Chapter 8 8. To the Ghost
The faint moonlight penetrated the shack, and silence filled the deep sleep.
The weak whispers followed the moonlight across the branches and turned into one after another snoring. Broken thin clouds drifted among the sparse starlight, casting shadows over the camp in front of the gold mine. A chilling shadow quietly filled the camp, and the snoring around them gradually dimmed.
Creak——
The old bed board made a sound when turned over, and the malicious fluorescence flashed away under the dark bed.
An illusory silhouette like a gauze curtain rose from under the bed, lingering around the two sleeping figures. And when the cold undead was about to come into contact with the creatures it hated and envied, the moonlight spilled into the shack through the gaps, illuminating the shoes hanging beside the bed and the papyrus stuck to the soles.
The papyrus was lifted from the corner of the illusory outline, and a few blurry words appeared in the moonlight:
[To...the cutest undead...welcome...hope...come again]
The gauze-like shadow was slightly stagnant, lingering several times around the sleeping silhouette, and rolled out of the shack with a note.
The papyrus was blocked by the wooden door, slowly falling, and then caught by the illusory gauze that came back, and was pulled out from the crack of the door.
Three gauze outlines emerged from the quiet camp. Under the moonlight, they were like pale dance skirts, fluttering, spinning, gathering, and drilling into the unknown depths of the gold mine.
A thick darkness filled the air, strange shadows and rustling sounds resounded, and evil and terrifying plots echoed, sometimes turning into treacherous grins.
At some point, a silhouette held up the papyrus, which was snatched away, torn into pieces, and questioned by his companions.
After a long time, darkness and silence returned here.
……
Sunlight is the best medicine for sleeping people.
Annan was first woken up by the noise coming from outside the shack, and then the wooden door was banged.
Putting on his linen coat, Annan removed the latch and opened the door.
The chaos and noise suddenly became clear. Old Zoron's nervous old face relaxed when he saw Annan. Then Annan woke Martin up and told them what happened last night.
All the miners living in the camp claimed that they had terrible nightmares. The mage apprentice said that they had been cursed by the undead, but they were fine.
The miners didn't believe it. A mage apprentice who didn't know spells and didn't have magic items obviously couldn't suppress the chaos. Now the outside was surrounded by people fleeing the camp, begging for wages, and clamoring for food.
“Why are you okay?”
Annan was fine, Martin was bleary-eyed, and they seemed unaffected.
After realizing something, Annan looked at the door panel. The note stuck on it had disappeared.
It seems that my message worked. Annan thought excitedly.
This not only means that they survived, but also means that Annan achieved the achievement of communicating with other than human beings for the first time.
Also excited was Old Zollen, who believed that this was the blessing of the goddess of luck - all the miners were cursed by the undead, and they were the only ones who were fine.
Annan grabbed Martin who was about to agree. Although ghosts can communicate, it seems not worth the risk for 30 copper coins...
"40 copper coins per person, and you can also share a share if you find the ore!"
"I agreed." Annan I was afraid that old Zoron would regret it.
Swinging his lame leg like a windmill, old Zoron hurried to prepare breakfast.
"Annan, you are so awesome!" Martin said coyly after praising him, "Can we tell our family that we only get 30 copper coins..."
Annan thought of Martin's salary and handed it over to Susan. The aunt, thinking that he received almost no tips in the tavern and that firewood was always sold at the lowest price, agreed to him.
While waiting for old Zoron to bring food, Annan scanned the noisy camp and found the half-tauren sitting on the edge of the woods holding a thin wooden board.
The broken sunlight in the early morning passed through the shade of the trees. The half-tauren leaned under the tree, holding the charcoal that was so small for him, and painted increasingly clear outlines on the thin wooden board.
The pale ghost has no specific shape, like an outline draped in a sheet.
"Is this the undead that sneaked into the camp last night?"
Annan recognized what it painted. The half-tauren raised his head, and his brown pupils reflected the clean and clear face and eyes wearing a dirty linen coat.
"Why don't you have the aura of curse on you." "My friendliness infected it."
The half-tauren did not go into details, but took the initiative to tell the reason why he was not affected: "Dirty blood allows me to be immune to magic."
"It is just a magic trick to make so many people have nightmares?"
"No one was hurt." The half-tauren discovered that Anangkong had a noble appearance and his knowledge of the outside world was not as good as that of a child.
“Aren’t you going to tell them?”
Then, Annan heard the half-tauren shaking his shackles.
"I am a slave." The half-tauren threw away the charcoal, handed the thin board to Annan, and stood up.
"Is this for me?"
Annan happily accepted the wooden lead painting, "Thank you."
The steps of the half-tauren were due to Annan's thanks. After a brief pause, he walked into the camp where chaos continued.
What it experienced reminded Annan of himself a week ago. Without Aunt Susan, he wouldn't be much better off.
This kind of sympathy almost makes Annan want to buy the half-tauren, but a person who barely survives is not qualified to help others.
Returning to the shed with the drawing board in hand, Martin was already squatting by the basket and eating.
Still brown bread and sour salty peas.
Although you can get twice as much money from mining as you can from a tavern, the food is so bad that it makes Annan think about those days of begging.
After swallowing their breakfast, Annan and Pride walked into the gold mine in front of Martin who was watching them in surprise.
But as soon as he entered, Annan pulled Martin into the forked mine cave that was only a few dozen meters away from the exit.
The intermittent clanking sound of pickaxes continued from morning to afternoon, when Annan and Martin came out carrying baskets.
The good news is that no ghosts were encountered, and the bad news is that no gold mines were encountered.
"The last day...the last day again..."
Old Zollen, who was carrying the blue sky on his arm, was mumbling something, like a gambler who had become addicted.
Annan didn't care, and even prepared to write another letter, although he didn't know many words left.
[To:
Lovely ghosts, I long for your ○, I hope you can allow me to go into the depths - from the miners who want ○○]
Checking the finished papyrus, drawing circles made him blush a little, but he really didn't know the vocabulary and couldn't write vaguely.
Put the papyrus on the door, blow out the oil lamp, and fall asleep slowly.
Late at night, three illusory ghosts quietly floated out of the gold mine and dispersed just like last night.
One of the silhouettes skirts around the door and through the wall into the shed. It lingered at the foot of the sleeping person, and was suddenly attracted by the thin wooden board on the bedside table.
The thickly smeared lead paintings with ghostly portraits appear under the faint moonlight.
The pale gauze held up the drawing board and slammed it against the door with a soft "bang" sound. It emerged from the crack of the door, and the wind brought it off the papyrus and rushed into the night.
……
Thick darkness filled the air, strange shadows and rustling sounds resounded, and evil and terrifying plots echoed, sometimes turning into treacherous grins.
At some point, a silhouette lifted the drawing board.
After whispering the auras of hatred, evil, and darkness, they pasted the lead paintings in their cozy little nests.
(End of this chapter)