Chương 5: The Funeral

Rowan Rowan had been prepared for anything. Anything except this. The words repeated in his head but refused to make sense. His ears buzzed as his heart thudded painfully in his chest.

"W-when?"

"Three days ago," they said.

"She died in the night. Natural causes. The sect will give you a week to visit your family, and loan you a carriage for your trip. Please let us know if you need any further accommodations." The next hours were a blur. Three days ago, at night, was when the rosary had activated and killed the demon. The visage of his mother had appeared, smiting him. Rowan knew the event and her death were connected. He just wasn't sure how. Before he knew it, he was in a carriage, bumping along through the city streets.

Rowan rested his jaw against his arm. He observed the ongoings of the city from the window, the breeze fluttering through his white robes. His mother had always been ill. Even in his earliest memories, she was frail and sickly. The doctors had said that giving birth had exacerbated her condition- especially to the son of a man with such a strong yang nature as father. They said that in the womb, Rowan had stolen some of her vitality. His mother could never convince him that he was free of blame.

After Father had died, things worsened. Iseult Brangaine had only married into House Helsing and she had no background of her own, so she hadn't been treated well. The medicines slowly, then quickly, decreased in quality. Distant relatives harassed her for her husband's possessions. His mother fell into a coma, and their best healer said that there was nothing to be done. Rowan tried his best, but there was little he could do once he had been sent to the sect. The carriage slowed to a stop.

"Young master, we have arrived." Rowan stepped down from the carriage, giving a few pats to the horses pulling it. The walls of House Helsing's compound were fifteen feet high. From the outside, he could only see the green tops of some trees and the roofing tiles of buildings. The guards let him inside without a word. They had been notified in advance that he was on his way home. No white canvasses hung across the buildings. No funeral incense burned. No priests arrived to offer prayers.

If a stranger were to visit the compound, would they know that today marked the funeral of a high-ranking lord's wife? Rowan had always known his mother to be no one important. His mother and father marrying had been a miraculous love story. Order of the Black Judgement. What were his mother's connections to that organization feared by a Core Formation demonic cultivator? How did she appear out of the rosary? How had she given her life to save him? A hand on Rowan's shoulder shook him from his thoughts.

"Ah, young master, my condolences about your mother. She died so suddenly…" Rowan nodded at Uncle Bael, politely accepting the words. The man was his father's older brother by less than a year, and they looked similar. When Rowan was young, to everyone's amusement, he even often confused the two, unable to tell which was his father. They both had a distinctive, heroic appearance and starry eyes. Looking at his uncle now, it was like looking at the face of his own father, had he lived.

Unlike father, he's a scumbag to the core, groused Rowan. The man led him into the building where a modest pine cask sat on the floor, surrounded by a scattering of relatives. Most of them were Uncle Bael's concubines and their many children. Two little girls ran around the room, chasing each other.

"There is still an important matter to be decided, however. Your father left a substantial fortune! I tried to convince the patriarch to bend the bylaws to let you claim it now, since you're only two years away from your age of majority, but he refused to budge. You must appoint a custodian, it seems. A trusted member of the house who can safeguard your interests." His uncle gave his best attempt at a fatherly smile. Snake.

"There's still something left? I thought your side of the family had 'borrowed' everything, uncle," Rowan said, dryly. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. Uncle Bael clicked his tongue in chastisement.

"You should be thankful for our help. Your father owned several businesses, and after he died, they would've gone out of business just sitting around. Now, they're thriving!"

"And his artifacts? The money? His scripture? He left me his rank-four manual which had techniques all the way to Foundation Establishment. But when I went asking for it, Auntie Cassia said a cousin had borrowed it for his cultivation. Which cousin would that be?"

"Ahh, you mean my son, Ash." Uncle Bael stroked his thick beard. Okay so Auntie Cassia's own son, got it.

"Well, he's an exceptionally rare talent. Perhaps even more than your father. Don't you think it's right for him to study from that manual? It would be a shame if he wasted his ability."

"What about me, then?"

"Rowan…" The man sighed.

"Higher ranked manuals don't just contain more powerful techniques, they're also more difficult. You're bright, but don't overestimate yourself. Cultivation is about picking what is right for you…" Rowan's eyes hardened. He wasn't the pushover he used to be, and now with his mother gone, he didn't need to rely on these people for anything anymore.

