The coffin of Duke St. Hilde sat in the main hall of the church.
Who could have expected that just yesterday, this Duke of the North Territory had presided over the wedding of Colin and Vera, and now, he had closed his eyes forever.
The unfathomable nature of fate is like pollen in water undergoing Brownian motion, its next trajectory impossible to predict with the limited wisdom of mortals.
The coffin lid was open, and nobles from the North Territory came up in turn to express their condolences.
Colin stood by the coffin, hand in hand with Vera, staring blankly at the duke's remains, lost in thought.
The broken body of Duke St. Hilde had been reassembled, and the artisans' skills were excellent. Apart from the unremovable cracks, there seemed to be no difference from the original.
Anyone who has tried to piece together a broken vase would understand how difficult it is.
In a sense, Colin was also an accomplice to the death of Duke St. Hilde.
