The Awakening at William Cemetery
Cosic Village lay in the Emulin Countship, tucked into the northwest corner of the Elemental Magic Kingdom on the western edge of the continent. As the name implied, it was the territory Baron Cosic governed in the Count’s stead. One of its most distinctive features was the vast William Cemetery spread across the hill behind the village. The precise origin of the name had been lost to time. The only rumor that circulated was that the first person buried there had been a man named William, and the graveyard had simply taken his name. At present it operated as a public facility under the Count’s commission. The fees collected for its maintenance actually exceeded what the village earned from farming, covering most of the local administrative costs. It was one of Cosic’s signature assets, yet like any cemetery, it was also a breeding ground for sinister rumors among the villagers.
They spoke of ghosts that stirred and walked about on moonless nights. Of corpses that sometimes clawed their way out of the soil. Of the dead throwing a festival once a year among the tombstones, and how anyone unlucky enough to witness it would be dragged straight into the underworld with them. Most of the tales had no witnesses at all—just empty ghost stories. The adults paid them no mind, but the village children treated the cemetery as a secret proving ground for courage, sneaking in to test their nerve.
“Hey, did you hear?”
This latest rumor was just another of those worn-out ghost stories.
“A long time ago, a dark mage supposedly came here targeting the bodies in the cemetery. But before he could do anything, the mages who arrived in time subdued him.”
Not every dark mage was evil, but the majority were entangled in wicked deeds, so it was inevitable that the public viewed them with suspicion. To children, who soaked up rumors even more easily than adults, the connection between graveyards and dark mages seemed perfectly natural. The stories sprang up because the place was a cemetery—nothing more. What the children didn’t know was that this was a national graveyard where the Count invited priests from the church every year to sprinkle holy water and perform purification rites. It was also rather small, used only by locals and the occasional traveler. Most competent dark mages wouldn’t even bother glancing at such a remote, troublesome location.
“And ever since that day, the dark mage’s grudge-filled soul has lingered in the graveyard, letting out blood-curdling screams every night.”
If the resentment was strong enough to keep a soul bound to the living world, it implied the dark mage had been quite high-ranking. As an adult, Kain would have scoffed at the idea. What could possibly drive a powerful dark mage to visit a remote border count’s territory only to be killed by backwater mages? But the boy telling the tale had nothing but earnest intensity in his eyes—and mischief practically dripping from his smile.
“So, Kain? How about you go there one night and find out if the rumor’s real or fake?”
The children crowded closer, their expressions making it clear they would drag him there by force if he refused. It was blatant harassment. After his parents, who had run a small trading company, died in a carriage accident, his sister—eight years older—had given up her own dreams to raise him. The poverty was hard, but the contempt and bullying from the other children had been worse. Kids absorbed adults’ words so easily. What was called “pure” in kinder terms simply meant they swallowed nonsense like this without question. The grown-ups’ warnings not to associate with the orphan had naturally produced exactly this kind of ostracism and torment.
Of course, he could have fought back. The ringleader was bigger than most boys his age, but Kain never doubted he could win with his fists. Given his rotten personality, he would have charged in no matter how many opponents there were. But he couldn’t. His sister was only eighteen, barely scraping by with menial jobs at a small company. If he caused trouble, the consequences would fall on her. So he endured every insult and kept silent.
“Fine.”
That day was no different. All he had to do was sneak out at night, visit the cemetery once, and come back. They might accuse him of lying, so he would need to record proof with a video. Unlike the other children, he had learned the truth of the world early; he didn’t believe in ridiculous ghost stories at all. A cemetery held no fear for him.
Good thing Sis said she’d be working overtime tonight. No chance of getting caught.
He only regretted that he would be tired from lack of sleep the next day.
“All right. Go on, then. Have a good trip.”
The boy seemed to think Kain’s quick agreement came from fear. Satisfied, he nodded, clapped Kain roughly on the shoulder, then led the others away down the alley. Kain stared after the self-appointed leader of the pack and muttered under his breath.
“Who the hell do you think you are, patting someone else’s shoulder?”
The unwanted physical contact bothered him more than the trip to the cemetery. He brushed the dirt off his clothes with an irritated swipe.
The cemetery at night was pitch black, just as expected. Few people ever came here after dark, so there was no reason to install lights or lamps. True darkness swallowed everything beyond arm’s reach. In his hand he carried an old smartphone he used for recording evidence. The device was so ancient his family couldn’t afford to replace it; sometimes the signal cut out entirely. At least the flashlight still worked.
He walked for a while relying on that feeble beam. Then—
Shhhhhhh.
A wind that scraped across the tombstones brushed past him like a ghostly wail. No wonder people spread weird rumors about ghosts throwing parties here at night.
Maybe I’ll just look around for ten minutes and head back.
Any shorter and they would complain. Yet he had no desire to linger in this chilly place. Ten minutes seemed like a reasonable compromise.
“Whoa!”
While trudging along, his foot caught on something and he pitched forward. In the middle of the night he couldn’t see the ground, and the accident sent his smartphone flying. The screen cracked on impact.
