Liora gestured, and the middle of the undead line began to fall back, step by step. Silent and obedient, the zombies gave ground.

  The goblins screamed in joy. They surged forward, pouring over the barricade of corpses like a tide of filth.

  Five steps back, just as Adarin had ordered.

  Liora focused. With two quick commands, the line bent—its edges folding inward to form a V.

  Then, from both flanks, the zombies along the walls advanced. Quiet. Inevitable.

  The goblins, drunk on momentum, didn’t notice.

  Johan, crouched beside the window, kept his mirror trained on the orc commander now pushing toward the front.

  Fool, Adarin thought. A commander on the front line is just a fatter target.

  The zombies in the center halted.

  The street became a cauldron.

  Goblins slowed, glancing to the sides, realizing too late they were surrounded on three fronts.

  But the orc, frothing, screamed his reserves forward.

  They rushed into the trap.

  Adarin gave a tight nod. ‘Now.’

  The reserve line stepped forward as Liora relaxed the command. Stone-throwers stopped bracing and began advancing.

  The center stiffened, then reversed.

  Spears and axes snapped out of passive stances and tore into the dense ranks of goblins.

  The narrow street became a slaughter pit. Goblin blades, short and crude, couldn’t match the coordinated reach and press of the undead.

  Liora’s smile stretched with something primal.

  Adarin shuddered.

  She raised her arm and stones began to fly again.

  The orc commander finally understood. He turned, roaring orders. The goblins in the rear tried to retreat.

  Johan rose on this cue. His dark green robes snapped in the updraft of power. His face lit from beneath, skeletal in the flare of arcane energy.

  He pulled the spell to his chest.

  Pressed his hands onto the glowing sphere as if its weight was beyond his meager strength.

  Pushed.

  A wash of light devoured the rear lines. Screams erupted.

  Javelins and arrows pelted the ruin. Johan dropped back into cover, laughing like a madman.

  Liora grinned back. Even Adarin allowed himself a smirk. ‘Okay, Liora. Final part.’

  She nodded.

  The flanking formations stepped inward.

  The last exit to the cauldron sealed shut.

  Two-thirds of the goblin force were trapped.

  And the harvest began.

  The orb of necromantic light arced with inevitable laziness toward the enemy commander. His eyes widened, out in stark relief by the pale glow, but then the projectile hit.

  A pulse of dim, deathly light rolled out over the goblins.

  Screams erupted.

  Movements slowed.

  Weapons slipped from limp fingers.

  The orc commander glanced around once, then turned and bolted—shoving through his kin in blind panic.

  All around him, undead hacked and clawed through dazed enemies.

  Liora and Johan stepped up to the shattered window. Below them, the butchery played out in eerie silence on the side of the undead.

  No quarter was given.

  The goblins tried to surrender. Liora didn’t care.

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  They died with raised hands.

  A few minutes later, the last body dropped.

  Johan raised his arm, grinning wide.

  You have defeated 325 Goblin Warriors!

  Average normalized strength difference: 60%. Number of levels gained: 3

  Liora slumped into a broken chair, letting out a ragged exhale.

  Adarin probed her thoughts.

  Excitement. Relief. Satisfaction. The rush of a clean win.

  Solidarity with Johan. Vengeful peace. All expected.

  Then again something else.

  Something cold.

  Not hate—just indifference. A hollow presence curled around her psyche, brushing past Adarin’s awareness.

  It touched him briefly—curious, alien—and vanished like a kraken into the abyss.

  He shivered. What the fuck was that? A construct? A ghost?

  A silhouette—female—flickered in the dark behind his mind. Then gone.

  When he refocused, Liora and Johan were already down in the street again.

  Johan re-formed the units.

  Liora knelt beside a corpse and stared into its pulped skull.

  Without hesitation, she cast Raise Zombie.

  The spell flared.

  She moved to the next. And the next.

  They spent half an hour working through the bodies. One by one.

  About a third were unusable. Crushed bones, severed spines—too broken to be puppeted.

  Those were the lucky ones.

  The rest rose again.

  Liora approached Johan, but he just shrugged. “The Master’ll use the raw materials later,” he murmured.

  Soon, the last corpse had been raised. The zombies were once more arrayed in formation.

