It’s been two days since Ken’s evolution. The once-sour nurse with a sharp tongue has transformed into... some kind of bizarre chrysalis? I’m no stranger to these metamorphoses; I’ve seen my fair share of cocoons since arriving in this twisted world. But Ken’s? It’s something else entirely. His chrysalis resembles a chaotic collage of paper fragments—reds, pinks, and whites overlapped in jagged, cross-shaped patterns. It’s like someone sculpted a grotesque pi?ata in Ken’s likeness, and it just hangs there, unmoving. Watching it is unsettling.

  I can’t help but remember the chrysalises from my old world—delicate, natural, and straightforward, like the ones butterflies used. This? This monstrosity is a screaming reminder that I’m in a damn isekai. And if you think Ken’s chrysalis is bizarre, you’ve clearly never laid eyes on Hans’s. Where Ken’s is eerie in its fragility, Hans’s is brutal, almost violent. His chrysalis glints with metallic tones of gold and silver, bristling with sharp spines. Beneath its chitinous armor, a prismatic light shifts and writhes as if alive, giving the whole structure an unholy, pulsating glow.

  And then there’s the cleanup. Evolution doesn’t come cleanly here. When Ken and Hans “popped” into their chrysalises, they left behind empty shells—twisted, hollow husks of chitin soaked in a sour-smelling slime. Nightmare fuel, that’s what it is. The process of disposing of these shells is a whole ordeal. You can’t just leave them lying around unless you want to attract pests, so out they go. Except it’s winter now, and hauling them through the snow is pure misery. Jasper, always the practical one, suggested grinding the shells into powder for fertilizer. Watching those husks, once living parts of my allies, get pulverized into dust was... disturbing. Still, it’s better than letting them rot and having to smell that stench every day.

  Then there’s Morthak’s “gift.” After a grueling effort involving me and several mages, we managed to seal it inside a [Mana Bubble]. Now I’m tasked with preserving the thing—a pulsing, grotesque organ—using [Life Drops]. The drops put it in some kind of suspended animation, keeping it from dying but not quite alive either. It’s unsettling. A heart, ripped from its body, shouldn’t still be beating after ten minutes. Yet this one? It pounds away like it’s defying reality itself. Goodbye common sense, I guess.

  I wish I could just ask Morthak what the hell this thing is. But, true to form, he’s vanished again, off to some godforsaken corner of this world to do whatever it is he does. That’s his way—showing up, teaching me something, leaving me with cryptic tasks, then disappearing. It’s infuriating. And yet... I don’t hate him. Despite everything—the threats, the “training” that felt more like torture, the endless barrage of tasks—there’s something about him that doesn’t feel entirely evil. He’s ruthless, sure, but he’s also taught me more about magic in a few days than I could’ve learned in decades on my own.

  His methods are brutal, but they work. Thanks to him, I’ve reached a point where I can cast 2nd-level spells. It’s nothing impressive by this world’s standards, but he keeps insisting I’m some kind of “magic genius.” The truth? My hive gives me an edge. While most wizards spend years memorizing spells and perfecting techniques, I don’t need to. My hive’s collective mind lets me absorb knowledge instantly. With over a hundred minds dedicated to magic research, I don’t have to worry about creativity—we brainstorm solutions together. But there’s one flaw: experience. The hive can theorize endlessly, but until I cast a spell myself, it’s all just conjecture. Every new spell, every sensation, every experiment feeds our collective knowledge, but it’s always my hands on the line.

  Take ring magic, for example. It’s so alien to us that we’re drowning in questions. Where do the runes come from? Why are they magical? Are there other kinds of runes we haven’t discovered yet? Can we merge two magic circles into one? And what are the limits of that? The more we dig, the more we realize how little we know.

  Morthak thrives on these questions. The more twisted and complicated they are, the more excited he seems. It’s maddening but effective. Through his guidance, I’ve started to refine my spells. Before, I could barely manage a simple destructive burst. Now, I understand it’s all about intensity—your willpower, your intent, and what you’re willing to sacrifice. Magic, I’ve learned, isn’t just about knowledge or skill. It’s about conviction.

  Thanks to this, I was able to improve my spells and make them more complete. Before, they were just disorderly bursts of energy and desire, producing unstable and dangerous results for both the target and myself. With my new knowledge, I intend to review my entire list of expression spells and refine them as much as possible.

  Now, I had a far less pleasant task—fulfilling a promise to someone I love. Unfortunately, it was something I really didn’t want to do. I sat at the wooden table, one of the only pieces of furniture in the cave. Around me were several [Nurses] and [Healers], all focused on the strange chrysalis resting on the table. It resembled a colorful pi?ata, trembling faintly every so often.

