**Chapter Four: Investigation**
I had grown accustomed to counting. If I were to be greedy, I would wish for a clock.
However, while I couldn’t discern the exact time, I had already grasped the daily cycle of Lord Holos. To be precise, I didn’t know the cycle itself, but I did know the time he visited this room.
Lord Holos invariably came to the morgue after night had fallen. So far, there had been no exceptions.
If my counting was correct, he visited the morgue once a day, always around the late hours of the night, to take me hunting in the woods. After that, the time spent on the hunt varied, but he always returned to the mansion before dawn, ordering me back to the morgue. At first, he would kindly escort me there, but eventually, it seemed to become a bother, and he merely commanded me to return.
He never came here outside of hunting hours.
I knew little about the undead, but among the scant knowledge I possessed was the fact that they were averse to sunlight. It was likely for this reason that Lord Holos hunted only at night. I had no idea what he did during the day. However, he was an exceptional Mage, and at the same time, he was human. Unlike me, who required no sleep, he probably took the necessary rest, ate, and relieved himself while I lay unused.
From my observations, it seemed that there were only two living beings in this vast mansion, including Lord Holos. The one I needed to be particularly wary of was Lord himself. Both of us needed to be cautious, but if I moved carefully, I was sure I could evade his gaze.
I quietly slipped out of the morgue, careful not to make a sound, and strained my eyes to look up the staircase.
Aside from the rooms, there was hardly any light in the mansion. The few windows that existed were all boarded up, allowing almost no light from outside to enter. Yet, everything appeared as clear as day to my eyes now.
The mansion had many blind spots, so as long as I moved cautiously, I shouldn’t have to worry about being discovered.
I reminded myself of this, clenched my palms, and focused my mind.
Since becoming this body, I had come to realize how much noise my living form had made. The beating of my heart, the sound of my breath—these sensations were strange in a corpse that produced none of them. Yet, my Hearing, Vision, and Sense of Smell were all much sharper compared to when I was alive. With careful attention, I could even hear the sound of another’s breath.
Then, out of habit, I took a deep breath to steel myself and stepped forward into true freedom.
§
I cautiously explored the mansion shrouded in darkness. My goal was to find either the study or the library, anywhere that might hold information about my current state.
Fortunately, I could read. Reading had been my only joy during my bedridden days. I could only read the official language of the country I had lived in, Ratis, but since that was the same language Lord used, it should pose no problem.
In any case, I wanted information, anything at all.
For now, I decided to check a location away from the room where Lord usually spent his time.
This mansion, unlike the one I had lived in during my life, was stripped of unnecessary decorations. There were no carpets, no flowers arranged in vases—just a stark, almost inorganic impression. With nothing to absorb sound, I had to be careful not to let my footsteps echo.
However, a little noise should be fine. I could blend in with the sounds of others…
When I closed my eyes, I could hear the rhythmic echo of footsteps. Not just one set, but multiple.
There were only two living beings in this mansion, including Lord, but that did not apply to the undead.
Countless guards patrolled this place—guards of the deceased.
This was, in a sense, Lord Holos’s castle. A dark fortress where the king of the dead resided.
The undead guards moved with a regularity to their footsteps and made no effort to conceal them, making their presence clear even from a distance. I could hear them coming from both the front and the back.
There was no escape. I pressed myself against the wall at the end of the corridor, crouching down and bracing myself.
I felt no panic. I remained ready to bolt at any moment, simply waiting for the right time.
Emerging from the darkness, just as I had anticipated, were skeletal figures cloaked in shadows. Unlike mere bones, these skeletons wore light armor that covered only their vital points and bore weapons at their sides. They moved without brains or hearts.
The clattering of their armor echoed softly as two of them walked side by side, seemingly blocking the corridor.
Their appearance—animated without blood, flesh, or heart—was grotesque and abhorrent. Had I encountered them while still alive, I might have died from shock.
These were the undead known in tales as skeletons. Given their swords and shields, I might as well call them Skeleton Knights.
Over the past week, I had encountered Skeleton Knights multiple times while accompanying Lord on his hunts.
I had even engaged in a sparring match with one, but despite their skeletal appearance, the Skeleton Knights were agile and possessed skilled swordsmanship. While I had the advantage in strength and weight, they were formidable opponents for my current self. Even without pain, any damage to my body would slow me down. Perhaps I could manage something if it were just one, but facing two at once would surely lead to my demise.
Even if, by some miracle, I managed to defeat both, that would hardly be the end of my troubles. The mansion of an Evil Mage was fortified against external threats.
Navigating through corridors constantly patrolled by Skeleton Knights was nearly impossible. They, like me, did not tire or sleep.
However, if my intuition was correct, I had little to worry about. It was a fate I would have to confirm eventually.
The Skeleton Knights halted, swiftly turning their heads to look down at me.
I shrank back, freezing my movements. A second felt like ten, or even a hundred.
The Skeleton Knight stared at me with its empty eye sockets, but soon lost interest, turning away and resuming its patrol.
Letting out a sigh of relief, I relaxed my tense body.
I had expected not to be attacked. The Skeleton Knights could see me, but it was a simpler matter—they were ordered not to harm fellow undead like me.
When I first encountered a Skeleton Knight, it had charged at me with a surprise attack, only to be commanded by Lord to stand down. Since then, they had obediently followed that order.
