“What do you want?!” he barked, quite literally, as smoke filled the room and the prince found it hard to breathe.

“Head, your highness,” I replied, taking out my dagger, and leisurely removed my cloak and overcoat. No, I don’t swing that way if you are wondering.

I unbuttoned the sleeve of my right arm and started folding it, hesitant to cut another of my suit. The man before me charged, his body laden with [Strengthen], and I punched him square across his face, knocking out his teeth and disfiguring his cheek. That’s [Cardina Garch], and his earth attribute spell doesn’t even come close to undead spells.

He said my lady’s scar was ugly, so I’ll show him what horrid means.

“Please wait, Your Highness,” I said, as he lay sprawled on the ground, prostrate. “I lack funds to buy new suit after every slaughter.”

The knife cut my arm this time, and out came a sword with [Blood Forge] that gleamed even in the smoke-filled room. [Ward] prevented any of it from escaping out, so the smoke would continue to increase, suffocating the prince while I torture him lifeless.

You never annoy an undead. Even an easy-going undead.

“Now then,” I cast [Heal] on my bleeding arm and glanced at the coughing prince who was somehow back on his feet, disfigured. He spat out blood, and probably more than two teeth, and glared at me. They were not white but simply bathed in blood.

“You dare hit this prince!” Lightning sizzled around him, and he charged for the second time. I moved, ever so slightly, avoided his punch blithely and cut his wrist with my excellent swordsmanship, not even harming a strand of his hair. Blood gushed out of his hands, almost staining my white t-shirt, and I jumped out of the way on time.

His shrieks rivaled that of maid, but I didn’t let them stop me as I reached for his other hand, cutting the wrist, not letting it touch my lady ever again. His eye followed, the left one first, and my sword stopped short of slicing one side of his face off. I walked around him in the smoke, landing slashes after slashes, healing him, continuing the assault until he was on his knees, without his wrists and one eye. His royal blood stained the floor, but I didn’t let him lose consciousness, for I needed to savor this moment. It had been a long time since I last killed someone, and it felt so damn natural.

The stench of the blood filled the room, smoke making it hard to distinguish. The lady had churned enough within the hell flames that not even her bones remained intact. Ash lingered in her place, and the prince’s wrists joined her soon, as fire blazed the room.

Do I enjoy doing this? Certainly, I do. But not as much as my bread. So, if you give an undead bread, you might get killed in a single slash and not get tortured like this. If this alone is sickening, then you are better off not knowing my undead life. Or any other, for a matter of fact. There’s nothing fluffy even though I describe it as such, but endless blood and darkness.

That’s the curse of [Undead]; Blood-thirst. Until you learn to control it, bloodthirsty beast hounds within your shell, and believe me when I say it takes more than a few centuries to bring it under control.

“Please stop it, p-please…”

The prince prostrated before me, tears mangling his already scarred face. I wonder if they were due to the smoke or fear, but it is inconsequential because all I need is his disfigured face and not tears. So, I slashed my bloody sword, bathed in his blood, across his eyes, amidst his more terrifying cries, and didn’t heal them anymore. Because he didn’t deserve to see, for my lady didn’t like his abhorrent gaze.

“Your highness,” I sat before him as he dragged his body to touch my legs with his marred hands. I didn’t let him because it's hard to get rid of blood stains. “My lady is not someone you can casually touch. We had done you a favor by giving you a chance to usurp the throne, but your arrogance knows no bounds. Not only did you join hands with Marquis to humiliate my lady, but you also… you know…”

Well, else had he done? Play around with women? That was the least of my concern. Touch my lady? I didn’t let him. Join hands with traitors? Damn the kingdom.

“Anyway,” I said, embarrassed that I had started out all haughty and grand. “I will give you a grand burial, so tell me where you stock your money. The bread in my closet is running out.”

He fainted before he could answer me, and I regretted that I hadn’t asked him that before. We undead act first and then think about asking questions, so we don’t really serve well in the gallows, where prisoners are interrogated with whips.

With a sigh, I chopped his head, freezing the blood before it could stain the room anymore, and stopped the raging fire with [Waterfall] drizzles, filling the room with more smoke. My lungs couldn’t keep up, but my [Undead] spell did prevent me from dying. [Ward] barred any of the commotions from alerting the gambling and drinking mortals in the bar below, so I jumped back to the attic with the frozen head and blood sword in one hand, my cloak, and suit in the other.

