From Corpse to Crown: Reborn as a Mortician in Another World-Chapter 64: Learning the Loom

It was a new morning at camp, and according to Merry’s Grimoire, they were halfway back to the Sandeater’s Orchard. No one had tried to attack them, there were no ghosts, and Cadrel had even been a little relaxed.

Lucian decided to take the Loom to the edge of the river and the Echoheart Grimoire opened itself beside him. There was a brand-new section available, labeled "GLYPHWORK," with the pages decorated in silver.

In the middle was one sentence:

"You don’t write or rewrite the world. You listen for the weeping, start recording the shape of its grief, and then consider completing it, if you can."

But instead of doing that, Lucian was gripped with fear. He had been blessed with a warning from a possible future.

Of losing to a strange man who hunted him down. Relentlessly. And then fought him without saying anything.

At least give me a chance to fight back. Lucian thought. The Loom must have been giving him that very chance right now. So he looked at his Grimoire and said softly, "I’m not rewriting the world. But I am going to rewrite a possibility of me dying."

The Grimoire asked one question:

"Are you ready for the consequences of acting on a warning?"

"I rang the bell, narrowly escaped an ice king, and inherited the Grief Loom. I am prepared to accept the consequences of acting on a warning."

There was a gentle page turn and then the Echoheart wrote:

"Noted. Rank Up permitted: from Apostate, you are now the Caretaker of Funeral Threads. Congratulations, Mortician Bowcott."

Then it fell silent.

Lucian nodded. Caretaker of Funeral Thread sounded right. He looked down at the Loom and placed a hand on the clasp. Fear and anxiety ran through his veins.

He waited until he felt calmer, and then said quietly, "I don’t want to lose to that man."

The Loom remained quiet, but he felt the threads inside the spool shift. Lucian took it as a good sign, and closed his eyes.

He saw the spool in all its’ glory in his mind’s eye. From within the multicolored spool, a faint blue thread pulsed once.

Not with warning. Instead, it was with recognition.

He was about to follow it when suddenly, a scream echoed from deep within the woods.

+

The scream was short, sharp, and gruff. Then it was suddenly cut off.

That was when Lucian decided his problems could wait. He stood fast--Loom in one hand, and Grimoire following behind him.

He looked around camp. Alice had gotten a small hot plate from Merry and was stirring something in an iron pot. It smelled absolutely delicious.

Merry was busy inside her tent, creating anything she saw in her own Grimoire. Lucian contemplated asking whether half of it was just an endless list of things she could make that would heal them, in more ways than one.

But he didn’t, because he already knew.

She was trying to heal herself, and if she healed her companions, that would be a great bonus.

+

"Cadrel?" he called.

No answer.

He called out to Merry and Alice. "Where’s Cadrel?"

They seemed to snap out of a trance. Alice smiled at him and continued stirring her soup. "He went into the forest looking for berries and herbs for healing."

Merry and Lucian’s eyes met and she whispered, "Cadrel said he needed to step away. Just a quick walk."

That...wasn’t good.

Lucian’s grip on the Loom tightened, and he felt the pale blue thread pulse once more.

Except it was no longer blue.

This one was splashed in red. Freshly stained the blue thread, and it was unwoven. A future he had yet to weave, to write.

And he started running, praying he would not have to weave a sad ending.

+

Somewhere between the trees, Cadrel crouched behind a trunk, panting. He’d been getting on in years, but surely he had enough energy to gather his bearings.

It was worrying because even after the layers of training Prince Alexander had invested in the mortician unit, he didn’t know what had startled him.

Only that something had.

They left no footprints or sounds. The only proof that something had even been there was the air shifting.

And then he felt it. Eyes on him. A presence also crouched down in between the same bushes.

He feared the worst.

But an attack did not come. Cadrel didn’t feel any sharp objects pressed behind his back, either. So he remained still.

And then the man tapped Cadrel’s shoulder--so he had to look. He turned slowly, wondering why this man refused to speak to him.

And when he did, he understood.

It was a tall man in a traveling cloak, and beneath it was a Victorian coat. On his face was a mask.

It had no eyes, no mouth, and at this point, Cadrel didn’t know if this man even had a name.

Cadrel opened his mouth to speak.

And found he couldn’t.

His tongue would not obey him.

His grief had been judged.

Gabriel tilted his head once.

Then reached into his coat.

Not for a weapon.

For a sealed scroll—black wax, etched with a crown-shaped glyph.

He set it gently on the ground in front of Cadrel.

And then he disappeared.

Just like that.

+

Lucian ran through the woods, following the fresh emotional thread the Loom had offered. It curled ahead of him like a ribbon fleeing the wind.

He found Cadrel kneeling beside a tree, hands shaking.

Lucian dropped to his side.

"What happened?"

Cadrel held up the scroll.

It was warm.

The glyph etched on the wax pulsed once—and burned away.

The message opened.

One word, inked in black and scarlet:

"Witnessed."

Lucian’s stomach dropped.

"That’s an execution marker," he whispered. "But... not for you."

Cadrel looked at him, pale.

"Then for who?"

Lucian slowly turned his head.

Toward the direction the thread had been pulling.

It hadn’t led him to Cadrel.

It had led through him.

To Lucian.

And the ink on the scroll rewrote itself.

One name.

In a language only grief could spell:

Lucian Bowcott.