More than a decade ago, my great-grandfather used a coffin to subdue the leaders of the underworld in the capital, but paid for it with his life. I watched him die right before my eyes. He clutched my hand, looking like a lamb that had been shorn.
I clenched my teeth and didn't let out a single sob.
Everyone said I was heartless, that I had a black heart. I stared ahead in silence and didn't argue.
I simply set about making nine coffins.
People thought I meant to take over from my great-grandfather and restore Coffin Mountain's reputation. But I knew that wasn't it at all. In this life, I would put every person who had killed him into a coffin, one by one.
Not a single one of them would get away.
