Lich's double life rolled on.
By day, he wore the Hero's skin, lounging in Human territory. By night, his soul slipped back across the border to the Demonkin lands, where he buried himself in research.
So far, the Hero hadn't seen the battlefield. His excuse? "Still recovering from illness." But it was only a matter of time before people demanded the Hero reappear. When that pressure hit its peak, Lich figured he had options: either milk the Hero's influence to sway the war... or just throw him into his first fight and let him die again. Decisions, decisions.
* * *
Most of the Hero's hours were spent with Queen Lanza.
She was an eager student—open-minded about necromancy, quick to learn, and socially bulletproof. Everyone around them seemed to think it was adorable. No one questioned why the Hero and the young queen were always together.
"Humans and Hero were supposed to be engaged, you know," Lanza explained once. "So when people see us together, they just smile and bless us."
Hero-Lich only answered with a bland "Heh." Definitely not the right reaction, but what else could he say? Nuances of human romance weren't exactly his specialty.
* * *
One afternoon, inside the Hero's soundproofed bedroom (why it was soundproofed, no one knew), Lanza dropped a sharper question:
"How long do you plan to keep being the Hero?"
Hero-Lich had been in the middle of a lecture. The room, once just bed, booze shelves, and weapon racks, now looked more like a study: a low desk, a proper chair, a research table, and—most importantly—an Arcane Tablet on the wall where he scribbled diagrams mid-lesson. The bed was shoved to the corner and buried under papers. The liquor shelf had been emptied into grateful servants' arms, who cried at the quality of the vintage.
"...Hard to say," Hero admitted. "Thinking through research is fine, but politics and strategy bore me. If it comes to it, I'll just abandon the body. Decision made, problem solved."
"And when you do, where will you go? Back to Demonkin territory?"
Hero-Lich didn't admit it out loud, but yes—his true body, his true self, was in Demonkin lands. He hadn't even confessed that he was once the Necromancer from the Hero's own party. Still—
"Or will you go home?" Lanza's voice was quiet. "Back to that lovely house of yours?"
Hero-Lich blinked. She knew. Or at least, she suspected.
"And what do you think my 'true identity' is, Lanza?"
"A necromancer, of course. You let it slip the other day—your stories about the necromancer in Hero's Party had way too much detail."
"And when I said 'returning to Demonkin lands'?"
"You're alive. You admitted it. If you really could come back here in your real body, you wouldn't need the Hero's shell to raid your own home."
"...Logical. Very logical. Ten out of ten deduction. Hero applauds you."
"Ehehe."
Honestly, impressive work for the scraps she had. Then again, Hero-Lich had never been great at secrecy.
* * *
"Still," she whispered, "one day you'll stop being the Hero, won't you?"
"Mm. It was never meant to last. This body's disposable."
"And when that happens, Humans will lose you forever?"
"Probably. My real body's in Demonkin territory. You're queen here. We won't cross paths again."
"...But you were part of the Hero's Party once. Couldn't you come back to us?"
"Not a chance. My real body looks fully undead now. Even on the battlefield, none of my old comrades recognized me. That's how far gone I am. I can't just stroll back into Human lands."
Originally, he had hoped to stage a grand resurrection—die, get paraded back to the capital, then rise again at a state funeral. That way, the undead look could be explained: Yes, I'm ghastly, but I'm a necromancer, so it's fine. Instead, he'd been left behind. Too bad. Maybe he should've asked for help—but who would've agreed? Rosalie, the saintess, would've literally punched him to death for even trying.
* * *
"Humans can become undead too, can't they?" Lanza asked softly.
"They can. But it's complicated, dangerous, and not very reliable. Even if I handled it, there'd be a 20% chance you'd just... die."
"Eighty percent success isn't bad."
"It's terrible. When life's on the line, 20% failure is unacceptable. In necromancy, we always call it 'failure rate,' not 'success rate.' Life's too precious to gamble on."
"Then why risk it yourself?"
"...Because I wanted time."
"Time?"
"Undead live longer. They don't eat, don't sleep, and they're tougher than mortals. I needed centuries to research."
"You became... a Lich."
"Exactly. A being legendary among necromancers. And unlike other paths, the method was documented. Proven. Safer than anything else."
"...Could I become one?"
"If you master necromancy and healing magic, yes. But you'd need even more skill than me to push that success rate to 100%."
"And how long would that take?"
"You're brilliant. Even so... ten years at least. Which, honestly, just shows how shallow necromancy still is. Ten years to master a whole field? That's nothing. Which is why I want to expand it."
"You're incredible."
"Hardly. Society thinks it's useless, even dangerous. But lately, with more students joining, I've started to think necromancy's future looks brighter."
"...You have other students?"
"In Demonkin lands. Beastfolk kids. They're my test class."
"I want to meet them!"
Lanza's chair screeched as she jumped up. Hero-Lich stared.
"Impossible."
"But if you can send your soul here, why can't I?"
"Because the technique's absurdly advanced. I mark my soul membrane itself with a special sigil—it takes tools, prep, and necromantic training. You don't have the basics yet."
"Then what if I chained it? Possess one body, walk as far as I can, then jump into another nearby. Over and over until I reach Demonkin lands?"
"...Theoretically? Maybe. But only if you had corpses neatly lined up like stepping stones. War or not, bodies don't just sit around waiting. Plus, the further you stray from your real body, the risk skyrockets. Ninety percent failure, minimum."
"Dang..."
"...But that's an interesting angle. Combined with my current methods, it could work. Hm. I'll draft a theory. That's enough for today—review your possession basics."
"Got it."
"I won't be back in this body for three days. Expect that."
"You're leaving?"
"Mm. Work to do in Demonkin territory. But teaching you has been useful. At first, I thought training others was a waste. Turns out fresh ideas are priceless."
Hero-Lich nodded to himself, already slipping into that professorly self-satisfaction. And just like that, it was time to return to his real self—back across the border, back to where the true experiments waited.