“Let me out…”

Who wanted to get out? From where? And where did they want to go?

This strange murmur haunted Rudolf throughout the entire night.

The next morning, Rudolf, with dark circles under his eyes, arrived at the sheriff’s office. Sheriff Claude glanced at the execution confirmation report and said, “Good work, Rudolf. Everything went smoothly last night, I presume?”

Rudolf concealed the matter regarding the starstone and the star map. According to the confirmation report, he had successfully buried the charred corpse of the witch, and nothing else had happened afterward.

In the first few days after he arrived in this world, Rudolf frantically studied everything about it. One of his key methods was reading through various case files at the police station. According to the police training materials and investigation records, starstones were mysterious meteorites from beyond the sky, somehow connected to witches.

Rudolf knew there was a hint of danger in all this, but his curiosity was far greater than his caution. As the old saying goes—since he was already here, since he had already crossed over into this world, how could he not experience something mysterious and thrilling? That would be too much of a waste.

Jokingly, he said, “Sheriff, if you could give me overtime pay, then everything would have gone even smoother.”

Sheriff Claude stroked his finely groomed mustache, trying to cover his awkwardness. “Rudolf, I have to remind you once again—trainee patrol officers don’t get overtime pay.”

Rudolf sighed and shook his head. As he turned to leave, his eyes fell on the duty roster hanging on the wall.

“Sheriff, I’m on the night shift for the entire next week?”

Claude nodded. “There’s no other way. We lost too many men in the last witch hunt—two officers, three patrolmen, and five trainees. My God, what a disaster… But hey, at least there’s some good news, isn’t there?”

He pulled open a drawer and took out a palm-sized paper box.

Rudolf recognized the packaging—it contained special bullets.

“Rudolf, these are newly crafted alchemic shotgun shells. They should make your night shifts a little safer. I want you to survive longer.”

“I appreciate the thought, but please, next time, don’t bless me like that—I really don’t need it.”

Rudolf stepped forward and took the box. These alchemic shells were incredibly expensive. If he weren’t afraid of dying, he could sell them on the black market for at least three months’ worth of salary. Sheriff Claude, a Level-2 Alchemist, had made them especially for him.

Against heretics like witches, giants, and plague-bearers, regular bullets could only wound them in most cases. Only alchemic shotgun shells could deliver a truly lethal blow.

As he secured the bullets in his belt, Rudolf walked with noticeably more confidence. Returning to his dormitory, he reflected on his situation.

Rudolf was an orphan. The high mortality rate among trainee patrol officers had been the only reason he was able to secure this position in the first place. With no family in Laimon Town, he had no home of his own and lived in the police station’s dormitories—a true model employee.

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And this model employee had been deeply troubled these past few days.

Every time he sat on the toilet, that eerie murmur would echo in his mind, completely ruining his mood.

To men, toilet time was sacred—precious moments of relaxation. But this damned, tormenting murmur stole that from him.

Rudolf’s constant frustration after leaving the restroom hadn’t gone unnoticed. Some colleagues had even started recommending doctors who specialized in treating hemorrhoids.

Rudolf had no issues with his backside. He didn’t need a doctor for hemorrhoids.

What he needed was a way to deal with this cursed murmur.

Starstones, whispers, and the star map that appeared every night… Rudolf glanced toward the graveyard and suddenly had a suspicion.

Could it be related to the one buried there?

He waited patiently for his chance. Eventually, it was his turn to patrol the outskirts of the town. That meant he had a legitimate reason to head outside.

For night patrols beyond the town’s perimeter, he could apply for a horse—it made covering ground more efficient.

Laimon Town wasn’t particularly large, but it wasn’t small either. Even at full speed, Rudolf could only complete two patrol loops per night.

On his first loop, as he neared the cemetery, his frown deepened. The murmur became clearer, louder.

Before putting his plan into action, he had one more thing to confirm.

Sitting atop his horse, Rudolf tapped his baton against the window of the graveyard watchman’s shack.

“Old Grey, did you get any news for me?”

Old Grey, bald and wrinkled, raised his head sluggishly and peered outside. Seeing it was Rudolf, he walked over and opened the window. A gust of cold wind blew inside, making him shiver.

“I don’t understand you at all,” Old Grey grumbled. “Who in their right mind would want to work in a graveyard?”

Rudolf chuckled. “Come on, everyone in Laimon Town knows that a gravekeeper earns twelve silver shields a month, while I only make two.”

Silver and copper shields were paper money printed with the royal coat of arms, exchangeable for actual silver and copper at the bank. There were rumors of gold shields, but Rudolf had never seen one.

Old Grey shook his head. “Young man, money isn’t everything. I’m a gravekeeper, but no one in the tavern ever wants to sit at the same table as me.”

Rudolf tugged at the reins, preparing to leave. “Old Grey, when I’m rich, I’ll be sure to say ‘money isn’t everything’ to people even poorer than me.”

“Oh, right!”

Rudolf suddenly turned back and pulled out a bottle of strong liquor from his coat.

“Almost forgot—I wanted to thank you for digging that grave for me. You’re a good man. I hope you’ll keep doing it next time.”

Old Grey was delighted as he took the bottle. “That’s why I like you, Rudolf. You always know exactly what I want.”

As Rudolf handed over the liquor, his eyes glanced past the window and into the shack. Inside, he noticed that Old Grey had already prepared his bed—clearly, he was about to turn in for the night.

“Goodnight, Old Grey. Sweet dreams.”

Rudolf finished his first patrol round, then deliberately sped up for the second. His horse was exhausted, panting heavily, and snorting in protest at its rider.

But soon enough, the horse got its reprieve.

Rudolf now sat atop his mount, keeping a distance from the graveyard. The dark silhouettes of the pine trees swayed in the cold wind, masking his presence. No one would notice the lone figure of a man and his horse standing there.

His gaze remained locked onto the cemetery. The murmurs in his head had grown unbearably loud.

After two rounds of careful observation, Rudolf was now certain—the source of the whispers was this graveyard.

Old Grey’s shack had long since gone dark. He had been asleep for over two hours.

But Rudolf was patient. He continued waiting.

Only when the night wind carried nothing but silence did he finally make his move.

He tied his horse securely in the woods before approaching the graveyard with deliberate caution, ensuring he made as little noise as possible.

Climbing over the cemetery wall, Rudolf carefully navigated through the graves, relying on memory to find the witch’s burial site.

Once he arrived, he pulled out his tools. He had modified his shovel, bending the metal blade into a cylindrical shape, essentially creating a tube-shaped spade.

Standing at the head of the grave, he drove the first shovel-full of dirt out of the ground.

Immediately, the murmurs in his head weakened.

At last, the tormenting whispers were coming to an end.

Quickly, Rudolf dug a vertical hole into the grave.

Two cylindrical objects extended down into the opening—one was the barrel of his alchemic shotgun, the other was a flashlight.

Through the narrow hole, Rudolf could see the witch’s head.

Its eye sockets were empty, pitch-black voids filled with soil. And yet, despite the darkness, he felt it.

The witch was staring at him.

Rudolf locked eyes with those hollow sockets and murmured,

“You’re not dead.”