The dull red dripped onto the soil splatted by rain. The color seeped into the soaked soil and vanished. It became unseen but not unknown. She knew it was there taunting her, tempting her, reminding her of who she was. She tossed the mangled carcass to the side out of disgust, the petals of red tainting its ashen fur slowly washed away into the mud.

Rana turned away from the sight. This was her reality. Her undead life could only be sustained by the essence of life, nourishment found in the living. When she bit into the struggling critter and felt its body go limp in her mouth, the aroma of fading life was repugnant and the sweetness of warm blood caused her to gag.

Still, she endured. She refused the alternative. The thought sent chills down her spine and it terrified her that she knew it would taste better.

Rana buried the memories of her struggle deep in her mind. It weighed but she ignored its grip. What mattered was she did not succumb to its temptation. She was stronger than that. Her faith in her humanity and her duty would keep her strong.

She took out the scroll and confirmed the contents within. The edges tipped in obsidian shimmered faintly as the droplets of rain bounced off the surface. She closed the ward key and slowly approached a line of scattered groups of people trying to enter the city.

The people paid her no attention as she inserted herself among other travellers. The rain excused her suspicious attire that masked her entire figure, and the grey sky dimmed the mood of the curious. Everyone simply wanted to be out of the miserable sky as soon as possible.

The groups split into two. Rana continued towards the gates while many more scrambled to a separate station guarded by poorly equipped soldiers and shabbily dressed government officials. There was no need for the kingdom or church to send their capable when dealing with the poor. Rusted armor, bent weapons, and irritable buffoons were enough to inspect those without a ward key.

Rana ignored their plight. There was nothing she could do, but most importantly, she was ashamed of what she had done.

Ward keys were given to settlement leaders so that they could enter cities to trade, resupply, and finish errands that aided their settlement. They were Church decrees and no city or local government could choose to ignore them, lest they suffer the wrath of Inquisitors. Each settlement was given one, and losing it not only meant they lost a lot of privileges in the city, but it also meant they lost what was entrusted to them by the Church.

The Church did not take kindly to those who sullied their trust as doing so endangered humanity and risked the danger of fiendish ploys. Magic scrolls required mana to activate, and fiends are the rare breed of monsters that have mana. They were also intelligent. Who knew what could befall humanity if the leaders of monsters had more options to eliminate their foes?

In the eyes of the Church, their trust was betrayed and humanity was threatened. It took time and work to regain their trust, and during the long and grueling process, the settlement was shunned and without a ward gate. She understood the bureaucracy and procedure. There was a reason for their strict enforcement. It was to protect humanity from monsters and fiends. The innocent caught in the middle was a sad but needed necessity.

Still, it ached her still heart that she was the reason the settlement needed to suffer. The only thing she could take solace in was that the Church was still the protectors of humanity. They would not leave the innocent to die.

Rana held onto the ward key and let mana flow into the scroll bound by red. She walked towards a gate guarded by two pillars carved with runes to the side. She could hear its silent humming, the magic within unnoticeable to those without a mind attuned to mana. She crossed the line and the steady song from the wards remained a whisper.

She hid her sigh of relief as she continued into the city. The ward key did not require mana to activate as the magic within could sense whether the holder was capable of mana generation. This meant even humans without the mark could use them and enter the place they guarded. She was unsure whether it worked with a zombie, but she knew the mechanism behind the magic and her mana could trick the ward key into triggering it.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

The city was not bustling with activity. It was a smaller city and still early in the morning. Stallhorn was not important enough to attract resources, but it was also not useless enough to completely abandon. It served as a hub for trade between nearby settlements, and it had enough people visiting to keep smaller essential businesses afloat. The strangest part was that despite its relative insignificance, it had a Church branch.

Stallhorn was a city with fewer people and a library. There would be records of history and experiments, and most importantly, location of Altars. They were all relevant information Rana needed. She could find out what happened during her slumber, maybe glimpse into the truth behind her awakening, and perhaps find an Altar to fully unlock her Status.

The only issue was how to get in. Libraries were not available to the general public, even marked ones had limited access. The wards guarding it were complex, powerful, and devastating if triggered. The Church rather have its secrets burn than leave it in the wrong hands. However, it wouldn’t come to that unless someone forced their hand.

For now, Rana needed somewhere to gather her thoughts.

She searched the city for a suitable inn. She avoided markets and the city square, opting for the shadier side of the streets. She saw roaming hoodlums from time to time, but none dared approach her. No one wanted to make a scene where the Church was stationed. The further she went the narrower the streets became. She sometimes needed to walk over drunkards stirring next to their own vomit.

Rana stopped before a weathered door. The sign above was broken and she could barely make out the words written on it. Whoever the inn belonged to didn’t bother to change the sign. The inn was a failing business in a seedy location ran by an apathetic owner. It was perfect.

She stepped into a room of empty chairs and a few tables with a single plate of leftover on one of them. There were bits of food scattered on the floor swept to the side, and it showed just how much effort the owner was willing to put into the inn. The stench of the place would've assaulted her nostrils if her nose was still functioning like normal. Thankfully, it wasn’t.

Rana walked towards a skinny and bearded man behind the counter. He slumped on his elbow and peered at the empty mug before his reddened cheek. She tossed a few bronze pellets, the standard fare for a regular room, and waited for the keys.

“Missing a few, stranger,” the man croaked out of his stupor.

Rana didn’t argue and dumped a few more. She stared at the man and dared him to object. He simply shrugged and gave her a small stone. It was a cinder key, one time use magic that disintegrated into ash once activated. The man knew his clientele. They needed a place that did not attract attention and where no one asked questions. He knew he was overcharging, but it was the price for his apathy, a price his clients were willing to pay.

“The outhouse is clogged so don’t bother,” the man called out with a chuckle as Rana took the stone and went for the stairs. It was clear he didn’t want her to stay long. She didn’t plan to. However, a thought sprang into her mind. When she was traveling she hid in the wilderness and avoided contact with humans. The few interactions she had were in situations that did not permit her from doing so without exposing herself. Now, she had the opportunity to ask the one question that had been nagging at her mind.

“Remind me,” she asked. “What year was it again?”

The man nonchalantly burped but answered her nonetheless.

“The thirty-ninth year of the seventh ascension.”

Rana walked up the stairs and onto the second floor. She found her room and placed the stone key onto the doorknob. The magic burned into ash and the wooden door creaked open. She closed the thin and feeble wooden plank and leaned against it. She slid on the ground and stared at the rotten ceiling.

Rana had been dead for at least a century.