Half-step Purgatory

Durin stroked the black cat on the armrest of his chair, sitting on the black leather sofa. Through the glasses perched on his nose, his gaze passed over the long table in front of him and settled on the man kneeling on the carpet:
"I understand, you've made money in Naples, your business has been very successful, and you've led a happy life. You've had those secret police, friends in both the law and the underground, and even the Royal Family speaking on your behalf."
"You don't need a friend like me, I know that. You're afraid of owing me a favor, and you don't want to get involved in troubles."
"But now you come to me and say, 'I beg you, Mr. Durin of the Corleon family, please help me seek justice, so that my life and my family will not suffer and sink into despair.'
Yet, in your eyes, I was nothing more than a second-rate artist involved in movies and music. Even at the brink of death, you still show me such disrespect, not even willing to call me by my title... Keeper of Secrets."

Durin's Diary

    When dawn broke the next day, the Chief Monk of the Church of Suffering silently beheld the six metal canisters laid out before him.


    Wellington Little Toe, that gnome, had spent half an afternoon and an entire night sifting through the Dark River that flowed under the entire city, finding five canisters. Each had been purified and once contained the virus crafted by the benevolent grandmother Nogel.


    The trickery of the Evil God didn't end there; aside from the castle at the center of the city, on the mountain tops to the farther North of the suburbs, there was a hidden crucible. At this time, winds blowing from the northern seas were more than capable of spreading the virus throughout the city.


    Alas, all these schemes were foiled by Sir Durin and his 'subordinates' skilled in Undead Magic.


    Now, the colleagues from the Church of the Original Creator are discussing how to reward those versed in Undead Magic.


Chapter 300: After Autumn