When Charlotte disappeared into the distance, the Hargrave family, including Amelia, gathered at the spot where Ethan had died. The elders smiled bitterly.
"Patriarch, this soul didn't die in anguish. There's regret, but not enough. It doesn't meet our condition," the first elder said.
The other elders nodded. Ethan's father calmly stroked his beard, his face unmoved by the loss. His heart was calm.
The patriarch nodded and walked away.
The elders shook their heads in disappointment before leaving. Even Amelia's face turned bitter. They had hoped Ethan's death would birth a resentful spirit, but it seemed the plan had failed. Ethan made sure to cause anguish for Charlotte, the one who betrayed him, and found peace.
What Amelia couldn't understand was why there was no anguish at his death. She knew Ethan must've realized she would marry his brother. If that wasn't enough to break him, then surely being disowned by his father should've. But somehow… it didn't.
She wasn't the only one thinking this. The elders, and even Ethan's father, would be questioning it too.
"The only way he didn't feel anguish," Amelia said, "is if… he never saw the Hargraves as family. Not once."
An elder walking behind her shot a freezing glare that made her shut her mouth. But Amelia was a princess. She shook her head, chuckled, and walked away.
Charlotte sat beside her sister's corpse and wept. Her hatred for Ethan had grown beyond what she could handle. But he was already dead, and now there was no one to vent her rage on.
After a month of crying, Charlotte brought her sister's body to the Hargrave family. They promised to care for her. As compensation, Charlotte became one of their guards, while they searched for a way to heal her sister.
…
…
…
"Pass."
A skeleton wearing a black robe raised his scythe, pointing it toward a direction. A human figure, trembling, wept uncontrollably, tears streaming down his face as he begged the grim reaper not to send him to eternal damnation.
Chains rose from the earth, wrapping around the soul, before dragging it down into the depths below.
"Ha... these damned humans are too stubborn," the grim reaper muttered under his breath. "If it weren't for my desire to get promoted to an angel of death, why else would a noble reaper like me stoop to be a judge? They're not even paying enough crystals for the work I do daily. Damn it, old reaper, I quit! I can't handle these humans anymore. How come they keep dying every passing nanosecond?"
An old reaper, standing nearby, shook his head, sighing. "Grim Reaper Crow, this job isn't so bad. The three high judges have been judging souls for fifty billion years without a break. They haven't even changed shifts. We're just here to help lighten their load. Besides, if Lord Angel of Death sees you assisting, he might reward you with ten million crystals."
Crow's eyes widened at the mention of the reward, his posture straightening.
"Ten million?!" Crow nearly shouted, his voice echoing through the halls of the underworld. "Which bastard said I, Crow, want to quit? Come out here, right now! Don't mind what that bastard said, Old reaper. I never said such a thing, hehe." His voice was full of forced cheer, though a flicker of anxiety passed through his eyes.
The old reaper gave Crow a sidelong glance. "I could have sworn you just said you wanted to quit."
"Nonsense!" Crow barked, his voice rising with indignation. "Why would I quit? This job is one my ancestors have done for generations. It's in my blood! I'm not about to ruin our family business."
With a dramatic flourish, he shouted, "Next!"
A soul stepped forward, trembling.
"H—Hell!" Crow yelled, pointing his scythe at the soul.
"Next!" he barked again, voice sharp.
"H—Hell."
"Next!" Crow's patience was running thin.
"H—Hell."
Crow's patience continued to fray as more souls appeared, their fate sealed with every utterance.
"Next! Walk faster, you bastard!" Crow snapped. "If I lose crystals because of you, I swear I'll send you straight to the twelfth level of hell!"
Ethan stepped forward; his expression unreadable.
His mind was clear. He knew exactly where he was—he was in the underworld, after all. It had been mentioned countless times in the game and novel he had once been a part of. Three years in the underworld, and he'd barely survived, each day a struggle. He'd almost died several times. Along the way, he encountered all sorts of life forms—people, beasts, grim reapers—each one more strange and dangerous than the last.
There had even been a young girl. Ethan had briefly dated her, as her mother was powerful in the underworld. But her mother had refused to allow Ethan to enter either the reincarnation gate or the eternal damnation gate. Instead, she left him to wander the dangerous streets of the underworld, where many would have eaten him alive if he hadn't found a way to survive.
But in those three years, one thing had been certain: he could resurrect himself. His immortality skill was nearly ready, only a minute left before it would activate.
"Hel—" Crow began, his scythe already raised.
"Damn it!" Crow cursed, frustration rising in his chest. "This bastard is here again! How many times do I have to tell you? You can't reincarnate, Ethan. You're one of us now, and there's no turning back!"
Ethan took a step forward, unfazed by Crow's harsh words.
"I..." Crow started, but then his face twitched as he shook his head.
"About the consort," Crow muttered. He suddenly seemed lost in thought, as if trying to remember something important. "She told me to tell you this…"
A voice emanated from Crow's mouth, a deep, echoing tone that didn't belong to him.
"As one of the princes of death, I see deep into your heart, Ethan, and it's cold. Cold as stone… You played my daughter with your sweet words. You fooled her. You played the part so well that even she believed you. But not me. I can see through you. You would deceive Uther into dying, and destroy Earth without a second thought. That is why I cannot allow you to return."
Ethan listened quietly, his eyes narrowing as he processed the words.
"Why would you say such a thing?" he asked, his voice steady, even as his heart twisted at the accusations.
"Because it's the truth," the voice replied, cold and indifferent. "There's so much evil in your heart."
Ethan stood silently for a long moment. "Thanks for telling me this... I'll be on my way now."
Without another word, he vanished in a flash of white light, leaving the underworld behind.
The grim reapers watching stood frozen, their expressions filled with shock. Ethan's presence disappeared completely, as though he had never been there at all.
…
In a wide clearing not far from the Hargrave manor, tiny white lights formed in the rain. Lightning flashed; wind howled. The light slowly gathered and then vanished.
Dust swirled from all directions; chunks of flesh rolled backward as if time reversed. Dust became muscle, sinew, bone. The process continued until a full body formed—Ethan's body.
His eyes opened.
There was no happiness. No sadness.
Dragging himself forward, Ethan staggered naked, cold, and hungry. The forest wasn't large—barely a mile across.
He stumbled on, dazed, his thoughts dull, his body slow to respond as his blood regenerated. Finally, he reached an orphanage where children laughed and played.
Ethan hid behind a tree.
When a girl came near to retrieve a fallen fruit, he made a hand seal and drained her vitality, reducing her to dry bones. He did the same to every kid who came looking for their friends.
When they stopped coming, Ethan mimicked one of the children's voices to lure the rest. By the time the caretakers noticed, he had enough energy.
Ethan fled into the forest, heading toward the academy, wearing children's clothes.