  The inky eye on Liora’s arm swirled. A System message blinked into view:

  Due to 107 successful applications,

  spell Raise Zombie has been upgraded from Mid Tier 1 to Late Tier 1.

  Adarin’s attention snapped back to her. Her shoulders shook, and her breath had grown shallow. He dropped his voice into a calm, steady whisper. ‘Liora. Talk to me. What’s happening?’

  She exhaled slowly. “I didn’t even think. I just kept using the spell. I ordered them to kill. So many... I know they were the enemy, but—”

  Adarin sighed internally. Of course. A young soldier’s first come-down. Lovely. Well, here we go again.

  He focused on her mind. Her pulse. The tension in her spine.

  ‘Alright. First, breathe. In and out. Hand on your stomach. Let it rise and fall. It’ll help. I promise.’

  A flash of resistance. Then her will asserted itself. She followed his instructions.

  ‘Good. Now remember—we’re still in the field. This isn’t over. Another patrol could come any second. And you didn’t start this. They did.’

  She glanced around. Only two of the five wolves remained. The other three were crumpled ruins of fur and gore.

  ‘They killed your pack. They struck first. You defended yourself. That’s all that matters. What do you care about more—those monsters, or the people still breathing?’

  Liora leaned back against a crumbling wall. Her eyes closed. She drew a deep breath and let it out in one long shudder.

  “Very well,” she whispered.

  Silence stretched. Adarin didn’t press her.

  He watched the memory loops spiral in her mind. Faces of goblins twisted in pain. Her own hands glowing as she grabbed that one by the throat—driving necromantic energy into him like a curse.

  The fall. The detonation.

  Being scolded.

  The long nights spent in prayer. In shame. In fear.

  The old guilt mingled with the new.

  And then—nothing. Just quiet resolve.

  Liora rose and gave Johan a quick motion. He nodded and began assembling the zombies into marching order.

  This time, she and Johan took the center. Undead flanked them in cordons on all sides, their presence heavy, their formation tight. The coppery tang of blood clung to the air like a shroud. Together, they advanced toward the shattered tower.

  Despite the distant boom of artillery and the throb of conflict echoing through the ruins, they encountered no other movement—only the distant flashes of battle lighting the city’s heart. The wind carried with it the acrid stench of magic. Ozone and burnt flesh.

  Without warning, Rüdiger descended like a wraith over a collapsed row of buildings.

  He landed lightly. Johan dropped to one knee. “Master, I greet you.”

  Rüdiger inclined his head. “Ja, ja, greetings and all that.”

  His gaze slid to Liora. He tilted his head, then gave a formal bow, sweeping off his hat with theatrical grace. “Well now. The two of you survived. Incredible. Now then, milady—I need you to send a message to our mutual little friend.”

  He tapped the side of his head and smiled.

  Liora tensed. Somehow, the man unsettled her more than the mention of Adarin.

  Her brow furrowed. “What message?”

  Rüdiger leaned closer, eyes glinting. “Tell him I kept my part of the deal.”

  Adarin stirred in her mind. ‘What deal?’

  Liora didn’t answer. She just gave a slow, silent nod.

  Rüdiger’s voice dropped, low and formal, reciting in a language Adarin hadn’t heard since arriving here.

  “So, Adarin, I need your gamma-level shellcode.” The words rolled off his tongue like something foreign and faintly spicy. Baseline standard is not his native language, then.

  Adarin’s thoughts spun. The gamma-code allowed limited transfer permissions—no deep-root access, no full overwrite. But still. And how the hell does he know my name? This man…I need to know what he knows.

  Well, I’m stuck in someone else’s body. Makes sense he’d want transfer access. And he did promise something.

  He sighed and dictated the code to Liora, who repeated it to Rüdiger.

  Rüdiger pulled out the white marble again and whispered the string into it.

  A spike of pain stabbed through Adarin’s skull. The same text blazed behind his eyes.

  System Integration validated.

  Level: — (G)

  Class: —

  Beginning Transfer...

  Transfer complete.

  Cold, wet darkness wrapped around him like a burial shroud.

  From somewhere deep and near, metal scraped against stone—slow, deliberate, rhythmic. Closer.

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