I died one September evening. The murder weapon was a fish knife.
After I died, I became a ghost officer in the underworld, only to discover that there had been no gods in this world for three thousand years.
No reincarnation, no rebirth. Ghosts are trapped in the City of Wrongful Death, waiting to slowly fade away, or suddenly have their souls obliterated.
Recently, someone has been speeding up the process.
The King of Hell said this was an ancient form of torture that should not exist in this era.
The King of Hell said I was the first person in three thousand years to enter the underworld carrying divinity.
The King of Hell said only I could investigate this case.
I asked why.
The King of Hell did not answer.
But before the first victim faded away, he called out my name.
I didn't know him.
He shouldn't have known me either.
Unless the catastrophe three thousand years ago that made the gods disappear had something to do with me.
But I can't remember.
I only remember that I died one September evening. The murder weapon was a fish knife.
