He Revives Once More
Aranseol had pierced through Geuneuldal’s sinister arts alongside Sohan.
Right after contacting Soun, she headed back toward the Byeolmurihoe building.
“Aranseol, you could wait until Lord Soun finishes cleaning up…”
“No. If it’s Harua, he’s definitely done something reckless.”
Soun wasn’t the type to look after others. He would prioritize annihilating the enemy above all else.
Aranseol had seen what kind of person Harua was. He was someone without brakes. Once he made a decision, he threw himself into action without hesitation. Watching him, it sometimes felt as if he possessed multiple lives.
There was always that strange certainty in him—the belief that he would never truly die.
Aranseol had her own suspicions that Harua possessed a special ability. She had never asked about it because Harua himself didn’t seem to want to talk. But even if he had such an ability, he wasn’t invincible. He was still someone who screamed when in pain.
A strange unease crept over Aranseol. The feeling that Harua had surely done something drastic.
As she sprinted down the corridor, she saw disciples bursting out from the direction of the chairman’s office. Near the shattered entrance lay a fallen man—Geuneuldal, one of the Black Dawn members. His upper and lower body had been cleanly severed. She recognized the swordsmanship at a glance. It was Soun’s work.
With Soun having dealt with the Black Dawn, the disciples were hurriedly evacuating. There was no reason to linger here any longer.
“Aranseol, it seems Master has already gone after the rest of them.”
Sohan sensed Soun’s presence had vanished and spoke up.
“You two.”
At that moment, a large disciple called out to them. He was a man covered in tattoos.
“Pendar.”
He was a disciple of the Arnet Guildmaster, who specialized in trading information through covert operations.
“You were acquainted with Lady Lapiel’s disciple.”
“Harua?”
When Aranseol asked in surprise, Pendar looked toward the door with a complicated expression.
“I owe him a life debt. I’ll repay it even if I have to tell the Guildmaster.”
A life debt? What did that mean? Aranseol felt her unease spike even higher. Pendar bowed his head and left.
With all the disciples having exited the chairman’s office, Aranseol found it strangely difficult to breathe. Was she deeply connected to Harua? Not really. They had only known each other for a few weeks at most—and for most of that time, Aranseol had actually been at odds with him. Yet she felt an unparalleled sense of comfort around Harua. He was the first person to whom she could truly reveal her inner self. To Aranseol, Harua was that kind of unique figure. Their time together had been short, but he had left an intense impression.
Aranseol stepped into the chairman’s office. The room still held unextinguished flames and traces of battle. She could vividly sense how fiercely the disciples had fought against the Black Dawn. Among those traces, one stood out the most—the mark of a flame beam that had melted even a stone pillar.
In front of it lay two corpses. One still retained some semblance of form: Babiyen Astoria, a woman Aranseol also knew. The other had melted beyond recognition. Most of the body had liquefied, leaving barely any bones—more than half reduced to ash.
Aranseol staggered and slowly sank to her knees before them. Sohan’s lips parted.
“No way…”
Aranseol didn’t answer. She could only stare blankly at Harua. The image of Harua’s face as he sent her away in those final moments surfaced in her mind. Harua, smiling at her. He smiled far too easily. No matter the situation, he was the strange man who smiled first. She shouldn’t have let him go like that. At the very least, she should have sent Sohan outside and come herself. What was this nonsense about not wanting to save people? About only caring for himself?
Pendar had said Harua saved his life. He wasn’t the only one. Surely many of the disciples here owed him their lives in the same way. The one who had held back the Black Dawn and bought them time had been Harua alone.
“You… idiot.”
Aranseol lowered her head, her voice thick with grief. Sohan stood beside her for a moment, then exhaled and turned away.
“I’ll bring a mage. If he’s turned to ash like that, moving the body won’t be easy. It’d be better to have a mage preserve it. And… I think you should have some time alone.”
Aranseol didn’t respond to Sohan. She remained seated in silence. Time passed. Outside, more people were stirring, having noticed the commotion. Aranseol simply stared wordlessly at Harua’s corpse.
Then, a breeze blew from somewhere. The room was surrounded by walls—there was nowhere for wind to come from. Aranseol soon realized its source. It was coming from Harua’s body. Her eyes slowly widened. The ashes began to coalesce in the wind, forming something. A human body. And it was someone Aranseol knew well—black hair, snow-white skin, a somewhat curt expression, and shadows beneath the eyes. Harua was being reborn atop the ashes.
Aranseol watched the scene with wide eyes. It was only natural—she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Soon after, Harua’s eyelids lifted. After blinking once or twice to check his vision, his gaze met Aranseol’s.
“Hmm.”
Harua made an awkward sound and grabbed the back of his neck.
“Good morning.”
Aranseol immediately rushed toward him.
