Now that his disciples could handle building Soul Relays, the Lich slipped back into the Hero's body.
You couldn't leave the thing dead too long. Otherwise, it might actually die. And even if it didn't? Spending days in bed would get the Hero socially killed anyway. A Hero wasn't allowed to slack.
"...Huh?"
What shocked him first was the softness under his back. The Hero's body usually got dumped straight on the floor when Lich checked out. The bed was already buried under research clutter. But here he was, waking on actual cushions.
Then a familiar voice chimed in.
"Ah, Hero! You've finally awoken!"
Beside the bed sat a figure in purple hair and battle-priest robes—Saintess Rosalie.
"...Rosalie?"
"Yes. I heard you'd collapsed, so I've been nursing you. Sadly, my healing magic did nothing, so all I could do was pray... a shameful failure."
"I see. Mind if I ask a question?"
"Anything."
"...Why are you sitting on air?"
Rosalie was indeed by the bedside. But her chair? Pure imagination.
"Hero... I told you my fists were losing effectiveness against the undead, did I not?"
"Yeah, I remember."
"I reflected deeply. I realized I'd leaned too much on divine love."
"...Meaning?"
"That vague prayer—expecting the undead to vanish with no effort—that was irresponsibility. I'd let the 'mystery' rest entirely on God's shoulders."
"Pretty sure you'd just let the undead's stupidity do the work."
"So I dedicated myself further. And in doing so, I regained a strike that fells the undead in a single blow."
"But undead don't have faith. They're not even 'resurrected people.' How does God's love still work?"
"Even if His love doesn't reach them, this body trained by His love does."
"...Right."
"In short, no more relying on 'heaven-sent fist.' I've developed a punch that, upon contact, physically annihilates the opponent."
"...."
"One strike, and anything is gone. Undead, demons, humans—it matters not. Not their faith, but my faith made manifest."
"...How?"
"By vibrating the fist at ultra-high frequency upon impact, reducing the target to subatomic particles."
"That's literally impossible."
"Some said so. I silenced them with one phrase."
"...Which was?"
"'Physics? Or faith—have you enough?'"
"...."
"Faith is more vital than any nutrient. No training matters without it."
"...Your worldview's unreadable."
"Still, this One-Hit Obliteration Super-Vibrating Faith Punch burns staggering energy per strike. Thus I train my stamina every waking moment—by air-sitting when offered a chair, by lying down propped on one arm when told to rest, by turning every daily scene into training. I've been holding this squat since you collapsed."
"...Days?" Hero-Lich's vision swam.
And yet, watching her push limits against impossibility carried a quiet, researcher's intensity. For once, Hero-Lich's opinion of Rosalie ticked upward.
"...Anyway. Hero's character might've changed from that near-death brush, but—he's awake now. Thanks for the care. You can go. I need to speak to Queen Lanza."
"Queen Lanza is not here."
"I know. This is the Hero's house. She's at the castle."
"No. I mean—she is no longer queen at all."
Rosalie said it as if remarking on the weather.
"...Why?"
"She defied God. As queen, she studied necromancy. Unacceptable for a ruler of a theocracy."
"...."
"She's standing trial now in the Great Cathedral. I should've attended, but your care took priority. And frankly... wasn't your collapse her curse's doing? That's what the town whispers—that she hexed you with necromancy."
"Necromancy doesn't curse! That's sorcery's domain!"
Hero-Lich bolted upright, body moving before thought, already running—toward her.
* * *
The Great Cathedral. A place Lich had never belonged. For necromancers, the church meant only enemies. Without the Hero's Party credentials, they would've found some pretext to drag him here long ago, and kill him.
A "religious trial" was only ever a staged execution. The verdict was predetermined.
Lanza was dying. Now.
He slammed open the doors. The chamber brimmed with people in fine robes—politicians, clergy, nobles, faces Lich half-recognized. At the center, encircled by witnesses and priests, sat Lanza.
Her golden hair was unmistakeable, though her body sagged in rags. Slumped in the chair, neck bent slack—
She was already dead.
So the sentence had been carried out.
"Hero!? You've recovered!"
"Ah, the necromancer's curse is broken now!"
"Praise Hero!"
"See? Necromancy is evil!"
Cheering voices filled the hall. Hero-Lich ignored them, knelt before her, loosening ropes, healing her wounds.
"Hero? What are you—don't touch that cursed body—"
"...Rise."
A blue-white, translucent mass appeared overhead. Lanza's soul.
'...Ah. You came for me.'
"I'm glad I made it. Return to your body."
'But I've no place to live anymore.'
"Then come with me."
'Where?'
"To the Demonkin lands."
Gasps erupted. Among them—Leila, the warrior, tail-bell jingling as she stormed closer.
"Hero!? What the hell are you saying—"
He whispered a word.
"Hero...? Wh-why—"
Leila crumpled. Silence hit, then shattered into chaos.
Spectators fled. Some charged in rage. But he silenced every distraction.
"Quiet. This is important. I'll revive you later. Your bodies and souls—valuable resources for necromancy. Not to be wasted. ...Lanza. I'm ready. Let's go."
'...Can I really live in Demonkin lands? I'm no queen anymore. I'm nothing.'
"You have a will to learn. That's enough. Besides, there's another girl there, red-haired, who studies necromancy too. You'll get along. Probably."
'Probably, huh.'
"Lich can't understand people's hearts. Can't promise."
'True enough.'
"Then let's go."
'...I'm sorry. Because of me, you can't stay here either. This body can't either.'
"...Right. Damn. Hero's flesh was still useful. Why did I do something this irrational?"
'...'
"I don't know. I don't even understand my own feelings. But this choice... losing you would've been worse. Somehow, I know that much."
'...Do you know what I feel now?'
"No."
'I feel... so happy.'
Her soul sank back into flesh.
He whispered the resurrection chant again, this time over the others he'd felled in the chaos.
"Rise. Your lives are resources too. You still have the right not to end here. Though, make no mistake—resurrection defies your God."
'...'
"So decide. God or survival instinct. Choose quickly. If you refuse life itself, I'll call you noble. I've no other words for things beyond my comprehension."
'...'
"Goodbye."
Lich took Lanza's hand and led her out of the hall.
Behind them, blue souls lingered. Silent corpses slumped.
Then—one rose.
Then another.