Chapter 214: Undead Doctor 2

I'm so tired...

Faintly, he perceived the scent of gunpowder and blood drifting through his vision. He had been staring in a daze for a long time, yet the deity of death had not taken his consciousness. This waiting was too prolonged, too vile.

And so, he dazedly sat up.

He hadn't imagined he could still sit up, but regardless, it felt like a reflex, similar to waking from an excessively long sleep, feeling unable to move, but eventually, one always gets up.

It was night, and the field was faintly chilly. He found this world somewhat incomprehensible. Why was he here? Why was it like this? What should the real scene look like?

It took a while for him to register that there should have been Thorn Fortress, the fires and smoke of war, tens of thousands of soldiers, rivers of blood, and Grace... But they were all gone. He was certain those weren't dreams; although there had been moments of weakness, years of tempering had forged his spirit into something like bedrock, giving him a firm grasp on reality. Yet, what lay before him was also not a dream: this grassy slope, the trees behind, the vast city in the distance, the moon in the sky. This was... Yael.

Yael, the major northern city of the Rhine Empire, was where he had lived from his parents' death until he was fifteen. At fifteen, he inherited the title of Viscount in the Imperial Capital and consequently moved south. From then on, various shadows and immense pressures silently spread over him. Reflecting on it, those conspiracies and calculations, the myriad coincidences like the great force of destiny pushing from behind, meant he could only drift along aimlessly, never returning to this place. He had only heard that at the end of the Seven Years' War, it was attacked by Bandu, and the entire city was destroyed. He had not seen the city's fall, but in any case, it shouldn't be the scene before him now.

At this moment, the bright moon had risen above the treetops. Looking down from the slope, Yael's city walls stretched before him as always, embracing both left and right. At the city gate, people could still be seen entering and exiting. The light of torches extended into the distant forest in the dim night, while the city's lights rippled outwards on the other side: the market, commoners' quarter, noble district, all a continuous expanse of torchlight and oil lamps, even the magical glow emanating from the most striking enormous mage tower. Looking back slightly, the lights of the Laurel Watchtower, nestled on the mountainside, also flickered in the distance.

Everything was exactly as it had been in his memories.

He looked at his hands; even now, they had returned to their teenage appearance. It was as if his teenage self had come to play outside the city, fallen into a deep sleep on the hillside, dreamt a long dream, and awakened to find himself gazing at Yael, unchanged from his memories, just as it was before him now.

Yet, that nightmare had been too real, and he had long passed the age where he could be fooled by illusions, even in dreams. Now, after sitting in a daze for a long time, he instinctively waved his hand—the hand of a young boy—and the small amount of magic began to feed back information contained within this simple movement. A branch of the large tree, over ten meters behind him, gently swayed, and a leaf struggled free from its twig, drifting away as if blown by the wind, landing on his hand.

The boy gazed wearily at the leaf. Gradually, it began to tremble, the small tremors growing faster and faster. Within seconds, the edges of the leaf started to decompose due to the high-frequency magical vibration, turning into dust and blowing away. After about ten more seconds, the leaf completely vanished amidst these vibrations.

"Ah..." He exhaled a long breath and stood up on the grassy slope. So much was incomprehensible, so much impossible to think about. This body had been thoroughly rested and was full of vitality, yet what filled his mind more was still the weariness of what felt like a lifetime of struggle. The end he had anticipated hadn't arrived, so he could only continue walking.

He stumbled down the mountain, passed through the torchlit city gates, walked along the long road, and moved among the nocturnal pedestrians. Patrol soldiers walked by, and noble carriages sped past him. He didn't know how much time had passed when he saw the gates of the Count's manor, deep in his memory. He walked inside. Someone greeted him on the way, but he was too weary to respond, simply making his way to what must be his room, pushing open the door, closing it, and collapsing heavily onto the large bed.

If this was his final destination, he was prepared never to wake again. If it was a dream, then everything about the future would simply have to be considered in the future.

He was truly exhausted and just wanted to temporarily shed all his memories and burdens, to sleep soundly and carefree.

In the quiet night, the fragment of thought that had slipped into sleep still raced forward. The city lights shimmered and shifted. Gradually, the city gates closed, and the band of light outside the city seemed severed as darkness spread into the distance. Inside the massive city, however, the light grew more intense. There were banquets held in noble mansions, an atmosphere of revelry, and the warmer glow of shops after they had closed. A small fire broke out in one part of the city, then the points of light spread, the fire was extinguished, and then the lights dispersed again.

