Zurrernorn—a terrorist organization infamous across the world.
It was made up largely of Magic Casters who acted purely for their own benefit, caring nothing for the lives of others. Their actions had led to countless deaths and tragedies, earning them the enmity and pursuit of many nations.
Yet because they were Magic Casters, they were elusive, appearing and disappearing without a trace. To this day, they had never been completely eradicated.
And within E-Rantel's cemetery, one of Zurrernorn's Twelve Disciples was hiding.
Khajiit, a Necromancer who specialized in the magic of death.
Deep within the E-Rantel graveyard, in a dark and shadowed chamber—
A bald man in black robes stood before a magic circle, carefully drawing its final lines in blood in preparation for the coming ritual. His face was ashen and lifeless, like that of a corpse.
As he looked at the nearly completed blood-red magic array, a flicker of excitement passed through Khajiit's murky eyes.
"The magic circle is almost complete. Mother… I will resurrect you."
He muttered to himself, a hint of madness in his voice. His pale skin and unnaturally cold body made it clear that he was no longer truly human. He was gradually transforming into an Undead.
But Khajiit didn't care.
As long as he could obtain power, what did it matter if he ceased to be human?
He had once been a kind-hearted boy. But his mother's death had changed everything.
"Why do people die? Why did Mother have to die…"
"I never even saw her one last time. I never got to say goodbye. So I refuse to accept it as a farewell."
"I will grow stronger. I will surpass humanity. I will resurrect Mother."
To bring back the mother he never had the chance to see at the end, Khajiit had abandoned his former life without hesitation and stepped onto a path lined with thorns.
So what if he became an Undead? So what if the world cursed him?
As long as it made him stronger, he did not care.
Because if he did not grow stronger, with his natural talent, he would never in this lifetime learn the magic necessary to resurrect his mother.
And the fastest way to do that was obvious—
To stop being human.
Humans had limits. Khajiit could feel them clearly: fragile bodies, short lifespans, meager reserves of magic…
Those limitations had long driven him to consider abandoning his humanity.
But even abandoning humanity was not easy.
Fortunately, fate had left him a path.
The Orb of Death.
A magic item he had obtained by chance. As long as he continued gathering negative energy, it would gradually transform him into an Undead.
An Undead with self-awareness. Ageless. Immortal.
With endless time and an eternal body, he could devote himself to studying resurrection magic.
For that reason, Khajiit had brought several apprentices with him and come eagerly to E-Rantel to put his plan into motion.
And that preparation had lasted five years.
Five full years.
Only he knew how he had endured them.
But after all that time, the moment to harvest the fruits of his labor had finally arrived.
To slaughter the entirety of E-Rantel—
That was his simple, unembellished plan.
Just as Khajiit was indulging in fantasies of his plan's success, a shout broke his concentration.
"Master! Master!"
One of his apprentices came running over, practically tripping over himself, dragging a corpse in his hands.
"What is that body?"
Khajiit frowned in confusion. He distinctly remembered telling them not to disturb him unless it was urgent.
What was this fool trying to do? Did he have a death wish?
"My lord, this is our target. I found him not far from the camp."
The black-robed figure spoke in a fawning tone, barely able to hide his excitement. After all, this was credit that had fallen straight into his lap.
"Traces of teleportation magic… Clementine."
Khajiit examined the corpse carefully and quickly reached his conclusion. There was no doubt—this had been delivered by his so-called ally.
But… where is the soul?
His expression darkened.
As a specialist in necromancy, Khajiit could clearly sense that the young man's soul had completely dissipated. There was no possibility of revival.
That realization made his face even grimmer.
It wasn't that he didn't know resurrection magic—though the kind he could use came with countless side effects—but that only worked if the soul still existed. If the soul had been destroyed, there was nothing he could do.
And his ultimate goal was to resurrect his mother, whose soul had already faded away.
Khajiit's eyes flickered as he searched for a solution.
What he wanted was the boy's Talent. But a body without a soul couldn't use a Talent. And he had no way to restore a vanished soul…
Unless—
Khajiit slowly raised his head and looked at the disciple standing before him, still brimming with excitement. A trace of madness flashed in his eyes.
"What's your name?"
"My lord, my name is Puch!"
Puch answered loudly, thrilled. He assumed his master had noticed his contribution and was about to reward him generously.
"Puch… is it? Tell me, Puch. Would you be willing to die for me?"
The madness in Khajiit's eyes deepened. But Puch, still bowing his head, failed to notice.
"Of course, my lord. I revere you as I would a god."
He replied without hesitation, believing this was merely a test of loyalty before receiving his reward.
"I am pleased. Then I shall take your soul."
Puch: ???
"Ahhh—!"
Before he could even lift his head, a searing pain tore through him. A pale hand clamped down on his skull. No matter how he struggled, he couldn't break free.
"It'll be over soon. Don't move."
The Orb of Death in Khajiit's hand emitted a faint glow. His palm, saturated with negative energy, tightened around Puch's head. With a violent pull, a translucent spiritual form was ripped out.
Puch's body stiffened. The light faded from his eyes as he collapsed onto the cold ground.
"Since the original soul is gone… we'll just replace it."
"The body and soul won't match, and it will eventually collapse entirely. But as long as it holds until the plan succeeds, that's enough."
Khajiit stared at the pure white sphere of light in his hand, his eyes burning with fervor.
As long as his plan succeeded, nothing else mattered.
He slowly pressed the glowing orb against Nfirea's forehead, then stepped back, watching closely.
A soul yearns for a body. A body yearns for a soul. The two are inseparable.
Just as he expected, after hovering for a brief moment, the sphere sank into Nfirea's head.
"The soul fusion was successful. The compatibility seems acceptable."
Using magic, Khajiit stabilized Nfirea's body and hurried toward his inner chamber.
The soul problem had been resolved. Now he had to deal with the body. He needed to revive it as quickly as possible and maintain the balance between soul and flesh.
"Inform Clementine. Tell her to come see me at once."
"The plan is about to begin. Have her make preparations."
After a brief moment of thought, Khajiit sent a magical message to his remaining disciples, ordering them to locate her.
The destruction of E-Rantel was about to commence.
Clementine might not be trustworthy, but he had no other choice. Risky as it was, she was still a crucial piece of combat power.