"Achoo!!!"
With a thunderous sneeze, the flock of crows residing in the Realm of the Dead's [Sage's Cemetery] were startled into flight. Countless feathers, blacker than ink, scattered everywhere, landing on the bulging graves one by one.
"Damn!"
A voice filled with annoyance cursed as the thirty-eighth grave mound from left to right under the old locust tree on the east side of the Sage's Cemetery suddenly bulged upwards. Someone pushed themselves out from inside.
Damn it, my coffin's gone moldy!
Kicking the lid off his coffin, the third director sat up, his face full of disgruntlement. He pulled out a handkerchief and vigorously blew the mold spores from his nose, then glared accusingly at his tombstone and scolded:
"Your dampness is driving me crazy! Can you move a bit further away?"
"Iron Badger, I'm here for you."
