From Corpse to Crown: Reborn as a Mortician in Another World-Chapter 78: What If I Had Been Allowed to Choose?

A week after Elian started living at the Tallowman’s Workshop, he discovered a flourishing wax garden during a walk.

"Ah, yes. I know that area well." Michael said as he finished packing the day’s wax candles in a box. Since their church had spread word about the candles being safe to handle again, people from different cities had been ordering from him.

"When I don’t know what kind of candle to carve, I walk through the garden. Works every time."

And since Michael had been living a creative life even longer than he’d been in training as a mortician, Elian decided to take his advice.

"Do you feel like taking a walk today?" he asked his Grimoire. It pulsed gently in agreement. His book still had its limiters. "I really wonder what would happen if I managed to unchain you."

Maybe if I traveled with Lucian I would find the answer. It seems like that’s how anything gets done around here. He wanted to laugh, but from his experience in the Shadow Court’s alternate timeline, Lucian meddling with certain situations was how anything ever got solved.

+

The wax garden was full of statues in different stages of completion. Some stood tall and proud, and others were half-melted. One thing all the faces had in common were their expressions: immortalized in moments of peace or pain.

One statue made him stop in his tracks. It was shaped like a boy who looked no older than ten. Elian’s heart sank, and he was a little relieved when the book kept sleeping instead of shocking him.

He looked like a puppet, with thread glyphs wrapped around its arms like intricate tattoos. It felt familiar to the ones Elian carried beneath his sleeves.

The plaque read: "Remembered Before He Could Become."

Elian touched its bronze surface, and something cracked inside of him.

He didn’t weep. Not yet.

After the first time he shed tears, his connection to the Crown weakened further.

This time, the ache behind his eyes said he could.

What if that had been me? What if I stayed and became their scapegoat? Would the Queen have a statue made and told my story for me? What if I accepted I was always meant to die before anyone even knew who I was?

His knees buckled, and he knelt in front of the statue.

For the first time since childhood, he prayed. But not to the Queen, or the Shadow Court. He didn’t even pray to the Divine Architect.

Instead, he prayed to the silence.

Please. Let me be more than what she made. I don’t want to be a shadow, or a ghost. I just want to be myself.

As his eyes were closed, he didn’t see the candles around the statue light themselves...without a command glyph or a summoning rite.

It just responded to an earnest boy’s wish to live his own life.

When Elian opened his eyes and saw the candlelight respond to his wish, without any magic.

He finally whispered: "I think I want to live. On my own terms, away from the Crown."

His Grimoire appeared before him then. The wire binding glowed once, and then snapped open, unraveling one of its heavy shackles.

The pages unfurled as if it were stretching from a long sleep. But instead of plain parchment, it was bound in glue and wax.

[CODEX UPDATE: Subclass selection unlocked]Thread Stability: Diverging from Assigned DesignSelect Alignment Mutation: Confirmed Apostasy

Four subclass paths available:

Blood Glyph CasterNecromancerAssassinSaint

Recommendation: Assassin – Performance Bias: 98%

Override Possible — Soulchain Unstable

Elian stared at the options. The first three were familiar, and he was sure they would fit him perfectly. They sounded efficient, deadly, and cold. Everything he didn’t want to be, anymore.

But the last... Saint...

Just thinking about that one hurt.

Like he was pressing on a bruise.

"Saint?" he said aloud.

The Grimoire’s ink shifted again.

This path is reactive, and evolves around your companions and environment. There are no direct kill sequences. Instead, you will gain ritual absolution, echo-redemption, and glyph cleansing.

[IMPORTANT SIDE EFFECT: You may begin to feel.]

Proceed?

Elian took a deep breath and chuckled. "So I keep my shadow skills, and gain a support subclass? Hm. Then I can heal myself. And anyone else with me. The Crown did value self-sufficiency."

So he tapped "Yes."

Elian said quietly, "My new path starts here."

The new pages changed the design of the parchment entirely. Now it was warm and edged with gold. In the center of his chosen subclass was a pair of open palms, cupping gold-stitched thread.

Saint Subclass Engaged.

"Let those born in silence find redemption. And may they walk in the warmth of light."

