A Perverted Kiss and an Undead Interruption

Golden, fine strands of hair cascaded freely, while the subtle fragrance of snow orchid gently permeated the air with her every breath. The Saintess’s crystalline lips, dusted with frost, drew ever closer.

Gwynevere’s eyes and expressions had become noticeably more lively, much to Daphne’s relief. Yet, the imminent forced kiss left Daphne utterly mortified.

Already weaker than Gwynevere, Daphne now felt entirely powerless after that, unable to resist in the slightest. She could only submit to her fate.

Honestly, both sisters seemed to harbor a twisted streak deep down. Even a half-blood, stripped of rights, shouldn’t be pushed down and forcibly kissed, especially a girl they’d only just met.

Her magic had only recovered a point or two, her hands were bound, preventing her from drawing runes or casting spells. Her cloak’s ability was still on cooldown, and neither the death rune’s substitute summon nor the magic-immune shield from her necklace amulet could protect her from this perverted beast.

In short, Daphne had no means left to stop Gwynevere from taking her lips.

Her tearful protests only made Gwynevere press down harder, her breathing growing heavier—a clear sign of heightened excitement.

But just as Daphne plunged into utter despair, a sudden, abrupt sound of footsteps echoed from deeper within the forest. Both girls, entangled on the snowy ground beneath the tree, simultaneously tensed and gazed in that direction.

Dense, ethereal mist drifted around the approaching figure. Beneath their cowl, unhealthy blackish-purple skin was discernible, and the faint, putrid smell of a corpse, unique to the undead, could be subtly detected even from a distance.

“To think the Platinum Crown of the Empire possesses such refined taste, forcing a half-blood girl… Well, to each their own, heh heh heh,” a hoarse male voice drifted languidly through the air.

His words were light, almost ethereal, conveying a sense of listlessness. His sinister, sneering laughter was utterly repulsive.

“Your accomplice?” Gwynevere’s fingers tightened around Daphne’s throat.

“No, not at all…” Daphne flinched in surprise. While she did have dealings with Grover Crane, the commander of the Death Hawks, she didn’t recognize this sudden intruder who was ruining everything. “I don’t know him…”

Seeing the helpless, tear-streaked face of the half-blood girl beneath her, Gwynevere’s heart softened slightly. She released her grip and stood up. “Though I don’t know your motives or intentions, you did save Edith. For now, I’ll trust you bear no ill will.”

Daphne, like a young girl who had just escaped an ill-intentioned plot, pulled her cloak tighter and huddled back under the tree, trembling. She sobbed softly, wiping away her tears.

Gwynevere hadn’t experienced such a profound emotional pull from another’s every action in a long time. Witnessing Daphne’s current delicate, tearful state, and realizing she was the cause, Gwynevere actually felt a pang of guilt.

“I’m sorry,” the Saintess, whose heart had been sealed for too long, didn’t know what else to say in such a moment, offering only a dry apology. “Let me deal with this zombie mage first.”

Daphne thought she had misheard. She had actually been crying deliberately, putting on a show for the zombie across from them, hoping to remain neutral and avoid becoming a target. She never expected Gwynevere’s apology in return.

‘It seems this girl still has a conscience after all.’

“Mm.” ‘Then I’ll play along and be sweet,’ Daphne thought, and so she nodded demurely at Gwynevere, her voice soft.

“It seems the pests of Klogotia have infiltrated the Empire’s territory, appearing so far south,” Gwynevere said, her voice icy, as she whistled and swiftly drew runes. She slowly approached the cloaked man.

Emma, responding to the whistle, galloped to her mistress’s side and skidded to a halt. The sea crystal silver staff from her saddlebag shot out of a crevice, wreathed in a pale blue glow, and landed precisely in Gwynevere’s hand.

From empty-handed to fully armed, Gwynevere took less than a second. Even if her opponent used that brief window to draw runes, Gwynevere would catch up, even surpass them, with her superior speed. Her exceptional magical talent allowed her to give her opponent a head start of a single syllable.

“There’s much you don’t know. The gaze of the living is always short-sighted, as short as your lifespans,” the man slowly raised his head, revealing the hideous face beneath his cowl. Most of his skin was rotten and necrotic, maggots had burrowed holes in his cheeks, and two bloodshot eyeballs bulged from his shriveled, lidless sockets.

This was a loathsome zombie, more advanced than common skeletons or ghouls, but far from the noble power of a Lich. Among the undead, he was considered low-tier.

Yet, notably, he was a zombie mage.

Most mages aspiring to undeath aim for Lichdom, the ultimate answer to necromancy: eternal, infinite life, a soul eternally bound, and endless arcane energy.

To become a Lich, one must first be a living person, not another type of undead. Therefore, a zombie mage like him would remain a zombie mage for life; his soul was tied to his physical body, and his destruction meant annihilation, placing him hundreds, if not thousands, of levels below a Lich.

He seemed rather young in life, suggesting he hadn’t become a zombie willingly, but had died accidentally and been resurrected by another.

“This scent, it’s identical,” Gwynevere sniffed the air, her voice growing colder. “You are the necromancer who aided the Beastmen in attacking the Grand Preacher’s convoy of the Salentz religious domain. The direction behind you leads to the beast horde.”

The zombie mage was briefly startled, then let out a sinister, low chuckle. “Heh heh heh, it is I. I’m impressed you detected it; it seems the Empire isn’t entirely comprised of fools.”

“This ends now. Lady Vatitaya will deliver judgment for your crimes.” Having confirmed him as an enemy, Gwynevere immediately raised her staff. Icy blue, frigid runes began to converge and shimmer at the tip of the sea crystal.

“Overconfident!” The zombie mage flung open his cowl and raised the pale staff in his hand. The staff was fashioned from a human arm, its skeletal hand tightly clutching a black-purple blood crystal corrupted by fel energy. “You’re already surrounded and none the wiser! It seems I misjudged; the Empire truly is full of fools!”

Daphne was stunned.

Not by the zombie’s magic, but by the staff in his hand—the Staff of White Bone, perfectly suited for the death affinity. As a transitional weapon, it was a remarkably powerful, rare-grade main-hand item.

She desperately wanted it.

‘Should I help Gwynevere once my stamina recovers a bit? We could team up, father and daughter, take this guy down, grab the staff, and then slip away in the chaos?’

It sounded plausible, and there weren’t many other good options. Neither Gwynevere winning nor losing in a one-on-one fight was an outcome Daphne desired. She might as well gamble on her own adaptability.

“What trickery are you playing?” Gwynevere cautiously halted her rune drawing, but the necromancer’s promised ambush didn’t materialize. Her prepared protective spell, Frost Barrier, found no opportune moment for deployment.

“Attack the Platinum Crown of the Empire herself? I’m not that foolish!” The zombie sneered. “The one most easily torn apart here is clearly your lover… Hmm, perhaps ‘pet’ or ‘s*ave’ would be more accurate? Heh heh ha ha ha ha!”

“W-what?” Daphne didn’t react immediately.

She turned her head to find over a dozen skeletal corpses and ghouls, hidden in the snowy bushes, erupting simultaneously at the necromancer’s command. They surged towards her, emanating the stench of decaying flesh, their faces contorted in grotesque snarls.

‘Lover? Pet? s*ave? How can each one be more outrageous than the last?!’

‘No, that’s not the point at all! I’m completely powerless right now, unable to even crawl. My magic has only recovered two or three points, nowhere near enough to handle this many skeletons and ghouls.’

‘Good daughter, save your father’s life!’, she thought frantically.