Ark Undead

The Undead in the Ark - Author: Zi Yunxiao

Summary:

May you find a safe haven.

The immortal tossed a fine piece of firewood into the fire in front of him and stretched.

He was still thinking about the wages Kal'tsit owed him, and a box of emergency sanity potion.

Or rather—a fully filtered remedy of humanity.

Volume One: Those Who Are Favored

Prologue: The End of an Era

Initial furnace.

The black sun revealed only a sliver of its afterglow, and the drooping flames resembled scalding tears, an extension of the world's suffering.

Countless weapons were stuck haphazardly on the ground, like grass made of steel.

It is the last gift left to the world by those heroes who braved hardship and gave their lives to pass on the flame of the world.

The silent Lord of Cinder lost his support and knelt helplessly on the ground, the flame patterns on the crown above his head gradually fading away.

A sharp blade pierced the abdomen of the crowned figure of flames. The nameless hero gripped the blade, silent, gazing intently at the Lord of Cinder, who towered several heads above him, in his final moments. He knew that this was, after all, merely a phantom of the heroes of the past.

He even saw many familiar patterns in the Lord of Cinder's attack moves.

Of course, the most familiar thing is the golden lightning that emanates from the palm of his hand, the sacred lightning that appears in the oldest legends.

What is the meaning of the journey I have taken?

Now, even he himself doesn't understand it anymore.

Initially, driven by a sense of mission and honor, in despair and numbness, he took over another person's dream and vowed to do what the other could not.

He fought his way out of the lowest level of the Northern Undead Asylum, traveled to countless places, and saw people and things that people in the Northern Undead Asylum who would have lost their minds would never have seen.

He once walked through the abyss, personally freeing a hero who had lost his mind; he once faced the abyss, confronting the deepest, darkest fears; he once paid homage to the gods, witnessing the glorious phantoms of those ancient gods; he once mustered his courage, with the help of his friends, to take the weight of the world from the hands of the God-King with his sword and shield, breaking free from the shackles of the curse.

Awakened once more from the coffin, he followed his deepest, most primal yearning for fire, and went to see this familiar yet strange world anew, guided by the prophecy.

The second journey begins at the cemetery where he is buried. He watches the people who ask him to pass on the flame cry out in pain, and he hears the undead who cannot bear the pain of the world and cry out for destruction.

He killed the hero's followers, swearing an oath before their battle to uphold the creed of fighting the abyss; he ended the monster that tarnished the god's name, devouring the soul of the cannibalistic monster and burying the glory of the gods of the past; he defeated the last giant king, raising his cup after each great battle to help his friend fulfill the promise he had made; he also traversed the cannibalistic city, climbed hundreds of steps, and ended the broken bodies of the two princes.

In the very end, all he could see were phantoms from the past.

laugh.

The nameless hero drew his longsword, its blade riddled with cracks, which teetered precariously on the brink of collapse during the battle.

The body forged in flames eventually turned into scattered sparks, and the souls of the strongest warriors of all time flowed into his body, yet the immortal felt no joy of victory.

Sheathing his longsword, he hung his scratched shield back on his back. The undead removed his helmet, revealing a face that seemed to be supported only by bones and skin; his eyes, which should have shone with the flames of power, were now so dry that they could not emit a single light.

Despite breaking free from the shackles of the curse, he once again bears the fate of an immortal on the path to fulfilling his so-called mission.

The journey had been far too long, and his memory and consciousness had been worn down considerably.

The undead lowered its head and looked at the two glowing runes on the ground, illuminating one of them.

It's not that I want someone to make the choice for me, but rather that I want to hear other people's opinions before making a decision.

The light faded, revealing long, silvery hair cascading down her back, her eyes hidden behind a crown-like eyepatch. She was the Fire Keeper serving the hero, and perhaps the last.

"Lord Ashes?"

"Ah."

The undead responded softly, but his withered body prevented him from uttering a coherent sentence; even the sound he made was like the creaking of dry wood.

"Sit with me."

Ash patted the ground covered in embers beside him, then sat down nonchalantly and made the Fire Keeper sit down as well.

The Fire Keeper didn't ask why, and obediently sat down next to the hero who had reached the endgame.

The undead stared at the campfire before him, his lifeless gaze unwavering, as if recalling the past.

"If there were no fire... what would happen?"

