Soul Digger-Chapter 63: ACTS FORGONE

SPLAAAASH!

The sounds of gurgling and trickling water echoed through Mrs. Brian’s living room. The candle bulb enlivened the drab wooden interior, which was cluttered with wallpaper and furniture.

In the lightless kitchen, she left the tap running as she glowered at her reflection in the mirror. Traces of light from the living room filtered into the kitchen; she gripped the sink until the aluminum bent out of shape, biting her lip.

’I should have killed him myself.’

Beside her, stacks of medals, badges, and stars floated above the water gathering in the sink. In a fit of rage, she threw water onto her face and banged on the cabinet.

SKWWCH!

She turned off the tap, leaving her medals and badges submerged. As she entered her living room, she saw a shadow stretching into the kitchen entrance. Sharply, Mrs. Brian darted to the side to observe the source.

From her vantage point, she saw someone sitting comfortably on the couch as though awaiting her arrival; their features were cloaked in black, obscured by the wardrobe’s silhouette.

Quietly, she yanked a knife from a drawer and tiptoed towards the figure. Each step was unheard, soundless, and calculated; even the bright rays couldn’t reveal her position.

In a moment’s breath, she sprung, managing to wrap them in a firm grasp while placing the knife close to their throat. "Who the hell are you?!" she asked in an explosive rage.

The room’s tranquility was disturbed as her words bounced off the walls like a kicked ball.

"...."

The person did not respond or react. Their position remained unchanged, their attitude unaltered.

"Answer me!"

Her threats didn’t instill a shred of fear within them.

Narrowing her eyes, Mrs. Brian craned her neck to capture the person’s identity. When their eyes met, she recoiled, overcome by a jolt of bewilderment.

"It’s you!" she shrieked in a high pitch. "You’re—!"

"AGGGH!"

CLANK!

The knife fell, and the room was left vacant. The visitor who came disappeared as well. Nothing remained but a flickering candle bulb and lifeless furniture.

***

Meanwhile, Rolan carried out his own investigations; unlike Nagita, he was actually skilled at tailing people. He had long since discovered that Ceaser visited the families of each victim to console and grieve with them. His heart felt lighter than before, but his mind saw it as a waste of time and energy.

What was the need to console strangers you had no business with? It was neither his fault they died nor his fault the fire started; thus, his actions were unnecessary. From a logical standpoint, Rolan was baffled, yet he ignored it. How Ceaser chose to spend his free time didn’t concern him.

’As long as he doesn’t affect the trial.’

Before he could begin his investigations, Rolan had to pick up a few materials he needed to bury the corpses beneath the rubble. Snider and the others were responsible for recovering whatever bodies remained. Rolan didn’t choose to bury them for emotional reasons like Ceaser, but because he saw it as a more efficient excuse to sniff around for links related to his aunt’s disappearance.

As Rolan walked down the street, he peeped into a few places in the area. In the past, Rolan was accustomed to a few people from the North Pole thanks to his aunt. Oddly, he couldn’t trace any of them.

Not to mention how strangely the people behaved whenever he brought up their existence as a topic. Either way, Rolan had to focus on one thing, and that was his trial.

"From how things seem, the recent disappearance of citizens and the spike in wavelength are both connected."

’The presence I’ve been feeling since we arrived makes me uncomfortable. I hope this trial doesn’t end up being something twisted.’

"Hey, you!"

"White-haired brat!"

Rolan froze in his movements and turned his head back. He searched through each person in the walking crowd but couldn’t identify who called him. After all, he was the only person with white hair in the North Pole.

"Look to your side."

Rolan shifted his eyes to the left and met Sylzao—a man who reeked of diabolical intentions and greed. The stench revolted Rolan. His palm tingled in the same region where the pin had dissolved.

’This person is a rookie of the Eerie Gothel? How didn’t I notice him before?’

"You must be Rolan. Nice to make your acquaintance." He smirked boldly. "My name is Sylzao, a rookie like you, except I have big ambitions." 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝚠𝚎𝚋𝗻𝗼𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝚘𝐦

"Is that so?" Rolan displayed sarcastic intrigue.

"Indeed. Join my group. You weren’t around when we decided to select each other, so you should still be unclaimed, am I right?" Sylzao persuaded.

Rolan raised his hand and left it hanging in the air. "No thanks, I’m good."

"Oh? So do you intend on joining Ceaser’s group?" He scowled in growing rage.

"Ceaser? No thanks. Much like you, I have bigger ambitions to cater to."

"We’re so much alike. Why don’t you just reconsider your..."

"No." Rolan’s response was coldly strict. "I won’t be joining anyone’s group. I’m catering to my own self-interests; following the commands and whims of others won’t help me."

"But what if I..."

"Give me independence and freedom from your authority? I’ve heard that line many times in my life. I’m still not interested in joining." Rolan curved his hand under his chin and leaned closer. "Also, I don’t really like you very much."

Rolan’s widened eyes radiated a blood-freezing intensity, sending a cold flush throughout Sylzao’s body.

"See you, I guess." Rolan walked past him like a refuse bin and waved as a parting gesture.

Sylzao narrowed both eyes as he rubbed his temples in rage. "That’s one more pain to deal with," he muttered to himself.

Rolan wasn’t concerned about his encounter with Sylzao; his words were barely hanging at the corner of his mind—a forgettable conversation with the most unmemorable person he had met thus far. Accidentally, Rolan’s meandering gaze landed on a suspicious figure.