Continuing onward, the lights of the commoners' and commercial districts gradually thinned. After midnight, the boisterous banquets also began to disperse. The city grew quiet, enveloped by darkness from all directions across the fields. At the deepest point of night, the city seemed to cease operation, with only the minimal points of light necessary to sustain life still shining. Even the enormous magic tower appeared to have fallen into slumber. In the thin mist, the eastern sky began to break free from the deepest darkness.

Dots of light flickered on again, inside and outside the city, beginning to gather life and vitality. This was the most evident moment of the city's metabolism. Sunlight broke through the faint white of dawn in the east, its rays spreading irresistibly. The city began to enter the bustling, vibrant daytime: a noisy morning, a gradually settling, glaringly bright noon, until the light painted the city a lazy ochre. In an inconspicuous ducal manor in Yael, amidst the usual scenes of work and life, several people were talking.

"Has he not woken up yet?"

"No, and he didn't eat dinner yesterday. He's been asleep ever since. Should we send Gonia in to check?"

"...No need. If he's sleeping well, his body is fine. I can hear him, his breathing is normal."

"But Young Master Shaga never missed classes before."

"...*Cough*. Let's ask him after he wakes up."

In the courtyard, the Count's butler, Charles, and a gardener named Reggie were conversing. After a brief conversation, they resumed their previous tasks. The Count's manor currently housed only one underage nominal noble and master. Over thirty people lived directly under this noble title, and as long as no major incidents occurred, the manor's normal operation had to be maintained.

Peace and quiet reigned as usual, everyone carrying out their duties. After some time, someone informed Butler Charles, "Young Master Shaga is awake."

"Is he alright? Have meals been prepared?"

"The meals are ready. Young Master Shaga seems fine, but... he's by the main gate... sitting there..."

"Hmm?"

"Uh... he's sitting on the steps."

"...I understand. I'm coming right away."

Charles thought for a moment, then walked through the long corridor toward the main gate of the Count's manor. Stepping out through the side door next to the main entrance, he saw Shaga Barrymore, currently the half-master of the manor, sitting on the steps. The slender and delicate young man was unceremoniously sitting on the stone steps, hands clasped over his knees, chin resting on his arms. He watched the occasional pedestrians walking on the road outside the manor, seemingly lost in thought.

Perhaps... he's heartbroken...

Charles thought to himself.

Although the young master was still young, for many, it was indeed the age of nascent romance. This reason could explain his unusually long sleep from last night until now. Thinking this, Charles approached Young Master Shaga from the side.

"Hmm... Charles."

Shaga didn't turn around, still watching a passing pedestrian. He paused before speaking Charles's name, his tone subtly different from before, carrying a hint of weariness, as if he had searched through his memories multiple times to recall it. Of course, this was merely a feeling.

"Young Master Shaga, sitting like this is contrary to a noble's image and upbringing..."

"Oh, is it..."

In the past, a reminder like this would have made the young man named Shaga stand up immediately. It wasn't that he feared the butler, perhaps it was more respect; his temperament was so agreeable that he almost never caused trouble for anyone. But this time, he simply replied indifferently, nodded, and sat for a little longer before finally standing up from there, turning to reveal a clear smile.

"Understood."

Not long after, he sat at the long table in the Count's manor dining room and began to eat. There wasn't much food: white bread, salted beef, Yael's specialty black taro paste, and a glass of freshly squeezed juice. He ate slowly, carefully savoring the sensations as the food touched his taste buds. Sunlight streamed diagonally in through the open doorway. Occasionally, servants from the Count's manor walked by. No one could sense that the now quiet young man was already very different from the calm and introverted Young Master Shaga he had been before.

For the next two days, he remained quietly immersed, observing everything around him in a bewildering blend of novelty and unfamiliarity. He slept, ate, greeted people, and in the daytime, he left the Count's manor to walk through the sunny marketplace. It had been many years since he had walked so leisurely, and many years since he had seen such peaceful streets. The countless deaths he had once witnessed had all been erased; they hadn't happened yet. He had not yet become the necromancer, tormented within, constantly struggling under the heavy weight of destiny. He was still just a boy...

He sat on the steps by the road, watching pedestrians pass by. He sat there for half an hour, just watching, perfectly still. Or he would walk throughout Yael, simply walking. He also approached Yael Noble Academy, where he was supposed to be studying now, a place both familiar and strange, but he didn't go in. He hadn't attended classes for these two days, but it wasn't a significant issue. Management in noble academies wasn't strict regarding attendance. Any noble family with even a modest background could afford private magic or martial arts tutors, and the general courses offered by the school were not mandatory for most students.

