The Name That Wakes the Dead
Good. Very good. Evan examined the corpse, now cold and stiff, and let out a quiet sigh of relief. It's been dead for over a day already. At least it wasn't the worst-case scenario he'd imagined—the Saintess accidentally killing someone because she couldn't control her power.
“Why are you sitting here crying?”
“I wasn't crying……!”
Then what's that on your face—sweat? Evan was about to scold her but stopped. His gaze had shifted to the small child desperately holding back tears beside the Saintess.
The filthy little girl clutched the dead mother's hand tightly, a cheap herb pouch gripped in her other fist. She couldn't have been more than four or five. “……Please wake my mom up.”
She was still too young to truly understand death. Or perhaps it was simply too painful to accept. “She's been sleeping since yesterday.”
“……”
“She must be hungry.”
Iris remained silent. Foolish though she was, she wasn't stupid. She understood the extent of her own power and possessed enough sense to adjust it according to her target. “Big sister, you promised you'd wake my mom. Right? I won't steal anymore. I'll give this back too.”
She must have known that pouring power into a corpse would accomplish nothing. Yet she couldn't ignore the child's desperate plea and clasped her hands together once more. Light streamed down onto the body. But that was all.
“Stop.”
“…Why!” The child was the one who protested Evan's intervention. Iris only trembled, her blue eyes shaking uncontrollably.
…Too damn kind. Evan could picture exactly how Iris had ended up here. She'd probably chased a pickpocketing child through the market, heard that the girl's mother wouldn't wake up, and offered to heal her in exchange for an apology. A single prayer from the Saintess could easily cure one patient—if the target was still alive, that is.
“It's meaningless.”
“No! Mom's expression got better! Just one more time, if I just try one more time…!”
“You're imagining it.” There was no prayer that worked on a corpse. At best, a purification prayer might clean it or remove curses. And Evan was now certain, after watching Iris's attempt, that she hadn't used even that.
Good thing we arrived while it was still a corpse. If Iris had reached the mother while she was still alive and used a healing prayer… She would've died instantly.
Evan knew nothing about divine power. But his instincts told him that the moment the power radiating from Iris's body left her, its purpose had twisted in a horrifying direction.
“Kid.”
“No!” The child clung to Iris, refusing to listen. “Big sister, just one more time. Then she'll definitely wake up.”
“……Yeah.”
Evan grabbed Iris's wrist as she tried to clasp her hands again. “That's enough.”
“Why, why are you stopping me! Who do you think you are!” The child ran over and kicked Evan's shin, even biting him, but none of it hurt in the slightest. Iris looked between Evan and the child before slowly lowering her joined hands. Despair washed over the child's face, and she burst into tears.
“No……”
“Kid. Your mother's dead. Accept it.”
“She was supposed to… with me… on my birthday…” Iris stood frozen, hands half-extended toward the child, unable to reach out or pull back.
“Stay back, Iris.”
“Evan, Evan…?”
Evan removed all the rings from his left hand. Four jeweled gold rings vanished into the air like mist. “Kid, what's your mother's name?”
“Name…?”
“Nickname, real name, even a hated nickname—anything she'll respond to.”
The child wiped her tears, still sniffling, and answered in a dazed voice at Evan's serious expression. “Natasha.”
“Born on Christmas?”
“H-how did you know?”
Because that's what the name means. But if the parents had chosen it knowing the meaning rather than just liking the sound, then this filthy beggar child came from a surprisingly educated background. Perhaps she was the daughter of a wealthy family with some story behind her.
Evan sighed. Never thought I'd be doing this in Empire territory. But the price had already been paid, and without the Black Sun here, there was no way to reclaim it. So he had no choice but to proceed.
“『Awaken. Natasha.』”
An ominous energy swirled inside the tent—cold enough to raise goosebumps, the complete opposite of Iris's warm divinity. The corpse's eyes opened, and the upper body slowly rose from where it lay.
“Ah……”
“Mom?” At the child's voice, the woman with slightly unfocused eyes turned. Then she murmured in disbelief, “…Natasha?”
“Mom!”
Watching the child throw herself into the embrace, Evan smirked. I told her to say her mother's name, and it turned out to be her own. Not that it mattered now that it had worked.
“Mom…! Mom…!”
“Yes. I'm sorry, sweetheart.”
Evan left the two of them and stepped out of the tent. Iris followed hesitantly behind him.
“Evan-Evan…”
Going to scold me? Evan sat down near the tent and nodded as if to say, Go ahead. But Iris only fidgeted closer, grabbed his sleeve, and lowered her head.
“I'm sorry.”
“For what.”
“For not listening.”
“So you do know.” Five rings wasted in the air because Iris had disappeared without a word.
“Am I not your friend anymore?”
“Is that really the important part right now?”
“Yeah.” There wasn't a shred of hesitation. She couldn't meet his eyes, but her grip on his sleeve was iron-tight, terrified he might pull away. “More than that, you should probably be worried about what just happened.”
