Clang! Clang! Clang!
The rhythmic sound of nails being driven into the coffin.
And the hymns sung by priests who did not suit the Black Tower in the slightest.
“......”
The young man, Silgrim Fonerth, could hardly believe this spectacle was real.
Lowering his gaze slightly, he saw the closed coffin.
The luxurious black coffin was shut tight without a single crack, rendering the inside completely invisible.
Clang!
Soon, the final nail was driven in.
“......”
It still felt unreal.
Even as people carried the coffin out, and even as he watched that coffin being buried under a mound of dirt.
Even up until the moment the funeral came to an end, it remained so.
His mind was dazed, as if he were dreaming.
As he stared blankly at the gravestone, the elders of the Black Tower approached one by one and patted his shoulder.
“He was a great man. As his disciple, you should be able to do even better.”
“In accordance with the laws of the Black Tower, the position of Tower Master will remain vacant for the coming year.”
“Personally, I have high expectations. I hope you reach the realm of Master within that time.”
“Let us work well together from now on, filling in each other’s shortcomings.”
“......”
Watching him make no reply at all, the elders cleared their throats and left the spot.
“It seems he needs some time alone.”
“Hmph, I never knew he had that sort of temperament.”
“Still, was he not his master? He must be sorrowful.”
Silgrim thought.
Was he sad right now?
He felt like he was sad.
Yet he also felt like he wasn’t...... quite.
It was an intensely subtle and profound emotion.
‘What is this?’
What was certain was that it was a feeling he had never experienced in his life.
While he was lost in deep contemplation, he could hear the conversation of the black mages around him.
“He was a magnificent man.”
“It was an honor to serve him as Tower Master.”
“He’ll probably be remembered in history for generations to come.”
It was true.
His master had been gentle for a master of the Black Tower, and thanks to that, he had contributed greatly to bringing the Black Tower into the light.
He had taught countless black mages, improved existing formulas, and left behind new arts as well.
Just as they said, he would be recorded in the history books.
‘......What does any of that matter?’
He remembered it vividly.
The moment his master, lying in bed, drew his last breath; the body heat fading from the hand he held in his.
He was a being who had appeared so great in life, yet upon dying, he seemed astonishingly insignificant.
Even that high-renowned black mage had become a corpse, no different from any other corpse.
“......”
People say.
That he must have lived a life without regrets.
That it was a good life.
Next, he recalled the face lying motionless within the coffin.
‘Who sets the standard for what a good life is?’
It wasn't as though he had said so himself, had he?
Silgrim knew.
His master had an uncompleted research.
He had wanted to see that research through to the end.
He had also said there was someone he wanted to see again, just one last time.
A woman with whom he had parted ways long ago.
‘The last...... the end.......’
The moment he directly sensed death—something he had never once contemplated seriously—he realized.
That this emotion causing his heart to race right now was fear.
“......A great black mage rests here.”
He read the inscription written on the tombstone.
Memories and great deeds accumulated over a lifetime, an enlightenment achieved after long deliberation.
All of it was buried under the single word of death, vanishing without meaning.
The books left behind during his life?
The memories of the people who remembered him?
What meaning did all those things hold?
When the very party who had built them up could feel nothing.
Thump, thump.
Even this rhythmic sound of his beating heart, he would never hear again.
“......Death.”
For the first time, he felt as though he understood why black mages became liches.
Resting his hand on his left chest and listening to the beat of his own heart, Silgrim slowly raised his head.
In this moment, it was decided.
The utopia his world ought to pursue.
‘I.’
Will become an undying mage.
Unleashed without the slightest hesitation, a spatial slash cleaved the air.
Slash!
As a result, Silgrim’s head soared into the air.
Blood erupted from his neck like a fountain, and his head rolled across the blackened earth.
“......”
Yet Oscar was not pleased in the slightest.
Because the bastard’s world, Returning of All Deaths to the Master, was already unfurled.
—Heh, if it’s you, you would know.
The blood scattering through the air came to a halt.
The same went for the head rolling on the ground.
