Chapter 195 Greed and Tears

The wind was cold and everyone, both adults and children, leaned towards the campfire to hear the old man's story clearly.

"In front of one of these pictures was a small golden statue. The value of this one golden statue alone exceeded the total wealth he could hope to obtain in ten lifetimes. The young man picked up the golden statue and slipped it into his cloth bag."

"He did not want to linger. He knew others would arrive soon. And when they did, he had better be gone. Greed makes fools of the greatest men, and he knew full well that others would not hesitate to shed his blood for the golden statue - and not only the statue, but all the riches beyond. For all his faults, this young man was not greedy. He saw no point in going deeper. The remaining treasures could be left to others."

"He took a look at the last painting before leaving the tomb. The little prince in the painting was dead, lying quietly on the coffin. Those closest to him were crying... but people in the distance were cheering. Was he loved? Or was he a tyrant? He had no way of knowing."

"It was then that he heard a voice: a voice that made him tremble in the darkness."

"He looked around, eyes wide open, torch held high in front of him. But there was nothing."

"'Who's there?' he said. But the answer was silence."

"The young man shook his head. 'It's only the wind, you fool,' he thought. 'It's only the wind.'"

"Then he heard the same sound again, more clearly this time. Deeper in the darkness of the tomb, a child was crying."

"If it were anywhere else, his paternal nature would have driven him to seek the source of the sound. But here, in the darkness of the tomb?"

"He wanted to run away... but he didn't run away in the end. The sound of crying touched his heartstrings. The crying was full of misery and sadness."

"Is it possible that this ancient tomb has another entrance? What if a little boy really walked into the tomb and got lost?"

"He held the torch high and crept forward. The crying continued, echoing faintly in the darkness."

"He came to the door of a larger chamber. The floor was dark and reflective. The golden objects and jewel-studded walls inside the chamber gleamed in the firelight. He entered the chamber carefully."

"He jerked his legs back because his heels had already created ripples on the ground before they even touched the ground. It was water. It wasn't smooth obsidian - it was water."

"He half-knelt, scooped up a handful of water and brought it to his mouth. He immediately spat it out. It was salt water! Here! In the heart of Shurima, a thousand miles from the nearest ocean!"

"He heard the boy crying again, closer now."

"He held the torch to his eyes, and by the edge of the flame the young man caught a glimpse of a figure. It looked like a child, sitting with its back to him."

"He walked into the tomb cautiously. The water on the ground was not deep. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and fear filled his chest, but he still did not turn around and run away."

"'Are you lost?' he asked, approaching slowly. 'How did you get here?'"

"The figure didn't turn around...but he did speak."

"'I... I don't remember,' he said. His voice echoed around the young man for a long time, bouncing off the walls of the tomb in many layers. The boy's accent was very ancient, and his wording was strange... but understandable. 'I don't remember who I am.'"

"'Don't worry, kid,' the young man said. 'Everything will be fine.'" "He moved closer, and the figure in front of him finally emerged. His eyes widened in panic."

"The figure before him was a golden statue covered in agate. It was a golden statue. It was not the source of the crying, nor was it the source of the boy's voice."

"At this moment, a small hand, a dry little hand, grabbed him."

The youngest child in the audience gasped and stared. The others laughed boldly. Old Cardun smiled, too, and a gold tooth gleamed in the fire. Then he went on.

"The young man looked down. Beside him stood a corpse wrapped in linen bandages. It was the little prince in the painting. Although the zombie boy's face was wrapped in shrouds, a dim, ghostly light still shone from his empty eye sockets. The zombie boy grabbed the young man's hand."

"'Will you be my friend?' the little boy asked, his voice muffled by the bandage that covered his mouth."

"The young man suddenly fell back, free from the child's grasp. The young man looked at his arm in horror: his hand had begun to wither and wither, turning black, shrinking and shrunken. The brief touch that consumed his life was crawling up his arm."

"He turned and ran. In his panic and haste, he dropped his lantern. The light hissed into the Lake of Tears, and darkness fell. Still, he could make out the faint glow of daylight ahead. He ran toward the light, desperate and stumbling, while the life-consuming blight continued to advance toward his heart."

"At the time, he felt that the zombie boy might grab him at any moment... but it didn't happen. He felt like he had experienced an eternity, but in fact it was only a few heartbeats, and then he rushed out of the darkness and returned to the scorching heat of the desert."

"'I'm sorry,' a sad voice lingered behind him. 'I didn't mean it.'"

“At this point, Amumu’s tomb has been uncovered,” Kaldun said. “The zombie boy has been brought to light.”

"But everyone knows he's not real!" one of the kids shouted. He was the oldest, perhaps uneasy at the silence.

“Amumu is real!” the youngest child said. “He’s wandering around, trying to find a friend!”

"He's real, but he's not a boy," said another. "He's a Yodel!"

Cardun laughed and stood up with the help of a knotty cane.

"I'm an old man, and we have a long way to go tomorrow," he said. "It's past my bedtime."

The audience began to disperse, smiling and talking in low voices, but one child did not leave. She stared at Cardun without blinking.

"Grandpa," she said. "How did you lose your arm?"

The old Carlton looked at the empty sleeve below his shoulders and grinned at the little girl.

"Goodnight, baby," he said, winking.

(End of this chapter)