Chapter 145: The Book of Death (3)

“Grandpa, you know someone from the Winton tribe?”

Old John nodded. “Yes, we were fairly close… It’s been over forty years since we parted ways, though. I don’t even know how he’s doing now.”

“How did you two meet?”

“That goes back many years…”

In 1969, during the Cold War, the U.S. implemented a draft lottery system to recruit more soldiers for the Vietnam War. Old John and a Native American man named Karl were drafted the same year and placed in the same infantry squad.

Old John had been conscripted forcibly, while Karl enlisted voluntarily to improve his tribe’s treatment.

“A squad had nine members: a squad leader, a deputy, and seven soldiers. Karl was actually sharper and more skilled in combat than both the squad leader and deputy, but because of his Native American identity, he—like me—was treated as a regular soldier… In those days, Native Americans weren’t treated well. They had no land, struggled to find work, and Karl’s tribe often went hungry. He had little choice but to enlist.”

Those were not happy memories. War always brought only suffering to ordinary people.

Scorching heat, harsh conditions, dense jungles, rampant disease… In just four years, by the time Old John was finally allowed to leave the battlefield, the infantry squad had suffered a near-total overhaul. Seven of their original comrades had died, leaving only him and Karl. As a result, the two of them became the squad leader and deputy.

“After returning from the battlefield, he went back home. I returned to the police force as a veteran… We stayed in touch by phone occasionally, but never met again.”

Driving along, Old John shared this little-known chapter of his past with Everly, his tone heavy with memory.

Even though the war had long ended, the trauma he endured on the battlefield continued to haunt him. It filled him with pessimism and negativity about the future, made him withdrawn, and kept him from forming close connections with others. Even living in a time of peace, year after year he obsessively maintained his underground fortress…

This was the first time Everly had ever heard Old John speak about his experiences in the Vietnam War. And only now did she finally understand why he was so adamant in believing that a third world war was inevitable.

Because, in his heart, the shadow of war had never truly lifted.

…

Back at the gas station from the city, Old John, just as he had promised, put on his reading glasses, opened his address book, and began searching for Karl’s number.

After all these years, Karl was now approaching seventy. Fortunately, he was still healthy, free of serious illness, and recently had a little granddaughter—life was going well for him.

From the phone conversation, Everly learned that Karl now lived in a city called Craven, in a village named Tunumo. It was about 65 kilometers from Gilosha, making travel relatively easy.

Everly’s university classes would start on January 18, and she planned to leave for school on January 15. To leave enough time to study the Winton tribe’s mythology, Old John arranged with Karl that he would drive his granddaughter and her classmate to Gilosha on January 10, arriving in Tunumo by the afternoon of the 11th.

This trip served three purposes: visiting an old friend, gathering the information Everly wanted, and giving his granddaughter and Misha a smooth half-way ride, avoiding any transfer hassles—a perfect three-in-one plan.

“So, now you can finally enjoy your vacation in peace, right?”

Everly felt slightly embarrassed. She had thought she was keeping her preoccupation well-hidden, but it seemed Old John had already noticed her distracted state.

It had to be said—today’s trip into the city had left a deep impression on Everly.

People are always focused on the future, often forgetting to cherish the present. Her grandfather had once missed the only opportunity to take his daughter to an amusement park because of work—and he had regretted it for the rest of his life.

Everly didn’t want to make the same mistake. From that day on, she completely set aside her search for the Fountain of Youth and devoted herself to spending time at home with Old John—watching TV, playing card games, enjoying the snowy scenery, or taking a few shots into the fields to practice her aim. Life felt simple and joyful.

Meanwhile, far away in downtown Micano, Rebecca was starting to panic.

The events traced back to the day Everly went into the city.

That day, after saying goodbye to the five-person group, Beatrice—driven by a strong sense of unease—ultimately refused to ride the Ferris wheel.

The remaining four companions didn’t fully understand her concern, but they didn’t force her either. Since each cabin could only hold four people, the group jokingly shuffled around and got on the Ferris wheel.

Beatrice, full of worry, stood below, looking up as her friends were carried higher and higher with each rotation—until the moment the explosion occurred. The connection point of the cabin above the four-person group was blown apart. The entire cabin crashed onto the group’s cabin like a cannon shell, then, due to the recoil, rolled outward and slammed straight down toward the girl standing below.

“Boom!”

After the tremendous impact, a pool of blood slowly spread across the ground.

Beatrice was dead.

She hadn’t even ridden the Ferris wheel as the Book of Death had predicted, yet she still could not escape her “death by falling.”

Ironically, the passengers inside the falling cabin were briefly supported mid-air by the four-person cabin and cushioned upon landing by Beatrice herself. Aside from some minor scrapes, they emerged completely unharmed.

“The cabin… it really fell! Could it be that the book can actually predict death?”

After getting off the Ferris wheel, the four survivors stared in horror at the still-bloody body on the ground, and for the first time, they felt a faint belief in what Beatrice had said.

“What… what should we do now?”

“Do? Obviously destroy that cursed thing!”

