The Undead's Desperate Cure
Several months had passed since the weddings of the two sons from the prestigious chocolate family. At the Kikiwai Multidimensional Branch, where Slick Ellama served as branch manager, he wore a grave expression from early morning onward. The cause was none other than a loan application submitted through the counter handled by Kim Jian.
"...This guy really knows how to drag in the headaches every time."
The matter had already been reported to headquarters, but Ellama inwardly worried whether they would approve it without any precautions. He was certain that the moment word got out that the Dimensional Credit Vault was handling this loan, it would unleash tremendous repercussions.
"No, the real question is whether it'll even pass headquarters' review."
Ellama even hoped they would recognize the risks and reject it outright. He didn't know what incurable disease Dr. Bernard was trying to cure, or who the poor sufferer was. But what troubled him was that religious groups—which typically refrained from outright criticism even when research on undead-related illnesses was announced, given that undead were now accepted as part of society—had all risen up in unison this time.
Moreover, Marcus Bernard was a man hailed as a saintly figure even too lofty for medical professionals to emulate as a role model. Though some public opinion had turned after he delved into necromancy beyond neuroscience, his influence remained undiminished. Yet even the medical field, where his disciples were active, was offering only minimal support for this research.
The reason was obvious: doctors who borrowed divine power, much like the bank's employees, had voiced strong opposition. Pharmaceutical companies, medical device manufacturers, and even the chaebol families who owned university hospitals that had poured massive research funds into Dr. Bernard until now—they were all holding back this time.
"What the hell is he trying to do...?"
The notes section of the loan documents stated: Research to treat symptoms where the vessel containing a young undead's soul is breaking down. No specifics on the symptoms were provided. There were analysis reports and opinions from Dr. Bernard, but the bank had no experts to interpret them. Naturally, showing client-submitted documents to specialists in the field was strictly forbidden.
The amount was substantial, but given the doctor's high credit rating, it was well within lendable limits. Yet Ellama could already envision the fallout if this loan was approved without safeguards.
As he saw it, the problem lay in the fact that this treatment wasn't a standard procedure for undead. Undead were beings who had forsaken their original bodies or bound themselves to the mortal realm through some means to defy mortality and extend life indefinitely. They weren't a single race. The term "undead" simply referred to those—elf, human, or otherwise—who had cheated death and violated the natural order.
In this modern society, they could enjoy lifestyles indistinguishable from their living days. Just decades ago, discriminators and terrorists targeting undead had been countless, but a civilized world no longer tolerated such acts. In this era, undead enjoyed human rights more than ever in history.
Modern people had to accept these uneasy neighbors called the departed within their fold. The indulgence of those who had died once, the relative deprivation felt by the living, and the erosion of fear toward death—all sparked diverse social issues.
Over the past thirty years, undead had solidified their position by bribing citizen groups preaching political correctness for their rights, lobbying politicians, and deploying every means available. They argued that necromancy was a legitimate intellectual pursuit to overcome death, classifiable under medicine.
These efforts unfolded simultaneously across broad societal sectors. Consequently, the living—competing with the dead for finite resources—began crying reverse discrimination. The resulting anger was suppressed through tangled policies and opinion manipulation.
Before long, a rift deeper than the era when the departed were oppressed formed between undead enjoying privileges as first-class citizens across dimensions and those who weren't.
And Dr. Bernard's research targeted a rare, intractable disease among undead that left them helpless as their souls slipped away.
What if even this "divine curse"—unique to undead who had already cheated death once—was cured? People would lose faith not just in gods, but in the cycle of life and death that sustained the world.
The complete conquest of death. If medicine made it possible, people would abandon worship of gods. Hospitals would vanish; doctors would lose their professions. Since becoming undead offered more benefits than ordinary life, people would opt for necromancy procedures at life's end over paying medical bills to cure illnesses—granting a second life. With the fear of soul annihilation, a known side effect of necromancy, eliminated, there'd be no hesitation.
"This loan could yield absurdly disproportionate consequences."
The afterlife where souls of the dead journeyed was proven to exist, yet its nature remained unknown. Gods had ruled through fear since ancient times, a method that still partially worked in this age of civilization and science. If the afterlife's mysteries were revealed, allowing preparation, the number of god-fearing mortals would inevitably dwindle. Thus, entities like the gods of Dimension 12's Olympus, who upheld dimensions, opposed mortals learning those secrets.
But as a result, people craved certain survival and continued relationships over an opaque future. They preferred remaining in the familiar world they knew—even as departed—over an isolated underworld with no mortal interaction.
"I wonder why they're still hesitating to intervene..."
Ironically, Ellama—who worked at the Dimensional Credit Vault run directly by a goddess—held no faith. He'd never harbored illusions about personified gods. They didn't wield their powers arbitrarily. They participated in the worlds they created and maintained as societal members, like other intelligences. Not out of respect for mortal free will, surely—just to alleviate boredom by limiting their power and enjoying diversions.
And while gods indulged in their endless games, the world steadily crumbled. Having lived watching that, Ellama's lack of faith was only natural.
"This could change the world's course."
Even Ellama, uninterested in anything beyond his work and family, could imagine the horror of a world filled with the departed.
And anyone, even without Ellama's sharp mind, could grasp this much: most current fear and revulsion toward necromancy stemmed from physiological disgust and unknown risks.
What if undead numbers swelled, and technology allowed maintaining appearances nearly identical to the living? What if researchers like Dr. Bernard succeeded, eliminating the greatest dread—"soul loss"?
Soul disappearance was a side effect afflicting a minority of undead, with varied causes and progression rates, making it hard to categorize and amplifying fears. Dr. Bernard's study targeted one such anomaly, seeking a cure.
If such research bore fruit, people could live eternally without eating or sleeping. Resistance to death vanishing would mean the driving forces of modern civilization dissolving too. Necromancy's wider adoption would hasten civilization's collapse.
"I'd oppose it myself."
If approved, hospitals and medical contacts doing business with the Dimensional Credit Vault—those harboring grudges against Dr. Bernard—would surely boycott. And among citizen groups, factions opposing undead-backed ones were plentiful. Amid such external pressures, was approving Dr. Bernard's loan right for the bank?
"What a mess."
Ellama pondered. The research might let a pitiful child, undead at a young age, continue living. But if the cost shattered society...
"...Am I overthinking it?"
The ball was already at headquarters. Besides, extending one girl's life wouldn't doom modern civilization—that thought itself might be fanciful exaggeration. The board's decision was final.
Ellama resolved not to dwell or interfere further. In the grand flow of a world even gods ignored, he was too insignificant; time barely sufficed to protect what was within reach.
"That nosy bastard better not screw this up..."
Of course, he still bore responsibility for the consequences of Kim Jian's actions under him. Thus, Ellama couldn't stop imagining the fallout from this loan.
A few days later, the head of the Personal Lending Division at Dimensional Credit Vault HQ contacted the Kikiwai Multidimensional Branch. The board had deferred its decision. As a socially charged issue, approval rested not with the division but the board—and votes split exactly down the middle.
guC, favoring the minority undead's welfare as noble research, voted yes. guE opposed, fearing backlash. Private banking clients, unconcerned with morals, let guC vote freely. guE, focused on sales to individuals, naturally opposed.
The issue was guD. Its leader, President Okerus Dis Pater, ordered a direct audit of Dr. Marcus Bernard's hospital—the one whose loan was requested by a Kikiwai teller. guD claimed they couldn't decide until reporting findings from the site inspection.
Thus, Kim Jian's business trip schedule was set once more.