Chapter 2

No. I already had a name. A name given to me by my parents at birth. One nobody had uttered recently. But I held my tongue just before those objections could escape my lips. I had a feeling—something in my gut was telling me that I shouldn’t say that out loud. Maybe it was a bad habit from having lived so passively before, barely able to do anything at all. As I maintained my silence, the lord gave me a name. “Your name shall be End. The one who has ended. My necromancy has given you temporary life.” Temporary life. Necromancy. Even someone like me, who’d never really received a formal education, knew what that meant. A sorcerer of horrific darkness, capable of controlling the dead: a necromancer. Those terms were suddenly in my mind. And then I understood—I understood everything. Anyone would’ve readily grasped what had happened to me, given my memories and the words that had just been spoken. I had died. And now I’d been reawakened by this man’s wicked magical powers. “End, come with me,” the lord commanded curtly, leaving the laboratory-like room. I followed him in silence. My body moved. My hands, my legs—they moved as I willed them to. How many years had it been since I’d walked properly? It was a strange sensation, having a painless body. It didn’t seem real. I felt like I was in a dream. After leaving the room, the lord abruptly stopped and turned to face me. His eyes were gray, but they had a glint in them as though there was something burning within. As those fearsome eyes settled on me, I froze. “Hmm… You…seem to understand language. It would be a pity if verbal commands didn’t work on you.” “……” Verbal commands…not working? I couldn’t figure out what he meant by that. But then I remembered how, right after my consciousness had returned, my flesh had moved at the lord’s words rather than my own thoughts. That was…bad. I had no way of disobeying him, something that I understood instantly despite my confusion in a burst of perilous realization. I’d heard necromancers could control the living dead, in which case, I was no different from a puppet to this lord of mine. As I remained silent, he nodded as though satisfied for some reason, then resumed walking. I followed suit. The hallways weren’t much different from those in the mansion in my memories, where I’d resided during my previous life. But these halls lacked even a single light, which gave them an odd sense of oppressiveness. To be frank, I had no idea what was happening. Why had I been allowed to—or forced to—come back to life? Where was I? What was he going to make me do? He surely hadn’t wanted just to save me from my agony. But I did know one thing for sure. I needed to not question the lord right now, nor run away. I needed to get a handle on the situation. Thankfully, thinking was one thing I was very good at. It had been the only thing permitted to me in those days I spent bedridden and moaning in pain, resisting death. Even now, I couldn’t do much else except think, but given the lack of agony I felt, this body was much more preferable. After a few minutes of simply following the lord, we descended a set of stone stairs and came to a basement. The lord opened the large metal doors and entered a room that was bigger than I’d have expected for a basement. A room without light. A row of stone tables. I nearly cried out but managed to keep it in. The tables were placed at even intervals, and lying atop them, as if asleep…were corpses. Unlike me, however, they showed no signs of moving. It was my first time seeing a dead body. But for whatever reason, even though I was surprised, I didn’t feel fear. The lord’s breath came out in white puffs as he turned a cold gaze on me and gave me a short command: “Wait in this room until I give you an order.” The door closed, and the lord’s footsteps grew distant. I waited a few moments until they completely disappeared before I got to work. First, I ascertained how well I could move. I stretched my arms wide. I tried balancing on one foot. The agony that had tormented me for so many years was gone without a trace. I could wave my arms, move my head, stretch my back, and even jump short distances. It felt unbelievably pleasant. Like a dream. I nearly laughed without meaning to, but I caught myself, stopping at just a grin. Being underground, I doubted a little bit of noise would be enough to get the lord’s attention, but I understood nothing about the situation I was in. I wanted to be as careful as possible. This basement room reminded me of a morgue, but it wasn’t exactly a morgue—for a necromancer, this would be more of a storage room for raw materials, like a pantry closet. Five honest-to-goodness human corpses had been laid on the tables. Their ages ranged from midteens