Episode 8
Castian stood blocking the way, and even though I had been staring at him for a while, he showed no sign of moving.
I was about to ask him to step aside when he cut me off with a question.
“Do all death soldiers obey like that?”
So that look in his eyes… it wasn’t curiosity. It was resentment, contempt, and even disgust.
I had been so caught up in my own self-loathing that I’d forgotten how he must be feeling.
How horrific must I seem, being a necromancer? I can’t even stand myself.
Avoiding his gaze, I lowered my eyes, feeling glum.
Castian leaned in closer, pressing me for an answer.
“Tell me. Is that what happens to everyone under necromancer magic?”
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly.
There was no other answer. His question held clear blame. Saying “I was just following orders” would have been cowardly—especially to someone who’d just watched his comrade’s soul being defiled.
And knowing he almost became one of them himself, Castian’s anger must be even worse than others’.
I was bracing for his wrath when he tilted his head slightly, looking down at me.
“Why are you apologizing?”
“…Sorry?”
“I said, why are you the one apologizing?”
“Because I used necromancy on your subordinate?”
When I answered his question with a question, Castian furrowed his brows.
Even with his face twisted in displeasure, he was still impossibly handsome. That was a new discovery.
If only I had noticed from a bit further away, I could’ve admired it calmly. But he was so close that I didn’t know what to do.
“I was the one who gave the order. I should be the one apologizing.”
“Ah—no, it’s fine,” I mumbled, burying the back of my head into the pillow.
But Castian’s blue eyes came even closer.
“Then answer me. Do death soldiers develop a desire to kiss their summoner?”
…What?
Kiss? What kind of deranged afterlife ritual is that?
I was about to explode at the absurdity of the question, but then remembered—Jonathan had kissed the top of my foot just a while ago.
Kissing someone’s foot wasn’t exactly common in this world either, so even Castian must’ve found it strange.
At least it didn’t seem like he was blaming me anymore. But I still didn’t get what he was trying to ask.
And I didn’t know the answer either.
I remembered my teacher once saying that to the death soldiers, the summoner is like a god—a savior who pulls them back from death. So they devote themselves entirely.
Maybe with such blind loyalty, kissing the foot could be a form of devotion?
But why do I remember what he taught me but not who he was?
Did the author just never bother to give the teacher a proper backstory?
Makes sense, I guess. A writer who killed off the male lead and abandoned the story halfway wouldn’t care enough to fully develop a side character.
Thinking about that runaway author made my buried rage bubble up again—but the devastatingly beautiful male lead in front of me was still waiting for an answer.
Trying my best to hide my shaken heart, I replied, “I’m not entirely sure.”
“You’re a necromancer and you don’t know?”
I couldn’t exactly say, “It’s only my second day in this body,” so I simply nodded with a sorry look.
Castian let out a short sigh and finally moved away, taking that impossibly good-looking face with him.
He sat at the edge of the bed, lost in thought.
I sat up, massaging my stiff neck, when I heard him mutter, almost to himself, “Then why am I like this?”
“…Like what?”
“I… you…”
Castian trailed off mid-sentence. He stared at me with a conflicted expression before turning and walking to the desk.
What? You what? What were you going to say?
It was so frustrating, but we weren’t close enough for me to push him to finish.
He sat at the desk and opened the thick book he had been reading the day before.
I squinted and made out the title: Necromancy.
So that’s what he’d been reading so intently—trying to understand necromancy?
That book doesn’t even say much.
Unlike normal magic, black magic doesn’t have official tomes. It’s either passed from teacher to student or self-taught. There’s no point in documenting such forbidden knowledge.
Besides, that book Necromancy only covered the basics. It didn’t include cases like Castian’s—when a soul is summoned from a living person.
Necromancy and soul-summoning both start by calling forth a spirit. That’s the foundation.
What I did to Castian was exactly that—soul summoning.
What makes soul-summoning so terrifying is what comes next. Not only can it control the soul, it can imprison it in another body or even kill a living person and bind their soul forever.
I’d heard about those things… but I clearly didn’t understand them, which probably meant I couldn’t do them.
Thank goodness for that.
Necromancy alone was already horrific. Controlling a living soul? No thanks.
Magic like that shouldn’t even exist.
Black mages must be truly insane. What kind of lunatic tries to summon the Demon King?
When I read about it in the novel, I thought, “Wow, such high stakes!” But now that it’s possibly real, it’s just absurd.
Why bring the Demon King back? I get being unhappy with the world, but still—his return would mean destruction.
I need to revive Castian quickly to stop that from happening.
Honestly, black mages are hopeless.
While I sat there cursing black mages and the Emperor in my head, Ethan came in looking for Castian.
“Any word from the Imperial Palace?”
Castian closed the book and asked.
“Yes, same as before. All quiet. The infiltrating black mage was eliminated by Lord Haggis.”
So the bastard who killed Jonathan is dead.
Haggis was said to be the strongest mage in the Empire, the royal court’s top magician.
With that kind of power, couldn’t he help hunt down more black mages?
The Emperor always dumps all the hard work on Castian.
My poor guy. What a life.
While I was alternating between cursing the black mages and the Emperor, Edan’s report continued.
They had doubled their spies in the palace, and Jonathan’s funeral would be held at night.
Then Edan glanced at me and asked with open hostility in his voice, “You’re not bringing her to the funeral, are you?”
Of course, I expected Castian to say yes—he told me to stay close to him, after all.
But he shook his head.
“She’ll accompany us only to the cemetery gate. Stay with her during the ceremony.”
“Yes, Lord Castian. I’ll make sure she doesn’t try anything.”
Edan smirked proudly.
It seemed like the conversation was wrapping up, but I couldn’t let it end there.
I didn’t want to be anywhere near Edan, but I had to speak up.
“Excuse me. I’d like to attend the funeral too.”
Just that one sentence made Edan’s eyes burn with fury again.
His hand moved to his sword hilt as he glared at me. “What trick are you playing now, necromancer?”
“It’s not a trick. I just… want to pay my respects to Jonathan.”
He might not want that from me, but I still wanted to apologize—even if he couldn’t hear it anymore.
I wanted to say I was sorry, and that I hoped he found peace.
Of course, someone like Edan, who couldn’t possibly understand the heart of a necromancer from a K-confucian country, just sneered coldly.
“A necromancer paying respects? Even a dog passing by would laugh.”
So much for being a genius swordsman—he was as cutting with sarcasm as with a blade.
Who even talks like that to someone they just met? What’s his deal?
“Not funny at all… sir.”
My pride took a hit, but I still added “sir” at the end. Because a sword is still a sword.
It was the first time I talked back to him, and though his eyes flashed with anger, I didn’t bow my head.
I averted my gaze just a little, barely avoiding eye contact.
Right as Edan looked ready to explode, Castian’s indifferent voice cut in.
“Let her come.”
Edan frowned deeply, clearly shocked.
“That’s not wise, Lord Castian. She’s a necromancer—”
“Her name is Lydia, Edan. Don’t make me repeat myself a third time.”
Castian’s eyes had turned icy.
Edan must’ve felt it too because his proud shoulders slumped.
He fidgeted like a scolded puppy, then corrected himself.
“Lady Lydia will… come to the cemetery…”
“Lady Lydia,” Castian interrupted again, correcting Edan’s tone firmly.
Officially, I was his lover. Using an honorific was only appropriate.
Edan’s shoulders dropped even lower than his eyebrows.