  “Ahhh... let’s get this over with,” I muttered, sighing heavily. In response, everyone around me nodded and moved closer. Several [Healers] began to hover over the table, placing their small hands gently on Ken's chrysalis.

  “Very well. I’m going to inject [Mana of Life] into Ken’s chrysalis. As soon as I start, I want you to heal him, even if you don’t sense anything wrong. Understood?”

  “Yes, Queen Mother!” the [Healers] answered in unison.

  As I stared at Ken’s chrysalis, my stomach churned with nervousness. The sight of the trembling shell made my resolve falter, but when I glanced at the worried faces of the [Nurses] and [Healers], it reminded me that I couldn’t back down. I had made a promise.

  “Damn it! Let’s go,” I said, steeling myself.

  I touched my fingernail to the chrysalis, which was about 40 centimeters long. Guiding the [Mana of Life] within me, I began to infuse it into Ken’s chrysalis, ensuring the mana carried only one simple intention: to help him. I could’ve tried shaping the mana into something more specific, but I had to admit my limitations. Energy manipulation and shaping intentions weren’t my strong suits yet.

  At first, everything seemed fine. The chrysalis trembled faintly as more mana flowed in. I had injected around 3 to 4 mana points, and the [Healers] worked smoothly, their golden light bathing the chrysalis. For a moment, I allowed myself to feel hopeful.

  But then, as I reached 10 mana points, Ken’s chrysalis began to vibrate violently.

  “Ouch! He’s in pain! Help me calm him down, brothers!” one of the [Healers] shouted, their voice panicked.

  The world seemed to slow down. Everything had been fine just seconds ago, but now something was going horribly wrong. The [Healers] desperately poured their healing light into the chrysalis, but the pain radiating from Ken through the link didn’t subside. The surface of the chrysalis bulged grotesquely, as though something inside was thrashing against it.

  The [Healers] looked to me with fear and uncertainty, silently pleading for guidance. My blood ran cold as I placed my hands on the chrysalis, channeling my strongest healing spells. But it was like trying to plug a leaking dam without knowing where the cracks were. I couldn’t identify the problem.

  “Damn it!” I growled, desperation clawing at me. I shifted focus, trying to draw the [Mana of Life] back out of Ken’s body, hoping to stabilize him. But as I probed deeper, another problem emerged: I couldn’t see Ken’s natural mana. Without that, I was blindly fumbling in the dark.

  Ken’s pain intensified, rippling through the link like a tidal wave. The hive itself grew alert, sensing his distress. His signal within the link weakened, each moment bringing him closer to the brink. My chest tightened in panic.

  “No!” I shouted, slamming my hands harder against the chrysalis.

  Frustrated and overwhelmed, I closed my eyes, forcing myself to think of a solution. Anything. If only I could see Ken’s magic clearly, I might be able to help him. Activating my magical vision, I strained to focus on the faint blue cloud of mana within Ken. But it wasn’t enough. I needed something stronger—something beyond a mere skill.

  Desperation took over as I began to force my mind into creating a spell. A sharp pain shot through my head, my vision blurring under the strain. Yet I pressed on. Slowly, the image of the faint blue cloud distorted, taking on a new form. In its place, a crackling blue orb of energy appeared before me. It surged with raw, untamed power, flickering and twisting as though alive.

  The small ball of energy appeared to be composed of delicate blue lines, intricately wrapping around themselves to form what looked like a ball of yarn. These threads extended into countless channels spreading throughout Ken’s body. Around the core of this magical energy, a chaotic tangle of disorganized strands wove a web of disorder, further complicating the scene.

  I reached out instinctively, only to find that my hands were no longer the familiar ones I knew. Instead, they appeared as two crackling, golden shapes, pulsing with energy. As I moved, the golden strands followed my gestures, as if dancing in response to my commands.

  Focusing intently, I began manipulating the golden threads, attempting to extract the unruly strands of life energy from Ken’s core. However, the tangled mess resisted my efforts, making any removal impossible. Changing tactics, I decided to guide the golden threads gently through the chaos, weaving them into the core and slowly unraveling the knots.

  One by one, the disordered strands began to align, settling smoothly over Ken’s core. Gradually, the chaotic tangle diminished, giving way to harmony. The core, once pulsating blue, began shifting to shades of pink, until its color unified into a soft, radiant glow.

  When the process was complete, my vision flickered, and an intense headache struck me, pulling me back to reality.

