A Few Days After My Death
A few days had passed since my death. At first, I grieved more for my wife and child than for my own passing. But as a soul, I couldn't even shed tears.
The next emotion that arose was resentment. Becoming a soul allowed me to uncover a great deal in a short time. As I'd suspected, it was my second brother's rebellion. Naturally, his mother—my little stepmother—was behind it. They planned to ambush my father and eldest brother on their way back from the capital, slaughter them all, and pin the blame on me.
The haze clouding my mind in the days before my death must have been from drugs slipped to me by the deputy administrator. A good number of the territory's key figures—the deputy administrator, the guard captain, and three of the knights left behind—had joined the rebellion.
It's no excuse, but I wasn't some incompetent administrator. My father wasn't an incompetent lord either, and the steward, who effectively ran the territory, was remarkably capable in my eyes. And yet, for so many to join in meant they'd been meticulously preparing for a long time.
At first, I thought the rebellion was an utterly idiotic scheme. The force my father and eldest brother had taken to the capital consisted of just three knights and about ten soldiers. With Father and my brother possessing the strength of low-rank knights themselves, that made five on their side. No way could the three knights left here overpower that.
Even if the territory's soldiers were fairly elite, they couldn't stand against knights. Knights who wielded aura were monsters who could laugh off butchering fifty soldiers apiece, low-rank or not.
So why had my second brother launched such a foolish plot? Because reinforcements had come from my little stepmother's family: one high-rank knight and five low-rank ones. A single high-rank knight matched the power of twenty low-rankers—a rare existence indeed. Even the local viscount's family, which fancied itself a big shot around here, only had six low-rank knights to its name.
My stepmother's birth family was a count's house, quite a distance away. The fact that their knights arrived right on cue for the rebellion showed just how much effort they'd invested.
The plan was for those knights to strike Father and my eldest brother on the road from the capital, then frame it as an assassination by mercenaries I'd hired, allowing my second brother to inherit the family.
But this meticulous, seemingly flawless scheme crumbled pathetically and with ridiculous ease. The steward—my teacher and an exceedingly capable man—had left a fake corpse behind amid the chaos and fled straight to Father in the capital.
Father had deep connections in the capital. He'd come from the royal guard and was a war hero to boot. He'd earned his title and territory by shielding the then-crown prince—now the king—from attacks in a surrounded, isolated battlefield, enabling his escape. The grievous wounds he'd taken in the process had cost him his high-rank knight's prowess, though.
Upon hearing of the rebellion, Father appealed to the king, and the righteous monarch dispatched the Third Royal Guard. Composed of ten high-rank knights and forty low-rank ones, they swiftly crushed the count's ambushing forces and the rebel knights, then returned to the territory in an entry that was all but bloodless. They purged the key conspirators like weeds from a garden.
My second brother and stepmother were captured and thrown in prison but not immediately executed. The count's house backing her remained an issue.
In the lord's office, Father, my eldest brother, and the steward discussed their fates. Naturally, I hovered nearby, listening in.
"Handing them over to the count's house for compensation would be the simplest path, wouldn't it?" Father said.
"True, but the scandal's too big. If we take a modest payout and let them go, our house's reputation will hit rock bottom. And I doubt the count's house will offer much anyway—they've outlived their usefulness. They've already lost a high-rank knight; it's a heavy blow for them," my eldest brother replied.
"Reputation aside, letting them off will stir massive backlash among the people. The administrator enjoyed great trust from the territory's folk. Everyone knows he died unjustly," the steward added.
He was right. I was a popular administrator among the people. As I said, I was fairly capable. Upon taking the post at twenty, my first act had been rooting out the corrupt tax collectors who roamed the land. Their abuses had been outrageous, fueling immense resentment among the populace. I'd stamped out corruption in every nook and cranny, plugging the leaks in our tax revenue. In turn, the taxes and labor burdens on the people had lightened considerably. Winning their favor was only natural.
"Tch! What a shame to lose such a talented lad," Father clucked his tongue.
Though I was his bastard son, I was still his child and a capable administrator—and that was all I rated in his eyes.
"We could execute the second son and hand the stepmother back to the count's house for suitable payment," someone suggested.
"A mother who's lost her child is a terrifying thing. Sending her back in that state would only fan the flames," the steward countered, subtly advocating for executing them both.
"Hmmm..." Father, the decision-maker, let out a long groan as he pondered. He drummed his index finger on the table, the taps quickening until an answer emerged. "We'll execute them both. The royal guard was mobilized, after all. The king will want it that way too."
