Chapter 80: The Factions' Time Bomb
Great Huuriten's capital, Linden. The Dimensional Credit Vault headquarters—a colossal bank that started in Dimension 6-2 and expanded branches across countless dimensions, steering the finances of the multiversal world. In the 20th-floor boardroom, the so-called head of this golden giant, executives from three factions with icy stares had assembled.
They'd gathered for the regular board meeting, but everyone's minds were fixed on just two items on today's agenda. First: whether to extend the repayment deadline for the planetary resort loan pushed through by the old guE faction. It was a massive loan approved a generation ago by guE bankers, defying opposition from the other factions, tying up a huge chunk of the bank's managed assets. Yet even after 30 years since opening, the resort hadn't turned a solid profit and could barely cover interest. guE had so far managed to extend deadlines and shore up finances through sheer effort, but there was still no money for repayment. If the extension failed at this meeting, guE would shoulder all the blame—and worse, the big secret they'd hidden during that loan approval would come to light.
President Dis Pater, head of guD, intentions remained inscrutable, but it was certain the hostile guC board members would sink their teeth into this weakness. For guE's board, led by Vice Admiral Nesmento, this regular meeting was a fight for survival.
Of course, they still had hope. Among today's agenda was the decision on a personal loan application from Dimension 16 heavyweight, Dr. Marcus Bernard. Dimension 16 boasted the highest undead population ratio in the multiverse. Naturally, it was home to many wealthy clients guC had dealt with since the days of the Ultradimensional Neptune Bank. Those clients' assets were now managed by private banks spun off from Ultradimensional Neptune—banks that, on the surface, had no ties to guC. In other words, clients using those private banking services had no connection to Dimensional Credit Vault, nor did their assets belong to the Vault.
But in truth, those minor private banks in Dimension 16, detached from guC, were still under guC executives' control and served as their faction's funding lifeline. For that reason, guC brass periodically visited Dimension 16 to pitch new investment opportunities or host networking parties to nurture ties with their supporters. The same motive drove their push to approve Dr. Bernard's loan this time.
Marcus Bernard wasn't the type of doctor chasing personal gain. And this wasn't drug development—it was research into curing an intractable disease. Lending money promised little beyond capped interest returns. But if the research succeeded, guC board members could boast of lowering undead mortality rates through their influence. They might even pressure Bernard for early treatment slots for private bank clients suffering the same symptoms. The elite using private banks had much to lose. They dreaded risks above all and spared no expense to mitigate potential threats—something guC bankers knew well.
For Dimension 16's wealthy, craving eternal life, success here could unlock a perfect safeguard against the occasional soul erasure that stripped undead of everything. The private banks hadn't loaned directly to the doctor because their raison d'être was safeguarding the ultra-rich's privacy and assets, unlike regular banks. For these ties, guC was fully backing the loan. If Dimensional Credit Vault approved it despite backlash from all sectors, guC stood to gain the most.
guE board members saw through these intentions crystal clear.
"Does a bank that won't give a poor little girl another shot at life even deserve to exist?"
The doctor's loan came up first, before the resort debt. A guC undead board member invoked the patient's youth to sway the others—their true motives shone transparently. It was all proceeding exactly as guD had orchestrated. By now, a living bomb was en route to Dr. Bernard's hospital. If guD's "time bomb" detonated before the meeting ended, not only would grounds for the loan vanish, but guC would lose its entire Dimension 16 support base.
"Undead or anyone—it's tragic when a soul-bearer dies."
Vice Admiral Nesmento feigned sorrow, nodding as if agreeing with the guC board member. He knew full well that soon, Dimension 16 would see a spate of such "tragedies."
We boarded the elevator, heading to the fifth floor where Dr. Bernard, the hospital's director, awaited. Along the way, I caught sight of living patients and undead ones—long dead but still hospital-bound—chatting amiably as they rode. It struck me anew how necromancy was universally accepted here in Dimension 16.
Even amid the standoff between police and protesters outside, the hospital interior remained serene and peaceful. Credit to police protection, sturdy guards at the main gate, and soundproofing spells on the windows. Patients here didn't divide into living and dead, harboring hatred. Probably the same elsewhere in Dimension 16. The undead's appearances weren't grotesquely alien compared to other races, which helped. Even Deputy Manager Razma—whose body was fully lost, soul confined in a metal-and-glass humanoid vessel exerting physical influence—looked from afar like a cool mechanical species. Intact-bodied undead? Far less uncanny.
At least the undead I'd met here had visuals that didn't trigger the uncanny valley. Distinguishable at a glance from living sapients, sure—but nothing like Earth's subculture zombies: repulsive, reeking rotten corpses. Take a skeletal undead: treated with preservatives against decay, their attire and details cleaner and more hygienic than most living folks.
Having spent most time in Dimension 6-2—where encounters with undead were rare outside guC bankers—I'd imagined diseased undead as shambling decayed bodies. But arriving here, if you didn't know they'd died once, no discomfort at all. A world that spun fine with the dead walking streets. These undead showed no shame at defying the natural order. Proof they saw themselves as normal societal members. Maybe for them, afterlife was a "bonus time" reward for a dutiful life.
Dimension 16 folk meticulously managed health pre-death to survive necromancy, saving for the procedure. Some pursued pre-death dreams post-revival, learned new skills, got certifications—ushering a second heyday. Living out extended retirement pain-free? Solid merit.
"……."
Only then did I realize I was starting to feel drawn to necromancy's myriad perks. When age hits and the body falters. When telomeres feel not an endless path, but a fuse burning toward doom. Necromancy might offer a new road.
It might inconvenience the living and unborn a bit, but with thoughts like "What's one more?" or "I've got family," folks resolve to persist as undead. An unbearable temptation, no doubt. No individual feels guilt hogging jobs and resources from faceless future generations. Even if personal choices stall societal cycles and cause stagnation, it'd take ages to feel the impact.
That realization hit: the problem brewing in Dimension 16. A world dodging inevitable personal tragedies. Return in decades—would space remain for newborns?
Doubt began creeping into my resolve to push the doctor's loan through.
-Ding dong.
"This way, please."
At the fifth floor, a nurse guided us to the director's office. We opened a modest door far from authoritarian—revealing a room stuffed with books and files.
"I've been waiting."
Dr. Bernard was organizing documents. No feigned busyness—just calm poise. Easy to imagine this his everyday.
"Tough journey. Care for tea?"
Atmosphere unchanged from the bank visit. Dr. Marcus Bernard exuded the detachment of one who'd shed worldly cares.
"Thanks, but we grabbed coffee en route."
Elama stayed businesslike, prepping the audit.
"I hear your treatment addresses root causes of several soul-loss symptoms. Success means no repayment issues."
"Not in it for profit, but I won't burden the bank."
Elama dove straight in, but the doctor showed no offense. As if he'd never banked on pity for the patient's life approving the loan. Just responding appropriately to business visitors.
"Good. Let's hear specifics."
"Patient data's ready. Shall we review?"
The doctor slowly opened the door, leading to the research facility on the same floor. We donned hazmat suits, passed air and mana showers, then entered the sterile room. And there, I witnessed something unimaginable.
"Save… me…."
Beyond reinforced glass, a sobbing little girl. Her skull neatly trepanned, contents exposed to all.
"What the hell have you―"
The angel's rage-filled voice cut short by the doctor's icy reply.
"…To triumph over God, this was the only way. If a life can be saved, we must try our utmost."
His face held not a trace of emotion.