As if time were rewinding, Silgrim’s head set itself back atop his neck.
At the same time.
—Vicarious Atonement of Death.
Thud!
One of the corpses filling the battlefield suddenly fell to its knees.
[Aaaagh.]
From the corpse’s wide-open mouth, a hazy, translucent shape was dragged out.
A grotesque form, as though a person had been stretched vertically.
The shape clung to the corpse, struggling not to be pulled out, but soon scattered into dust starting from its fingertips.
With that, the corpse that had become an empty husk dissolved as well.
—Mm. It has been a while since I last died.
Silgrim murmured, lightly stroking his neck.
Watching this, Oscar clicked his tongue faintly.
“Tsk.”
It was a world he had faced multiple times in his past life.
He had already killed Silgrim countless times.
He had crushed his heart, shattered his skull, and even ground his physical body into nothingness without leaving a trace of its shape behind.
Yet, as one could see, he had not died.
『Returning of All Deaths to the Master』
[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]
As long as this world was unleashed, the death of Silgrim Fonerth was substituted by the annihilation of a random corpse and its soul.
Oscar looked around him.
The corpses currently packing the plains numbered roughly a little over seven thousand.
In other words, the traitor to humanity possessed seven thousand extra lives.
—7,326.
Silgrim explained kindly.
—Since one was extinguished, there must be 7,325 remaining now.
“You still love hiding behind other people’s lives.”
—Bow your head and worship me. I am a mage who has transcended even death.
“If you were truly a being who transcended death, you wouldn’t have needed to drink the Grand Emperor’s blood. Isn’t that right?”
Back when Silgrim Fonerth was human, the corpses he commanded amounted to merely several dozen at best.
Though his lives had increased by several dozen, it was difficult to claim he had transcended death with merely that much.
‘Because if it’s a Master, sweeping away several dozen corpses takes only an instant.’
Once the corpses to die in his stead vanished, his own turn would inevitably come.
That bastard had probably known that fact best of all.
That what he had achieved was not immortality, but rather close to a deferral of death.
That was why the bastard had willingly given up his humanity.
Driving some 1,900 comrades to their deaths, he drank the Grand Emperor’s blood and forged them into a legion of corpses.
The traitor grinned slyly.
—You still haven’t come to your senses. Look at the result. You died, and I survived.
“Yet I died as a human.”
—And what did you protect by doing so? The lives of your comrades? The well-being of the White Tower? No.
One corner of Silgrim’s mouth twisted.
—Nothing. In the end, you protected nothing at all. Conversely, what you lost is beyond count.
“......”
—Judging by your expression, it seems quite a few things are coming to mind.
“You’ve gotten chatty since I last saw you.”
The moment the words ended, blades of wind surged forth and swept across the surroundings.
Among them, not a single blade aimed for Silgrim.
Slash!
The waists of the nearest corpses were severed in unison.
Before the upper bodies could even hit the ground, other blades cleaved through necks and heads.
“I’m a bit busy, so I don’t have time to listen to your nonsense.”
—Heh-heh, your memory is certainly good.
Vicarious Atonement of Death, the effect of Returning of All Deaths to the Master, activated simultaneously with Silgrim’s death.
Each time, one corpse within the domain vanished along with its soul.
In other words, it meant it was sufficient to simply eliminate the corpses that would die in his place first.
‘There’s no need to kill that bastard thousands of times.’
Killing an 8th-level mage once.
And destroying a single corpse commanded by him.
The result of reducing an extra life by one was the same, but the effort required in the process was beyond comparison.
Shwaaaaak!
The blades of wind scoured the plain.
Severed limbs soared into the air, and headless corpses collapsed one after another.
‘The strategy itself hasn't changed.’
The problem was that it was easier said than done.
‘Even back when he led 1,900 corpses, it took four whole months to break through the front lines.’
The reason was simple.
If one tried to eliminate the corpses, Silgrim’s magic would come flying, and if one was tied down dealing with that bastard, the corpses would close the encirclement from all sides.
—Heh-heh.
Yet right now, that was not the case.
