Coffin Shop of the Destiny Ruler

Bab 4

The wood of the shop’s doorframe groaned behind Chen’s shoulder blades. Ulricar’s hand wasn’t just a hand; it felt like a slab of iron pressing into his collarbone, pinning him against the dusty remains of his livelihood. The captain’s breath smelled of bitter tea and stale tobacco, and his eyes, sharp, gray, and devoid of humor, searched Chen’s face for even a flicker of guilt.

Around them, the townspeople of Azure Wood hovered like vultures, their whispers a low-frequency hum of excitement and dread. Vaelen Kane’s body, or what was left of it after the violent Qi explosion, lay just a few feet away. The cheap pine coffin Chen had polished that morning sat beside the corpse, an invitation and a prophecy fulfilled.

"I’m waiting, Coffin-maker," Ulricar growled, his grip tightening. "Men don't just pop like overripe melons because a carpenter tells them to. You’re either a demonic cultivator hiding your base, or you’re the most sophisticated poisoner I’ve ever had the misfortune of arresting."

Chen took a slow, measured breath. His heart was hammering against his ribs, a frantic, rhythmic thumping that reminded him he was very much a mortal in a world of monsters, but his mind remained eerily cold. It was the same analytical detachment he’d used back on Earth when a quarterly report went south. Except here, the "report" was his own life.

He didn't look at the hand on his throat. He looked at the translucent script floating just above Ulricar’s head.

[Name: Ulricar Wolf]

[Status: Healthy / Aggressive]

[Remaining Lifespan: 01:14:52]

[Cause of Death: Internal Betrayal / Silver-Melting Poison]

Chen’s eyes widened slightly. The timer from a few moments ago had been decades. Now, it had plummeted into the red. One hour and fourteen minutes. The yellow flicker he’d seen earlier hadn't been a glitch; it had been a warning of a shifting fate.

"Captain," Chen said, his voice remarkably steady despite the pressure on his windpipe. "If I were a demonic cultivator, you’d be the first person I’d kill, not the debt collector who owed me money. Dead men don't pay interest, but they do need boxes. It’s bad business to kill a customer before he’s had a chance to browse the catalog."

"Don't get cute with me," Ulricar snapped. A faint pressure of Qi began to radiate from the man, a heavy, suffocating heat that made the air in Chen’s lungs feel like thick syrup. This was the power of a Foundation Establishment expert. To Chen, a man with zero cultivation, it felt like being crushed by a mountain. "I can have you in a damp cell in the Iron Spire by sunset. You’ll be begging to tell me your secrets then."

"I don't have secrets, Captain. I have eyes," Chen replied. He shifted his gaze past Ulricar’s shoulder.

Standing a few paces back was a younger guard, a woman with a sharp, bird-like face and a hand resting casually on the hilt of her blade. Raelith Vale. She was holding a small ceramic tray with a steaming cup of tea, her expression one of dutiful concern.

Chen looked back at Ulricar. The timer was ticking down. 01:13:40.

"You’re a busy man, Ulricar," Chen said, dropping the formal 'Captain.' "You’ve been chasing Vaelen for weeks. You’re tired. Your meridians are stiff from the morning chill. And you’re thirsty. It’s a shame, really."

Ulricar’s brow furrowed. "What are you rambling about?"

"The tea," Chen nodded toward Raelith. "Your subordinate is very attentive. She’s been waiting for you to finish interrogating me so you can take a sip and relax. It’s Sun-Dappled Oolong, isn't it? Rare. Expensive. Smells like jasmine and... well, usually it shouldn't smell like bitter almonds."

Ulricar didn't move, but his eyes shifted. He was a veteran; he didn't survive to his rank by being oblivious to the tone of a man’s voice. Chen wasn't pleading; he was observing.

"Raelith," Ulricar called out, his voice low.

The woman stepped forward, her smile thin and professional. "Yes, Captain? I thought you might need this after the... incident. It’s been a long morning."

She offered the tray. The steam rose in a gentle, fragrant curl. To anyone else, it was a gesture of respect. To Chen, it was a delivery system for a corpse.

"You’ve been with me for three years, Vale," Ulricar said, his grip on Chen’s collar loosening just a fraction, though he didn't let go. "Good officer. Sharp. Always knows what I need before I ask for it."

"I try to be thorough, sir," Raelith replied. Her eyes flickered to Chen, a brief spark of cold hatred dancing in her pupils before she masked it.

