CHAPTER 144: EVRYTHING

The wooden castle was already sparsely populated, and with the raging war against the undead outside, it had all but turned into a ghost fortress. The echo of distant clashes barely reached its ancient, creaking halls. The once-bustling corridors now felt hollow, their silence more oppressive than any battlefield.

Within this somber quiet, the undead princess moved with absolute ease, each step echoing off the polished wooden floors like a slow, deliberate toll of a funeral bell. Her pale figure glided forward, unbothered and unchallenged, as though she had been the mistress of this place all along.

But just as she was about to step into the inner sanctum of the spiritual orchard, a strange feeling washed over her. She halted.

Her nose twitched once. Then again.

She inhaled deeply, her crimson pupils narrowing. "This aura..."

Her voice was low, almost a whisper, yet laced with a sudden intensity that shattered her calm. A thin ripple of darkness stirred around her feet.

"Dragon...!"

She muttered again, this time in disbelief, the word escaping her lips like a forgotten curse. Her brows furrowed as she quickly shook her head, as if trying to dislodge the absurd notion.

Dragons were long extinct—beings of an age lost to time and legend. In the higher planes where even the undead had to tread carefully, their appearances were still so rare that even witnessing one once in a lifetime was considered divine fortune. For such an aura to suddenly manifest here of all places...

Her cold, graceful features betrayed a rare flicker of curiosity. And wariness.

Then—soft footsteps echoed through the corridor ahead.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Measured. Unhurried. But there was weight behind them, a pressure that thickened the air with every approaching step.

The princess raised her head sharply.

Three silhouettes emerged from the corridor’s veil of shadow.

The first woman led the group with quiet command. Her long, flowing hair shimmered with an unnatural dark luster, cascading down her back like a waterfall of ink. Her eyes—devoid of pupils and aglow with mystic purple fire—locked directly onto the undead princess, as if peering through her soul and into the bones beneath.

The second figure to her right exuded a primal presence. Nearly bare of clothing, her supple white skin gleamed in the dim corridor light, as flawless and untamed as the moon itself. But it was her golden feline eyes, wild and sharp, that made it impossible to stare too long. They roamed like a predator’s—hungry, calculating, and unafraid.

The final woman walked with a quiet dignity. Her smile was gentle, serene almost, but there was something unsettling beneath it—like the calm before a violent storm. The air around her shimmered with faint traces of ancient power.

Dark Shadow.

Alexandria.

Noctyss.

Their names echoed in the princess’s mind the moment she saw them. These were no ordinary trespassers.

A rare flicker of unease crossed her undead face.

And for the first time since arriving here... she realized she may not be the only one claiming dominion over this battlefield.

Ever since Dark Shadow had recovered, Noctys’s good days had come to a tragic end.

From the once-proud sovereign of the abyssal undead, she had been reduced to a glorified gardener. Day in and day out, she was made to tend the grove of spiritual fruit trees like a work mule. Every branch, every leaf, every speck of dust had to be meticulously cleaned. If even a single petal fell out of place, Dark Shadow’s glare alone could sear flesh from bone.

"Work with reverence, or rot with regret," Dark Shadow had once said, and Noctys had taken it to heart—grudgingly.

Thankfully, with the aid of her spiritual field, the menial labor hardly took long. But for someone of her status, it was the humiliation that stung more than the work itself.

As Noctys flitted about among the trees, cleaning with exaggerated care, she wasn’t the only one watching. From the treeline, the undead princess had arrived.

Her gaze, sharp and focused, honed in on Dark Shadow with unsettling intensity.

Her pupils contracted to thin, icy needles. The sensation crawling across her spiritual field... it couldn’t be mistaken.

"No, this is not an illusion," she muttered, almost to herself. Her voice carried the weight of centuries of experience. "I can’t be wrong—this is definitely the aura of a dragon."

Her pale brow furrowed. Dragons... in this world?

In the higher realms, even in the revered courts of the undead, encountering a true dragon was something that might happen once in a hundred years—if one were lucky.

