**Chapter Six: Doubt**
Power surged within me. How much time had truly passed since I had gained this new life? With each passing day, the gaze of my Lord turned towards me, increasingly filled with suspicion.
“…No change yet, huh… Hm… I should have used it quite a bit by now—”
In the laboratory, after finishing my daily hunting routine, Lord emitted a low growl as he scrutinized my face, which mimicked that of a puppet.
There exists an average for everything. Although research on necromancy is limited due to its taboo nature, according to the texts I had consulted, a Corpse Eater typically undergoes mutation into its next form within six months to a year.
Of course, individual differences play a role. If confined in a sealed room where death cannot be gathered, no rank mutation will occur, no matter how much time passes. Conversely, undead that arise during large-scale wars tend to experience significantly shorter times before their rank mutation. However, in my case, I had been under Lord’s attentive care every day, continuously gathering death. It was hard to believe that it would take longer than average.
It was likely that not even a year had passed since my emergence. It hadn’t been long since I began to feel hunger. Yet, it seemed that this was more than enough time for discomfort to set in.
Lord touched my arm with his skeletal fingers, peering into my pupils as he chanted some spell. I couldn’t discern the content, but it was likely a form of necromancy. Power surged through my body. My limbs felt hot, as if they were expanding, a violent sensation coursing through me. Still, I remained silent.
“Is it… not a lack of magical power? Is it a deficiency in thought?”
Furrowing his brow, he gazed up at me with a look of irritation. Lord was an exceptional mage. It was evident from the fact that he had built his mansion deep within a forest teeming with ferocious beasts, and it could be inferred from the vastness of his library and the countless corpses he had amassed.
However, due to his profound understanding of necromancy, Lord was too constrained by conventional wisdom. A Corpse Eater is a low-tier undead. They are easily created and utilized as long as there are corpses available, but they are incredibly fragile, mere puppets that obey commands. There is no will or intent within them, and thus, they cannot move a finger without Lord’s orders.
The existence of my predecessor was one reason for Lord’s adherence to this conventionality.
My predecessor was likely a typical Corpse Eater. It was clear that a Corpse Eater could only obediently follow Lord’s commands, and any mutation through rank was evident. Suddenly gaining intelligence—according to the texts, undead that mutate from Corpse Eater to Shiki split into two categories.
In other words, they either understand the situation and submit, or they understand the situation and resist fiercely. In contrast, my reaction was null. Because Lord possessed deep knowledge of undead rank mutation, he failed to comprehend my situation. He did not know how to verify whether I, a surviving Corpse Eater, had actually mutated. Despite knowing that I was gathering negative energy and my power was increasing, his doubts remained just that—doubts.
Originally, both before and after mutation, a Corpse Eater does not change in appearance. Internally, I had indeed transformed, but it seemed he had forgotten the most effective method of distinction.
If I were in his position, I would have commanded, “Are you mutated? Answer honestly.”
I am absolutely obedient to Lord’s commands, and if such a question were posed, I would have no choice but to acquiesce. Yet, Lord, fully aware of the inherent nature of a Corpse Eater—its lack of intelligence—did not ask me that. To him, I was merely an object that could not exhibit unexpected behavior.
After patting my body down, Lord frowned and shouted in a dissatisfied tone.
“Ruu, bring me a knife.”
§
Light footsteps stopped in front of the laboratory, hesitating in silence for a moment before the door creaked open.
In this mansion, aside from Lord, there was one other living being. While her level of caution was far less than Lord’s, I had been observing her all along.
Entering with a fearful expression was a filthy young woman. She had black hair and appeared to be in her mid-twenties. Short in stature, her frame was so thin that she seemed on the verge of collapsing. Her limbs were gaunt and bony. Most notably, she wore a long, thin black band around her neck—a mark of slavery.
Her eyes were as murky as any undead, and her lips were dry and cracked, making her look almost like a Corpse Eater herself.
I did not know her real name. However, the woman whom Lord referred to as “Ruu” was a slave owned by Lord Horos.
While a Corpse Eater possessed strength and could slay monsters, they were not suited for delicate tasks. Thus, Ruu’s role was to assist in research and take care of daily chores. She cleaned the mansion, prepared meals, and organized books. Unlike Lord, she did not seem to possess the ability to see in the dark, so she always carried a light while walking through the corridors, making her presence quite obvious. However, unlike Lord, she wandered aimlessly through the halls and rooms, leading to several accidental encounters during her searches.
I returned her gaze with indifference. If Ruu were to report my presence in the basement, where I should have been, to Lord, it would lead to complications. Yet, at the same time, she would have no reason to report it. A Corpse Eater lacks will, but a slave also possesses no true intent. The band around her neck was a magical tool designed to enforce her master’s commands, capable of controlling her thoughts to some extent and twisting her will to obey.
Ruu was likely far more afraid of Lord than I was. Fear was evident in her gaze as she looked at me. She had a will, but no intent. All she did was what Lord commanded her to do.
“A knife.”
At Lord’s words, Ruu hurriedly retrieved a knife from her pocket and approached him. Handing over the knife, Lord casually struck Ruu on the head.
“Slow, you worthless piece of trash.”
Despite the disdainful tone, there was no anger in Lord’s eyes. It was likely just a venting of frustration. Even so, Lord treated his slaves neither better nor worse than mere slaves.
