**Chapter Twenty-Four: Wraith II**
The body, the consciousness, is tainted by darkness. A tremendous pain surges through me, as if something is trying to burst forth from within, tearing my flesh apart despite the fact that I should have lost the capacity to feel pain.
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh—N/A!”
My scream echoes through the dim forest. It takes a moment for me to realize that the voice belongs to me.
Death is approaching. The overwhelming pain I feel reminds me, against my will, that I am still a weakling, unchanged from my previous life.
A silver arrow slips from my grasp. My palm still aches from holding it, but that sensation is utterly insignificant.
Nausea grips me. Pain. Fatigue. Every form of suffering assaults my soul. It feels as though I am being dragged down to the depths of hell, as if the underworld itself is pulling me in.
“Your soul is—continuing to fall into darkness.”
The words Horos once spoke to me resurface in my mind. I desperately focus on the pain, hoping to alleviate it even slightly. I can’t tell up from down. As I teeter on the brink of collapse, I cling to a nearby tree.
My heart, which should have been still, beats with incredible force. My breathing is ragged. Memories that do not belong to me, knowledge that is not mine, flood into my mind. Overwhelmed by the nausea, I slam my head against the tree again and again, pouring all my strength into the act.
What is this…?
I feel sick. I don’t understand anything. The only thing I know for certain is that if I let my guard down—I will die. The tree splinters beneath my assault. Blood flows from my head. My knees buckle, and I collapse to the ground, but I scramble on all fours to cling to another tree.
I utilize every object around me to maintain my spirit.
I recall the days spent in bed, the gradual increase in pain and the gradual loss of strength. The relentless agony allowed no sleep, and every action led to more suffering. I could only cling to life, alone in my despair, with no mage or doctor to help me, watching myself slowly wear away and die.
I am changing. My body, my soul, are transforming. They are merging. Becoming stronger, more vicious, more fitting to be the king of the dead.
It must be a scheme devised by the Lord. Without knowledge, I cannot comprehend what has been done to me. The memories flooding in are not mine. I must not accept them.
Amidst the pain I cannot resist, a thought crosses my mind: “This is not my object.”
—Foolish… Why can’t I be consumed?
It is dark. There is no one around. I lift my head, exhaling hot breaths. Before me stands the Lord. Unlike the evil spirit (Wraith) from earlier, he stands on two legs.
I realize that this is neither a physical form nor a soul, but merely a hallucination conjured by my mind.
This action was not intentional. I overwrite the pain with murderous intent and rage. My body rises, and I swing my arm back. I have no speed, no time to extend my claws. Yet, that single strike easily cleaves through the Lord’s illusion.
The illusion vanishes.
—What a resilient soul… still, you do not acknowledge the negative.
My entire body feels as if it is on fire. The heat radiates especially from my head—my brain and heart. A voice calls from behind. As I turn, I swing my arm sideways. There, just behind me, stands the Lord’s illusion, which I thought I had obliterated.
The illusion disappears. Yet, new figures emerge. Before I know it, my vision is filled with countless illusions of the Lord. All directions—those standing on the ground, those half-buried, those flying through the air. Countless serpent-like, emotionless eyes look down upon me.
In a fit of rage, I charge at them. Horos Carmen invades my mind. The will surging in like a torrent is so powerful that I feel I might be crushed if I let my guard down.
—It’s too thick, the consciousness is too dense. How dare a mere soul that died of illness… is this the blood of nobility? No… it’s impossible… N/A!! There’s no way you can stand against me, N/A!!
The Lord’s illusions show no signs of diminishing, no matter how many I strike down. I resist with all my might against the soul that seeks to consume me. I will live. I will live and obtain my freedom.
—The vessel is far too deep, the abyss too profound, N/A! How did it come to this… End, Order. Cease your resistance, N/A!
The Lord’s voice reverberates in my mind, tormenting my spirit.
End. Who is that?
I claw at my chest. My heart beats fiercely. This is not a trick of the mind. My heart is alive. It beats. I am not a corpse. I am transforming into a more evil living object… into an unholy monster, a being that transcends death.
Ah, is this the curse that the necromancer seeks, the end of their purpose, N/A!
In the midst of pain that renders logical thought impossible, I suddenly grasp the true intent of the necromancer.
The curse they create, their goal—the king of the dead. That is—“immortality.”
It is not merely continuing to live as a corpse. It is the complete “immortality” and “indestructibility” of living while alive. For them, death is merely a process. They are experts at creating countless undead. It should be much simpler to turn themselves into undead.
Yet, they did not take that path. Senri said that a first-class necromancer is one who has transformed themselves into a “special” undead.
Before I knew it, the Lord’s illusion had vanished. In its place, a massive mass of darkness loomed before me. An illusion. The face of Horos Carmen emerges from the center of the vast black mist.
It seeks to devour me, to sink me into the depths of darkness. A voice resonates in my mind, filled with anger and confidence.
—It is over, N/A! That body is mine, N/A! The advantage is on my side, N/A! You will… live forever as the vessel of the “King of the Dead,” N/A!