  As my surroundings came back into focus, I found myself surrounded by [Healers], their faces painted with worry. I ignored their gazes, turning my attention to Ken. His chrysalis lay still, but through our link, I could sense that he was alive and stable. Relief washed over me as I saw his cocoon trembling slightly.

  The brittle leaves clinging to his form began peeling away, falling to the ground like discarded fragments of the past. In their place, vibrant new leaves emerged, their hues a mix of pink, red, and white, each adorned with intricate cross-like patterns. Horn-like protrusions shaped like a "+" began sprouting from his chrysalis, completing the transformation.

  A strange, yet familiar, energy radiated from Ken's cocoon—an aura that felt comforting yet alien at the same time.

  "What happened to Ken, Queen Mother?" one of the [Healers] asked, their voice trembling.

  "I-I don't know." I replied, my own voice unsteady. "I managed to stabilize him, but… I have no idea what this is. All I know is that I fixed the problem from before."

  "Is he okay?" a [Nurse] asked, their concern evident.

  "Yes… I think so. There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with him now. He’s just… different."

  Ken’s change wasn’t just physical—his very essence felt altered. His mana, once familiar and distinct, had transformed into something new. Whether this change was a blessing or a curse, I couldn’t say.

  But he was alive.

  "Ah... I can't believe I did that." I muttered, a mix of exhaustion and relief settling over me.

  About three days have passed, and during that time, nothing particularly noteworthy has occurred. We’ve expanded further, and we’ve even started producing a modest amount of honey. It’s nowhere near our previous production levels, but it’s a start. In these days, both Ken’s and Hans’ chrysalises have undergone noticeable changes.

  Hans’ chrysalis has grown from roughly 50 cm to 70 cm in length. Its once-silver color has darkened into a shade resembling iron or some strange alloy, with a peculiar texture. The surface is now covered in micro-spines, making it challenging for the [nurses] to handle.

  Ken’s chrysalis, however, has grown exponentially. It’s gone from 40 cm to a staggering 90 cm in length in just a few days. What once looked like a pi?ata with silly horns has transformed into something even stranger. The layers of “leaves” covering his chrysalis now resemble silky fur, salmon-pink in color with scattered yellow dots. His two horns, still retaining their + shape, have grown slightly larger. Moreover, Ken’s chrysalis has been twisting frequently—a sign, according to the [nurses], that he may soon emerge.

  This development worries me. Logically, Hans should evolve first since he entered his chrysalis stage earlier. But it seems the injection of [life mana] into Ken has drastically accelerated his growth. Whether this is good or bad news remains to be seen.

  I’ve also been reflecting on the "last-minute spell" I used to save Ken. Born out of desperation, it was far from perfect, but that’s the essence of expression magic—creating something new in the heat of an emotional and purposeful moment. The problem is that spells born of such turmoil often come with flaws.

  First, the system designated the spell as [Null-Tab#3]. It’s an ominous name, and while spell names are largely cosmetic, encountering something so impersonal is unsettling.

  Second, the spell itself is a double-edged sword. It grants me the ability to see the "essence of magic"—the very source of all magical energy within a living being. I can even sense the magic within objects and other sources, though my interaction with those is limited. However, the cost of this ability is staggering. The spell consumes mana at an alarming rate, like dry straw in a wildfire. It also causes overwhelming mental exhaustion. And worst of all, it’s anything but discreet. My children said I look like some kind of glowing-eyed demon when I use it, which is… less than ideal.

  I’ve been working to refine and reshape the spell, but it’s proving difficult. Changing the fundamental nature of an existing spell is like trying to reinvent a square or redefine a color as something it’s not. I can optimize its efficiency and try to balance the cost-benefit ratio, but altering its core essence feels almost impossible.

  "Ugh… Me and my cockroach soul." I muttered to myself irritably while jotting down notes for the “Nameless Spell” and brainstorming ideas for other spells. "I could’ve gone into engineering or invention, but noooo, I had to get tangled up with magic, didn’t I?"

  Just as I was deep in thought, a [Royal Knight] approached me briskly.

  "Queen Mother! Morthak has been sighted within the perimeter of the hive! He will arrive in five minutes!"

  "Oh? The old man is back? Finally, I can make use of his wisdom!"

  Wasting no time, I headed to the cave entrance, accompanied by my delegation. Soon, I spotted Morthak’s figure approaching across the frozen field. The snowstorms had finally subsided, and the weather had begun to warm—a clear sign that winter’s frozen grip was loosening. It wasn’t perfect weather yet, but next year we’d be far better prepared for this icy hell.

  Upon seeing Morthak, I waved to him. When he saw me, he simply nodded in response. Soon, he arrived at the cave, carrying a leather bag tied with ropes, the contents of which were anyone’s guess.

