Xu Xi understood well—sorcerers were a mad group.
For power, they would commune with the Underworld.
For truth, they would alter their own bodies.
For transcendence, they would abandon ethics altogether.
From the current state of the sorcerer world and so classified information from the Supernatural Bureau, Xu Xi knew that the greatest priority for survival in the sorcerer world was to be wary of other sorcerers.
Because of this, even though he was deeply interested in the “hero” and wanted to study the mysterious balance between life and death, he exercised patience. He remained cautious, guarding against potential dangers.
It wasn’t until recently—after witnessing with his own eyes the hero’s sacrificial battle—that he was certain. There was no one pulling the strings behind her.
Every fight, every action, was of her own will.
Half an hour later, the rain stopped.
In a remote, withered forest far from the village, Xu Xi sat quietly. His black robe shimred faintly as a cleansing spell automatically repelled the surrounding mud.
By contrast, the half-undead girl was in a miserable state.
Her armor was heavily damaged.
Her longsword had a broken tip.
Her steel helt continuously dripped with rain and mud.
Xu Xi had already seen her true face. Yet, even so, she insisted on keeping her helt on, not daring to converse with her face uncovered.
“S-Sorcerer… sir?” she called out cautiously.
Her face was hidden behind the helt, making it impossible to see her expression. But just from her voice, Xu Xi could imagine the fearful look she must be wearing.
“Are you that afraid of ?” Xu Xi extended a hand. A droplet of rainwater fell from the dead branches above, landing precisely in his palm, scattering into a cool mist.
He was certain—he had never t this undead girl before.
Which ant…
It wasn’t him she feared.
She was afraid of the sorcerer nad Xu Xi.
“I… I… No, not at all!”
She sat rigidly upright, and despite her battered armor, her noble deanor was still evident.
First, she gave a slight nod—then quickly shook her head in a panic.
After hesitating for a mont, she rose and bowed solemnly. “Thank you for your help.”
Her polite and refined behavior made Xu Xi even more certain—this girl had once been a noble.
“Sit down. I accept your thanks.”
Xu Xi lightly patted the spot beside him, motioning for the undead girl to return to her seat.
“Yes, Sir Sorcerer.”
She obeyed without resistance. It seed she could sense Xu Xi’s goodwill, and her posture was no longer as stiff.
The so-called seat was rely a wooden stump.
Iron-clad armor, skeletal fra, and wood collided with one another.
In the silent, withered forest, every sound was sharp and clear.
To be honest, facing a fully armored skeleton at such close range… the atmosphere felt oddly surreal.
Darkness.
Stillness.
Silence.
Without wasting ti, Xu Xi got straight to the point. “Can you tell your na? And the reason for your undead transformation?”
“You an…”
“Everything.”
“…”
The undead girl fell into silence.
After a brief pause, she spoke. “Before I answer… may I tell you a story?”
“A story about… a friend.”
Everyone knew that when people said “a friend,” they were actually talking about themselves.
Xu Xi nodded slightly. “Go ahead.”
And so, under Xu Xi’s gaze, the girl—whose body had beco undead, clad entirely in iron—began recounting a tale from a distant past.
A ti long before the Undead Cataclysm.
A ti when the world of sorcerers was still a paradise for the living.
There once was a noble family, the Crowfields, who ruled over a vast and thriving land.
The lord was a humble and kind man, a renowned knight whose combat prowess rivaled that of beastn and other powerful races.
His wife was gentle and beautiful, and together, they had a daughter—
Sylvia Crowfield.
She grew up in happiness, cherished by her family.
Even at a young age, she had already attained the extraordinary strength of a true knight.
Her platinum-blonde hair.
Her erald-green eyes.
She was hailed as the “Jewel of Light.”
“Sylvia, my child, you will be the pride of the Crowfield family!”
If everything had gone as expected, Sylvia would have continued to grow, eventually reaching the level of a grand knight like her father, taking over as the next lord of the Crowfield domain.
But accidents…
Were called accidents precisely because they happened without warning.
The rising star, Sylvia, suddenly fell ill with a terrible disease—one that could not be cured through ordinary ans.
Her father exhausted nearly all his wealth to hire a legendary sorcerer to heal her.
And that was where it all went wrong.
“Foolish mortals.”
The sorcerer sneered.
Instead of casting a healing spell, he unleashed a massive necromantic ritual.
That man was a wicked sorcerer who specialized in death magic.
His goal had never been to cure Sylvia.
From the very beginning, he had been toying with the Crowfield family.
Like an amusent, like ants beneath his feet—he mocked them, delighted in their ignorance.
With the activation of his large-scale necromantic spell, all life within the noble estate was forcibly transford into the undead.
Their consciousness was erased.
“But Sylvia… was lucky.”
The undead girl spoke, her voice carrying a distant sorrow.
She explained—Sylvia’s parents had prepared all kinds of life potions for her recovery, stacking them by her sickbed in advance.
Those potions helped slow down her undead transformation.
But that alone wouldn’t have been enough.
The real reason Sylvia survived was because of another, even more terrifying catastrophe.
A more powerful sorcerer had communed with the Underworld, triggering a worldwide Undead Cataclysm.
One of the outbreak sites… was right within the Crowfield territory.
The collision of two undead energies, combined with the massive doses of life potions, accidentally halted Sylvia’s transformation.
She beca a monster.
Her body turned into a complete skeleton.
Yet… she retained her consciousness.
Her face remained partially intact, but that only made her even more terrifying than if she had lost it entirely.
By the ti she regained her awareness, a thousand years had already passed.
Everything she once cherished had beco nothing more than remnants of the past.
Houses had collapsed, unfit for living.
The once-thriving domain was now a wasteland, with only a few villages remaining.
Her loved ones had perished, reduced to mindless skeletons.
“Father?”
“Mother?”
She had tried calling out to them, hoping to awaken so fragnt of their forr selves.
But it was futile.
The two skeletons, wearing tattered remnants of their clothes, their soul flas flickering weakly, lunged at her—attacking.
Over and over, she tried.
Over and over, she failed.
All she got in return were bestial roars.
And the last remnants of their dying wills—
“Kill you… kill you… protect… Sylvia…”
In the end,
With trembling hands, Sylvia raised her sword.
She ended her parents’ suffering herself, granting their souls peace.
She walked out of her ruined ho, her undead body and monstrous face once again stepping onto the lands of her family.
Sylvia wanted to protect the remaining survivors of this land.
But everywhere she went—
She was t only with screams of terror.
“A monster! It’s a monster!!”
She was no longer the “Jewel of Light” in people’s eyes.
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