As if finding this situation amusing in itself, Silgrim simply clasped his hands behind his back and watched the spectacle of the corpses dying.
‘......What is this? Why is he just standing by and watching?’
Oscar’s eyes narrowed.
Of course, there was still a long way to go before all the corpses were wiped out.
However, the military force decreasing in real time was also his spare lives.
‘He’s a bastard who abandoned his humanity because he was terrified of death.’
For such a bastard to do nothing but smile while dozens of his lives were being blown away at a time.
‘Just what is he aiming for?’
The moment their gazes met in midair.
He smiled pleasantly.
—You do well.
“......What?”
—I mean you seem quite adept at cutting down corpses.
Instead of answering, Oscar moved his finger.
Whooosh!
The blades turned their trajectories, continuously severing the corpses' necks.
“Keep waiting. It won't be long until I sever your neck, too.”
—Indeed. It must be familiar work to you. After all, it's something you did until you were sick of it throughout the war.
His brow furrowed.
Just what did he want to say that he was dragging his feet like this?
‘Moreover.......’
With eyes full of anticipation, like a child who had prepared a marvelous present.
—Heh, heheh.
Forcefully stifling the chuckle that burst out, Silgrim stretched the corners of his mouth wide.
—If you like cutting down corpses, try cutting these down as well.
Gurgle.
The blackened earth wavered, and a sound like bursting bubbles could be heard.
Then, tear!
What burst through the ground were countless hand bones.
‘New corpses? Don't tell me he acted so leisurely until now because of these things?’
To think there were more corpses.
With a slightly hardened face, Oscar swiftly surveyed his surroundings.
Fortunately, their numbers were not large. Barely 151.
Peculiarly, they had not a shred of skin or hide, merely rattling bones.
“......”
Yet why was it?
The number 151 would not leave his mind.
—And these two over here are the ones I cherish in particular.
Plop, plop-plop.
Two corpses newly surged forth from the ground.
At the same time, Oscar’s gaze was naturally drawn to them, just like a magnet.
“......”
They were different from the skeletons that had emerged before.
Limp, hanging heads, shoulders slanting to one side.
And thick stitches running all the way around their necks.
Oscar’s gaze slowly moved downward.
On the shoulders, on the elbows, on the exposed bellies—no, across their entire bodies were the same marks.
Everywhere the shade of the flesh changed, black threads were roughly and haphazardly entangled.
Because parts that did not match one another had been forcefully pulled and sewn together, the flesh was even folded into uneven lumpy ridges.
—Preserving this thing called a physical body took more effort than I expected.
Silgrim said.
—What is more, they were too precious to throw away, so I took immense pains to reproduce the originals as closely as possible.
“......”
Oscar’s eyes remained fixed on the two corpses, unable to pull away.
Without even a tiny blink, red veins quickly branched through his two eyes.
It was painful and stinging.
Even so, he could not tear his gaze away.
—Tsk. Still, for the missing parts, I substituted them with those of demons of the highest possible rank. If you pick up and use just anything, you cannot properly draw out the skill possessed by the soul, you see.
“Ah.......”
Whether because his throat was choked up, a cracked voice squeezed out through his lips.
Ignoring this, Silgrim continued the explanation of his work.
—I also put considerable effort into preventing decomposition. At this level, there must even be aspects that are superior to the physical bodies they had in life.
The cloudy eyes of the two corpses standing like dolls were dead, just like any of the other corpses on this plain.
Looking at them, Oscar tightly squeezed his two eyes shut.
‘......Radan, Magiro.’
When he counted the number 151, he had wondered if it could be.
Even when he heard that Silgrim was the very person who had handled their souls, he had wondered if it could be so.
Right now, standing before his eyes were the ones he had missed the most, in the very form he had least wanted to imagine.
—Why don’t you greet your friends?
Snap.
Along with the sound of something snapping inside his head.
Two flashing, wide-open eyes glared at Silgrim.
KROOOOOM!
Simultaneously, the blades of wind wandering the plain all shifted their direction at once.

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