs by mail… although it was all on his dime. I hope it makes him feel better.”
On the way back, John still looked preoccupied. When Coraci asked him what was bothering him, John replied carefully, “I have to admit, this job is more serious than I’d first thought.”
“At least it ended a lot better than I thought it would,” Coraci said.
“I feel like Sir Kimplin’s suffering is no less than Burton’s. He has to watch over things there, enduring it all while fully conscious.”
Smiling, Coraci said, “The good thing is that they have almost unlimited time. They can leisurely handle and adapt to everything. Maybe someday you’ll see Burton turn into a banshee — I’m so curious what that would be like.”
“Ha, yeah. We should bring Liz to see it then, she’ll definitely be curious too…”
“You should be the only one to see it.” The car window was opened a crack, and Coraci’s slightly curly black hair was whipped by the wind. “By that time, Liz, Carolyn, and I should all be gone, right?”
His tone was flat and slow, just stating an undisputed fact.
It didn’t take long for Coraci to fall asleep in his seat again, and John once again helped him buckle up. Looking at Coraci, John almost had the illusion that he had known him for a long time and was at risk of losing this friend. But when he thought about it more, they had just met less than three months ago.
The suburban road was empty and quiet in the early morning, the black road stretching into the distance as if there was no end in sight. In a daze, John wished it would truly never end. He and Coraci would always be partners, side by side on this road.
From The Unthreatening Creature Protection Association’s Guide to Unscientific Monsters:
Banshees
Although traditionally called “female spirits,” banshees are not necessarily female. In ancient times, women were often stigmatized, so these eerie, chilling entities were labeled as “female.”
A more accurate term is simply banshee.
(Note: In folklore, banshees are often depicted as female spirits, but that is not the case here.)
Origin: Banshees are dark creatures with complex origins. They usually arise in one of two ways:
- From lingering traces of energy left by undead activity, human spellcraft, and other magical residues.
- From souls harvested by a headless knight. Researchers believe that the soul-harvesting ability of these knights contains a power that, by coincidence, is the same force that naturally gives rise to banshees, which is why there are two origin paths.
Behavior:
Banshees prefer to follow more powerful undead, particularly the Oath of Vengeance type (described below). Naturally-formed, free banshees cluster around these powerful beings, while those formed from a Doomcaliber knight’s soul-harvesting are bound to the knight’s weapon — or nearby objects, not necessarily the weapon itself.
Transformation:
When a soul is harvested by a headless knight, it is impaled on the knight’s weapon and tortured by cold iron and raging flame. This torment ends only when the soul transforms into a banshee. The stronger the original being, the longer the process; ordinary humans typically take only a few months.
Like Oath of Vengeance entities, ghosts, and spirits, banshees are immortal and require no sustenance.
Banshees possess a fear-inducing ability that can paralyze the living. Unlike ghosts, during the day, banshees cannot leave the shadows but have corporeal form. At night, they can freely move, shifting between corporeal and incorporeal states.
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