  "Hello, Morth—Sir. You've been away for quite a while this time, haven’t you?"

  "Ha! I needed to take care of some things in Red Spine and gather materials for your next lesson. I also ran into... some old 'friends' there." Morthak said casually.

  "Hmm. Welcome back, I guess. You know, I understand that you told me you weren’t the best teacher in the world, but seriously? You beat me to exhaustion, disappear to god-knows-where, and leave behind a note with one word and the heart of... something?" I crossed my arms indignantly, glaring at him. I’d known from the start that Morthak wouldn’t be the ideal mentor, but honestly, he was pushing it. If I were teaching someone, I wouldn’t treat them like a stray dog I found on the street. Then again, from his perspective, maybe that’s how I seemed.

  "You complain too much, girl. In my time, training was much harsher. As for Yvern's heart, I gave it to you as a reward for your exceptional performance." Morthak walked into the cave without hesitation, eyeing the modifications and upgrades we’d made in his absence.

  "Don’t give me that old-timer talk. You’re merciless! Ugh... Just tell me, what is this heart of Yvern even for?"

  "It depends on the user." Morthak replied, placing the bag he’d been carrying aside and stretching. "It can be used to craft high-level elixirs, as a source of ether, for magic-engineering, or as a quick supply of magical energy. In your case, I gave it to you to help with your 'lack of mana' problem."

  "Are you serious?! How am I supposed to filter magical energy from something that—oh, I don’t know—has like 80% pure poison mixed in?"

  "Ah, I assumed you had an [Affinity] for something like [Acid] or [Poison]. I thought the heart of an adult Yverne would be useful to you. If you’d told me what your affinities actually were, I’d have prepared something more suitable. Regardless, you could always use one of those 'light stars' of yours to filter the heart's energy." Morthak said matter-of-factly.

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  "Look, I don’t even know if it’s safe to create another [Node]. Even if I did, is this thing renewable? It’s a severed heart! How is it still beating like it was just ripped from someone’s chest?"

  "Ha! That’s one of the peculiarities of the dragon family. They have incredible vitality. Even after death, their hearts can keep beating for one to two years. The energy within, however, is finite—and as you’ve noticed, heavily corrupted by impurities." Morthak explained.

  "Alright, but why give it to me in the first place? Why not a magic stone or—oh, I don’t know—a bag of food?"

  "First, you told me you could 'fend for yourself,' so I’m focusing on teaching you the arcane world and general knowledge instead of babysitting. Second, I gave you the heart because it was something I already had 'in my pocket.'"

  "What do you mean, 'in your pocket'? Who carries something that big around in their pocket?"

  "Oh, it’s nothing special. It’s a level 7 spell called [Pocket Dimension], created ages ago by the illustrious Ellie Zefrian. It allows the caster to create a portable space, its size proportional to their power." Morthak said, waving his staff to open a crack in the air. The tear looked like it had ripped the fabric of reality itself.

  "Holy crap! Is this like... an inventory?"

  "A what?" Morthak asked, puzzled.

  "Nothing! This is incredible! This alone makes learning magic worthwhile. Is it just a utility spell, or can it be used offensively?"

  "Hmm... That depends on the user. Since it’s a [Space] spell, it’s extremely costly for those without an affinity for [Space], which is quite rare. That said, I’ve heard of mages using [Pocket Dimension] to seal powerful entities or even collapse the dimension to deal massive damage. However, those are unconventional uses and far from its primary purpose." Morthak said with a shrug.

  "Oh! Nice... but why did you have Yvern's heart inside your pocket like that?"

  "Well..." Morthak began, scratching his chin. "A few months ago, during my journey, I happened to encounter a rather dull Yverne. Not that Yvernes are particularly intelligent to begin with, but this one was exceptionally stupid. It failed to realize why no other beasts dared approach me. Long story short, it didn’t last long. After harvesting all the valuable resources from its body, I transformed it into a high-level undead Yverne. It served as one of my strongest and most notable minions—until I had the misfortune of crossing paths with some envoys from the Church of the Morning. I emerged victorious, of course, but the battle cost me all my high-level minions. Since then, I’ve been wandering, gathering corpses for new minions... and then I found you."

  "Ugh... So, you're saying that a necromancer's strength depends on their summons?"

  "Err... something like that." Morthak admitted. "As a necromancer, my true talent lies in crafting powerful minions and enhancing them during combat. The more corpses I gather for my army, the stronger I become. But going on a mindless rampage to build an indestructible army isn’t exactly smart."

