Killing this bastard was probably the hardest thing I had done in this world, for the guards had realized my mischief, and I heard hammering footsteps in the distance as the door burst open. I didn’t have time to affirm the Marquis’s death, and I cast [Quagmire] on the guard before his voice could attract the attention of his fellow mates. Even if I was undead, they could immobilize me with poisons at a rate faster than my [Heal] spell, and I would become their captive. That cursed [Undead] spell worked only when I was on the brink of death, so I could hardly count on it to rescue me from my pursuers.

Though it would carry out CPR every time my heart stopped beating, it was a disastrous spell to have when subjected to torture.

The mana lamps had started shimmering in the corridor, and with a deep breath, I sucked them dry, restoring the tranquility of the gallows. My blood-ax dissolved just as fast, and I seeped the blood back into my body after a small incision. The blood nails on the floor were an obvious mistake, so I kicked them towards the Marquis’s body before melting them.

[Shadow] helped me blend into the darkness of the room, and I picked my cloak and sheathed my knife before rushing past the guards that had entered the room. I stayed in the darkness closer to the walls, keeping the uneasy soldiers in sight at all times. My presence didn’t alarm them thanks to my spell, and they rushed to Brackett, shouting for aid. I could kill them but at the expense of exposing my secret identity, or mage rank at the least, which would do little good for my lady. They could only hold me as a captive, but my lady wasn’t the same. She would undoubtedly get killed by the royal bastards.

Once outside the lavish gallows, I used the open prisons to my advantage and hid in the darkness of the crooks letting the glowering portable mana lamps pass by the narrow corridors. The stink of putrid blood and piss mangled with feces almost forced me to puke, but I tried to make peace with my innards. Shouts of the guards accompanied the faltering footsteps, and it wouldn’t be long before mages filled the ranks of the Escavs. My head almost reached the damp ceiling, so I was forced to bend considerably to get a good look at the corridors.

Silence lingered in the passage once the first barrage of footsteps had died down, and I resumed my journey upstairs, helping the soldiers stationed to guard the stone staircase get a good night’s sleep. Some even rolled down the steps, and the noise attracted the soldiers’ attention within the underground gallows. I tramped the stairs with my sticky boots, cursing myself for forgetting to clean the blood.

I cleared the stinky blood off my shoes with a few blobs of water from [Splash] spell before ambling upstairs. Without interruptions this time, except for shouts from the bottom, which went unheard due to my [Ward]. My attire clearly needed some work, but I looked presentable despite the stink. No blood tainted my white shirt underneath my suit, and even the trousers were in a serviceable condition.

The ground floor of the Escavs was bridled with more soldiers despite the prevailing darkness, and I stayed close to the walls, snooping around like a murky shadow against the dark backdrop. No one noticed my [Shadow] spell, but I stumbled on a desk close to the wall. That did attract the attention of the soldiers, albeit not much owing to the raucous shouts of the study men in the vicinity. Papers drifted in the eerie breeze of the winter and graciously fell on the floor as the eyes of nearby guards locked in my direction.

“Wind, garcha,” the man decked in silver armor said, and I breathed a sigh of relief, reeling closer to the wall. When I was sure I had disappeared into the background, I forced my way out of the edifice.

Even if Marquis lived, healing him from the trauma was going to take a long time. Till then, I could attempt multiple assassinations. Then again, I doubt they would announce to the world that the Marquis was alive after such an open manslaughter attempt. There were many things to worry about, but I pushed everything to the back of my mind.

Well, if nothing else worked out, I could always wipe off the kingdom from the face of the realm. And resort to eating bread, as always. Till then, at least, I intended to play an obedient role as my lady’s butler. Even if it destroyed my amusement, there was little I could do when faced with the foolishness of mortals.

I wore the cloak around me and covered my head with the hood as I headed back to Valorat residence. It was a long lonely night, despite the strolling commuters, and winter drizzle wet my hair that wasn’t concealed underneath the cowl.

I stared at the rain through my commute, feeling nostalgic, though I wasn’t quite sure why. My human memories troubled me at times, despite my incessant efforts to forget them entirely, as they materialized in the form of dreams once in a few centuries. Then again, I would forget the details soon enough. Being undead was fun as far as I could transmigrate, so I had enough amusement to spare for a millennium.

Residences loomed around me, occasionally drunkards returning back to the place they called home. Grimy houses were getting cleaned for the first time in the year, and the water flowing through the streets was almost black. The smell of mud felt soothing, along with the pitter-patter of the raindrops despite my apparent hatred for rain. It was fresh weather for a change, welcoming the gossamer winter that would become deadly soon.

I stopped by a rundown building for cover as the rain picked up the pace and streets started flooding soon. The door behind me opened, and an old lady glanced at me intensely before beckoning me inside. I stared at her in surprise, wondering if she would show the same kindness if she knew I had just killed a man. Nevertheless, I couldn’t miss a free bread if she offered me one. And I didn’t really like the rain. It was unlike my dislike for soft cushions because I knew why I didn’t like them.

I walked inside and almost tumbled in the foyer after my leg got stuck in the hole. It was a rundown residence inside out, the wood already decaying beyond repair. I looked around the dark room, candlelight flickering aimlessly on the table beside the threadbare bed. There was nothing here, except for a few books on the cot and a fireplace, and I felt dejected for I had to say goodbye to my bread.

“Careful,” she said, trying her best to stand erect beside the cot. “You hurt someone?” she raised her eye at me, her body hardly managing to stay at a place. “I can smell blood on you, lad.”