“Damn it.”
A curse slipped out before he could stop it. Replacing the phone was never an option. Still, even though the screen was damaged, the light worked and the display responded, so the device itself seemed functional. The real problem was hiding it from his sister. The moment she saw it she would demand to know why he hadn’t told her and insist on buying a new one. She was already skipping meals under the excuse of dieting because living expenses were tight. He couldn’t burden her any further.
She’s all skin and bones as it is.
Thinking of her arms—thinner than the corpses buried here—he shone the flashlight at whatever had tripped him.
A rock…?
But it didn’t feel quite right. He reached out and touched the object protruding from the dirt. It wasn’t the texture of stone. When he aimed the light more carefully, he realized it was the corner of a book sticking out of the ground.
A book?
Why would a book be buried here? Annoyance instantly gave way to curiosity. He had always loved books. After his parents died he had stopped buying new ones so he wouldn’t burden his sister, but he had read every volume in the house until the letters wore away. He picked up a sharp stone lying nearby and began to dig, careful not to damage the pages. Fortunately the soil was loose. Even a child’s strength was enough to clear it quickly, and soon he pulled the book free. The original ten-minute limit had long since expired.
Excited to have found a new book, he brushed off the dirt and shone the phone light across the cover.
“……”
His face crumpled into a deep frown. He couldn’t read it. It wasn’t that the words were too difficult or the letters too worn. The entire text was written in a language he had never seen.
Foreign?
The disappointment hit harder because his expectations had been so high. Should he just toss it? But he had gone through the trouble of digging it up—might as well open it. With that casual thought, he flipped through the pages.
“Kuk… Kuhahahahaha!”
The laughter that suddenly echoed from nowhere was colder than the wind. An icy gust whipped violently around the boy.
Startled by the inexplicable phenomenon, he looked around frantically and noticed something strange. The book in his hands refused to leave his grip.
The voice did not enter through his ears—it drilled straight into his mind. No, it was less a voice and more a wave of power that shook his skull. The booming tone was far too massive for a child’s body to endure; his head felt ready to split open.
“The world has not abandoned me! You worthless minions of the Magic Sovereign! Did you truly believe your pathetic interference could thwart our sacred purpose of resurrecting the Undying King?”
“Now! Surrender your body! The remainder of your worthless life shall be put to valuable use for His glory!”
Will succession magic. Slightly different from true resurrection, it was a spell that condensed one’s will and purpose into an ego and sealed it inside a personal item. A type of necromantic art, it could be described as the dead dark mage’s avatar manifesting with intent. Blood trickled from Kain’s nose. The dark mage’s knowledge poured directly into his brain.
It was an old question mages had pondered for centuries: if every memory and scrap of knowledge were transferred to another body, would the result still be “me,” or merely “someone else”?
The dark mage had planned to possess the body of whoever eventually found this place, achieving a form of succession different from resurrection. He had already passed on all his knowledge and was now injecting his memories to complete the process when—
Thump.
The boy’s heart beat hard. Everyone possessed their own talent. Some sang well, others painted beautifully. Some excelled with the sword or with magic. The scale of that talent varied wildly from person to person, and those with truly enormous gifts were commonly called “geniuses.”
The boy’s talent blossomed. The negative-dimensional mana that normally triggered instinctive rejection in humans was absorbed like a sponge, devouring every fragment of knowledge the dark mage had forced upon him. It was a talent even the boy had never known he possessed. A tiny seed had been planted in the soil of that talent, and the sudden flood of rich nutrients caused it to germinate in an instant.
This was coincidence, and at the same time, destiny. It was something that would have happened eventually. The monstrous, unreasonable talent had been accelerated by layer upon layer of chance, and the child standing before the dark mage took his first decisive step into the realm of dark magic.
“What the hell is—?!”
Everything was stolen in the blink of an eye. This was not even the high-ranking dark mage’s main body—merely the final remnant of his soul, a weak ghost. That fragile ego could not overcome the boy’s dominance. The moment the child opened his eyes, now glowing violet, the spirit felt its nonexistent lungs seize as though crushed by an invisible grip. Even though it was already dead, it experienced the horrifying sensation of standing on death’s threshold.
“Die.”
At the boy’s quiet murmur, the dark mage could say nothing more. It vanished completely from the world.
“……”
Kain took a small breath, feeling the tiny amount of mana and knowledge the dark mage had left behind. That minuscule trigger instantly drew in every trace of power around him. The corpses, sensing the arrival of a new king, rose busily from their graves.
With heavy thuds, countless skeletons knelt before the child in reverence. Kain accepted the sight more lightly than expected. He picked up the smartphone that had fallen beside the book—now reduced to powder—and scratched the back of his head. As he walked through the gap between the bowing skeletons, he muttered indifferently.
“So who are you supposed to be? And what the hell is this Undying King anyway?”
It was the beginning of the legend. The moment one of the absolute rulers who would one day shake the entire continent awakened his monstrous talent.