Two years passed like this before his past memories finally settled into this new reality.

Year 506 of the Warring States Calendar, Yael. This was his thirteenth summer.

Two years later, he would formally inherit the title of Count and consequently move to the Imperial Capital, studying at the Imperial Academy of Lucius from then on. During his time in the Imperial Capital, his uncle Patrick, the vice-patriarch of the Barrymore family, took great care of him, allowing him to lead a seemingly unusually warm life. In the year 510, at the age of twenty, he took command of the Empire's Sixth Legion, becoming the youngest legion commander in imperial history, and also one of the youngest Sword Saints.

In the year 513, the shadows cast by Uncle Patrick transformed into overwhelming real pressure. He began to understand the true cause of his parents' deaths, grasped certain enmities, acquired the Necromancy Codex, and finally comprehended the long-standing painstaking efforts. Then, he instigated a rebellion.

In the year 514, he died and became a heretic necromancer.

In the year 515, the rebellion he had initiated, after a year of dormancy, was finally manipulated, erupting fully and signaling the start of the Seven Years' War. He traveled everywhere, witnessing countless battles and deaths, until the great escape from Thorn Fortress in 521, a massacre where hundreds of thousands lost their lives...

Now, none of these painful events, which made him feel as if his entire heart were being ripped out just by remembering them, had yet to occur.

Currently, the Rhine Empire was at its most vibrant. As one of the three great noble families of Rhine, the Barrymore family wielded astonishing power. His uncle, Patrick, was among the few at the very core of the family's power, while he was merely a dispensable collateral relative of the Barrymore household. Patrick's machinations had long been set in motion. After his death in the previous life, he had thought that even if his power had been several times greater, the rebellion would likely still have failed. Perhaps it was precisely because he understood the vast disparity in power at that time that he made such a desperate, decisive struggle, for if the enemy gained the upper hand, he might not even have had a chance to fight.

Now, he had seven years to prepare for the outbreak of all these events.

Some things could be very complicated, and some could be very simple. His past self had only seen a small part of the ultimate results of Patrick's schemes. Perhaps Patrick's people were already in the Count's manor now. He didn't understand the ultimate goal of these machinations, thinking perhaps the hatred was just incidental. He had even speculated that Patrick might have been involved in the entire Seven Years' War and the fall of the Rhine Empire. To precisely dismantle all of this, point by point, would be very difficult, and he didn't even know which scheme was the most crucial. But no matter what, some things could be simple.

Regardless, Patrick himself was undeniably a central figure from whom he couldn't escape. He had seven years, and enough time to regain his peak power. By then, hidden in the shadows, he would find the core of that conspiracy, including Patrick, and deliver a fatal blow. And even if the power behind Patrick was immense, he would no longer be a burden by then. He could always protect himself; if he couldn't win, he could simply leave. Even sailing away from the continent wouldn't matter. In any case, he could at least accomplish that much.

There had been times when he yearned greatly for power, but back then, he always sought it in vain. Later, after acquiring such power, the power itself lost its meaning. After all those experiences, he had lost the desire to compete or fight fiercely with others. It wasn't necessary to kill anyone, nor to surpass anyone, because no matter what, the dead would never wake again. In that final battle at Thorn Fortress, he had never even considered fighting; in his view, it was merely a simple process of walking towards death.

However, now, these powers finally held some meaning.

The sensation of manipulating those powers, of resonating with magic, was still crystal clear in his mind. He had experienced all that needed experiencing. All that was required now was to systematically improve this body's aptitude. Memories resided in the soul, while the coordination of complex controls and conditioned reflexes were etched onto the flesh. Repeating these over seven years would not be difficult.

On a summer evening, the young boy sat under a large tree in the Count's manor, gently drawing symbols with a twig, calculating the steps for his renewed journey. Truth be told, his aptitude in both magic and martial arts was quite poor. This might have been because he was of mixed noble and commoner blood. Since the ancient Magic Empire, many noble bloodlines indeed possessed unique advantages in magical and martial cultivation. However, over the past millennium, various noble bloodlines had gradually been diluted, which was why major noble families now strictly restricted intermarriage with commoners.

He was an extreme case of this mediocre aptitude. For this reason, his father, Marquis Lanster, remained unmarried in the Barrymore family's genealogy until his death, effectively an unrecognized illegitimate child, with no right to inherit the title. Later, when he began practicing necromancy, he initially made no progress. It wasn't until he applied necromancy to healing that his power began to advance by leaps and bounds, eventually reaching a level difficult even to define.