* * *
Right after reviving, Aranseol had been right in front of him. The first thought that crossed his mind upon seeing her was, I’m screwed. Truthfully, this outcome had been somewhat predictable ever since he provoked the Lord of Red Flames. But at the time, he hadn’t been able to think of any other way. He had to buy time no matter what.
And so he had burned brilliantly. Even now, he could recall the searing heat that melted his body. At least the Lord of Red Flames had been wary of his ability and increased her firepower. Thanks to that, he burned away completely without even feeling the pain.
“Aranseol, if you keep this up, I’m going to die again.”
Right now, Harua was being tightly embraced by Aranseol—so tightly that his neck bones felt compressed. He was reminded once again of just how strong she was. The Outer Horn Tribe truly possessed physical abilities different from humans.
“……Is that really the first thing you have to say?”
Aranseol, still holding him, asked. He couldn’t see her expression—only the top of her head.
“Are you disappointed?”
Aranseol had likely figured out the nature of his ability from what just happened. He was an immortal who didn’t die. As long as he had resurrection magic, he would revive again and again. Meanwhile, Aranseol had been treating him like some saint who didn’t value his own life. He had simply acted without hesitation because he knew he wouldn’t die.
Then Aranseol, still in his arms, shook her head.
“Harua, can’t you feel pain?”
He could. He felt it vividly, every single time. Death was long. Until the brain completely shut down, it stretched out the perceived time, desperately trying to stay alive. It was the brain’s final struggle, screaming at the body to do something. And that entire duration of agony was something he had to endure alone.
“It hurts.”
Aranseol’s body trembled. That tremor passed straight through to him.
“You feel the same pain, don’t you?”
“Even so—”
“You feel pain even if you don’t die. Throwing yourself into danger like that isn’t normal.”
Is that so? So that’s how she saw it. People hesitated to act rashly even at the slightest pain. They flinched at the thought of being cut by a single sheet of paper. But why was it that he couldn’t just stay still? Maybe his brain had been broken the day he first revived. He simply hated meaningless deaths. He had seen enough of them with his own eyes. He hated seeing that happen again. He hated how this damned world ran on unfairness.
“It’s easier on my mind to fight back than to live unfairly.”
It wasn’t as if he wanted to die. This time, there had been no other option. No matter how much holy magic he learned, it wasn’t enough to overcome the situations he faced. Even as a holy mage, his combat ability was still lacking. The only thing he could do against a Lord or the Black Dawn was to cause chaos while trusting in his resurrection.
Aranseol looked at him with an expression full of things she wanted to say. But she didn’t press further. Just as he respected her will, she respected his.
“Still… take care of yourself.”
What a kind girl. Aranseol was a racist, but when it came to personality, she was foolishly good-hearted.
“Yeah, I got it. So could you get me something to wear first? At this rate, I’m going to die of embarrassment and revive all over again.”
“Ah.”
Everything, including his clothes, had burned away. He didn’t want to stay naked any longer. While Aranseol hurried off to fetch clothes, Harua sat down and looked at the other corpse beside him—Babiyen. She was the one who had shouted at her master’s injustice. Had she ever imagined she would die like this? At least, people lived without imagining their own deaths.
“I still don’t like how she insulted Shishiroka, but…”
Still, he decided to let it go since she was dead. He placed his hand over her completely burned body. Soon, resurrection magic took effect, and her flesh began to regenerate.
“Hek, hik!”
Babiyen revived completely naked. She, too, had burned to a crisp just like him. There was no way any clothing had survived.
“Wh-where is this…?”
Babiyen looked around with a bewildered expression, her face showing confusion in her memories. Soon, her eyes met his. She stared at his naked form, her eyes slowly widening, then looked down at herself and gaped.
“Wh-what did you do to this maiden?!”
What nonsense. Feeling like he’d wasted his eyesight, he simply stood up without sparing her another glance. It annoyed him that her eyes had wandered downward, but he decided to act confident.
“Don’t insult Shishiroka again.”
Babiyen couldn’t respond and simply stared blankly. When he stepped outside, he saw Aranseol running toward him from afar, carrying what looked like staff uniforms. After receiving and putting them on, he felt a pang of regret for losing his original clothes. They had been a gift from Lapiel, after all. Thanks to that, he was also reminded that there was a Black Dawn collaborator within the Grace Magic Tower.
“Aranseol, how many of the disciples know I died?”
“It seemed like everyone knew.”
Well, he had made quite a spectacle. No one would think he had simply come back to life through resurrection magic just because he was walking around fine. They would assume he had some other trick up his sleeve. Still, he didn’t think it would be good to run into anyone. He needed to get out of here quickly.
“So, how many survived?”
When he finally asked, Aranseol let out a small sigh.
“Everyone’s safe except you and Babiyen.”
“The Black Dawn sure got what they deserved, those idiots.”
That damned gold-obsessed whore who could do anything with money. He had given her a satisfying blow. Aranseol looked at him like she couldn’t handle him, but this was the most satisfying thing he’d done in a while.