I Was Reborn in Another World, But I Awoke Inside a Corpse

Chapter 211 – The Secret of the Living

The wind carried no scent of death anymore.

Where once ash and blood had stained the earth, the land now shimmered under the lingering warmth of divine light. The bodies were gone—not buried, but walking again. The wounded stood. The grieving reunited. And at the center of it all, the one who made it possible now sat in silence.

Isaac leaned against a still-warm stone, his eyes half-closed. He hadn't collapsed, but he'd come close. Even with [Essence Efficiency – Rank EX] softening the blow, the mass resurrection had drained nearly all of his mana. He felt like a soul stretched thin, flickering between exhaustion and calm.

He hadn't spoken since it ended.

Not until she arrived.

Vaelyss, commander of the southern armies and scion of the House Vaelorn, approached him with steady, armored steps. She had removed her helmet, revealing the deep green warpaint on her cheeks—a symbol of gratitude in her culture. Behind her, her officers followed in silence, expressions a mix of awe and disbelief.

"Isaac," she began, her voice low, her tone formal. "We've tallied the numbers. Over ten thousand of our people—confirmed dead—are now alive. We saw the field. We saw what you did."

Isaac opened his eyes and met hers with a weary but resolute gaze.

"I didn't do it to be seen," he said. "And I don't want it to be known."

Vaelyss blinked. "What do you mean?"

Isaac pushed himself to stand—slowly, carefully—and dusted off his cloak. His voice remained calm, even. "Tell your soldiers. Tell your people. That they survived. That fate was merciful. That luck, divine timing, or protective spells shielded them."

"Not the truth?" she asked, stunned.

"No," Isaac replied. "The truth would spread like wildfire. Across your kingdom. Across the continent. Across the realms."

Vaelyss frowned, but her brow furrowed not in protest—only in thought.

"I don't want to be worshiped," Isaac continued. "I don't want to become a symbol. Because symbols turn into tools, or threats. And if the wrong people hear what happened here, they'll come for me. For your people. For all of us."

The soldiers behind her shifted uneasily. Some still bore the marks of death—ashen skin or tattered armor—but none questioned him. Not after witnessing the miracle firsthand.

Vaelyss exhaled slowly. "You saved my entire command. My province. My people. And you ask only that we stay quiet?"

Isaac nodded once. "You owe me nothing. Just your silence."

She was silent for a moment longer. Then she took a knee.

"I swear on the name of House Vaelorn," she said solemnly, "that no one under my command will speak of what happened here. They will remember only that we survived. The miracle will remain… in shadow."

Her officers followed suit, kneeling one by one.

Sylvalen watched quietly from the nearby ridge, arms crossed, her blue eyes unreadable. Selene stood beside her, whispering, "He's really serious about this, isn't he?"

"He always is," Sylvalen replied softly. "He's seen what happens to men who gain too much attention."

Lira approached him gently, offering a flask of sweet water. "They'll listen," she said. "They trust you. They saw you, and they trust you."

Isaac accepted the flask with a small smile. "Then that's enough."

Later, as the sun dipped toward the horizon, the survivors gathered in loose circles. Campfires flickered to life. Elven children laughed—those who only hours ago had been corpses on the field. Isaac sat beneath a tall tree, distant from the celebration but not alone.

Vaelyss approached once more, her expression softer this time.

"I had a speech prepared," she admitted. "A grand declaration. I was going to offer you land. A military title. Maybe even a shrine."

Isaac chuckled faintly. "I'm glad you didn't."

"I'm glad too," she said. "You don't want to be remembered."

He didn't reply.

She nodded once, then offered a parting gesture of respect—fist to heart—and walked away.

And so the secret of the living was born.

No tale would be told of a man who resurrected ten thousand.

Only of an improbable survival.

Of fate smiling on the South.

And of a quiet traveler who left before dawn.