Durin's Diary

Chapter 1061 Ascending the Cloud Ladder

When Dulin escorted the coffin out, the weather in Paris was not good; the land was shrouded in rain, and a cold, leaden gray shrouded the sky and earth.

According to Sidney's rites, Czerny's funeral was held today, and his coffin was carried out by six of the strongest, tall-hoofed young men.

These young people were all descendants of his apprentices; some were businessmen, some were soldiers, and others were musicians who had followed in their fathers' footsteps.

Considering the solemnity of the ceremony, Dulin escorted the coffin out of the courtyard and then boarded a carriage—the grassland spirit was ultimately a bit too short for the tall, hoofed deer, whose average height was two meters.

Anta sat next to Dulin, wearing a black mage robe with a gold collar—only legendary mages were entitled to have gold trim embroidered on the collar—and a wide-brimmed black veil hat, a style unique to grassland elves.

She looked at the crowd seeing them off: "Mr. Czerny has a wide network of connections."

Yes, Professor Czerny has a wide network of connections. Many people, whether nobles or Northerners, who were unable to come in person, sent envoys and representatives.

For example, Farol's side even sent Poole—as a representative of Northernism and Duhring's elder brother, he held a transcendent position here.

But today, like many envoys and representatives, he stands on the side of the street.

“I have never seen such a grand funeral,” Mason sighed.

He was dressed in the black robes of the art academy and sat in the carriage just like Dulin.

This is an arrangement specifically for small people. Don't ask why. If you really want to know, you have to start by telling the story of how small people followed the crowd and ended up being trampled.

In short, in this time of universal mourning, we should not add to the sorrow, as it will do no good for anyone.

“This reminds me of Fabien’s funeral,” Anta sighed in Dulin’s ear in the language of the steppe elves.

Dulin was taken aback because it started raining.

However, unlike Lublin in late winter and early spring, Paris was only drizzling now, and the morning was not hot, but Dulin, wearing a black wide-sleeved suit, still felt a sense of temporal and spatial dislocation.

The crowd was moving, and Dulin even saw the royal carriage near the intersection, with a child sitting inside... perhaps Gala's child, who had come on behalf of the royal family to send the great musician to his grave.

Beside the carriage, Dulin saw an old man with a black umbrella; he was the royal cinema manager.

As the raindrops grew larger, the heat and the pressure of the rain made it difficult to breathe.

Thick, leaden clouds stretched endlessly, dominating the sky as far as the eye could see. Dulin heard the cries of women and children by the roadside. Looking out the car window, he could see many ordinary people dressed in coarse clothes, some with their heads bowed and tears streaming down their faces, others with the symbols of their respective faiths drawn on their chests.

Throughout his life, Czerny donated to many poor people. Although he left Northernism, his donations to the poor and Farol never ceased.

This is a common trait among many survivors of the First Commune—they feared losing it again and instinctively wanted to distance themselves from the ideology. Yet, like moths to a flame, they loyally upheld their beliefs.

Upon entering the cemetery, Mason got out of the car first, followed by Dulin, who helped Anta out of the car.

Mason gave one of the umbrellas to Dulin.

Then the apprentices who were qualified to enter the cemetery lined up quietly and followed the coffin in.

It rained harder and harder.

When choosing pallbearers, Dulin selected only the strongest young men and blessed them, so their steps remained steady.

They walked in the rain, followed by Dulin and Anta, then the Lilliputian apprentices, the taller the person, the further back they were in line—an unwritten rule of Western funerals.

So it's like a procession of crows—creatures draped in black robes walking together.

Most of the men were dressed in solemn black suits with matching ties or bow ties; the women were wrapped in long skirts or suits in the deep twilight, some wearing top hats with black veils hanging down, and others clutching white or black handkerchiefs tightly.

Dulin walked at the head of the procession. As Czerny's handpicked successor, he also saw the end of the route—a newly dug tomb, the color of the soil piled around its edges appearing exceptionally fresh and jarring. Ahead of it stood a priest of the Church of the Primordial Creator, clad in a traditional black robe, with an ironwood cross hanging on his chest.

He held a thick scripture in his hands, so old that the edges of the pages were slightly curled. His face was solemn, and the marks of time were particularly deep on his features.

The rain did not fall on him.

Dulin left the queue, stepped forward, and extended his hand.

“My lord…” The master with the deep and solemn face could no longer hold back, and he hesitated.

“I have not yet received the scepter from Mr. Nameless; I am still just a mortal,” Dulin said with a smile, offering a forgiving tone.

The old man finally nodded, and he reached out and shook hands firmly with Dulin: "I will remember your kindness to all living beings forever."

Du Lin nodded.

He watched the procession walk in, and watched the young man gently place the coffin in its rightful place.

Next it was the pastor's turn. Dulin returned to Anta's side and watched him begin his sermon.

The old man's voice was not loud, but it was exceptionally clear when it reached the ears, possessing an unexpected penetrating power.

The rain is getting heavier.

Dulin's thoughts wandered as he recalled Fabian's funeral.

Young and old alike cherish the Northernism they regard as their faith, even though it has its problems, it is still better than feudalism and capitalism.

As for why things sometimes turn out badly, isn't it because those who treat an ideology as a belief die in the night, while those who treat it as a tool live to see the dawn?

If I were to truly become a god, would I be a kind, nameless person, or a heartless, nameless person?

Dulin didn't know; he only knew that in his past life he walked in pools of blood, and that this life and the future would likely be the same.

By this time, the women had finished offering their flowers, and it was Dulin's turn to cover the grave with soil as the first apprentice. He stepped forward, took a shovel, scooped up a handful of soil, and poured it into the tomb.

Then, according to age, the older apprentices who were still able to walk stepped forward.

Dulin watched from the side, nodding to each of those who covered the soil.

They were all somewhat apprehensive. And it made sense; a god was smiling at them, but Dulin had never considered himself a god.

The ceremony concluded when the last group of children from the Northern Academy of Arts laid flowers on the burial site, which had been covered with soil.

Dulin took out two checks. One was given to Mrs. Sanchez, who was leading the group, as money for the children's snacks. The other was the last little thing Dulin, as a graduate of the art academy, could do for his alma mater.

“This won’t do.” Mrs. Sanchez remembered Dulin and was also somewhat alarmed.

“I graduated from the art academy, and these children are the last batch of students taught by Professor Czerny. They came to see their teacher off, and I only did what I should do.” After saying this, Dulin gestured for Mrs. Sanchez to accept the gift.

She seemed to feel the check was a bit too hot to handle, but ultimately accepted it anyway.

"Thank you, sir." She bowed her head in thanks.

Dulin sighed inwardly.

What you are seeing is a deity, that's right.

But in my heart, I am just an ordinary person who believes that with great power comes great responsibility.

(End of this chapter)