Perhaps he was simply very talented at healing...

Now, naturally, there was no need to start with necromancy again; it wouldn't be good if people found out. In terms of manipulating basic elements, all powers eventually led to the same path. He had once admired how people fought... Hmm, might as well become a swordsman... Hadn't Cecilia said that men must have a sense of humor?

Thinking of Cecilia, his gaze swept over the outer walls of the Count's manor, drifting towards the distant magic tower, which was also the location of Yael Noble Academy. On the other side, Charles approached again.

"Young Master Shaga, these past few days... you seem not to have gone to school."

"I'll go." He turned, saying apologetically.

Yes, it was time to see her...

In his previous life, the only woman he had been physically intimate with was, in a sense... his teacher, and his wife...

In the summer of Warring States Year 506, Cecilia Ravenbell, a woman ten years Shaga's senior, was serving as an alchemy teacher at Yael Noble Academy. She was a girl from an obscure viscount family, with an alcoholic father and a promiscuous mother. She had an older brother who was accustomed to arrogance and swagger, and a younger brother who prided himself on being a philanderer, as well as a sister who was obsessed with marrying into the imperial family. As for Cecilia, she had always been an incongruous member of this family. Of course, perhaps to outsiders, this red-haired, hot-bodied woman, who was always ill-tempered towards others, was simply the loud and awkward eldest daughter of the family, no different from the rest. She had, in fact, used such a description to mock herself more than once.

Although her personality was not good—this manifested in many ways, too numerous to detail—the girl named Cecilia had an indescribable talent for array studies from a young age. Array studies was a minor branch of alchemy, characterized by being very mentally taxing, very resource-intensive, and having a very narrow scope of application, and so on. On the continent at this time, this discipline was somewhat of limited value. It was mainly applied to immovable structures or objects, like dungeons, treasures, and so forth.

It might sound like becoming a master array-hunter could make one very rich, but that wasn't actually the case. Array power was limited. After a dungeon, a knowledgeable array alchemist could safely clear a path, but similarly, a powerful warrior or mage could also forcefully dismantle it. Moreover, the effort and investment required to train a warrior or mage were far less than for an array alchemist.

Nevertheless, due to her accomplishments in array studies, Cecilia joined a mercenary group at seventeen, traveling throughout the Empire for several years. Three years ago, she finally arrived in Yael, took up a teaching position at the Noble Academy, and temporarily settled down, while also consolidating the experience she had gained over those years.

Shaga's initial interactions with her were quite simple. Noble Academy courses were not strict—schools of this kind across the continent were primarily research-focused. They attracted talents from various fields to serve as teachers with generous benefits, but their main purpose was actually to provide them with research facilities and resources. Teachers of basic courses were very thorough, but for advanced, specialized subjects, it entirely depended on the teacher's interest. Focusing on their own research, they wouldn't easily impart deeply personal insights to every student. In fact, this wasn't beneficial for the development of ordinary students either. Of course, if a student was interested, they could naturally seek out suitable teachers for advanced inquiries, making the nature of their interactions more akin to mutual research and discussion.

At this time, the distinctions between various specialized subjects were still relatively blurred. Martial arts and magic, the two major categories, were quite subdivided, with dedicated teachers for each branch. However, for subjects like alchemy, the teachers had to be quite learned. While Cecilia excelled in array studies, her title was still uniformly 'Alchemy Mentor.' She would also teach basic alchemy courses to interested students, and this included potion-making, which Shaga chose as his major.

For Shaga, who had intended to become a professional healer since childhood, he focused on two subjects: majoring in potion-making and minoring in healing magic, primarily light-based, also known as white magic. In fact, most healers would choose to major in white magic, as potion-making was not widely applied at the time and was usually a minor subject. However, Shaga's talent for magic was simply too poor, so he could only choose to delve deeper into potion-making.

Most students at noble academies had some background. If they genuinely had a desired direction for development, their family connections often allowed them to find excellent teachers. This was one reason the school was relatively permissive with these students, because while ordinary academies were still teaching basic courses to commoner children, these noble children, who commanded abundant resources, would have already mastered the necessary foundational courses, no matter how slow they might be.

But even so, having come to school, they naturally wouldn't choose subjects or teachers they were truly uninterested in. Since Cecilia was obscure and her main subject, array studies, was truly esoteric, children who chose to study in her class were either precocious and interested in her fiery figure, simply trying to pass time, or too lazy to change their registration after filling out the form. Even so, Cecilia was responsible for only a dozen or so students. Among them, it was Shaga, who wanted to study potion-making, who was relatively attentive to the course, becoming one of the most serious students in her class.

