From Corpse to Crown: Reborn as a Mortician in Another World-Chapter 68: The Celestial Ledger

The room hummed with possibility. The Celestial Ledger lay open before Lucian, its pages shimmering faintly under the obsidian chandelier’s light. There was a quill already filled and waiting.

"It’s always been ready for the writer. All that remains is when."

Lucian continued to stare at the blank page. "But...what do I write?"

Gethra shook her head. "No one can help you with that, honestly. The Ledger accepts the sentence you write as the truth, and that will become part of the current reality. In every world."

Lucian’s breath hitched. "There’s no second chances for the Ledger, right?"

The once-angel nodded, and in the light, he thought he saw the silhouette of wings. "You can only write one truth, and never again. Like mine--I can’t edit it even if I wanted to."

She flipped the Ledger until she found a page with her name.

Gethriel - "I died in the Heavenly Realms due to treason against the Divine Architect according to subsection C: Revealing Angelic Knowledge Before the Proper Timeline."

She grabbed the quill and tried to draw a line on "Heavenly Realms" but the moment she finished, the ink melted off of the page. "One truth. The book continues existing, and so do we. But we can’t try it again."

Lucian really wanted to ask about the act of treason, but she glared at him with such ferocity, he became too terrified to ask. After a moment, she shook her shoulders slightly and continued speaking.

"I practiced writing it in a journal before I used the Ledger. It enacts what you write, no more, no less. And you are only allowed one sentence."

He nodded. It was a lot of pressure, and he understood why she practiced writing it. "But what if I don’t know what to write?"

"You do," Gethra said. "You just haven’t forgiven yourself enough to believe it yet."

+

While Gethra and Lucian had their conversation, Merry, Alice, and Cadrel sat at another table nearby. They could hear what was at stake, and didn’t envy Lucian at all.

Alice poured Cadrel a cup of lavender honey tea, both of them watching quietly. Neither of them dared to speak. Even the protective runes that floated in midair had grown still, holding their collective breath.

Lucian took the quill and looked down at the Ledger. It began to glow, as if it was excitedly waiting for what he was about to write.

But then a violent shaking sound rattled Lucian’s satchel until it fell over. He knelt down and opened it--

The Loom slid out, still in its case.

Lucian idly wondered if magical artifacts often acted like cats, or if he just had the misfortune of having two. He then undid the case’s latch.

A rainbow of thread burst upward in a spiral, reminding Lucian of little fish that moved in unison to look like a big one. He stepped back instinctively.

"What—?" Gethra reached for the Loom but stopped as one glowing strand pulled taut across the chamber.

Gold. Gray. Red.

Not Lucian’s.

A different life. A different mind.

Lucian recognized it immediately.

"Elian."

The thread shimmered once, then snapped taut.

+

And what Lucian saw was a memory, but not his own.

They were inside a room made of cold stone. In the middle of the room was a naked figure, kneeling and shaking. His entire body was marked with various glyphs. Beside him was a Grimoire, chained and bloody, with tattered edges.

The Queen’s voice rang out, calm and controlled. In this moment, she resembled a war queen instead of the Marguerite he used to know.

"Emotion led Lucian astray. You will not make the same mistake."

Another voice, darker. Silkier.

The Spymaster.

"He was given choice. You will be given clarity."

A long needle glowed white-hot, and a glyph was slowly etched onto skin. Elian screamed once--and then stopped. It wasn’t because he refused to scream.

He couldn’t.

There was a glyph mark on his throat that muted the pain into an inconvenient insect bite.

Absently, Lucian touched his own throat. He felt the pressure, and the further this memory unraveled, the more difficult it became to watch.

Elian’s hands trembled as he was forced to copy Lucian’s rites over and over again, until it was little more than muscle memory.

And each time he drew it slightly wrong, he was punished.

The scene melted away and transformed again.

This time, Elian practiced grief-counseling monologues into mirrors...and then was forbidden to use them.

"The dead do not want your empathy," The Spymaster whispered as he held a glass of wine. "They want closure. You are not a balm. You are a blade."