to thirties, and most were men. They’d been properly dressed, and while their bodies showed no signs of any major wounds, their faces were utterly lifeless. Upon first entering the room, I’d been surprised, but with time, that feeling faded away. I’d basically been a corpse in my past life anyway, and I’d already (most likely) died once, myself. I even wondered if I knew any of the deceased here, as childish an idea as it was. The morgue had a simple layout: a single door, and aside from the tables with the corpses on them, the only furniture was a bookshelf by the wall. The walls seemed to be made of stone; lightly tapping on them elicited a hard, solid sensation. Well, my old room was certainly more livable, I thought before deciding to examine the bookshelf. For now, I wanted as much information as I could get. I carefully opened a drawer. It wasn’t locked. It seemed the sorcerer Horos hadn’t assumed dead people would be walking about freely in this room. “……” The first drawer, which I’d opened excitedly, was empty, as were the second and third. The fourth had several objects inside it—strange-looking fangs—none of which helped explain the situation I found myself in. The fifth drawer was also empty, and the sixth had about a dozen vials filled with liquid. Nothing in the seventh drawer, either. Disappointed, I opened the final drawer, and my eyes widened at its contents. “Well, what have we here…” I spoke aloud in spite of myself, my ragged voice echoing through the room of corpses. Now that I thought about it, it’d been a long time since I’d spoken, too. And once again, it didn’t hurt to do so. How wonderful it was, not having any pain. Feeling cheery enough to hum a song, I took out what I’d found. Within the last remaining drawer…was a rectangular mirror. I used my clothing to wipe off the clouded surface, then peered into it. I saw myself as I was in my memories: slender features, narrow cheekbones, sunken eyes. My pale-white hair, which looked nothing like my relatives’, resembled an old man’s, but that was my natural color. I recalled a doctor once describing me as lifeless; maybe that doctor had been very skilled, considering I actually ended up dying. Now, however, my hair was properly combed instead of disheveled like I remembered. Someone must’ve fixed it up after I died to make me look nice. That was really kind of them. For a time, I stared at my reflection, awash in emotion before carefully returning the mirror to the drawer. I’d learned I was still me. It was a shame I couldn’t find anything else useful, but that was enough for now. I turned and observed the corpse-keeping room, then finally headed for the only door. The lord hadn’t locked it when he’d left. That much I was sure of since I’d listened closely to it shutting. I went for it quietly, not letting my footsteps make a sound. The mansion’s layout was a mystery to me, nor did I understand what was going on, either. But there was just too little information to be gleaned from this room. I… I knew nothing. But I wanted to know things—about this mansion and about the art of necromancy. And I wanted to know what I had become. I had a body that could move, unlike in life. Necromancers were evil beings, though. I wasn’t exactly keen on trusting this sorcerer, which meant I had to do what I could to survive. I gripped the metal doorknob, then slowly turned it, careful not to make any noise. Despite my apprehension, the knob turned easily. I guess it really was unlocked. Putting my ear to the door, I slowly opened it. Not a sound. Complete silence—I couldn’t even hear my own heartbeat or my blood flowing. Relieved, I gently pushed on the door to see what was on the other side. “……?” It wasn’t locked. Plus, it was slightly ajar now, if only by a few millimeters. But no matter how hard I pushed, it wouldn’t open any farther. Maybe there was something solid blocking it…? A lock? No, that couldn’t be. The door wasn’t locked, and I couldn’t feel anything holding it in place. I pressed against the door with my palms, then put my entire body weight into pushing it open. Or tried to. And that was when I figured it out. It hit me like a ton of bricks. The energy left my legs, and I slumped down to a sitting position. The door was metal and probably quite heavy. But no, the weight wasn’t the problem. Once more, I gently laid my hands on the door. Then, with a shudder, I steeled myself and pushed with every last bit of my strength. …At least, I thought I’d pushed. My hands hadn’t moved at all. No matter how much I strained, they wouldn’t go any farther. The words the lord said upon leaving crossed my mind. Wait in this room until I give you an order. Yes. In all likelihood, it wasn’t that the door was stuck but that I wasn’t actually