I couldn’t tell if the Skeleton Knights possessed any intelligence, but their behavior suggested they did not. Considering they had attacked me despite Lord’s presence, they were likely nothing more than puppets, dutifully following Lord’s commands.
One of the advantages I held in Lord’s mansion, ironically, was the fact that I was one of his undead.
Thus, I was not attacked by his minions. The only ones I needed to be wary of were those with true intelligence—Lord himself and the other living being. If I were discovered, it would be fatal, particularly if it were Lord.
If Lord found out I was wandering about on my own, he would realize his orders were lacking. In that case, he would either kill me or, at the very least, add a command to prevent me from moving freely. I had to avoid that at all costs.
I had cleared one hurdle. Slowly, I stood up and checked once more for Lord’s presence nearby.
Then, I placed my hand on the nearest door.
§
I opened each door carefully, checking inside. Fortunately, it seemed that none of the doors were locked. I knew that Lord locked his study every time he went hunting, but it appeared he didn’t bother with the others.
While keyholes existed, they were unguarded, and turning the knob opened them easily. Now that I thought about it, the basement door also had a keyhole but had never been locked.
Perhaps this was because Lord was undeniably the absolute ruler of this mansion. No one dared to oppose Holos Carmen within these walls. All who resided here, living or dead, were his subordinates. Keys were fundamentally unnecessary.
Necromancers who commit taboo acts have many enemies, but the Skeleton Knights handled external threats.
I didn’t know the exact number, but I estimated there were dozens of Skeleton Knights patrolling the mansion. Their presence seemed almost excessive, with pairs of them roaming the halls.
I lacked the skill to unlock doors. If a key had been turned in the lock, I would have had to devise a plan. Fortunately, that was not the case.
It seemed that many of the rooms in this mansion were unused. Undead do not occupy rooms. With only two inhabitants, this estate was likely too spacious for them. Although it was not a two-story building, from what I could see from the outside, the mansion was of considerable size.
Most of the rooms were covered in dust. The furniture was intact, yet there was no sense of life within; even when I opened a drawer in a shelf to check, it was empty. It appeared that cleaning had not been done, as a light touch of my finger along the edge revealed a fine layer of dust.
It seemed that the lone servant was not attending to the cleaning of the rooms. Well, it would be difficult for one person to maintain such a large estate. Perhaps they only cleaned the rooms that were actually used.
Suppressing the growing frustration of finding nothing, I continued my exploration. I was moving away from the Lord’s laboratory, passing by the basement. I found it hard to believe that he would venture to the far end of such a mansion, but I could not afford to be careless.
If there were a library or study, it was more likely to be near the Lord’s laboratory. I paused, considering this. If I were in the Lord’s position, I would certainly place a library close to my own room for convenience.
However, walking near the laboratory increased the risk of being discovered by the Lord. There was no bed in the laboratory; no matter how Evil the Mage was, he would not sleep on the floor. He would have to move to another room. If we happened to cross paths, that would be the end of it. A mistake could mean death or the loss of my freedom. Taking risks was best left for later.
After walking for several minutes, contrary to my anxiety, I stumbled upon a room lined with bookshelves at the end of the hallway.
This room was significantly larger than any I had seen before, filled with towering bookshelves and the musty scent of old paper permeating the air. It was quiet inside, and no one was present. The shelves were crammed with thick tomes, and there were piles of books scattered about, indicating a lack of space.
I traced my fingers along the edge of a shelf, and unlike the other rooms I had explored, there was no dust here. It seemed that the servant had been cleaning regularly. I couldn’t linger for long.
I had always loved books in my previous life. Just before my death, I had no time to read, but for a long time, books had been my only companions. Feeling a slight thrill, I began to scan the spines of the books. Then, I couldn’t help but frown.
To my surprise, most of the titles were written in a language different from the Latis I knew. Perhaps they were magical tomes, or maybe they contained codes only comprehensible to a necromancer. I couldn’t even decipher what language they were written in.
My spirits dampened slightly, but I quickly regained my composure. After all, I didn’t have the time to read every book here. In fact, having too many options might be better than having none at all. I continued to glance over the spines until one particular book caught my eye—it was written in Latis.
It was an old tome. The title read, “The History and Dangers of the Accursed Undead.”
Struggling to extract it from the tightly packed shelves, I flipped through the pages.
The first line that caught my eye was a single sentence:
“The undead are a curse. Souls tainted by a necromancer become eternal prisoners of pain, and can only be freed through a holy act of termination.”
I couldn’t help but twist my lips into a smile at the unexpected text. It felt as if I had heard a dark joke.
If the undead are a curse, and if at this very moment my soul is a prisoner of pain, then what on earth was my previous life, which was even more painful than this?
That agony, the relentless torment that plagued my entire being, could only be understood by those who had endured it. The days when I was not even allowed the solace of sleep. The dwindling number of visitors day by day. The resigned expression of the white mage in charge of my treatment, knowing death was imminent yet feeling utterly powerless.
How could someone blessed understand the suffering of the unblessed?
I could not tolerate the thought of having my free will stripped away; it was not the transformation into an undead that filled me with despair.
If I had known in my previous life that becoming undead would free me from suffering, I would have chosen that option without hesitation.
Of course, I held no grudge against the Lord—Horos Carmen—even if it was the result of an abhorrent spell.
This book was of no use to me. I closed it and forced it back into the gap between the shelves, deciding to search for a book that might prove more helpful.