"I insist, uncle."

"Very well, Ash has been chosen as a disciple of Blackscale Sect. I suppose there's no harm in talking to him. It might very well be the case that he's found a better manual to use! Hahaha." Uncle Bael sighed again.

"If you wish to go, I'll prepare a retinue for you. The journey will take at least a week." If it took a whole week just to get there, Rowan might be tied up in the business for at least a month. The sect wouldn't let him leave for that long. Likely, that was what Uncle Bael was counting on. A nasty smile formed on his lips.

"I'll have to trouble you, uncle." A fourth-rank manual was a fourth-rank manual! He could always mend relations with the sect - the Elders were not unreasonable people. But if he messed up his cultivation? That was permanent.

"I'll make some arrangements then," said Uncle Bael stiffly. Without a further word, he strode out of the building. Rowan stood at the edge of the open casket, letting his thoughts return to his mother as his relatives came and went. They might not have given her the grandest of funeral rites, but it was bad luck not to at least pay cursory respect to the dead. An old servant woman with rough hands approached him, tears flowing down her ragged cheeks.

Rowan didn't bother with formalities, immediately drawing her into a warm hug. She had managed the household while his mother was sick, and always doted on him.

"Young master, it's all my fault. If I had been in the room when Lady Iseult passed, I could've- I could've-""My mother was sick for a long time," said Rowan gently.

"Please don't blame yourself." He said a few more words of comfort before the woman withdrew, collapsing in front of the cask and wailing apologies at his dead mother. Rowan watched her for a long moment, his heart clenching in his chest. It's not your fault… it's my fault. I was almost killed by a demonic cultivator and needed mother to save me. I'm the one who is weak.

As day turned to night, only one other person remained in the room, seated on a chair that had been pushed off into a corner with the rest of the furniture. The ancient Helsing patriarch beckoned him forward.

"Still haven't formed your Qi Sea?" Rowan knelt, shame flooding him.

"No, Ancestor. I'm close. I won't shame the Helsing name." Patriarch Yarrow sighed deeply.

"In the last four generations, our house produced three outstanding talents. A high number. My sister, born with an Extreme Yin Body, was taken by a wandering cultivator to be one of his concubines when she was only eight. Cousin Iris trained in secret until she hit Foundation Establishment, but then was drafted and sent to fight at the Great Border. Pyrus was killed in his own backyard. If any one of them were around, how great and influential would our house be? What about all three?" Rowan stared at the old man.

A coldness shot through his body.

"Bah. Forget it, this old man is just sentimental in his old age." He shook his head.

"Just take your time. You can't control destiny… I hear you're going to Deepwhale Pier."

"Yes, Ancestor."

"You don't have a weapon of your own do you? Why not take this?" The man's fingers trembled as he pulled a sheathed sword from his sleeve and presented it to Rowan, who took it with apprehension.

"Are you sure I can borrow this?" The patriarch waved him off.

"I'm just loaning you a piece of sharp steel to stab things with. Don't overthink it." He coughed.

"Stick to the main road… I've heard that bandits have been especially active lately. Stay alert. Don't think that all cities are like ours. The Helsing name doesn't mean much in other places…" He nodded and the Patriarch leaned back in his seat, seemingly having fallen asleep. Rowan turned back to the casket, to kneel again in prayer, and then realized a stuffed toy bird had been perched on its edge. One of the eyes was missing.

Its wings were threadbare and worn of color, the kind of wear that only came from being played with for years by a child. Alarmed, he turned to the door. A flicker of white cloth vanished around the corner.

"Hello?" He turned back to the Patriarch, who hadn't moved an inch. Had someone come in to pay their respects while they were speaking? Rowan ran towards the door and looked out, but the courtyard was now mostly empty. Some funeralgoers were still standing around.

"Has anyone seen someone in a cloak or cape?" Rowan asked desperately. There were a smattering of shrugs and shaking heads. He returned to the casket and picked up the toy bird, carefully turning it over in his hands. A sparrow, he thought it was. He suddenly remembered the moment he'd faced Lieren Nostraga and the shape of the qi that had unwound from the rosary. Rowan clutched the bird as he leaned over the casket.

"Your unworthy son… promises to remember."