Such a connection was not enough for two people ten years apart in age to develop a deeper entanglement. In terms of personality, the fiery red-haired Cecilia was cold and harsh towards outsiders, but lazy and permissive towards those she was close to; once she started research, she would forget to eat and sleep. Shaga, on the other hand, was introverted and shy, unable to retaliate even when bullied.

For three years, apart from their interactions inside and outside the classroom, the two had no deeper relationship. Although they occasionally had casual conversations, it was merely due to Cecilia's laid-back nature. Shaga's talent in potion-making wasn't good either; his questions mostly remained at a beginner level, which Cecilia could still answer. If a question was truly profound, Cecilia would casually tell him to ask other, more specialized mentors. Eventually, she even stated quite directly, "With your brain, it would be easier if you just didn't study potions. If you're single-minded, stick with Holy Light spells; even without talent, you'll achieve more than with alchemy." Fortunately, by this time, Shaga understood her lazy nature, and this remark was mostly a joke, so he wasn't too disheartened.

In the year 508, Angelina succeeded to the title of Count, and Shaga moved from Yael to the Imperial Capital. By then, his transfer procedures had also been completed. At the same time, Cecilia's contract with Yael expired. The Noble Academy wished to keep her, but Cecilia wanted to experience the Imperial Capital, so she traveled south with Shaga. Later, Shaga entered Lucius Academy of Magic and Martial Arts in the Imperial Capital, and Cecilia also became a teacher at the same academy. And then...

What followed was rather peculiar...

There were some fragmented events. In the year 511, when Shaga was approaching his eighteenth birthday, they became intimate. It was hard to say whether Shaga seduced his teacher or if the teacher casually seduced the naive Shaga, but in any case, the relationship continued. Cecilia didn't show excessive fervor for this relationship, and at the time, Shaga struggled to understand why Teacher Cecilia would choose him. The only certainty was that, from beginning to end, he was indeed the only man Cecilia had been intimate with.

Men must have a sense of humor—that's what Cecilia said. Of course, this humor wasn't about telling jokes; she admired a calm, composed personality, unmoving even when facing a mountain collapse. Yet, until the very end, Shaga, always indecisive, was truly far from possessing such humor. Because of this, throughout that period, he often wondered if he was merely a fleeting visitor and an episode in her life.

It wasn't until the autumn of the year 514, when he died and was branded a heretic, then hunted, that Cecilia, who could have stayed out of it, died to save him. Only then did he understand that, from beginning to end, Cecilia had truly done everything a wife should. He remembered then that she was severely wounded, and he cried, asking her why she would do such a thing. She merely smiled and said, "What about me?"

Many things in life don't necessarily come from planning, nor are they always clear. But often, what initially feels like a mere coincidence or something to muddle through, if continued, becomes a lifetime.

Naturally, the present-day Cecilia stared blankly for a while, then lifted her head, looking at the roof. After a good while, she took a deep breath. "Hit on me? Seduce me? Oh!"

"Uh, that... that was a sense of humor."

"But..." Cecilia glanced at Shaga. "If you're proposing, shouldn't you kneel?"

"Oh." Shaga nodded, immediately preparing to kneel on one knee. However, he had already strapped the 1.8-meter greatsword to his back, which prevented him from kneeling. He awkwardly unstrapped the greatsword, holding it in his hands and about to set it aside, when he saw a flash of light in Cecilia's eyes. She brought two fingers together and suddenly swiped, cutting precisely across the greatsword.

Bang—

A projectile smashed through a first-floor window, shot out, and landed on the grass over ten meters away.

From the window, the fiery red-haired woman glared out in annoyance. "Now *that's* humor... Get lost, you horny brat!"

"Hahahahaha... That hurts..." Holding the greatsword, Shaga chuckled with difficulty on the grass. Cecilia's strike not only sent him flying but also contained a subtle protective force to prevent him from truly being injured, though it still hurt. In the darkness, the boy rested on the grass for a while, then jumped up and said, "Teacher Cecilia, I'll pay for the window!" and quickly ran off.

To think she was confessed to by an annoying noble child.

Today was a boring day, Cecilia concluded.

How to carry a sword on one's back was a very serious question.

His greatsword, "Transverse City," was nearly two meters long, while his height was 1.8 meters, so the difference wasn't significant. Transverse City's scabbard was a piece of magnetic black iron, integrated with advanced alchemy transformations, capable of contracting and expanding. Worn on the back of his armor, weighing several tens of pounds, when Transverse City was placed