Lucian stumbled back. The thread snapped out of sight and yanked itself back into the Loom.

Silence filled the room once more, but Lucian’s hands wouldn’t stop trembling.

Gethra looked at him. "What did it show you?"

"Elian’s training," he whispered. "The glyphs they burned into him. What they taught him."

"And?"

Lucian took a deep breath before he continued. "And I’m scared that...if I write my truth into the Ledger--that I corrected the mistake..."

His voice cracked.

"Then the Code will shift."

He looked at the open page again, horrified.

"My sin. It’ll fall on Elian. They were going to use him as a replacement or a scapegoat. What a horrible way to live."

Merry stepped forward. "You’re sure?"

Lucian nodded, slowly.

"Someone has to carry the burden. Gabriel doesn’t leave unless a wrong is righted. If I erase myself as guilty—someone else has to be."

Cadrel’s jaw tightened. "It’s the perfect solution. Just pick the one who looks most like you. It’s what he was supposed to do. Completely replace you, and then..."

He trailed off, the thought too horrible to complete.

"...they’ll choose another mortician," Gethra said softly. "while getting rid of both of you. So...do you understand now?"

Gethra closed the Ledger softly.

Lucian looked at her, eyes wide.

"You knew this would happen?"

She shook her head. "No. But this is still important information. The Ledger is powerful, but it isn’t kind. It believes in balance, not mercy."

He stepped back from the table.

"I can’t do it."

"You could’ve," Gethra said softly. "And no one here would have judged you."

Lucian looked down at the Loom.

"It judged me enough."

+

Elsewhere

-

The Queen’s private chambers glowed with green fire. Elian knelt before the Mirror of Conviction, hands tied behind his back.

The Spymaster stood beside him, smirking faintly.

"I have your next target," he said.

A scroll appeared in his gloved hand. He saw the royal wax and seal, and said nothing. Elian took it, holding it steady, and broke the seal.

The wax cracked, and on the unrolled page, ink started to form. It curled delicately around each letter, like ivy.

But the name that appeared was not Lucian’s.

It was his own.

ELIAN MORROW

He didn’t flinch, but something behind his eyes flickered.

"I see," he said.

The Queen approached from behind the veil of duskroot silk.

"You were trained to understand sacrifice," she said. "This is no different."

"You said I was to replace him," Elian said flatly.

"You are," the Spymaster answered. "His absence will be complete."

Elian’s jaw tightened.

"And then what?"

"Then we begin again. The court needs its mortician. Atreaum’s brittle dead must be repaired, and the restless ones must sleep. And then the rest of the world will follow."

+

Staesis Library Annex

-

Lucian sat alone with Gethra in the quiet chamber.

The Ledger was closed.

The Loom hummed softly beside him, like a heart still beating through the guilt.

"I wanted a life where I didn’t have to run from myself anymore," he said quietly.

"That is what you are building, is it not?" Gethra replied. "You didn’t run."

"But he still might pay for what I did."

"Then stop him," she said simply.

Lucian looked up.

"You’ve already changed the thread by not writing in the book. You’ve bought yourself time. Now you need to choose the ending you want."

He exhaled, shaky.

"Where do I start?"

She pointed to the Loom.

"You finish the penance glyph. The one the Code hasn’t seen yet."

Lucian blinked.

"There’s still a way?"

Her smile was small. Fierce.

"There always is. But it’ll cost you something permanent."

He nodded.

"I’ve already lost enough to know the value of grief."

+

That night, while the others slept, Lucian sat by the fire and finally opened the Loom.

The penance glyph had begun to take shape on its own.

But one thread remained unfinished.

It burnt bright silver.

The moment Lucian reached out—the fire flared. And in the shadows, beyond the circle of light, there was a figure that slowly approached.

Not Gabriel.

Not Elian.

Someone wearing a mask shaped like an hourglass.

The Judicant.

Another servant of the Code.

The enforcer of final glyphs.

He spoke only once, his voice like ash falling on glass.

"Balance. It must be restored."

And vanished.