Beside an aluminum pole, a man sat on a wooden bench reading a newspaper. He wore a hat and a long trench coat as he buried himself in the text; his posture indicated he was awaiting someone. The man’s cap hid his features well, and Rolan couldn’t help but be drawn in by the man’s mysterious presence.

The North Pole lacked any vehicles for transportation; the majority of people traveled on foot through the city, and very few used trained coyotes—a scarce method of movement. Those factors ruled out the possibility that he was waiting for a bus.

The thought of going to meet him flashed through Rolan’s mind, but he held back; instead, he observed him from a distance in case he recognized who the man wanted to meet. Four minutes passed and no one came; the man stood up and left, leaving the newspaper on the bench.

’He didn’t come to see anyone? Could there have been a mistake in my judgment?’

Rolan left the sidewalk and dove through the crowd of pedestrians flooding the streets, struggling to pass through the large numbers of passing citizens. Reaching the other side, Rolan skimmed the area where the man had sat; nothing other than the newspaper remained.

Nothing suspicious stood out about the newspaper. Also, he was pressed for time. Rolan hadn’t gathered his digging materials, and the corpses had to be buried by the end of the day. He sighed, grabbed the newspaper, and took it with him.

Rolan passed through the Corlan District, a region most affected by the cold despite the set. He had only passed there once as a kid; the usual sight of people rushing, strolling, and running through the snowy floors brushed him with a nostalgic feeling.

He glanced around the wooden structures, searching for a small shop with LED lights decorating its aluminum banner. Rolan went deeper into the arrangement of buildings, shifting to his left with a hopeful gleam in his eyes.

The drifting wind cried a loud, pitched whistle as it tossed and spun the snow attached to the ground, covering Rolan’s body in a whitish dust cloud. Rolan parted his eyes, rigid in place as disbelief tore through him like a knife.

In front of him was a vacant space occupied only by the passing cold wind. Rolan stared blankly at the spot for several minutes, clenching the newspaper tightly in his palm until it rustled. Even in that moment, Rolan had a clear memory of what previously stood there.

’Big Shaggers’ Tools and Items,’ his mind flashed back.

’The only store in the North Pole with connections outside Antarctica. Without it, the all of the machines and tech you see in the North Pole wouldn’t be around,’ a soft, gentle female voice explained. ’Everything from candle bulbs and washing machines to the common shovel and rake is imported to the North Pole through him.’

An old man with a crew cut and a long beard added, ’The Antarctic is a bountiful place, but at the same time, it’s extremely difficult to manufacture most of these objects due to the cold and raw material scarcity. All the metals and wood used for construction are imported here as well.’ His eyes held a caring glitter.

’Doesn’t that make you crazy rich, though?’ Cole asked, his voice less firm as he hid behind his aunt’s legs.

The man released a hearty chuckle. ’It does, actually!’

’So you’re a greedy, money-loving old man?’ Cole spoke with ignorant curiosity at the time.

’I sell my stuff cheap you know, nosy brat.’

’Forgive him, Shaggers sir. He’s a kid, so naturally, he’s unaware of how much of a big help you are to the city.’

’You don’t say? I was already aware, either way.’ Big Shaggers scratched his beard as he pondered. ’When you grow up, pay me a visit. If I’m in a good mood, I might just give you something for free.’

Cole hugged his aunt’s body in nervousness and asked in a falling tone, ’Why, though?’

’So I can show you my kindness firsthand.’

WHOOOOOOSH!

The winds flew past Rolan as he stood there. People were still around, behind him, coming from both sides—and some had begun to notice him staring, lost, at an empty point.

’If this continues, I’ll draw attention,’ Rolan thought with a sour mind.

Rolan composed himself, clearing any sign of sentiment from his face.

He bumped into a woman rushing somewhere; she was an unfamiliar person to him. Since the woman slammed against Rolan’s sturdy body, she tumbled back. Out of pity, he offered a helping hand, and she accepted. Once she got up, she thanked Rolan repeatedly.

His lips pressed together and released. "Mind if I ask you something?" Rolan was willing to take another gamble on the result.

"Uhhhmmm... sure."

"Do you have any idea what happened there?" Rolan pointed to the empty spot with his thumb.

"Huh? What do you mean? That place has always been empty," she responded, confusion resonating in her tone.

"Do you remember..." Rolan forced the words in a calm act, "Big Shaggers?"

"Big..." The girl’s pupils dilated. "Shaggers? I’m afraid I haven’t heard of such a place, sir." Her words synched in a robotic manner.

She kept silent, her body stuck in place, stretching a foreign smile.

"Do you at least know Augusta Raden?"

"I’m afraid I don’t, sir." She retained her creepy demeanor.

’It’s the same as the others: that unnecessary smile, enlarged pupils, and weakened facial nerves. Are these people under some sort of trance?’

"My mistake." Rolan moved past her and left. He unrolled the newspaper, straightened it, and read its contents with locked eyes. Flipping through to the fifth page, Rolan saw a faint red mark on the page.

Squinting his eyes, he flipped to the next pages slowly. Three pages before the last, Rolan saw a message written in blood at the top, blank part of the page in tiny handwriting. Its contents were obscurely visible.

"Help us, Indulgers! We’re going to fade away!"