  "I can’t believe I’m asking this, but why not? Isn’t it just a matter of collecting 'materials'?"

  "Ha! If only it were that simple. Creating undead requires mana, and I also have to manage negative karma. Not to mention, I can’t cause too much of a commotion, or I’ll attract unwanted attention. Not everyone is as... 'understanding' toward necromancers as you are, girl. Even among my own kind—demon-types—'dark' classes like mine are often frowned upon. To them, it’s less about what you achieve with power and more about the methods used to obtain it."

  "Hmm, I think I get it. I won’t say you’re some victim of society, but you’re like... Sorry for the comparison—a vulture. You benefit from the deaths of others. It’s not exactly noble, but it’s still better than going on a killing spree without any thought for the consequences, I guess?"

  "Hmm, an apt comparison." Morthak mused. "To be honest, most necromancers don’t even get along with each other. Some are outright maniacs, committing genocides in villages or cities without a second thought for the negative karma they’re racking up. That kind of recklessness has given our craft a terrible reputation. The decline of necromancers largely stems from us allowing a handful of lunatics to prosper. They left behind grimoires and necromicons filled with sensationalist nonsense, warping the new generation of necromancers."

  "What’s this 'negative karma' thing you keep mentioning?" I asked, glancing at Morthak as he settled into a chair.

  "Ah, karma is one of the system’s functions. It’s essentially a scoring system that determines the 'good guys' and the 'bad guys.' There are bonuses for having positive or negative karma, as well as debuffs for both. But in practical terms, it works like this: beings with positive karma naturally see those with negative karma as enemies, and vice versa."

  "Hmm, it seems quite simple."

  "Oh, you're quite mistaken, young lady." Morthak said with a light laugh. "The karma system is much deeper and more complex than it appears on the surface. Karma can influence things like luck, talents, and even destiny."

  "What?! Explain that properly!"

  "Uhm... It's a bit difficult to explain in simple terms unless you have the ability or tools to determine your own karma. Let’s just say both sides of the coin come with their own pros and cons. Entities with negative karma tend to be naturally stronger and more dangerous. But they are also often untrustworthy, perverse, and downright wicked. On the other hand, beings with positive karma are usually... Shall we say, naive? They trust others easily, have ridiculous luck, are honorable, and blah blah blah... They’re like cockroaches—annoyingly hard to kill." Morthak said with a smirk.

  "That doesn’t sound like much."

  "Eh, there’s not much you can actively do about karma. It’s more like an extra piece of information that explains why certain things happen in your life." Morthak said, shrugging.

  "Um... Like giving meaning to the unexplainable?"

  "That’s one way to put it."

  "I like it. Does it have any practical use beyond being a moral guide?"

  "Yeah." Morthak said nonchalantly. "Certain spells and magical arts can only be learned or used by having the appropriate level of karma."

  "What?! That’s insane!"

  "Hmm? Not really. It’s just a way to prevent people with 'evil' tendencies from using 'righteous' spells and arts like [Sanctuary Field] or [Dawn’s Balm], and likewise, 'righteous' folks can’t wield spells considered 'evil,' like [Withering Curse] or [Calls from the Deep]. No big deal."

  "It sounds really special to me! Wait... Does that mean people with 'neutral' karma can use both types of magic without restrictions? Are there drawbacks to using spells from either karma branch? What are the effects of these spells?"

  "Ho ho, lively girl, aren’t you?" Morthak chuckled. "Don’t overthink it. If you ever come across someone who can use spells, arts, and skills tied to [Karma], the best advice I can give you in your current state is simple: accept death. Individuals who can fully harness the power of karma are... High-level. The elite of the elite."

  "Uhm... Okay, that’s... unsettling. But it’s good to know it exists. Still, it feels contradictory, doesn’t it? Everyone is subject to the karma system, but only high-level beings can use it to their advantage?"

  "Peculiarities of the system, young lady." Morthak said with a wave of his hand. "Not everyone has the same privileges. And honestly, karma isn’t that important at lower levels. To accumulate enough karma—good or bad—to make a real difference takes... years. Decades, even. It’s a long-term game of building a reputation."

  "Can you even use that kind of magic? You said you were famous and well-known, right?"

  "Well, you’ve got a sharp eye, young lady. Yes, I do have one or two tricks up my sleeve that draw on my negative karma as a catalyst. But… I’m not proud of how I obtained them." Morthak muttered, his voice quieting as he seemed to retreat into distant memories, a faint sigh escaping his lips.

  "That’s so cool! Couldn’t you show me?!"

  "No, absolutely not." Morthak waved his hand firmly, cutting off the request.