“What just happened?”
“Necromancy. Bringing the dead back to life.”
Iris finally seemed to register the implications. She let go of his sleeve and took a step back from where she'd been pressed against him. Right. This is the relationship between the Holy Kingdom and Abaddon. Just as Evan thought she'd never bring up friendship again—
Pat, pat. “Good. Very good.”
“……?”
The gentle hand stroking his hair was so unexpected that Evan couldn't even resist. “What are you doing?”
“Rowena used to do this at night when I did well.”
So why are you doing it? Evan couldn't understand. He knew Iris was an idiot, but her actions always had a reason. Right now, he couldn't even guess what that reason was. What exactly had he done well?
“Good. Very good.”
Ignorance was unpleasant. What did this Saintess know that made her offer him this incomprehensible kindness? Even after witnessing him commit the act of toying with life—an act both the Empire and the Holy Kingdom found utterly abhorrent—she was praising him and patting his head.
Pat, pat. Unpleasant… but, …… If Iris remembered him favorably, it would likely work to his advantage going forward. And if she stayed in Abaddon longer, he could continue his research on divine power. That's the only reason.
Evan didn't brush away Iris's hand. There was no other reason. “Hehe.”
“Don't laugh.”
“Okay. Hehe.”
“…Don't make promises you can't keep.”
They simply stayed like that. Until the sound of crying inside the tent finally stopped. And even after.
. . .
Evan left Iris waiting outside and entered the tent alone. The woman with the faded orange hair sat with the sleeping child on her lap, gently stroking her hair. The sight reminded him of earlier events, and he spoke curtly. “Four gold rings.”
“Pardon?”
“That's how many I used to raise you.”
“I'm sorry, my benefactor. I have no possessions…”
“I know.” He hadn't expected payment to begin with. It was just petty spite. Evan dragged over an old chair and sat in front of the woman. “You already know your condition, don't you?”
“Yes.” The woman smiled bitterly and placed a hand over her chest. “I didn't realize it while I was alive, but the world becomes so quiet once your heart stops.”
“Have you finished saying goodbye?”
“……”
This was why Evan hadn't left immediately. He had cleanup to do. “It's only been a short time since death, and the weather isn't hot, so you still look intact. But as time passes, your body will rot.”
Evan stated only the facts. “Even if you wrap yourself in bandages or use extreme preservation methods, it'll only buy you time. Eventually, someone will discover you're undead, and after that, you'll have to run forever.”
The hand stroking the child slowly stopped. Her expression showed she understood what that future would mean for her child as well. “Being caught and killed there would actually be fortunate. The worst outcome would be successfully escaping with your child without getting caught.”
Undead instinctively craved life—the life they'd lost. While the power from the four rings held, that instinct would be suppressed. But the moment it ran out, reason would vanish, and she would tear into the nearest living flesh and drink blood. “You don't want to eat your own child, do you?”
This was why necromancy was forbidden in the Empire and the Holy Kingdom. No method existed to suppress that instinct. “…If I leave, what will happen to Natasha? This child is still far too young.”
“Her future won't be bright.” There was no guardian in sight, and the environment was the worst possible. If she were miraculously lucky, some kind-hearted merchant visiting the Whirlpool Market might take her in. But nine times out of ten, she'd become a beggar or a thief. “…Benefactor.”
Evan answered the woman's desperate gaze with a blade-sharp reply. “I have no intention of taking the child.” More precisely, he couldn't. Abaddon was no place for the living. Bringing an ignorant child there would only result in her falling ill and dying within a year. To survive in that land, one needed either Evan's level of talent in necromancy—enough to see and touch mana—or Iris's level of divine power, strong enough to purify the death energy that naturally gathered around her.
The woman's eyes trembled. Evan knew this was how an undead who could no longer shed tears expressed sorrow. He felt pity. But that didn't mean he was willing to leave her here with the child. “Only the living should live in the world of the living.” That was Evan's conviction. “Then why did you bring me back to life?”
“For closure.” So she could say the words left unsaid, finish the things left undone, and keep the promises left unkept. …So she could properly say goodbye. “The heavens are too high to watch over every person living beneath them.”
Regardless of what promises they'd made, what words they'd shared, or what kind of life they'd lived, death took them anyway. Just as they were in the middle of writing a sentence, it snatched the pen away with a curt That's enough. “That's a regrettable thing.”
That was why necromancy existed. At the very least, it allowed one to finish the final sentence they'd been writing. “…You are truly kind, benefactor.”
“Didn't you mean to say cruel?” The one who stole the scythe called Death from the grim reaper and placed it in people's hands. That was Evan's self-assessment. If someone who sentenced others to death wasn't cruel, then who was? “That may be true as well.”
The woman smiled faintly. “…Please take care of Natasha, benefactor.”
“I already said I won't take the child.” Evan's hand touched the woman's forehead. Her smile crumbled like sand and fell away. “But I will find her a guardian.”
The woman's final smile scattered on the wind and disappeared.