The Fire Keeper stretched out her hands, feeling the heat emanating from the flames before her. She opened her mouth and spoke softly.

"The initial fire gradually faded, and soon darkness descended. But after that long darkness, a light would flicker gently. It was a small flame, the embers of the legacy passed down by the kings."

The Undead remained silent.

Whether gods or humans, they will all succumb to darkness after the flames have died down.

Could that tiny flame be the dawn of a new world?

Perhaps some people had already foreseen this and made corresponding preparations. But those people and events are no longer related to him.

"Lord Ash, it is your will."

The Fire Keeper asks the Undead what they think.

The immortals remained silent.

The Fire Keeper sat silently beside the hero who had yet to make a choice.

It was unclear how much time had passed, but the flames were still burning, and the immortal finally made a new move.

He got up, squatted down in front of the campfire, cupped the flames under the spiral sword in his hands, and stared at the fire.

This is the beginning of a generation, and also the end of a generation.

"grown ups?"

"You should go back."

The Undead interrupted the Fire Keeper.

"Go and search for your past... or, with others, wait for the world's... end."

The Fire Keeper looked at the undead staring at the flames, and in the end, she did not defy the will of the Ashes.

"May you find a safe haven, Lord Ash."

Her body transformed into light, and the Fire Keeper departed from the First Forge.

Now, only the Undead remain in the vast Primordial Forge.

Instead of following his instinct to throw himself into the flames, he held the small, flickering ball of fire in his hands and sat down once more beside the extinguished embers.

Before he stood up, his mind, already beginning to rust, thought of many things.

The thief who wanted to leave Firelink Shrine to steal things for him.

The pyromancer who would always open his arms to welcome the undead back, even though he would always nag Ash in his ear.

That witch who always called herself a stupid apprentice, but would never refuse any of her unreasonable requests. She even taught her forbidden spells.

And then there was that mage who, upon first meeting the undead, disdainfully remarked that they weren't smart enough. But later, he entrusted his entire past to the undead mage.

Too many people are barely surviving in this hopeless world.

Even though he no longer had the desire to pass on the flame, he was unwilling to extinguish it directly, leaving them to die in darkness without a glimmer of light.

He maintains the existing flame, neither passing it on nor extinguishing it.

This was the last thing Ash could do for them, and the last thing he could do for himself.

Presumably, after this, no one will carry on the flame.

Everything in this generation will come to an end in his own hands; he has done everything that needed to be done.

Although those stories didn't have perfect endings.

Just like my own story.

He held the flickering firelight, sat under the sun that had lost its light, and waited for time to pass.

I don't know how much time has passed, maybe a day, maybe a year.

As the last flame disappeared, he lowered his numb hand, feeling his last vestiges of consciousness fading away.

The immortal slowly closed his eyes.

The age of fire has come to an end.

1. Melancha of Londinium

Lentinium is a romantic city.

In Victoria, a country brimming with romance, Londinium, as the capital of Victoria, naturally avoids the clichés.

Amidst a dazzling array of reliefs and decorations imbued with humanistic spirit, Lentinium's prosperity grew day by day.

Within this mobile city-state that has never been conquered, the residents live a respectable and orderly life, and elegance is the most important quality of a nobleman in their very being.

Whether for adults or children, politeness is the norm in social life. Even schools offer etiquette classes, and proper and elegant manners should accompany children throughout their lives as they learn them in school.

It was this spiritual fulfillment that fostered Victoria's remarkable achievements in the arts. Education was also a contributing factor.

Once born into an upper-class environment, etiquette and art become essential knowledge for an elegant Victorian, whether they like it or not.

Melanie is attending her etiquette class at Wessex Private Secondary School.

"Be elegant. I've said it so many times, be elegant."

The etiquette teacher didn't seem to be in a good mood today. Even while teaching, he maintained his composure, but the furrowed brow on his face betrayed his inner turmoil.

"Tom, I told you, your smile is too big. You need to tone it down, you know?" The etiquette teacher stood in front of the boy named Tom, raising her chin, trying to increase her intimidation with a condescending look. "Tuck in your swollen cheek muscles, they look like a completely white apple!"

Tom's smile froze, and he tried to pull down the muscles around his cheekbones. But it didn't work; instead, it added a strange awkwardness to his smile.

"The corner of your mouth! Don't move, stay still!"