And now, in this mana-depleted backwater of a world, she was sensing it again? The pressure, the purity, the primal fear carved into her very lineage—yes, it was unmistakable.

Her gaze lingered on Dark Shadow for several long seconds before shifting toward Alexandria. The moment her eyes locked on the feline warrior, her expression twisted in confusion again.

"That’s... the aura of a beast ancestor?"

Her heart pounded with something she hadn’t felt in decades—uncertainty.

Two powerful entities. One radiating the suppressed terror of a dragon, the other emanating the bloodline majesty of a beast progenitor.

It made no sense. What kind of absurd place had she walked into?

Then it hit her.

The corners of her lips twitched upward into a strange smirk.

"Don’t tell me... this is the secret picnic spot of the strong and mighty?"

Her voice was low, incredulous, and slightly bitter.

"If that’s not it, then how the hell am I meeting a dragon and a beast ancestor out of nowhere in the same orchard?"

She took a cautious step back—not out of fear, but instinct.

Suddenly, this peaceful grove didn’t feel so peaceful anymore. It felt like the eye of a storm. A hidden sanctuary where titans came to relax... and perhaps crush ants who got too curious.

It was then that Dark Shadow finally spoke, her voice low and solemn, cutting through the silence like a blade.

She wasn’t stupid.

The moment the undead princess stepped foot near the grove, Dark Shadow had already felt it—the tyrannical weight of a Stage 3 aura pressing against her skin like cold iron. It wasn’t just spiritual energy anymore; it was the will behind it. The air itself had grown heavy, and mana in the surroundings stirred excitedly, as if responding to a sovereign’s call.

Even at her current peak—far stronger than before, her bloodline now evolved—Dark Shadow felt a creeping sense of danger from the woman in front of her. Not because her own strength was lacking, but because the presence radiating from the undead princess carried something far more threatening than raw power.

Experience. Cruel, ancient, and refined through slaughter.

She noticed the subtle shift—the way the undead princess’s once-closed eyes opened wider than expected.

A minor movement, perhaps, but to Dark Shadow, it spoke volumes.

This wasn’t just an accidental visit.

It was a test. Or worse—a hunt.

Behind her stood the grove of spiritual trees—the very heart of the courtyard, the source of its vitality. A garden she had painstakingly restored from ruin.

And in front of her... was death incarnate.

She clenched her fists slightly, her sharp nails digging into her palms, the cool sting anchoring her thoughts.

If she allowed the undead princess to step even a few meters forward, it would be the end of the grove. Noctys wouldn’t even need to lift a finger—her spiritual field alone could corrode the roots, blacken the leaves, turn months of growth to ash in seconds.

But fighting a Stage 3 being wasn’t a decision made lightly. Even if Dark Shadow’s new bloodline offered immense potential, the difference between Stage 2 and Stage 3 wasn’t a wall—it was a chasm.

She didn’t fear death. She feared failure. And failure meant losing everything she had rebuilt.

The wind that had gently rustled the trees moments ago now stood still.

The grove seemed to hold its breath.

Even the smallest leaves, which had danced playfully in the spiritual currents, were frozen mid-air.

The world had gone silent.

A stand-off of monstrous beings—one protecting life, the other exuding death.

And neither willing to back down.

Badum! Badum!

Her heartbeat thundered in her ears like war drums.

Alexandria’s instincts screamed— primal, deafening, and absolute.

Run.

Not walk. Not retreat. Run.

Leave everything. Abandon everyone.

Only then, maybe, maybe, she might survive this nightmare unfolding before her.

Her body trembled uncontrollably as an invisible pressure crushed down on her. Every breath felt like she was inhaling shards of ice.

Her snow-pale face flushed red—not from embarrassment, but from the sheer force of her will holding her in place.

She clenched her jaw, grinding her teeth so hard it felt like they might crack.

Every muscle in her body screamed for flight.

But she stood still.

Barely.

Just standing there—not fleeing—was the greatest act of courage she had ever performed.

Then suddenly Ricky figure flashed in her head, even when she had tried to kill him when they first met, Ricky still gave her everything without asking anything in return.

No! i can’t let him see me in this state.