“How’s the repair coming along, High Priest?” Viktor asked.

  “The rebuilding is for the most part accomplished, Sovereign of the Dungeon,” Khenemhotep replied. “Blessed be the Dungeon’s Heart, for she has labored greatly, and through her efforts, everything has been restored with haste.”

  “That’s reassuring,” Viktor said with a nod. Of course, he was already aware. Celeste had given him the full report, after all. Nevertheless, it never hurt to be polite and show concern for the ancient priest’s domain. “How about your tomb guards, then?”

  “Most of them have fallen during the battle. But behold, I am working to raise new ones in their place. Be not troubled, Sovereign of the Dungeon, for they will be made ready soon enough.”

  “Excellent. I might need them for a little combat test soon.”

  “And who is it, then, that will be put on trial against the sentinels of the tomb? Shall it be Lord Sebekton again, or perhaps someone who has newly arrived upon the dungeon?”

  Viktor’s grin widened. “Me.”

  He had amassed a sizable pile of Sigils, courtesy of Orloth. They were aching to be used, waiting to be shaped into Thauma. So he needed some targets to test them on. And what could be better than skeletons? They were practically free; any damage he inflicted could be repaired very quickly by Khenemhotep.

  The green flames within the ancient priest’s twin orbs flickered, then steadied. Viktor guessed that was as close to surprise as a desiccated, millennia-old undead could express. Then, the mummy slowly inclined his head in a formal bow.

  “I await it with anticipation.”

  They were sitting on the wide stone steps before the golden throne in the Chamber of the Dead. Just the two of them this time; Sebekton was not around. After all, today wasn’t one of those storytelling sessions. Viktor had a little extra time before heading home, so he came to check on the priest. And after a bit of small talk, it was time to get to the real reason why he was here.

  “You remember the warrior woman we fought, don’t you?”

  “Verily, Sovereign of the Dungeon.” Khenemhotep nodded. “I was told that she met her end by poison near the entrance, just as she was trying to make her escape.”

  “Right. After that, she was given a funeral and buried in the town’s cemetery. But here’s the thing... later that night, right after the funeral, someone dug her up. Stole the whole body.”

  “Could this have been the work of graverobbers?”

  “Do graverobbers usually carry off the corpses too?”

  “They take only the treasures, and the remains of the dead they cast aside without regard. Those remains are not carried away, for such labor yields no gain.” Khenemhotep’s green orbs gleamed faintly. “Unless it is the body itself that they sought.”

  “And why would anyone want her body?”

  “Many reasons there may be. Perhaps they bore a grudge against that woman and wished to profane her remains. Or they could be zealots who deem her holy, believing the body might serve as a sacred relic.”

  Viktor furrowed his brow. Neither explanation felt right to him. He couldn’t think of anyone who hated Brynhildr enough to do something like that, nor anyone who might consider her some sort of holy maiden.

  “What if they’re trying to raise her as an undead?”

  “It is within the realm of possibility. Yet, behold, as her soul has been consumed by the dungeon, she could only be raised as a mindless puppet. Truly, it is not worth the effort to target one specific corpse for such an end. Tell me then, Sovereign of the Dungeon, have the other graves also been opened and disturbed?”

  “No, only hers.”

  Indeed, that part certainly didn’t add up. Brynhildr might be a formidable warrior in life, but as an undead, she would be above average at best. Hardly worth all the trouble of a midnight exhumation.

  “High Priest,” Viktor said, “you once told me that Nakhran could bring back those who have been lost to oblivion. In other words, even if a soul has been erased, it isn’t necessarily gone for good.”

  “Verily,” Khenemhotep said after a pause. A trace of distaste colored his words at the mention of that name. “In truth, such a thing is possible. Yet I know not how it is done, nor by what means it is accomplished.”

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Viktor stared at the stone floor, contemplating. He thought for a moment longer, then turned his gaze back to the ancient priest.

  “Let’s talk about the people he brought back. No, let’s focus on a specific someone. Among them, is there anyone who stands out to you?”

  “There was a princess by the name of Neferati. After she was brought back from death, she became one of Nakhran’s most fervent and fanatical followers. She was set over the Cult of Nakhran as its leader, and one might say that she stood as his second in command during his rebellion.”

  “Interesting. Tell me more about her. Everything. Let’s start with how she ended up in oblivion in the first place.”

  “Sovereign of the Dungeon, she lived in ages long before I was born,” Khenemhotep began, “and therefore all that I know of her comes only from stories passed down through the generations. According to the tales, she was a princess renowned for her beauty and intellect. Many powerful men came to court her, yet none found favor in her eyes. Rather, her heart was drawn to knowledge and magic, and she frequently visited the temple of the Bearded God.”

  Viktor chuckled. “She seemed like someone who would have been a loyal servant of your god. Why, then, was she cast into oblivion?”