I cleaned the bloodstains on my gleaming sword and sucked it back to my body after an incision on my arm. It would have rejected any foreign blood, but it was too gross having some other blood within my body.

The smoke rose to the attic through the splintered wood of the floor until tears numbed my eyes, and my head started giving way to fatigue. [Undead] spell brought me back forcefully each time, ravaging my body with a shudder that could be comparable to the screeching machinery of the modern world.

I try, you see. I try at times, but death is the most distant thing for this undead, as poetic as it sounds. I don’t hate my life. It is fun now, for I have transmigration magic, but only until I get bored of every difference in all the diverse realms. Until then, I will enjoy my machinations to the fullest and abide by my resolute decisions. But eternity is a long hateful bitch.

I opened the tiles and jumped on the roof, making sure not to let out a flare and alert all the soldiers in the kingdom that an undead had an ugly face in his hand. A frozen one at that. I continued my way out of the central square, keeping out of the sight of magic lamps and patrolling guards. And pissing drunkards, of course.

The finials of some noble houses paused my uninterrupted dash through the eaves that protruded out for water drainage. Worn-out tiles cascaded the shingle battens underneath, chimneys giving out smoke that formed the major effluent of the fireplace within most of the houses. Terraced roofs were uncommon, restricted to the commoners, for they were less elegant.

This world had frosty winters, and the days of warmth had already started receding toward the year-end. It would mark the beginning of the new year of the ruler, but for me, it was just another January.

Who cared if it was called bun or bread? It would always be bread for me.

I reached atop the gates, avoiding the guards at the portcullis. Battlements loomed before me, offering a distant view of the night, lit by the luminescence of fireflies that would probably migrate soon as winters were fast approaching. It would be a marvelous site for mortals, but if you have lived as long as me, even breathtaking scenery is no better than a cesspit.

The watchtowers were abandoned, mages lax after not seeing war for almost a century. It served my purpose, but I kept my [Devil eye] on the lookout for diligent guards. There were always some, even among the undead. Those who diligently indulged in slaughter without missing a day. A hunt a day keeps an undead sane, in simple words.

I walked into a watchtower, which was more of a mage abode, and picked up a neat cloth from the closet. Volumes on military and magic lay at the bottom, but I wasn’t interested in anything other than the mage robe. I tore it uniformly across its length, making multiple strips of the lavish fabric before tying them all together to form a long enough rag.

If you thought I would use prince’s gut to make the support, then you will be disappointed. I am not a monster who mutilates the body after chopping off the head. Before is a different issue, but I just wasn’t in the mood for belly slithering. It is not attractive, and I might end up seeing his undigested food. Yes, it’s gross.

After hanging the head in the darkest corner of the bastion and after helping some soldiers have a peaceful sleep, I made my way back, with the mask and the cloak concealing my return.

My eyes fell on a few cloaked figures scuttling through the alleys, carrying a sack large enough to contain humans. And it probably did, considering the wiggling of the sack and the life force contained within. [Weightless] spell is a great spell to have for abduction, whether you want to or not. After debating for a while and thinking of my lady’s scornful expression, I followed them. Curiosity always outweighs pain for the undead.

They kept themselves restricted to the darkest of the alleys, like me, so anyone could guess that they were up to no good. Don’t point at me, as I was busy saving the kingdom. The night deepened as I followed them, my thoughts intermittently reminding me of my lady’s furious face, but I followed them despite all the urging to return.

They stopped by an abandoned tavern, the entrance door almost broken and grim, draping over most of the edifice around. The neighboring buildings were no better either, and I glanced around to see not a single person strolling. Not even drunkards, even though there were poles devoid of magic lamps.

I trudged through the street silently and peeked through the broken glass, past the decaying wooden tables that had crumbled to the ground. The two men dumped the body behind the counter and disappeared somewhere underneath. I traipsed inside the crumbling door, bypassing a weak barrier, and stepped through the creaking foyer, almost getting stuck in a massive hole on the floor.

I walked around, my eyes focused on the worms on the shelf that must have entailed ale bottles at one time. Another reason not to drink. The stairs on the right side of the entrance were broken and decayed. This was an ancient tavern, for this world used bricks to construct houses and buildings since the era of the previous ruler. I reached the bar counter and, ignoring the filth sprawled on it, jumped over, not touching anything in sight.