He sat back and smiled. It didn’t feel heavier. Instead, it felt like someone removed the burdens and expectations he once carried. Even the very air seemed to smell different: like cedar and hope, if it had a scent.

Elian looked up at the now-darkening sky and whispered,

"Thank you. I see why Michael comes here often."

+

The waxing moon had risen by the time he returned to the Tallowman’s workshop.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" Michael asked from the kitchen. Elian nodded. "And more. I think I’ll be ready to leave tomorrow."

The Tallowman nodded. "We’ll have some stew tonight. Do you want to help make it?"

At the Shadow Court, he only ever had food served to him. It was only by luck one of his instructors suggested basic cooking to the Queen. "It’s an essential survival skill, Your Grace." she allowed it, only because the instructor had said "Goddess forbid your assassin weaken from hunger."

When he was still her assassin, she didn’t want any sign of weakness. He accepted the cooking lessons and noted that the instructor seemed much happier while teaching him.

I guess he just wanted a break from the usual routine too.

Elian nodded, and for the first time, smiled with another person present. "I’ve never done it before."

"That would make two of us. When I had friends over, they insisted cooking. We’ll learn together."

Elian discovered that his blade skills ensured he would always cut the perfect potato wedges. Michael was an expert at maintaining the perfect temperature for the pot, so their stew thickened up perfectly.

And while they had dinner, Elian said "Thank you."

Tallowman finished his stew and replied, "Thanks for keeping me company." He placed a silk square next to Elian.

Elian unwrapped it to reveal a hand-carved candle in the shape of an angel. The wax was black and white, and he had attached a blank tag.

"If you ever feel lost, light this."

He was about to refuse when Michael said kindly, "You don’t have to do everything alone. I used to think I could hold my pain inside. But it escaped into my candles. This is a small piece of support."

Elian felt emotional as he accepted it.

I guess even healing hurts sometimes.

+

As he retired to the guest room (Michael had one built after his friends stayed over), Elian started packing.

He folded his traveling cloak the way he’d been taught in the Queen’s barracks: fold, flatten, and press. Precision. His hands moved on their own.

But his thoughts didn’t.

Last night’s prayer still echoed in him like a bell that never stopped vibrating.

I think I want to live. On my own terms. Away from the Crown.

The prayer inside of his heart was: I think I want to be known.

Besides his clothes, he packed a few personal items: A broken glyph tag from his old training harness, the angel candle, and a small prayer book from the priests.

He packed the Grimoire last, and it felt like an old friend instead of a monitoring device. For the first time, he touched it as a companion instead of a collar.

+

When he stepped outside, the early morning sun cut through the workshop’s wax windows. It painted the floor a gentle amber hue.

No matter how early he woke up, it felt like Tallowman was one step ahead. He already had two cups of tea waiting on the table.

"Leaving already," he said without a question mark.

"Yes," Elian replied. "I don’t know where yet."

The older man smiled.

"You will."

He handed Elian a small pouch.

Inside was a spool of blessed thread, a bone needle, and a glyph printed in pressed flower ink.

"These aren’t weapons," the Tallowman said. "They’re tools. But how you use them...will decide what they become."

Elian nodded.

And left, the door slowly closing shut behind him.

I’m glad I went back home for a bit.

Now I’m ready to face the future.

+

He passed by a candle fence that lined one of Candlemere’s many gardens. This time, it was devoted to the Queen. One flame leapt higher than the rest. Instead of a warm golden flame, it was a fierce deep red.

A Queen’s color.

But the flame did not burn Elian.

It bowed, as if acknowledging Queen Marguerite had no dominion here.

Elian didn’t look back.

But he did whisper, "Let her chase a ghost."

And walked on.

+

Elsewhere, the Loom in Lucian’s lap twitched once. One of the threads changed direction, and his Grimoire flickered open.

There was a new line:

"The 13th has chosen light where he was taught shadow."

Lucian looked up sharply.

"Alice," he said, "his thread just moved."

She turned toward him. "What does that mean?"

He stared at the thread.

The wax symbol now woven through its core.

"He’s not who the Queen thinks he is anymore."