  Khenemhotep let out a breathless sigh. “At the first, all were pleased with her apparent piety. Yet it came to pass that the thing which stirred her heart was not the sacred rites themselves, but the power behind them. And she inquired, saying, whether she also might learn to wield it. To this the priests made answer, that the power bestowed by the Bearded God could be passed only to His servants, and that the priesthood was a calling granted to men alone.”

  “I guess she didn’t take ‘no’ for an answer,” Viktor said with a grin.

  The ancient priest inclined his head solemnly. “Verily. In the end, she seduced one of the priests, and through him she learned the arcane in secret. She was an intelligent woman, this I must grant her due. Within a short span of time, she had mastered our arts...”

  To be fair, Viktor wouldn’t blame her. There was nothing inherently wrong with seeking power. If the proper path was closed to her, she would have no choice but to find a different way. Sure, such an act might be deemed blasphemous, but having one’s soul destroyed simply for ambition seemed a bit too excessive.

  “...When her secret was discovered, she murdered all who knew of it. Yet hear this also, such a secret could not remain hidden forever. For the more she slew, the more holes were torn in the fabric of her deception. At the last, she murdered an entire city, and she raised them all as her undead servants.”

  Well... that escalated quickly.

  “In the end, her city of the dead was besieged on all sides. She was taken captive, and then put to death. The city, with all it contained, was razed to the ground, so that nothing remained. Her soul was brought forth before the Bearded God, and He cast her into oblivion. Her body was burned with fire, and her ashes scattered to the winds, never to be gathered again.”

  “And you’re telling me,” Viktor asked, “after all that, hundreds of years later, Nakhran somehow managed to bring her back?”

  “Verily, Sovereign of the Dungeon.”

  “How did you even know that it was her? What if he just pulled some random woman out of nowhere and called her Neferati? Who could possibly tell if it was true or not?”

  “My lord himself has spoken,” Khenemhotep said. “He has declared that it was indeed she.”

  Well, if the Bearded One had confirmed it, then there was no room for doubt. But then, how? Both her soul and her body had been gone for centuries. Yet Nakhran had resurrected her nonetheless.

  If that were the case... then maybe even Celestia could—

  [Master.]

  What’s it?

  [Perhaps Neferati hadn’t been completely gone. Perhaps when her soul was cast into oblivion, it did not dissipate, but condensed into essence instead. Then, this crystallized form of her soul drifted in the Ethereal Sea for hundreds of years, until the day Nakhran picked her up.]

  You think that’s what happened?

  [Maybe, maybe not. I cannot say. But it is a possibility that might deserve your attention.]

  Even if it were true that Neferati’s soul had remained as essence, the whole idea still felt ridiculous. If Nakhran could bring someone back to life from just that, then even a Reliquary could be remade into a living person. That was... absurd. Then again, the guy was someone who wielded power equivalent to a god. Who could say what was possible and what was not?

  Anyway, if someone like Neferati, gone for centuries, could be resurrected, then Brynhildr, dead for only a few days, was hardly out of reach.

  But still, why?

  Why would someone even care about bringing her back? What purpose could it possibly serve?

  Viktor’s thoughts drifted to the Mastermind. He might have been the one who had given Viktor the power to return from death. He might have been the one who had led Dagnar and Brynhildr to Daelin. He might have some connections to Nakhran, or he might even be Nakhran himself. So perhaps, this theft of Brynhildr’s corpse was just another step in whatever twisted plan he was weaving.

  Of course, all of this was speculation. There was no proof of any god’s meddling. Maybe the real reason behind the missing body was just something mundane, or even outright stupid. Viktor simply didn’t have enough information to dig any further. So all he could do now was shove all those questions to the back of his mind.

  “Thank you, High Priest. I’ll go now.”

  He bid farewell to Khenemhotep, then asked Celeste to teleport him out. No, he would not return to the Core Room. He would go back to his room directly. It was about time anyway; dinner wouldn’t cook itself.

  In an instant, the world around him shifted. One moment he was in the dungeon; the next he was lying on the floor, staring at the bottom of his bed.

  Every time he needed to go to the dungeon, he crawled under the bed first before asking Celeste to teleport him in. There was always a chance someone might be in his room when he returned, and hiding there lowered the odds of getting caught. It was better to be safe than sorry, after all.

  When he rolled out of the bed, however, he heard a noise. A noise from the floor below.

  Huh?

  There shouldn’t be anyone there. Claire always came home late. The house should be empty. Was it a thief? But the sound... it seemed like someone was cooking.

  Could it be Claire coming home early today?

  He crept toward the door and slowly opened it. Immediately, the smell of sizzling bacon hit him like a punch to the nose.

  Yep. Claire.

  But why was she home at this hour? What had happened?