  "Oh, come on! At least tell me what they do! It doesn’t cost anything, does it?!"

  Morthak frowned deeply, his eyes narrowing. "I said I have ‘tricks up my sleeve,’ girl, but would I reveal something that important to you?"

  "Ugh, come on! It’s not like you need to use it against me to defeat me. I’m your pupil, your disciple, your student—whatever you want to call it! Don’t you want to impress a young girl who's so enthusiastic about magic?!"

  "No. Get lost." Morthak’s voice was cold and unyielding, dismissing her with a sharp wave.

  "AH! Come on, Morthak! I’ve never asked you for anything before. You said you were going to teach me magic, and after all that hellish and meaningless training, you won’t even show me one trick?!"

  Morthak’s frown deepened, his jaw tightening. "Your ‘treat’ is the valuable lessons and knowledge I’ve given you for free—valuable things like Yvern’s heart, which would be enough to make any real disciple fall to their knees in gratitude. You should be grateful for what you’ve already been given, not pestering me for something more."

  "But this is different! This is a whole new magic system! Of course, I’d want to see it! Come on, just give me a basic description, will you?"

  Morthak’s frown remained, but he let out a low, contemplative grunt. "I have a spell… one that can reach into the soul of my target. That’s all I’m saying on the matter."

  "Oh! That sounds incredible! Like, can you obliterate someone’s soul? Take control of it? Or something like that? Wait… do you mess with people’s souls on a regular basis?"

  Morthak’s dark eyes sharpened, his tone growing colder. "Of course not! Disturbing the souls of the dead is taboo among necromancers. Sure, there are those bastards who’ll break taboos for their own gain, but… messing with souls isn’t something amateurs should even think about. One wrong move, and you’ll be haunted for the rest of your days by the souls of the dead. Mark my words—you’ll never escape from that kind of curse."

  "And why would that be bad? Can’t you just hire an exorcist or something? That exists, right?"

  Morthak’s lips curled slightly in disdain, the weight of his words sinking into the air between them. "Exorcists can rid you of restless spirits… but they can’t undo the damage done to your soul. Once you’ve crossed that line, you’re marked—forever. Those who dabble with souls don’t get second chances. They become puppets of the dead, tormented by every lingering spirit they disturb. It’s not something you can just brush off. Souls must make their way back to the primordial cauldron of life, re-enter the eternal cycle of life and death. Interrupting that path is simply wrong. If souls don't find their way to the afterlife, they become evil spirits, and evil spirits... Well, they are evil." Morthak warned.

  “Ouch... I’ve never encountered an evil spirit or anything like that before. People die all the time out there—it’s not possible that one or two don’t slip through the ‘path to the afterlife’ and end up as evil spirits. So, how come I’ve never seen one?”

  Morthak turned to face me, his expression calm but with a hint of something dark lingering beneath his gaze. His voice carried an air of quiet authority as if he were unveiling ancient knowledge. “Simple. There are several classes of people—priests, shamans, even ancient ritualists—capable of banishing evil spirits. They’ve developed methods to prevent the birth of such spirits altogether. For example, the act of burial itself is a powerful, ancient ritual. It’s meant to guide the dead safely into the afterlife. When the living take the time to say their goodbyes, it helps the deceased complete their journey cleanly and peacefully.”

  I frowned, still not entirely convinced. “Rituals? I’ve heard of those, but it doesn’t seem like something that could actually... stop evil spirits from forming. Seems like wishful thinking.”

  Morthak let out a low, amused chuckle. “Wishful thinking? Maybe. But it’s far more than that. Rituals performed by priests or shamans serve as a spiritual compass, helping the dead navigate through the realms. And there are beings—Thanacaris—whose sole purpose is to watch over, control, or even eliminate spirits during their journey back to the primordial cauldron.”

  I blinked. “Thanacaris? What... what are they?”

  Morthak’s tone shifted slightly, as if narrating an old tale. “They’re ancient guardians—beings of immense power and dedication. They ensure that the spirits return to the source, cleansed of any lingering darkness.”

  I hesitated, still unsure how to process it all. “H-How do you know all this?”

  Morthak raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching into a sly smirk. “Seriously, girl? Morthak, the Corpse Craftsman? Necromancer? Doesn’t that sound any alarms? Death is literally my field of expertise.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Oh, sure, no need to rub it in my face.”

  Morthak chuckled at my reaction. “It was a bit obvious, wasn’t it? As a necromancer, I’ve delved deep into the countless rituals and traditions tied to death. Some of these practices are fascinating—like the elves of the southern mountains, who, once a year, hold a grand feast to remember and honor their dead. Others, though... well, they’re... strange, to say the least.”