pushing it in the first place. My body was prioritizing the lord’s orders over my own will. Just like when, right after waking up, I’d kneeled at his command. A chill ran down my spine. I couldn’t think properly. My hands, trembling, pushed hopelessly against the door, but despite my desperation, my body didn’t move. I thought I’d understood. But I hadn’t. Not really. I opened my eyes wide and shuddered. The feeling rising in my chest was neither fear nor shock. It was anger. It’d been so long since I’d felt such an intense emotion. For the first time, I realized how people’s expressions could twist when they were angry. I didn’t scream. I didn’t lose control. The emotion just stayed there in my chest. I thought I’d gained freedom. I’d acquired a body without any pain, one that could jump and leap. I’d been on the top of the world. I’d thought that, with this functioning body, I could do anything. But I was wrong. I hadn’t changed at all. Much more preferable than before? Please. In life, I had been racked with endless pain all over my body. I couldn’t even move my hands or legs. All I could do was become absorbed in my own thoughts to distract myself from the agony. Actually, I hadn’t even been able to concentrate very well. At the very least, though…nobody else had stolen control of my body. I was fine listening to directions. In a way, this lord saved my life. No matter how evil a sorcerer the man was, I was perfectly willing to cooperate. This, however, I could not forgive. I didn’t know why Lord Horos had resurrected me, but his power over my life and death was one thing I couldn’t tolerate. That I felt so passionately about this surprised even me. Apparently, despite how ready I’d been for it…I hadn’t actually wanted to die. And now I didn’t want to give up this second life, which I’d gained through a stroke of luck, for anything. No matter what I had to do to keep it. I tried to take a deep breath, only to notice that I wasn’t breathing at all. I put a hand to my chest, but I couldn’t feel my heart beating. How foolish could I be? That was when I finally grasped the extent of how deplorable a being I’d become. My body moved without pain—but I wasn’t living. I was merely moving. And come to think of it, when we arrived here, the lord’s breath had been white. The array of corpses didn’t seem to be rotting, either. Which meant this place…must have been cold. But I didn’t feel a chill. One of my senses was gone. More to the point, even though this room had no windows or light, I could see everything clearly. I had…changed. Perhaps that was why I didn’t feel fear when I looked at the corpses? The question lingered in my mind for a moment, but I quickly shook my head. It’s fine. I’m fully conscious and aware. I can think. I… I’m here. I could keep striving for the life that I had so craved. I’d been a sickly person. Tormented by inexplicable, all-reaching pain and a steadily weakening physical body, I could do nothing except await death—I’d been alive, but dead. Now I was dead, but alive. In which case… I probably needed to accept it. Even if I had become a being who belonged to darkness, that wasn’t important—not compared to my life ending before I could find any meaning for it. I rose to my feet and stared at the slightly open door, then quietly closed it. This time, that immovable door easily returned to its former position. I wasn’t surprised. The lord’s orders, after all. Perhaps it was a special authority, as the one who had woken the dead, to give me commands that would overrule my own desires. But there had to be a catch. There had to be. The first thing the lord had said was It would be a pity if verbal commands didn’t work on you. That meant that, for the dead like me whom he called forth, there was a chance that the verbal commands he gave wouldn’t work. Whatever I had to do…I would survive. I would gather information—the information I would need to somehow wrest myself free from the lord’s control. I was all too ignorant about necromancy, about this mansion, and even about my changed self. Now was the time to learn more. I would endure patiently, sharpening my fangs. Waiting, like thinking, was something I was good at. And when I considered that would help me going forward, maybe my previous life—one spent waiting patiently and doing nothing—had meaning after all. I rallied my spirits again, then stood in the spot where the lord had released me and quietly stared straight ahead. Stopping myself in that place, I began to count in my mind. I didn’t feel drowsy, tired, or hungry. My eyes didn’t become dry, even without blinking. All I did, as I stared ahead of me, was dispassionately, emotionlessly count to myself—pretending to be a mere corpse, just like the others around me.