“But… hey, didn’t Beatrice say the book can predict the time of death? Don’t you want to know when you’re going to die?”

…Of course, they did.

Beatrice had been an introverted bookworm. She had been brought into the group by Sophia, and within the five-person circle, only Sophia had any real connection with her; the others didn’t have a deep relationship with Beatrice at all.

So after the initial shock passed, their grief quickly gave way to curiosity about the Book of Death.

The book was currently at Beatrice’s house, and among the four, only Sophia was known to Beatrice’s parents.

“…Hey, stop being so stubborn, Sophia. Beatrice’s death was completely accidental—the environmentalists caused that terror attack, and the police have already caught the culprits. Why are you blaming a book that merely gives prophecies?”

They pleaded with her repeatedly, trying to calm her grief.

Sophia had wanted to figure out whether Beatrice’s death was truly an accident or the result of the Book of Death’s curse. With the other three constantly urging her, she eventually yielded, just as they hoped. Using the excuse that she wanted to retrieve the book she had lent Beatrice, Sophia entered Beatrice’s house and took the Book of Death from her desk.

The group gathered together, passing the book from hand to hand. Each of them wore expressions of curiosity and apprehension—but no one dared to be the first to open it.

In the end, curiosity overcame fear. Sophia, Beatrice’s close friend, stepped forward first and opened the Book of Death.

The book’s front page remained the same as when they first saw it: a white background with dark red letters warning about predicting the time of death and urging the reader to enjoy it fully. But the book’s original first chapter had disappeared.

Not disappeared exactly—it had been replaced.

Flipping to the first page, Sophia saw that the first chapter of the Book of Death no longer bore the title “Beatrice.” Instead, it was now titled “Sophia.” The chapter foretold that Sophia would live to 76 years old and die that winter from pneumonia, triggered by a simple cold.

However, when Sophia handed the book to the eager athlete Thomson, a chilling phenomenon occurred: the red “blood letters” immediately seeped from the paper, and a new second chapter appeared on the once-empty white pages, titled “Thomson.”

The book predicted that Thomson would die painfully in a hospital a year later from advanced pancreatic cancer.

“Th-this… this has to be a trick! That’s impossible—I feel nothing at all…” At first, Thomson had no reaction when seeing Sophia’s death prophecy. But after reading his own fate, his expression turned extremely grim.

He flung the Book of Death to the ground and stomped on it repeatedly, venting his anger.

“Hey! What’s wrong? We haven’t even had a chance to look yet!”

The other two expressed their displeasure. Edward put an arm around Thomson’s shoulder and led him aside, while gesturing for the other girl, Emma, to pick the book up from the ground.

Then, Emma and Edward took turns opening the book. Just like before, the Book of Death revealed new chapters: “Emma” as the third chapter and “Edward” as the fourth.

Emma’s chapter predicted that at 36 years old, she would be attacked by someone wielding a blade, her abdomen cut open, her organs taken, dying tragically on a foggy night.

As for Edward, the book predicted that by the age of 45, he would first experience unemployment and the breakdown of his marriage, and then die choking on his own vomit due to alcoholism.

“Do you think this Book of Death is real?”

After passing the book around, the four sat in a circle. Apart from Sophia, the others all looked visibly unsettled.

“It should be real… didn’t you see it? The words didn’t seem written—they just appeared on the pages by themselves…”

“Impossible! It has to be fake—a high-tech prank!” Thomson, the most hot-headed of the group and the one most resistant to the book’s predictions, said, his expression gradually twisting with anger.

“If it’s true, just go to a hospital and get checked. If it’s late-stage a year from now, there should be signs already,” Edward urged from the side.

“I’m not going! This has to be fake!”

In the end, the four parted ways, each lost in their own thoughts, uneasy and unsettled.

The sudden appearance of the book’s ominous words gave Sophia a bad feeling. She remembered the blonde girl they had met at the amusement park and the business card she had handed over. After hesitating, Sophia finally decided to dial the number on the card.

“As soon as I heard her description, I knew that book was no ordinary object,” the girl explained over the phone. “Even though there’s no information on the Book of Death, I’ve encountered similar cursed objects before. One was a mirror claimed to reveal the thoughts of others. It would distort and twist these thoughts, then transmit them to the mirror’s owner, causing the holder to lose trust in everyone around them, breaking down their mental defenses, and eventually leading to total psychological collapse. Objects like this feed on the negative emotions of their holders—they love nothing more than sowing discord among people.”

“If it were any other time, I would have had the girl hand the book to me so I could contain it myself. But unfortunately, I’m visiting my mother for the New Year and not at the divination shop. So I just advised the girl named Sophia to keep a tight hold on the Book of Death—don’t open it again. It will only bring misfortune to its owner. Once I return, I can personally come and take it,” Rebecca explained over the phone.

“And then?” Everly leaned back on the balcony, holding the phone, listening with keen interest as Rebecca complained.

In past events, it was usually Everly herself who got dragged into all sorts of unreliable situations, teetering on the edge of chaos. Rarely did she get to sit back and just hear someone else’s story—and she found it quite entertaining.