“—Good morning. Um, Lady No Death, are you here?”
It was the faint voice of a woman—it went beyond timid and verged on fearful. That wasn’t part of the dream. It was real.
Consciousness arrived.
The ceiling above was her own. Movement in the next room. The fog of sleep was not yet cleared, but she sensed no hostility.
“If I must dream, let it be chaotic and wild,” she muttered. Sighing, she pulled a hand into view. Her fingers damp—with tears? “I’m up,” she said, louder. “Gimme a minute.”
“A-absolutely! Pray do not rush for the likes of me. I can wait as long as it takes!”
She’d said nothing that could be construed as a threat, but the woman took it as one. Repressing the urge to sigh again, she got up, grabbing a robe from the chair nearby.
She knew her visitor’s voice.
With a female colleague, she need not worry about making herself decent. And she didn’t want to make her wait out there that long.
She opened the door, stepped out, and found the woman standing at attention. Like she had no clue what else to do with herself.
“—Sorry for the delay. You should have sat down, at least.”
“No, no, this hardly counts as a delay. And, um, eh-heh-heh. Lady No Death, I cannot apologize enough for disturbing your slumber. I hope you will forgive this trespass.”
She was forcing a smile and bobbing her head. Worse—though likely unconscious—she was rubbing her hands together. A pathetic bearing for one of the Theocracy’s finest, a hero of humanity, the eleventh seat of the Black Scripture, the one they called Infinite Mana.
“Then have a seat.”
“No, no, no, no, that won’t be necessary. I’ll be on my way the moment I’ve said my piece. I could not sully the couch in your room…”
Her hands were waving all over the place.
No Death could not imagine why she was being so extreme.
“Sitting won’t do any harm, and I’d never be angry with you for it. You…really don’t need to be so servile. We’re colleagues.”
The woman’s smile grew all the more obsequious.
“Eh-heh-heh, an insect like me is not worthy of that designation, Lady No Death.”
“Seriously, don’t— Look, of all the Black Scripture members who’ve sparred with me, you’re by far the most servile. And you started out so cocky!”
The Black Scripture were heroes. And that could go to people’s heads, make them overconfident. One of No Death–No Life’s roles was to beat that out of them. The result was that the only Scripture members who knew her were the ones who’d gotten arrogant.
But most Black Scripture members made that error eventually. This woman was no exception. The captain had also survived training with her—frankly, she regretted going too far with him—but was now talking to her normally. This lady was the only one who acted like this.
Maybe she’d beaten too much of her.
I’ll have to factor core personality in next time.
“Being arrogant’s a problem, but you can act like yourself.”
“Eh…eh-heh-heh. I could never do that before you, Lady No Death.”
Her hands were rubbing faster.
No Death didn’t think she’d done anything to provoke this.
She’d just received all her spells head-on and emerged without so much as a scratch, walked right up to her, knocked her down, climbed on top, and then repeatedly punched her in the face. Since it was training, she’d been careful not to kill her.
Even on her back, the woman had refused to concede, desperately casting more spells. No Death had considered her one of the tougher cookies. And one who clearly burned with ambition. Her efforts had paid off, and now she could keep casting through pain.
And that high opinion of her made this attitude all the sadder.
“…So what brings you here? I think I can guess.”
“O-oh? You are a brill—”
“Spare me the flattery.”
“Erm. Right. The elf extermination army have made further advances, so I’ve been sent to ask you to ready yourself, Lady No Death.”
“Ah…”
When No Death smiled, the woman before her winced. Was her face that frightening? This was her usual smile.
“Then I can finally get this bone out of my throat.”
✦ ✦ ✦
✦ ✦ ✦
There is a creature known as the night lich, a superior form of elder lich born from the absorption of still more mana. Throughout history, only a handful have ever existed—a fact for which the living are eternally grateful.
The power of a night lich is immense.
They have access to spells beyond human reach—ranging into the ultrahigh-level spells of the sixth tier. With that power, they are a match for even high-ranked dragons, no matter how long-lived. Worse, they possess all manner of skills, command hordes of undead, boast brilliant minds, and ensconce themselves within nigh-invulnerable fortresses.
They are rulers of countries, undead kings.
There were three night liches of considerable fame.
✦ ✦ ✦
The dragon night lich, Kuphantera Argoros.
The titan night lich, Hyaeon.
And Fear, the Shadow Lord, whose true name was unknown but presumed to be a night lich.
✦ ✦ ✦
Each held sway over a domain the equivalent of a small country, terrorizing the lands around. For this reason, the race itself was a symbol of horror, discussed in terms otherwise reserved for creatures of myth that had wrought havoc upon the heaven and earth.
Though a member of that terrifying species, Banejieli “The Abyss” Anshas, had remained shrouded in darkness, unknown to the world.
And yet, here he was, bowing low as he exited a massive room. With six arms and two heads, he had not only mastered the sixth tier of arcane magic but the other disciplines to the same degree. He was a fearsome creature no human could ever hope to defeat. If he ever emerged into the light, the three night liches of infamy would soon become the four. Instead, he had founded a clandestine society and remained the most senior member.