Chapter 16 – The Rise of the Dead
Ignes continued, his tone steady, as if he were reciting a well-worn ledger of facts.
"The people who fell asleep during that first dawn… one by one, they started waking up."
He paused, a shadow flickering in his red eyes.
"But the awakening was not a gift for everyone. There was a divide."
"Those who woke up with their souls intact… they gained powers. Abilities that defied the laws of biology. They became the first 'Awakeners.'"
"And those who didn't wake up?"
His voice lowered, becoming a cold rasp.
"They didn't stay still. They turned into zombies. Dead bodies that forgot how to die."
"A zombie is a simple thing, really. A vessel without a pilot. They don't think. They don't feel pain or fear. They just… exist. And they consume."
"The world we knew fell into ruin within weeks. Cities collapsed under the weight of the dead. Governments shattered like glass. The peace Frederick remembers was gone, replaced by a primal panic."
"But humanity is a stubborn species. Not everything was lost."
"The surviving armies, the reserves, and the civilians who had found their strength… they huddled together. They built safe zones behind walls that were thick enough to withstand a siege and high enough to keep the smell of death on the outside."
"They created bases. Tiny islands of life in a sea of rot."
Ignes leaned back, his expression unreadable.
"My boyfriend was the youngest general in the military. He commanded one of the strongest bases. For the first two years of the apocalypse… I didn't have to kill a single zombie. I stayed in the labs, searching for answers."
"After that, I only went out to hunt the high-level ones."
Leopold, the Duke of Club, frowned deeply, his tactical mind confused.
"That doesn't make sense, Igna. In a war of attrition, you thin the herd. You kill the weak ones to reduce the numbers and avoid the strong ones until you are ready. Why would you do the reverse?"
Ignes replied with a terrifyingly calm bluntness.
"As I said—zombies are dead bodies. Think about what happens to a corpse after months of exposure to heat and rain. They rot. They decay. They are covered in maggots and stagnant fluid."
He looked at the Dukes, his lip curling in a faint, elegant sneer.
"Low-level zombies are disgusting. They are a mess of bile and filth."
He paused, his eyes sharpening.
"But the high-level ones? They are different. Their bodies are saturated with enough energy to halt the decay. They don't rot. They look… almost human. Clean. Focused."
"The point is, Uncle Leo—I didn't want to throw up while I was fighting. If I have to touch an enemy, I prefer they don't fall apart on my boots."
Silence.
The people in the room stared at him. The image of a legendary warrior choosing his targets based on their hygiene was both absurd and perfectly in character for the "Izar" they were starting to understand.
Laurence, the Duke of Spade, was the first to break the quiet.
"…You really are a fastidious one, aren't you? Even your enemies need to meet your standards for cleanliness?"
Ignes gave a small, dignified nod.
Frederick crossed his arms, his mind returning to his own world's logic.
"I always thought a mind like yours would create a vaccine. Was the Z-17-D virus truly that difficult to cure?"
Ignes shook his head slowly.
"No. It wasn't the science that failed. It was the resources. It was an apocalypse—we didn't have the materials, the labs, or the stability to mass-produce a cure for billions."
"But…" He looked away, his voice softening. "I did find a way to stop the living from turning into those things. And later… as I told you… I killed the King that started it all."
Alistair let out a long, heavy breath.
"Well… in this world, at least, the peace has just begun. Let's pray it lasts longer than yours did."
At that moment—the heavy doors of the chamber swung open.
Six young men entered. All of them were in the prime of their youth, around twenty-one years old, carrying the unmistakable aura of high nobility and military training. They walked with practiced grace, offering formal, respectful greetings to the four Dukes and the Emperor.
Ignes watched them with a blank expression. He leaned toward Alexander and whispered, though his "whisper" carried in the quiet room.
"Dad… who are these uncles?"
For a moment, the silence was absolute.
Then—the chamber exploded. The Dukes and the Emperor burst into a simultaneous roar of laughter, the sound echoing off the high temple ceilings.
One of the young men, a handsome youth with a sharp jawline, let out a weary sigh. "So it's true… he really has lost his memory of us."
Another man, tall and broad-shouldered, didn't bother with words. He walked straight toward Ignes. Before the boy could react, the man reached out, scooped him up into the air, and spun him around like a child.
Ignes blinked, the world blurring as he felt the dizzying sensation of being tossed.
"Who are you calling 'uncle,' you little brat?" the man laughed.
Ignes's eyes snapped into focus, a name surfacing from the "archives" he had just organized.
"Sorry—Will—put me down!"