Clash With The Hangman Of Mors - PT 1

At the moment the road pointed toward the heart of those dark woods, the young ones knew that Undertaker Jack would be waiting for them somewhere. The Scent of Death in that place was so intense that no demon would dare set foot in that region.

Arya held the reins tightly, guiding the carriage down a path that could very well lead to the end of her life. She felt an overwhelming urge to turn back and flee, but she had people by her side—and it was in those people that she could trust.

The more time passed, the more apprehensive they became. The sound of any bird was enough to startle Arya and Peter. For a brief moment, they held onto the faint hope that perhaps he wouldn’t show up.

However, he finally appeared... No grand entrance, no theatrics—he simply emerged in the middle of the road, announcing his presence with a soft voice.

"In all these fifteen years of my existence, this is the first time I’ve met a necromancer who doesn’t try to run from me. Well, it’s also the first time I’ve met one of them standing beside one of my sisters."

The group stepped out of the carriage and looked around until they spotted Jack’s silhouette sitting atop one of the trees by the roadside.

He had a youthful appearance, with hair of a faint golden hue and a well-defined physique. His attire was steeped in black and red, accentuated by a long overcoat and a gravedigger’s hat with a lycoris flower on the side.

However, what caught Peter’s attention the most was… “He doesn’t seem like the big deal you all made him out to be. He just looks… like a normal guy?”

“But you have to admit, he’s got style,” Reaper commented.

“Yes, but that’s not the point. I was expecting something… more threatening?”

After a quick analysis of the young ones’ demeanor and posture, Jack had finally reached his conclusions. “Tell me, masked one. You are the bearer of Magdalena, correct? What is your name?”

“Well, looks like our Sherlock Holmes is good at deduction. My name is Reaper, Reaper Jack.” Magdalena chuckled as Reaper mocked her brother.

“Wasn’t it Gray Reaper?” Peter asked.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Reaper Jack.” Jack’s innocence made him oblivious to Reaper’s sarcasm. “Please, ask Magdalena to come out. I need to speak directly with my sister.”

“(Tell him to go jump off a cliff! I have no patience to deal with this little mutt. Sister? Who does he think he is? Doesn’t he understand that we are not the same?!)”

“(Mag, please, control yourself. We’re doing this to help them, remember?)”

Reluctantly, Magdalena emerged from Reaper’s shadow. “What is it, Jack? Don’t come at me with rhetorical questions like ‘why are you walking with a necromancer?’—just get out of our way!”

“You know I can’t do that. It is my mission to bring this necromancer’s soul back to the Mother.”

Edward couldn’t contain himself: “Why? Arya is a kind-hearted girl, she has done nothing wrong! She only used her necromancy to protect us—what’s so wrong about that?”

“The graves I have dug on my path here are filled with ‘kind-hearted people.’ I won’t be fooled. A necromancer is a necromancer.”

“Jack, cut the girl some slack. Trust me, and maybe I won’t have to crush you today,” Magdalena attempted to argue in Arya’s favor. “The necromancer girl has no memories of her past—it’s not fair to kill her when she doesn’t even know how she came to this fate.”

“That changes nothing, Magdalena.… The sin of a necromancer is denying death—denying the God who created this world. You understand what it means?”

Edward interrupted again. “Arya isn’t like that! If she could, she would stop being a necromancer! And if necessary, I will personally make sure that she never uses necromancy again!”

“And what happens after you die? Sooner or later, necromancers are doomed to sin against death. Can you truly guarantee that when you die, she will accept your death and not try to bring you back?”

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air. Arya bitterly recalled the feeling she had when Belchior died and ended up succumbing to Jack’s accusations. She could never bear to see Edward die before her eyes.

"Necromancer, what is your name?"

"... Arya Belchior."

"Do you have a favorite color? A favorite food?"

Arya was confused by the questions, but she answered anyway. "A color? I don’t have a specific one. As for food, I like sweet cakes."

"These boys by your side—are they important to you?"

"Yes, they are. Peter is an awesome friend, and Edward… he is the one I love."

"Arya Belchior, the fate of a necromancer is tied to death—either by fleeing from it or bringing it forth. That is a dangerous burden to carry. Do you understand that it would be better for them… if you were dead?"

Arya was about to collapse to the ground in tears at those words, but before that could happen, she felt Edward’s gentle touch as he embraced her. He hid Arya’s face against his back so she wouldn’t see the look of pure hatred on his face.

"You’re going to regret saying that."

Magdalena sighed and then leaped back into Reaper’s shadow. "See? I told you he was too stubborn to win in an argument." … "(Let’s proceed with the plan.)"

But before they could put their battle strategy into action, there was someone too impulsive to hold back after hearing Jack’s cruel words. In an instant, Peter was already lunging at Jack, ready to land a punch on his face.

"You bastard! That was really messed up! Maybe a few broken teeth will teach you to shut up!"

However, Jack’s dodging skills were enough to evade the punch, causing Peter’s fist to miss and instead break the branch of the tree they were on.

Peter fell to the forest floor, while Jack repositioned himself on another tree. As soon as Jack’s feet touched the branch, Reaper launched a surprise attack, using the same technique Magdalena used to enter and exit his shadow.

"Black Parade!" Reaper drew his shadowy scythe, but Jack blocked it with his hand, showing no difficulty.

"The power of the Countess of Shadows… I believe this is the first time I’ve seen it in person." Jack kicked Reaper off the branch, sending him crashing into a bush. "But it’s not enough to stop me. It’s useless if the user doesn’t have the strength to wield it."

Edward’s bone whip whizzed through the air, nearly striking Jack before wrapping around the tree trunk. Jack watched intently as the three young ones regrouped behind the carriage, standing in defense of Arya, who had retreated inside.

"You’re skilled, but is it really worth using this power to protect a necromancer?"

"If you want to lay a finger on her, you’ll have to go through us first!"

"Go through you? Very well, I accept your terms."

"Come on, let’s see what you’re capa—!" Peter didn’t even have time to finish his sentence. He felt the impact on his chest, losing all his breath as he collapsed onto his back, while Jack stood over him in an elegant pose.

Reaper was next. "Gwah!!" Jack spun his body, adding momentum to a kick that struck Reaper’s stomach, sending the masked man flying with the force of the impact.

The last to be subdued was Edward. Before he could even draw his sword from its sheath, Jack grabbed him by the collar and yanked him forward, tossing him over his shoulder before slamming him onto the ground.

Jack leaped into the carriage, walking slowly toward Arya, who was paralyzed with fear. Before attacking her, Jack glanced around in search of something, and as soon as he found it, he picked it up and extended it toward Arya.

"This flute—is it the instrument of your magic?"

"Yes." Even terrified, Arya was still brave enough to answer.

"They are fighting for you… but only you have the right to fight for your life. If you believe it has no value, then surrender now and spare them their suffering. But if not, then it’s time to rise and fight for your life."

Arya absorbed those words as she took the flute from Jack’s hand. No matter how much they cared for her, it was she—and only she—who could fight for her own fate.

"I… Even if I don’t have all my memories, the ones I do have are precious to me. I cherish every moment I’ve spent with them! I can’t let these memories be buried with me!"

"I’m glad to hear that, Arya Belchior. I will remember every one of those words…"

Jack reached into his coat, pulling out a wooden piece with a metallic barrel. It was a flintlock pistol, adorned with golden details. Jack pulled the hammer back and aimed the pistol at Arya’s head, ready to pull the trigger.

However, the girl was no longer afraid of dying. She was ready to fight tooth and nail for new happy memories to hold onto. Arya stood up, facing head-on the one who had come to bring her death…