Chapter 96
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 96
Chapter Title: Second Form -2-
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The green river, tinged with a sickly hue, didn't look appealing to anyone. It evoked images of industrial waste from his previous life rather than a healthy forest or lush plants.
From the water that seemed to advertise its load of germs or toxins emanated a damp, moldy scent mixed with a nutty aroma—perfect for fungi.
Unlike a game where you could just open the map and wander around, these sensory assaults—the sounds, the humidity—made him acutely aware that this space and time were real, while subtly heightening his tension.
"Hmm..."
Grr-! Groo-!
Unlike the two zombies mimicking guards, the others repeated the same actions without paying him any mind.
Zombies patrolling back and forth at a set distance. A pair sitting and pretending to converse. One perched by the green waterbank, holding a leaderless rod and feigning fishing.
Even ones relentlessly pounding the ground with broken sticks as if farming. Everything brimmed with imitations of living humans.
He could sense pure madness from the master who had issued these commands to the zombies.
'Even knowing what it is, it's still creepy to watch.'
For a normal person like him, the truly terrifying were the insane and the lunatics. He brushed off the goosebumps creeping up and moved his feet.
Passing a zombie couple holding hands and swaying in a grotesque dance, he slipped under an entrance framed by iron and rocks stacked like dolmens. Inside was even more spectacle.
There were several times more than the zombies visible outside, all engaged in various pretenses.
They were even dressed in hole-riddled, tattered clothes—not your average doll play; real effort had gone into it.
Guhok- Graaa-
The constant gurgling phlegm-rattling sounds from the zombies drilled into his ears, giving him neuroses.
'Tch... I was trying to go quietly.'
Thwack!
Each swing of the blunt weapon in his hand scattered rotten flesh in clumps.
What must the owner feel seeing a man suddenly appear in his underwear, swinging a warhammer? He had swum here, so he wouldn't know.
How could a sane person fathom a madman's mind?
—
'More than in the game?'
He figured he'd crushed over a hundred zombies. Thinking of it as a good deed, freeing bound souls, kept it from getting boring.
Deeper in, zombies with lower decay levels started appearing, closer to human shapes.
But contrary to common knowledge about undead: here, the cleaner the human form, the more severe the bodily defects.
Low-tier undead like regular zombies often had missing limbs, whether animal or human-shaped.
A limb might have snagged on something solid while wandering alone and fallen off, or simply rotted away over time.
So why did these zombies, still retaining some human form like now, lack arms and legs cleanly?
Someone had deliberately severed them.
Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
'Finally showing up.'
Only after he'd pushed this far did it detect the intruder. The earthquake-like footsteps conveyed urgency.
Kuwaang-!
A massive figure crashed down before him amid a cloud of dirt. Its height easily doubled his, skin a bloodless white all over.
Two heads: one male, one female. The middle-aged man's wore a crown of crumpled iron; the woman's, a wreath of woven wood and wilted flowers.
Four intact, muscular arms dangled, each gripping weapons too heavy for humans—a greatsword and a bludgeon.
To understand this freakish being's attire, look at the patchwork stitches covering its body like rags.
Without those, its very existence would baffle.
—Human!! How dare you cause havoc here!!
—H-How did you get in! Our kingdom...!
"Be quiet. Ugh, headache..."
These things had voices booming through the cavern like echoes. Somehow modified vocal cords produced an androgynous, grotesque tone that grated the nerves.
Wrapping his ears in mana dulled the ringing in his temples upon hearing them.
—K-Kill it first!! Leave the face and arms!
—Legs would be nice if there's room...
—Then leave the legs too!
The two heads conferred, then thudded forward step by step. The sheer intimidation from its bulk and weapons was impressive.
"Here—your present."
Puk!
The dagger flew from his hand, burying itself to the hilt in the woman's forehead, yet not a drop of blood flowed. Pale flesh writhed, expelling the blade.
—Uahaha!! It tickles, lowly human!!
—Hohoho—! It tickles! It tickles!
"Tickles, huh. No sensation for undead anyway."
Most undead lacked normal pain receptors. Even named ones with ego felt nothing without special forces like holy power.
At his words, it halted, eyes rolling wildly between the heads.
—W-We’ve been caught! That we’re not human... What now?
—The face was perfect...! What do you mean? Kill it quick! No need for legs!
—Then I don’t need face or arms either!
His laughter cut short. Abandoning playfulness, the giant's muscles bulged! as viscous mana began pulsing.
"Broken mind aside... decent mana flow. Impressive."
A lunatic whose life and sanity were long gone. If only it'd become a lich and channeled that into scholarly pursuit beyond death, it'd have style.
Another tale of a black mage who, after endless underground research, went mad from loneliness, built his own kingdom of zombies as subjects, and played king.
Perfect named undead for the final meal of the first form.
A fitting undead—formerly human—for Nachal's 'regeneration' keyword.
"Mm..."
Eclair had finished work up to lunch in her office and was enjoying some alone time.
Lately, whenever she had a moment, she obsessed over one thing.
Naming the enigmatic metal Roman had given her in Limno.
It looked like a sturdy gem needing polish, yet felt springy and addictive to touch.
She'd seen the scythe Roman gifted Rike during training. On the day they met, they'd eaten dinner together, and he'd explained it.
The potential skill was tempting, especially the 'bound' aspect—she wanted it finished soon. Its cheat-like utility for using anywhere, anytime, was part...
Her unspoken truth: on days without Roman, she needed something to remind her of him.
The brooch from him was now with Chloe. Rike lived with him and had her weapon... pure envy.
"Haa... really."
She now fully understood those novel tropes of lovers eloping, abandoning all for each other—nonsense before, but not anymore.
Since nestling into his arms, Roman danced in her mind at every chance... When would she see him next? She'd glare at the innocent calendar.
Meeting with anticipation led to stiff words from unaccustomed shyness, but he smiled softly, accepting it.
During acts, the sensation of being cherished and loved was so vivid and clear it drove body and soul mad each time.
Especially yesterday. This seductive man...
Returning home late from work, she found chocolate he'd left on the study windowsill—extra torment today.
He knew her taste like a ghost: the strong bitter from Limno.
Illegible scrawl, but dying to see his face even briefly, only to find a note he'd left.
The sudden situation made her heart ache.
Days without him felt arid, lonely. To endure a bit, she wanted to complete this like Rike's.
'...'
But naming was her weak spot, especially sans flair. Endless deliberation.
Her favorite sword lacked a name too—no need felt before.
"D-Do you hate the name Roman that much...?"
—Wung! Wooong!
Hard exterior, unpredictable bouncy give. It screamed Roman at first glance, so light test—fierce rejection.
Honestly, if it worked, embarrassment in explaining to him, yet disappointing.
"Then..."
Roman had suggested one for her deliberations. She'd hidden it, deeming it unfit.
Now her mind hit limit. Picturing his face, she named it.
"...Innocence."
When he suggested it, she thought it too grand.
Her body no longer pure. He called her clean and good, but she'd never seen herself as purely virtuous.
Yet this once! If Roman said so, then it was.
Firm in faith, she uttered the name.