Academic gathering with a lich-Chapter 60 - 57: Conversations with the Dead

"Gurgle."

"Gurgle."

It bounced slightly, emitting sounds with its vibrations, pulsing like a living heart, though the sounds were more like a restless stomach; Lyle knew it wasn’t hungry.

Lyle’s talent had changed, morphing in the opposite direction of his hopes, as fate’s vines left the trellis he had constructed and reached towards the sky. 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑛𝘰𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝒸𝑜𝘮

His talent sphere had become more like an individual.

Though forceful commands could still control its actions, Lyle could sense the concealed thought in the corner; it had developed a self.

That strange consciousness made Lyle feel slightly estranged from it, despite it being his own talent. He locked the sphere in a leather pouch, tightened the drawstrings, and tossed it onto the table. After instructing Medusa and the vines to keep an eye out for any abnormalities, Lyle lay down on his bed.

"My master, as the long night stretches on, you leave me atop this cold table, gazing at a leather pouch? Shouldn’t you be holding me in your palm, sharing emotions, since we’ve only just met?" Medusa’s upper body rose high, looking this way.

"No, you’re only twenty centimeters long, and I’m not in the habit of sleeping with timber."

"Such a gentleman of great refinement."

"Thank you for the compliment, goodnight, Miss Medusa."

The next day.

The white tip of his staff tapped against the cobblestones of the main street. Lyle put on his neat law enforcement uniform, the dawn light spilling over the brim of his hat, bringing a hint of warmth to the top of his head.

The air was fresh, the climate mild; Lyle had set out in good spirits, on his way to his first day returning to duty.

Halfway down the road, his body twisted unnaturally for a moment.

He touched the smooth head of his staff, the dragon was not on it.

His back was soaked with fabric sticking together uncomfortably tight.

It wasn’t sweat that caused this.

He tugged at the hem of his shirt in the back.

"Gurgle."

Indeed, the sphere had also come along, transforming itself into a large, thin cloth that clung to Lyle’s back, secreting a sticky fluid that dampened the lining.

And Medusa slithered inside his clothes, from the left sleeve to the chest, then to the right shoulder, as if in retaliation, Lyle had to endure a tickling sensation.

"Could you keep it down, Medusa."

The creature coiled around his belly swam upwards, along his abdomen, chest cavity, collarbone, and popped a small head out of Lyle’s collar.

"I apologize, master, the green scent of a young boy is somewhat irresistible to me."

"Can’t you just stay in your pocket or return to the staff."

"I am getting to know you, adjusting to the flow of your magic for better spellcasting in the future. You don’t want spellcasting to fail, do you? If you had put me on your bed last night, perhaps this process would already be complete. Do you regret it a little now?"

"I am very grateful for my decision last night—I at least got one night’s peace."

"Stubbornness is not a good quality. Many have suffered for it, and you are no exception."

Lyle limped into the law enforcement office.

Fortunately, Medusa showed some restraint and stopped her pranks in front of acquaintances.

Mr. Jordan was at the reception desk, frowning deeply as two gentlemen argued before him, each having come to the law enforcement to report the other’s illegal activities and embroiled in a battle of words.

Mr. Wilton was nowhere to be seen, which seemed like good news; Jordan’s scowl was far more agreeable than Wilton’s insincere smile, at least for today Lyle could relax a bit.

Past the foyer, he entered the main parlor where the gentlemen of that day were not resting; perhaps it wasn’t yet their starting time. Lyle breathed a sigh of relief, grateful he didn’t have to stiffly perform the hat-tip courtesy.

The office was crowded, and Mr. Garrett’s desk was perpetually piled with papers—signing, stamping, signing, stamping.

Every so often, a document would darken his expression, his furrowed brows threatening to crack his monocle.

"Good morning, Mr. Garrett."

"Good morning, Little Butler." He didn’t even look up, yet he addressed him accurately.

"You’re here earlier than I expected, young man. You’ve recovered quickly."

It seemed Ralph had indeed relayed that lie.

"Good, there’s a new task for your ’Independent Studio.’ Remember to write a report."

"Alright, sir." In just a few days, another death occurred, a true testament to the dark Middle Ages.

"Wait, Little Butler." Mr. Garrett stopped his writing, the scratching sound ceased, and the eye not hidden by glasses narrowly squinted as it scanned over Lyle’s body.

"Take this."

Mr. Garrett pulled out a Gold Voucher from a drawer, its shining golden edges soft as cloth.

Lyle had just happened to see one of these before.

"An Atonement Voucher?"

"Your injuries haven’t healed, so don’t push yourself. Your gait is all out of shape. Take this and use it to take good care of yourself."

"Thank you, sir." Although his own oddity was not due to any so-called lack of tissue in his buttocks.

"I’m tired of waiting for that bastard to come begging for this. I might as well give it directly to you. Curiously, based on his habits, he should have come by now to sweet-talk me, but nothing has happened so far."

Lyle smiled; Ralph knew his true situation and naturally wouldn’t lose face to ask others for help. It seemed Mr. Garrett had often helped his dear uncle in the past.

"Thank you again."

"If you’re truly thankful, write me a satisfactory report."

Lyle removed his hat and placed it on his chest, bowing slightly, even though Mr. Garrett, busy once again, did not notice.

Lyle stepped through the tarp-covered iron door.

A haggard beggar, clad in tattered clothes stained with dust and dirt, his dark skin stretched over a gaunt frame—his fourth rib visible to the naked eye.

His mouth was wide open, through the gaps in his teeth one could see bits of food, his eyes whitened.

The body was well-preserved, bearing no scars.

Glancing through the files, he was a beggar taken care of by a well-known country gentleman, who had apparently choked to death on food given in charity due to eating too hastily.

Given his physical state, this conclusion seemed reasonable and logical.

People suffering from long-term starvation can harm themselves if they suddenly binge eat, as their bodies lack the capacity to digest properly—a particularly lethal risk for those already on the verge of death.

It wasn’t impossible, and normally, this beggar would likely have been buried hastily. Why then would anyone commission an investigation into the actual cause of his death? Probably the gentleman felt his reputation was tarnished and wanted to see justice done, to defend himself.

In the past, examining the body and the leftover food in his mouth would probably have sufficed to determine the cause of death.

But today, Lyle had a new method.

He took a dark purple Five-Petaled Nightshade from his belt.

It was time to work as a true Spirit Summoner.

Spiritual resurrection.

Like experiencing defibrillation, the corpse’s chest rose sharply and then fell; it turned over, supporting itself on hands and knees, slowly kneeling upright.

Due to the presence of flesh, the spirit flame was not exposed, making it seem like a normal person.

"I choked to death, what a stifling way to die." That was the first thing the corpse said.

Lyle nodded. "So, you choked, suicide?"

"No, it was attempted murder."

"Hmm?"

"Although I died from the food obstructing my airway. if you were to dissect my stomach and analyze the composition of those food remnants, you’d find traces of a slow-acting poison."

"That sanctimonious man, he poisoned the food, and even if I hadn’t choked, the acidic fluids in my stomach would have eventually broken down its protective layer and caused the poison to take effect, leading to my death in a few days. By that time, my death would have been unrelated to him."

"That could merely be your speculation."

"No, I heard it with my own ears, he said it himself, [Damn it, how could he have died so early? The poison shouldn’t have taken effect yet.]"

"You heard? When was this?"

"Twelve minutes after my death. The other beggars scattered like birds and beasts, leaving only him and my body."

"...You do realize that dead men can’t bear witness."

"Then open my stomach and take out the poisoned food to serve as evidence."