"As you command," the steward bowed his head first. My eldest brother, who'd glanced at him, followed suit. "I obey."
After wrapping up a few more agenda items, my eldest brother and the steward stepped out of the office. Eldest brother halted the steward.
"Steward, I know you were fond of the administrator. I liked him too. But..." He trailed off.
The steward understood perfectly. "No question about it. This is a one-time thing, young lord."
A few days later, a modest trial was held for my second brother and stepmother. Father's face was expressionless as he coldly pronounced the death sentence. Forgetting their crimes in their final moments, they wailed and thrashed desperately, begging for mercy—but they couldn't stop the blade from falling on their necks.
As they collapsed, their souls slipped free, fluttering and slowly rising toward the sky.
[You evil bastards! Die!]
They were already dead, but still—I screamed and hurtled toward them. The moment I touched my second brother's and stepmother's souls, a strange sensation washed over me, and both were sucked into me.
[What the...?]
I was stunned myself.
[Is this what a Resentful Soul does?]
I'd already known I was a Resentful Soul. After my death, a thin thread had connected me to my second brother, keeping me from straying far. A few other souls had lingered around him and my stepmother too.
Looking around, the other Resentful Souls tied to them had a sickly yellow hue that faded back to white as they slowly ascended to the heavens.
[But why not me?]
I neither ascended nor lacked control over my movements.
[Did I evolve from a Resentful Soul to a Wandering Soul? Why?]
From days of observation after death, I'd learned souls came in various types. Some Resentful Souls clung to those they'd resented; others were aimless Wandering Souls. Unfortunately, I couldn't communicate with them. Whether they couldn't hear me or I was the only soul capable of speech, I lacked the experience to say.
I could see not just the souls of the dead but those within the living as well. More observation was needed, but they varied too. Wicked folk had souls nearing black. Most heinous criminals in the territory's jail were pitch-black. Ordinary people trended toward light gray—neither good nor evil. Isn't that how most live? I hadn't yet seen a soul of pure white.
For reference, Father's was a very dark gray. Surprisingly, my eldest brother's was as black as a criminal's. From childhood observation, he'd never rampaged like the wastrel sons of other nobles. Ironically, the souls of the executed second brother and stepmother were a dark gray like Father's.
[What should I do now?]
With my goal achieved, I fell into brief panic. Wandering Soul or Resentful Soul, I was a soul now. No needs, no place that wanted me. In a way, total freedom.
Purposeless, I drifted aimlessly through the territory like a true Wandering Soul. For days, I shadowed Father and spied his secret vault—unknown to me before. I peeped on the bath of the innkeeper's daughter, hailed as the territory's greatest beauty. I saw my eldest brother dealing with back-alley thugs, and those same thugs transacting with the steward.
But learning such hidden truths changed nothing. I was dead, a soul.
Perched on the lord's castle roof, gazing at the view, I turned to self-reflection. Why did I exist? What should I do?
After a few days of brooding, an idea struck.
And with it, an answer.
[Maybe my resentment isn't fully resolved after all.]
In my youth, blessed with exceptional memory and soaring expectations, I'd yearned for the academy. To gain more knowledge there and—sorry, steward—a better teacher than even you. Overcoming fear, I'd begged Father to send me.
He'd refused flat-out. I'd expected as much and hadn't felt particularly wronged at the time. I was a bastard, after all. No abuse, but discrimination was constant. I'd accepted it as natural.
[But now?]
No one could stop me. I soared lightly into the sky, heading for the capital's academy.
For all my bold departure from the territory, the journey proved surprisingly tough. Embarrassingly, I'd never ventured far beyond its borders in my life. I figured following the main road and signs would lead me there—but reality didn't cooperate.
I stuck to paths, but forks abounded with no signposts. Guessing directions, I chose wrongly and didn't reach the capital.
Still, it was a decent-sized village, so I decided to wait for a merchant caravan bound there and tag along.
The trip wasn't fruitless, though. I made a crucial discovery: I could fly at respectable speeds—about as fast as a swift soldier at full sprint. And without stamina to flag me. Far quicker than when alive, at least. At max effort, even faster—maybe a decent warhorse's pace.
But pushing that hard tired me. Souls getting tired felt odd, but it was like my soul power depleting. Keep it up, and I'd dissipate—that sort of foreboding.
Waiting in the village for a caravan, I spotted an odd soul. A Wandering Soul-like drifter, but blood-red in color. Bad vibes from the start. Curiosity piqued, I followed it.
And uncovered something astonishing.