Ruu crumpled to the ground. Lord cracked his bony knuckles and plunged the knife into my right arm.
A dull pain surged through my arm, akin to a hundred times diluted version of the original. This was evidence that my rank mutation was progressing. Undead are a curse. I, who had once been nothing more than a “moving corpse,” was drawing closer to a more grotesque, cursed existence due to the accumulation of negative energy. The benefits gained from this were not merely simple.
It was worse than the lack of pain I had experienced as a Corpse Eater, but compared to the pain I had felt in life, it was nothing at all.
Little blood flowed from the wound. Perhaps my blood was not circulating yet; according to the texts, more “advanced” undead bleed like humans. Lord dug into the wound as if to confirm something.
I endured the continuing pain without changing my expression. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts—no, it doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t… hurt.
Slowly, Lord withdrew the knife. Without breaking his gaze from me, he spat out an order to Ruu, who lay on the floor.
“…Just a Corpse Eater, after all… Hey, if anything happens to this wound, report it.”
“Ah… uuh—”
“Respond.”
“Guh…”
The sound of violence dominated the surroundings. Mages are said to enhance their bodies with magical power. Lord’s body appeared to be nothing but bones and skin, yet he seemed to possess considerable strength. Ruu was kicked in the solar plexus, flying through the air like a ball.
I merely watched the scene without any particular feelings.
The wound gouged by the knife throbbed painfully.
Whenever I was injured in the forest, Lord always healed me with magic. Since a Corpse Eater lacks regenerative abilities, it was only natural to take such measures if he wished to continue using me. The healing process—one of the significant differences between a Corpse Eater (Freshman) and a Shiki (Ghoul) is the presence or absence of regenerative abilities. The order regarding the wound likely referred to that aspect. It seemed Lord was trying to discern my mutation through factors other than the emergence of self-awareness.
He must have thought it strange that after killing so many, no mutation had occurred. He had anticipated it would eventually come. However… how naive. To speak of the method he intended to use to discern it in front of me was meaningless.
As usual, after being returned to the morgue, I began to take action.
I rolled up my sleeve to check my wound. The regenerative ability of a Shiki is higher than that of a human, and my wound had already begun to heal. While it wasn’t instantaneous like healing magic, this minor injury would likely heal within a day.
It seemed that as one evolved into a higher-tier undead, their regenerative abilities were enhanced as well. Being at the Shiki (Ghoul) stage had its advantages. I raised my left hand and slowly transformed the tips of my fingers into sharp claws. Those claws were no less formidable than the knife Lord had used to gouge my arm.
I pressed my nails into the scars on my arm, emphasizing the remnants of pain. The sensation spread slowly around the wound, sending tremors through my heart. It wasn’t that the pain was stronger than that of the knife I had used earlier. No, this was different. This was self-harm… something I had never done before. Having been unable to move my body properly since I became aware of myself, the thought of inflicting harm upon myself had seemed utterly impossible, even if the world turned upside down.
My eyes and body shed no tears, yet my heart wept. A searing pain lingered deep within my mind, but I bit it back. This was—necessary.
Those who bind me must die. Horos Carmen, who holds dominion over me, would eventually have to be killed. He is a monster, likely seeing me as nothing more than a mere subservient creature, a variant of a slave. Now is the time to endure. I would do anything to create an opportunity.
The Lord is strong. Moreover, he possesses absolute control over me. In my current state, I stand no chance against him—yet, it is not as if no undead have ever succeeded in rebelling against their master. Among the tomes I have read, there are a few that detail the admonitions regarding undead insurrections.
At present, the Lord has imposed only minimal restrictions on me. If this state continues, and I become an even more powerful undead—though it is a slim chance, there exists a possibility of victory.
He is an absolute being, but he is not omnipotent.
I dug my nails into my flesh, emphasizing my resolve. The scars left by my claws were slightly different from those made by the knife, but such differences would go unnoticed. Once I confirmed the wound had widened, I withdrew my fingers and brought them to my mouth. I moved my tongue, savoring the taste of flesh and blood. Even with my palate, which found delight in the heart of magical beasts, I felt nothing when it came to my own blood and flesh.
However, it would be troublesome if someone noticed my stained fingers. As I licked them clean, I suddenly sensed a presence nearby. I looked up, realizing I had been completely oblivious to her arrival.
There stood Rue, her eyes wide as she stared at me. Bruises marred the skin around her eyes, and her lips were swollen and red. Dark circles clung beneath her eyes, making her appear almost like a Corpse Eater, yet her gaze was unmistakably fixed on the fingers I had just placed in my mouth.
Our eyes met. Before I could utter a word, Rue bolted from the room like a startled rabbit.
I had failed. She had seen me. Though she was a slave, she must have sensed that my actions were unnatural.
I hesitated, my foot poised to chase after her, but I stopped just in time. I couldn’t pursue her—there was no doubt Lord would notice. Besides, what would I do if I caught up to her? Convince her? Did I really think I could persuade her?
I am undead. A Mage, an undead created by Horos Carmen. I am utterly untrustworthy. Even if I were in her position, I wouldn’t trust myself.
Then there was no need to pursue her. The worst-case scenario would be if Lord saw me chasing after her. After all, he had not commanded me to do such a thing.
I steadied my breathing. Not a single drop of blood remained on my fingertips.