  I shivered slightly, his words painting unsettling images in my mind. “Ugh, there are crazy people for everything, it seems.”

  Morthak’s expression grew thoughtful. “It’s not about madness; it’s about tradition. It may seem bizarre to outsiders, but for them, it’s common. Over the years, I’ve come to realize that, no matter the culture, no matter the people, they all share the same purpose—remembering those who have passed. And that’s what fascinates me most.”

  His voice softened as he spoke, his words dripping with something close to reverence. “Each people, each village, town, and society, they carry out their traditions differently. But in the end, their reasons are the same.”

  I furrowed my brow, intrigued despite myself. “Uhm... Geez, are you, like... an anthropologist or something?”

  Morthak blinked, confused. “An-anthro-po-lo-gist? What would that be?”

  I sighed, struggling to find a simpler way to explain. “You know? Someone who studies, works, or explores society in a scientific way... someone who researches people and their cultures?”

  A slow realization dawned on Morthak, a hint of genuine curiosity flickering in his eyes. “Oh... I’ve never heard that word before. But... the meaning is pleasant to me. Yes, I do have a deep interest in discovering new things—especially when it relates to the culture and history of a new people.”

  I smiled slightly, impressed despite myself. “That’s cool! How many different societies have you been to? I don’t really like the idea of meeting new people like you, but I understand the value of it.”

  Morthak leaned back slightly, his gaze distant, as if lost in memory. “Oh, it’s been countless years. I’ve studied practically every known species—sentient and non-sentient—who’ve walked this earth. That’s why you intrigue me so much. You’re unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.”

  I blinked. “Wow! You really know, like, every being that exists?!” My voice wavered, disbelief and awe mixing in equal measure.

  “Of course not. I’ve met almost everyone out there. There’s always something new to discover. You’re a clear example of that.” Morthak’s tone was matter-of-fact, as though he were accustomed to encounters like mine.

  “As a necromancer, there was a time when I needed to study the different species that existed in the world. I wanted to gather more information about the beings I could use for my… experiments. But I ended up finding the whole thing fascinating—far more interesting than I ever expected. I’ve met people from the most remote peoples of the frozen mountains, to the notorious vampires. I’ve walked through human cities, encountered every type of beastman there is—fairies, pixies, even a wind elemental,” Morthak added with a self-satisfied smirk.

  “Wow! That’s really cool! Which one do you think is the most interesting species you’ve ever met?”

  Morthak’s eyes gleamed, his expression turning contemplative, as if carefully weighing his words. “Well, I would say… it’s yours now. Your species is simply extraordinary. You look like a strange mix—pixies, humans, insects, dragons, and demons? It’s bizarre, but at the same time, deeply fascinating. You’ve got something no one else has.”

  His words made me frown, my brow knitting together. “Wait, what do you mean by that?”

  Morthak leaned back slightly, his dark, piercing eyes narrowing as he began to explain. “Apart from you, though, I’d say vampires are the most interesting. They’re a reclusive, powerful species—relatively new, too.”

  I tilted my head, confused. “New? What do you mean?”

  Morthak’s lips curled into a slight smirk. “Well, do you know how new species are born in the world?”

  “No?” I answered cautiously, unsure where this was going.

  “It’s simple. A being evolves to the point where it develops unique traits that have never been seen before. Then, it reproduces, creating a new species. It’s straightforward, really.”

  I frowned, a perplexed expression forming on my face. “What?! But that would mean there’d be hundreds of new species every day! Animals, beasts, or people leveling up…”

  Morthak chuckled, shaking his head slowly. “Theoretically, yes. But in reality, it’s much more complicated. First, beasts can’t do this. Beasts might acquire unique affinities, powers, or abilities, which can lead to variants—like the case of pixies, which can take different forms, shapes, and even control different elements. But beings like humans or demons, they need two things to create entirely new species.”

  I leaned forward slightly, curious now. “Two things?”

  “Yes. The first is a bloodline. Bloodlines can only be formed in two ways: one, by consuming the magical core of a beast that already possesses it, or two, by inheriting it from one’s relatives. And even in the latter case, the bloodline must be refined to the point where physical changes are noticeable.”

  I frowned deeper, trying to keep up with his explanation. “Okay… and the second factor?”

  “The second is simpler. It’s all about reaching the highest levels. When you level up, your body is purified, refined—improved. And if you do everything right, if the conditions are perfect... a new, entirely unique species emerges.”

  I blinked, processing this strange information. “That’s pretty… strange.”

