Coffin Shop of the Destiny Ruler

Bab 3

The night was long, a grueling cycle of sawing, chiseling, and the rhythmic shirp-shirp of a hand plane curling thin ribbons of pine away from the rough boards. Chen’s muscles, unaccustomed to the manual labor of a carpenter’s life, throbbed with a dull, insistent heat. In his previous life, the most strenuous thing he’d done was carry a laptop bag to a boardroom. Now, his palms were blistered, and sawdust coated his lungs until every breath tasted like forest and sweat.

He kept his eyes on the floating timer. It was a cruel, digital taskmaster hovering in the corner of his vision, counting down the seconds of Vaelen Kane’s life.

08:14:22.

04:02:10.

00:58:30.

By the time the first grey light of dawn filtered through the cracks in the shop’s shutters, Chen was finished. He stood back, wiping his brow with a forearm that felt like lead. Before him sat a simple, unadorned coffin. It wasn’t the masterpiece he’d hoped for, but it was sturdy, the joints flush and the lid fitting with a satisfying, airtight thud. He spent the last hour polishing the cheap pine with a bit of beeswax, making the pale wood glow just enough to look respectful.

The town of Azure Wood began to stir. He could hear the distant clatter of cartwheels on cobblestone and the muffled calls of vendors setting up their stalls in the nearby market. Chen didn't go back to sleep. He knew better. If he missed this window, his first "customer" would be nothing more than a mess on the street.

He dragged the coffin out of the shop, the wood groaning against the dirt. He positioned it right on the edge of the thoroughfare, directly in the path anyone coming from the Kane estate would have to take to reach the center of town. Then, he sat down on a small wooden stool, picked up a rag, and began to polish the lid again.

"Look at him," a voice whispered from across the street. It was a woman carrying a basket of steamed buns, her eyes wide with a mix of pity and derision. "The Chen boy has finally lost his mind. He’s waiting for the debt collectors with a box."

"He’s asking for it," a man replied, leaning against a nearby wall. "Vaelen Kane isn't the type to take a joke. Especially not a joke about his own death. Chen’s just building his own grave."

Chen ignored them. His eyes were fixed on the bend in the road.

00:15:45.

The crowd grew as the morning progressed. People lingered, sensing the tension in the air like the static before a thunderstorm. They expected a beating, perhaps a public execution to serve as a warning to those who didn't pay their debts. They didn't expect the calm, methodical way Chen moved his cloth over the pine.

Then, the heavy thud of boots reached his ears.

Vaelen Kane appeared at the end of the street, flanked by two of his usual thugs. Even from a distance, Chen could see the change. Vaelen’s gait wasn't the arrogant swagger of yesterday. It was stiff, jerky. His face, usually a healthy tan from his outdoor training, was now a mottled, sickly purple. Every few steps, he paused, his hand flying to the base of his neck, the exact spot where the dark mole pulsated with an angry, internal light.

"Chen!" Vaelen’s voice was a ragged snarl that ended in a wet cough. He pushed through the crowd, his eyes bloodshot and bulging. "You... you think you’re funny? You think that little trick yesterday scared me?"

Chen stopped polishing. He stood up slowly, the rag hanging limply in his hand. "It wasn't a trick, Vaelen. I told you. I have a policy for those in urgent need. I’ve even prepared the budget model for you. Pine. It’s light, it’s affordable, and it’s ready right now."

"I’m going to tear your tongue out and feed it to the dogs!" Vaelen roared, but as he stepped forward, he stumbled. A collective gasp went up from the crowd.

Vaelen’s Qi wasn't just fluctuating; it was screaming. To the townspeople, it felt like a sudden pressure in the air, a localized gale that made their hair stand on end. To Chen, who could see the timer, it was the final countdown.

00:01:20.

"Vaelen, stop," Chen said, his voice surprisingly steady. "If you try to circulate your Qi to strike me, you’ll accelerate the collapse. Your Foundation is already fractured. Sit down. Maybe you can last another hour if you just breathe."

"Shut up! Shut up!" Vaelen lunged, his right fist glowing with a flickering, unstable orange light. He was a second-stage Qi Condensation cultivator, enough to shatter Chen’s ribs with a single blow.

But as his arm pulled back, the purple mole on his neck didn't just pulse, it turned black.

Vaelen froze mid-step. His eyes rolled back into his head, showing only the whites. A horrific, gurgling sound erupted from his throat, followed by a spray of dark, viscous blood.

"Boss?" one of the thugs stammered, reaching out a hand. "Boss, what’s—"

BOOM.

The "explosion" wasn't a blast of fire, but a violent discharge of raw, unrefined Qi. It hit the air like a physical shockwave, knocking the thugs backward and shattering the windows of the neighboring tea shop. Vaelen’s body buckled, his meridians rupturing simultaneously as his cultivation turned inward, devouring him from the inside out.

He didn't even have time to scream. He collapsed forward, his head hitting the dirt mere inches from the pine coffin Chen had polished so carefully.

The silence that followed was absolute. The market vendors, the gossiping neighbors, the thugs, everyone stood paralyzed. Vaelen Kane, the man who had bullied the town for years, lay in a heap of tattered silk and cooling blood.

Chen didn't flinch. He looked at the timer.

00:00:00.

He exhaled a long, shaky breath, the adrenaline finally beginning to ebb, leaving behind a hollow exhaustion. He stepped over to the body, grabbed Vaelen by the shoulders, and with a grunt of effort, began to drag him toward the open coffin.

"What are you doing?" someone shrieked from the crowd.

"I’m fulfilling an order," Chen grunted, his voice flat. "He didn't pay the deposit, but I’ll take his storage pouch as collateral. It’s only professional."

He hoisted the heavy corpse into the box. It was a tight fit, but as Chen had measured the day before, it was precise. He slammed the lid shut and picked up his hammer, beginning to drive the final nails home with a steady, haunting thwack... thwack... thwack.

"He killed him," a voice cried out. "The coffin-maker used a curse! He killed Vaelen Kane!"

The crowd began to surge forward, a mix of fear and mob-justice brewing in their eyes. The two thugs, regaining their senses, drew their short swords, their faces pale but vengeful.

"You're dead, Chen!" one of them yelled. "You put a hex on him! We all saw it!"

Just as the first thug lunged, a heavy, metallic clack echoed through the street.

A tall man in grey and silver leather armor stepped through the crowd, his hand resting on the hilt of a broadsword. His presence was like a bucket of ice water thrown over the simmering mob. His eyes were sharp, like a hawk’s, and a long scar ran from his temple to his jaw.

Ulricar Wolf, Captain of the Town Guard and a Foundation Establishment expert, looked at the blood on the ground, then at the sealed coffin, and finally at Chen, who was still holding his hammer.

"Quite a mess for a Tuesday morning," Ulricar said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. He stepped closer, the tip of his scabbard pushing the thugs aside as if they were children. He stopped in front of Chen, his shadow looming over the young man. "I’ve heard a lot of strange things in the last ten minutes, kid. They say you predicted this. They say you had the box ready before his heart even stopped."

Chen met the captain’s gaze. He could see the man’s timer. 48 Years, 2 Months, 12 Days. He wasn't in immediate danger, but the timer was flickering, turning a cautionary yellow.

Ulricar leaned down, his face inches from Chen’s. "So, let’s talk about the law. In Azure Wood, we don't take kindly to demonic arts or hidden poisons. Tell me, Coffin-maker... did you murder this man with a curse, or are you just the luckiest businessman I’ve ever met?"