“N/A… ha, ha, ahhh… ahhh…”
So strong. I don’t know how many years he has lived, but even a fragment of the Lord’s soul is formidable. There is a strong obsession and a power built over time. This turn of events must have been unexpected for the Lord after his defeat by Senri. This ritual must have been a last resort, and had the original ritual gone as planned… what on earth would have happened to me?
The Lord leaps high into the air, obscuring the moon, the sky, the world, descending upon me.
My hands move. Was it instinct as a monster, or was it my unwillingness to die that moved my body? My fingertips do not reach the Lord; instead, they plunge into my own mouth—tearing my lips wide open. Now, I no longer care about the pain.
The expression of the Lord floating in the darkness becomes one of shock. I smile broadly with my torn mouth. The pain temporarily fades from my consciousness.
I will become the “King of the Dead”… I will have the Lord serve as my sustenance.
You will be—the first human I consume.
With my gaping mouth, I leap into the darkness, sinking my teeth into his throat. There is no taste. It is merely a vision I see, something without substance.
Yet, a tremendous scream reverberates in my mind.
—Ah, N/A—ahhh—
I see. So this is what that scream was…
While I ponder this strange admiration, the voice fades away. Only silence remains in the night forest.
Strength drains from my limbs, and my body collapses to the ground. The pain that had tormented me so thoroughly has vanished completely. The voices that had echoed in my mind are now silent.
—
In the night sky, the round moon shone brightly. Dawn must be approaching. As the cold wind brushes against me, I lie on the ground, gazing up at the heavens, assessing my situation.
There are no other consciousnesses in my mind. The Lord’s soul, which sought to dominate me as an alien object, has been devoured and absorbed instead. I feel refreshed.
The knowledge and memories that should have fused with me—I cannot recall. Perhaps my instincts have sealed them away as a danger. The experiences and memories of the Lord are far richer and denser than my own. It would not be surprising if my consciousness were overwritten by a mere recollection. It is probably best not to force myself to remember.
Having calmed down a bit, I place my hands on the ground and attempt to stand, only to fail. For a moment, I lose track of what is happening, but I cling to a nearby tree and muster all my strength to rise.
My limbs… feel weak. My consciousness momentarily drifts away. A fatigue I haven’t felt in a long time weighs heavily upon me.
It seems… I have not yet escaped my predicament.
I sense that my body, that I myself, is transforming. It is likely that a mutation of rank has occurred.
Having absorbed the soul that had fallen into darkness, it was unclear whether the conditions had been met or if it was due to some inscribed mechanism. Now, I was not a “Shiki (Ghoul).” Moreover, I was not the “Dark Stalker” that was supposed to be my next mutation. That form would have resulted in my flesh turning a shade of black, yet my skin remained unchanged.
I would think about the details later. My energy, which had seemed ample before, had completely depleted. The current situation felt eerily similar to when I first mutated into a “Shiki” and experienced hunger.
Wiping the blood from my forehead, I took a deep breath. I lacked strength. With my current status, would I even be able to defeat the magical beasts of this forest? No, more importantly, would I survive long enough to even find one?
No, I had no choice but to press on. I had consumed my Lord, my master. I had exhausted every possible means to be here.
For now, aside from finding something to eat, I needed to locate a place to hide from the sun before dawn broke. Having mutated from “Shiki,” my weaknesses had likely increased. Regardless of what I had mutated into, sunlight could be fatal.
Though I had no luxury to dwell on the pain, it seemed my resistance against the Lord had lasted several hours, and there was little time left before daybreak. I had the cloak provided by the Lord for protection against the sun, but I shouldn’t rely on it too much. If such an object could nullify the effects of sunlight, then undead creatures would pose an even greater threat.
My body was inconvenient, yet it was precisely this inconvenience that made me feel alive. It wasn’t a bad feeling at all.
With each careful step, I moved my unreliable body, feeling the hardness of the ground beneath my feet. Then, I suddenly remembered that I had dropped my hatchet.
I should retrieve that. Even in this weakened state, having it would make hunting for prey much easier.
I turned to go back, but as I did, a silver flash crossed just inches in front of my eyes.
“…Huh…?”
The sound of slicing wind. A moment later, an excruciating pain exploded in my left leg, as if my limbs were being torn apart, causing me to tumble. I bit back the agony and looked at my leg. An arrow, which hadn’t been there moments before, was now embedded in my knee.
It was a silver arrow. It had completely pierced through flesh and bone, wisps of white smoke rising from the wound. I tried to pull it out, but my hands trembled from pain and fatigue, refusing to cooperate.
In the midst of my confusion, a familiar coarse voice reached my ears.
“Oh, good. You’re still alive… you cursed object. Damn, you’ve made this a hassle!”
“Well, calm down. You’re definitely the one who deceived our princess, aren’t you?”
“A lower-rank vampire… so the remnants of Holos’s minions have fled. I had heard you were a ‘Shiki,’ but… Senri lacks the experience to become a true one.”
“What… the hell…!”
I forced my voice out to question him. A few meters away, the man who had once accused me of being undead in the city looked down at me, sprawled on the ground, with a gaze as if he were observing mere trash.
“Why? Now, why did you say that? There’s only one reason for us, the End Knights, to be here. It’s to hunt monsters.”