Chen leaned his head back against the wall, trying to find a comfortable spot on the rough wood. "She’s very thorough, Captain. She even used Silver-Melting Poison. It’s a fascinating substance. Tasteless, mostly. It doesn't kill you instantly. It waits until you circulate your Qi. Then, it turns your spiritual veins into liquid lead. Very clean. Looks like a heart attack or... a sudden Qi deviation. Much like what happened to Vaelen."

The silence that followed was heavy enough to crack the floorboards. The crowd in the street had gone bone-still. Raelith’s hand didn't shake, but her knuckles turned white as she gripped the tray.

"He’s insane, Captain," Raelith said, her voice dripping with artificial pity. "The stress of the debt has finally broken his mind. He’s accusing me to save himself."

Ulricar looked at Chen, then at the tea, then back at Chen. "Silver-Melting Poison is restricted by the Alchemist Guild. It’s worth more than this entire shop. Why would a guard’s assistant have access to it?"

"Maybe she’s not just a guard’s assistant," Chen suggested, his gaze fixed on the timer. 01:10:05. "Maybe the Night Clan or the Wolf-Slayers paid for a promotion. Or maybe she just likes the way your seat feels. Either way, Captain, you have a choice. You can arrest me and take a celebratory drink, or you can ask yourself why the tea is steaming but the rim of the cup is frosting over."

Ulricar’s eyes snapped to the ceramic cup. It was subtle, a tiny, microscopic line of white rime forming just where the liquid met the porcelain. In the morning sun, it was almost invisible.

Ulricar’s hand finally left Chen’s throat. The Captain didn't reach for the cup. He reached for the hilt of his heavy broadsword.

"Raelith," Ulricar said, his voice sounding like two stones grinding together. "Drink the tea."

The woman didn't move. The mask of the dutiful subordinate didn't slip; it shattered. Her face went pale, then tightened into a mask of pure, murderous intent.

"Captain, surely you don't believe this... this coffin-peddler?" she whispered, but she began to take a step backward, her boots scraping against the gravel of the street.

"I said," Ulricar roared, the sound echoing off the shop fronts and sending a murder of crows spiraling into the sky, "drink the damn tea!"

Raelith didn't drink. Instead, she flipped the tray.

The ceramic cup shattered on the cobblestones, the amber liquid splashing across the ground. Where the tea hit the stone, it didn't just soak in. It hissed. Tiny bubbles of gray smoke rose from the dirt, and the grass between the stones withered and turned to black ash in a heartbeat.

The crowd screamed, surging backward in a wave of panic. Ulricar stood frozen for a split second, staring at the caustic puddle at his feet. The betrayal was a physical blow, one that seemed to age him ten years in a single breath.

Raelith didn't wait for a trial. She pulled a hidden dagger from her sleeve, a jagged thing coated in the same dark sheen, and lunged, not at Ulricar, but at Chen.

"You ruinous little brat!" she screamed.

Chen didn't have the cultivation to dodge. He didn't have the strength to fight. He simply stood there, his back against the shop door, watching the blade come toward his throat. He saw her timer. 00:00:12.

Clang.

Ulricar’s broadsword intercepted the dagger inches from Chen’s skin. The force of the parry sent Raelith spinning through the air. She landed hard, rolling once before springing up, but she wasn't looking to fight anymore. She was looking to run.

"Guards!" Ulricar bellowed, his voice shaking with a mix of fury and something that looked suspiciously like fear. "Seal the perimeter! Don't let her reach the West Gate!"

The street erupted into chaos. Guards in blue surcoats scrambled, their boots thumping against the ground as they chased the fleeing woman. Ulricar didn't join them. He stood in front of Chen’s shop, his chest heaving, his sword still drawn and trembling in his hand.

Slowly, the Captain turned around. He looked at the shattered remains of the tea cup, then at the calm, pale young man who had just saved his life with a casual observation.

"How?" Ulricar breathed, the word barely a whisper. "How did you know?"

Chen reached into his apron pocket and pulled out his measuring tape. He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he walked over to the puddle of poison, knelt down, and measured the diameter of the scorched earth.

"The ledger never lies, Captain," Chen said, standing up and wiping a stray bit of sawdust from his sleeve. "And as I told you before... I have a very good eye for who’s about to fit into a box."

Ulricar looked at his own hand. It was shaking. He looked at the cup, then back at his subordinate’s retreating figure, and finally, he looked at Chen as if he were seeing a ghost. His fingers began to tremble so violently that the heavy broadsword clattered against the stones.