Her speech was a bit slurry, but I managed to decipher her words after some effort. “Aren’t you scared, old woman?”

“My son died a soldier. A lad like you, more manly and sturdier. Killed more than just a few people, innocent and vagrants alike.”

Well, I am not a man, so I didn’t mind her comment. I am undeadly, you could say that.

I removed my leg from the wood crevice and sauntered inside, leaving my wet shoes at the entrance. A portrait of a grinning man lay on top of the tattered nightstand beside the books, and I noticed she was reading hand-written notes on reviving the dead. Not that she had much time to live. The resemblance to Garlan on the portrait was stark, albeit not as portly, but I didn’t intend to point out. Others' family matters were none of my concern.

“I got nothing to offer you, lad, except a roof, so you have to make do with it.”

I nodded, taking a seat on the creaky wooden floor opposite her after removing my damp cloak. I sniffed my clothes, searching for signs of blood, but couldn’t find any.

“You know that man?” the old woman asked, and I seriously began to doubt her. Was she reading my mind? Undead, as you know, were least expressive, except for their creepy smile. How was she was getting everything right?

“Just an acquaintance, old woman. Young enough to be your grandson,” I said nonchalantly, keeping my attention on the ragged wooden walls.

“He must be then. My son left his marks all over the place, so I wouldn’t be surprised if tens of boys came knocking for their inheritance,” she laughed lightly, coughs replacing her laugh almost immediately.

“Quite the bad guy he was,” I said, wondering how Garlan would feel about it once he heard it. I was amused, for I couldn’t wait to leave my bread lad speechless.

“Bad he was, but he was my son. Never failed to visit time a couple of times a year. You can never hate the ones you love, no matter how terrible they end up becoming,” the old woman said, glancing at the portrait lovingly.

“Love is a capricious thing, old woman. It grows old faster than you and disappears sooner,” my brain burned energy to debate with existing ideologies of mortals.

“Isn’t everything like that, lad?” she asked, facing me. “You always feel that you are left behind by the world. And love is just an artifact of this world.”

“I suppose it is,” I shrugged, glancing at the almost burnt-out candle. Though, her words never applied to the undead. “You got more candles?”

“No,” she smiled, though it accentuated the wrinkles on her face. “I’ll die tonight. So, I wanted some company instead of my usual candles. Found you loitering around my abode, so I decided to make do with a supernatural being for the night.”

“Huh?” I was taken aback by her words. Could she see life force?

“I know you aren’t a mortal and that I would die a moment sooner after meeting you,” she tried grinning, but her teeth, or lack of thereof, didn’t let her. “I can see life forces just like you, lad.”

“Rare mortal you are,” I smiled at her, and she wasn’t scared. “Then you should also know that I would kill you before leaving.”

She laughed before coughing intermittently. “Quite an interesting boy, aren’t you?”

“That I am, old woman. But you aren’t far from interesting. It’s my first time meeting a human who can see life force.”

She raised the book beside her with her shivering hands. “I learned how to do it by trying various spells from here. My own book. I call the spell [Gimmick], but it’s hardly a befitting name. I thought I would transcend mortality if I learned more, and my limitation forced me awake,” she paused, touching her tangled grey hair. “I was a promising mage in my youth, albeit my body didn’t hold on for long. Too much internal mana crumbled it from the inside.”

Well, she should have learned alternative ways of channelization first.

That’s how I learned [Undead], and I saw a glimpse of former me in her. The terrible thirst for knowledge, the anxiousness of trials, and the unbearable wait for results came crashing down on me as if my memory barrier had been thrashed open. Nevertheless, I felt nothing, for I wasn’t that naïve mortal anymore.

“You did well, old woman. But you don’t have the potential to live for eternity.”

“True. I tried,” she gave me a warm smile. “What about you, lad? How long did it take for you?”

“Probably less than thirteen years,” I said, trying hard to remember the forgotten memories. “But I remember nothing much from my past. Nor am I interested in remembering anything.”

“Weren’t you quite the prodigy?” she said, with evident admiration.

“That I was,” I smiled, feeling proud of my achievements. “And I am even now. I can make you live for eternity–“

“But you won’t,” she interrupted me with her smile that made the wrinkles on her face stand out. “Even though I cannot bring myself to imagine the ordeals of immortal life, I know for once that we wouldn’t want to live it twice. But–“

“Our insatiable thirst for knowledge won’t let us stop midway,” I finished for her, and she nodded, not without a smile.

“I’m glad to know that my efforts weren’t fruitless, at least. That’s the best gift I could as for,” she stood up with incredible difficulty. “Can you burn my body tonight, lad? I don’t want a rotting corpse to taint my holy place. This is where I learned magic before my marriage and after the death of my husband. Perhaps, if I hadn’t given in to the desires of the world, I might have made more progress.”

She would have, though I doubt she could have learned [Undead]. Nevertheless, I never craved for anything in the world since birth, except for answers to my abhorrent question, that much I could attest with bread, even without the memories. Though, bread is always an exception for everything.

“You’ve lived out your life,” I said as she stumbled back to the cot. I cast weak [Waterfall] over the empty glass on the nightstand, and the woman looked at me gratefully before gulping it down. “So, there’s no point in thinking about what different ways you could have lived.”

“What led you here?” she asked, finally indulging in idle conversation before she left the world.

“I needed to kill someone in the gallows,” I said as the candle in the room went out.

Her breathing stopped simultaneously, and she never spoke again. I sighed and got up, glancing at her books. She was far from correct, but I suppose pointing it out would have hurt her more. Maybe I should have done it. If I was in her place, I would rather have someone be upfront about it.