  “A little, maybe. But it’s not always a success. Some people just end up becoming a variant of their original species—beasts, for instance, that gain unique abilities or strange powers. Vampires are rare because it requires both factors to align perfectly. Very, very rare.”

  I rubbed my temple, feeling overwhelmed. “So, how were vampires born?”

  Morthak sighed, sitting back slightly, his expression darkening. “It’s a long story…”

  "But to summarize... In the primordial times, there was an ambitious human being named Cain Bathory. He served as one of the seven knights of the Goddess of the Morning, known for his insatiable hunger for power and enormous ambition. Whispered among the people, he was feared and called The Hungry One—a figure that brought despair to those who crossed his path. His shadow loomed like a harbinger of death, leaving behind only unease and dread wherever he tread. But one fateful day, the Goddess of the Morning summoned her seven knights and gave them a task: to retrieve the corpse of the infamous Tenebris Sanctus, a beast of unparalleled power, whose reach spread misery and death across the land with its strange and otherworldly mastery over blood."

  I listened intently, as though a child clinging to his grandfather’s tales by a flickering firelight. Morthak’s voice had shifted—grown more somber, laden with weight. There was no escaping the gravity of this tale; it seemed everyone in this world knew its end.

  "What the Goddess of the Morning did not foresee, however, was Cain’s betrayal. He succeeded in slaying the beast, but instead of delivering its remains as commanded, Cain seized the creature’s magical core for himself. And as he consumed it, something inside him awoke—a force darker than his ambition, far beyond his understanding. No longer just Cain Bathory, the mortal man—he rose as Cain Bathory, the Father of the Vampires."

  "But Cain's betrayal didn’t end there. Enraged by his audacity, the Goddess of the Morning received even more tragic news—Cain had transformed his fellow knights into the first vampires, becoming what history would call the Six Vampire Lords. Only two of them remain alive today, the others lost to the tides of time."

  "Enraged and humiliated, the Goddess of the Morning unleashed a curse upon Cain and all vampires—her punishment eternal. The light of truth itself would burn them, leaving their bodies to smolder in perpetual agony. The gates to the afterlife slammed shut, barring their souls from peace. From that moment on, vampires would burn under sunlight—yet they could never truly die unless their souls were obliterated completely, reduced to nothingness."

  Morthak chuckled slightly, as if it were a matter of small amusement. His eyes glimmered in the dim light, reflecting the centuries of stories held within him.

  “Wow… That’s… something, I guess. So vampires are evil…”

  “Not necessarily.” Morthak’s voice was calm, yet edged with something darker beneath the surface. “There’s always two sides to the same coin.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There’s another version to the story—one told from the vampires’ perspective. Cain wasn’t driven by greed. He freed his friends and loved ones from the chains of the Goddess of the Morning. The goddess, refusing to accept defeat, cursed the vampires in retaliation, forcing them to hide from the light and live in the shadows.”

  I frowned, unsure which version felt truer. “But… what is the truth?”

  Morthak paused, his gaze piercing. “Well, it doesn’t really matter. To the world, the human version is the ‘truth.’ And maybe it is. But the story? It’s told by those who win the war. The vampires, once scattered and few in number, have always been powerful, but they were easy prey. The Goddess of the Morning’s armies hunted them relentlessly. Those few vampires unable to withstand the burning truth of her light… they were hunted down, one by one, until nothing but ashes remained.

  “And after countless wars and battles, a new enemy emerged—the demon lord. The humans could retreat to their sanctuaries, safe beneath the wings of their goddess. But the vampires? They had no one but Cain to shield them from the horrors that came next. Cain faced the demon lord, but he failed to defeat him. In the end, Cain himself was left in a deep slumber, lost to the world.”

  Morthak’s voice trailed off, and the air grew heavier. The tale hung between us—an uneasy silence stretching long enough to weigh on my thoughts. “But what of the demon lord?” I asked.

  Morthak sighed, a low, mournful sound. “The demon lord… remains a mystery. Everyone knows he still lives, but no one knows where. The dark corruption seeps into this world, and no one knows how to stop it.”

  I swallowed, uneasy at the growing tension. “I… I’ve heard of it. I need to ask you something… Sorry if this sounds offensive, but… Are the demon-kind on the demon lord’s side?”

  As soon as my question left my lips, the already cold air seemed to grow colder, suffocating. Morthak’s eyes locked onto mine—deep and serious, a storm of emotions churning within them. The silence between us thickened, heavy with dread. It seemed I had struck a nerve.

  For a long moment, Morthak said nothing—just stared, unblinking. And then, with measured voice, he began to speak.

  “The one who crawls through the stars…”

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