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

Chapter 218 – How Much Is a Kingdom Worth?

The soft hum of the Grand Appraisal Hall's mana-crystal lanterns still lingered in the air as Isaac and his companions stepped into the outer corridor. The valuation reports had been finalized, sealed, and whisked away by elven scribes with the speed of people who knew too much and wanted to ask nothing.

Isaac walked beside Sylvalen in silence for a few moments, arms folded loosely behind his head. The echo of Master Naevarin's earlier words bounced around in his mind.

"You would eclipse the seasonal trade output of three Elven cities."

He frowned thoughtfully.

Then casually asked, "So, uh… Sylvalen?"

She raised an eyebrow, her silver-platinum hair catching the hallway's crystalline light. "Yes?"

"Exactly how much is the seasonal trade output of three Elven cities? Like... in terms I'd understand. Could I buy a really good sword? A castle? A small nation, maybe?"

Sylvalen stopped mid-step and turned to face him, blinking as if trying to decide whether to scold him, laugh, or walk into a wall.

"You… you don't know?"

Isaac shrugged. "I mean, I'm guessing it's a lot, but I didn't grow up in the 'convert essence-infused moss into palace-grade tax revenue' economy. Throw me a number."

Lira, walking just behind them, snorted. "Oh no. We're doing math now."

Selene leaned against a crystal support pillar and grinned. "This should be good."

Sylvalen sighed and folded her arms, slipping into full noble-princess-explainer mode. "One Elven city typically exports around 300,000 platinum marks worth of enchanted goods and refined spell-materials per season. That includes regional trade with nobility and military requisition orders. Multiply that by three, and—"

"—So you're saying I'm rich?" Isaac interrupted, eyes wide.

Sylvalen gave him a long, exasperated look. "Isaac. You could buy a duchy, fund its military, hire the best spellwrights on the continent, and still have enough left to commission an opera about how casually you did all that."

Isaac blinked. "Oh."

Then added, "Can I still buy the horse, though?"

Lira burst out laughing.

Selene chuckled as well. "You could buy the bloodline of the horse."

Sylvalen let out a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a laugh. "You could fund a breeding program that would revolutionize cavalry tactics for three kingdoms."

Isaac looked impressed. "Neat."

He reached into his dimensional vault, pulled out one of the glowing roots they had collected, and turned it over in his hands. "So… these really are worth that much, huh?"

"They're priceless," Sylvalen muttered. "Especially since no one can trace where they came from."

Isaac gave a small, knowing smirk. "Exactly."

Selene tilted her head at him. "You're not going to tell them, are you?"

"Of course not," he said. "If I told anyone that I plucked these out of the dirt while humming a song about soup, the entire economic structure of Terra might collapse from spite."

Lira wheezed.

Sylvalen rolled her eyes but smiled. "You're ridiculous."

"And rich," Isaac said.

"Unforgivably," she agreed.

Chapter 219: The Weight of a World's Worth

"Three cities?" Isaac tilted his head as he looked at the scroll filled with trade records. "You're saying the entire seasonal export value of three elven cities… is still less than the haul we brought back from Emberlight?"

Sylvalen didn't answer right away. She simply sipped her tea with a distant expression. Aelira, on the other hand, folded her arms, her tone dry. "Actually, that's a conservative estimate. If we include the mineral samples, soil cubes, and that glowing moss Lira stuffed into her bag, it may equal the trade output of four cities. Possibly five."

Isaac blinked. "…So you're saying we're rich."

"No," Aelira said, rubbing her temples. "I'm saying that if you put all of this on the open market, you might cause a continental recession."

Lira raised her hand, looking sheepish. "Um… I also picked up a few flower petals. The ones that shimmer under moonlight. They smelled nice."

Sylvalen let out a soft chuckle. "Those petals are highly potent alchemical ingredients. In a single handful lies the equivalent value of a royal dowry."

Isaac stared at them all for a long moment. "Okay, now I understand why you didn't want me to talk about Emberlight."

They sat in a private room of the palace, far from curious ears. The appraisal team had returned hours ago, shaking and pale, muttering numbers that even the royal scribes had difficulty writing down. It was then that Aelira ordered the vaults sealed and the staff sworn to silence.

"We'll need a slow release plan," she continued, tapping her fingers against the table. "Controlled auctions. Limited quantities. Spread across multiple regions to avoid suspicion."

"And the origin?" Isaac asked.

Sylvalen looked at him with gentle seriousness. "It will remain a secret, as you wished. The world doesn't need to know you created a new paradise."

Isaac nodded quietly. That truth was something he would share only with those he trusted—and even then, only when necessary.

Suddenly, a knock echoed at the door. A royal messenger stepped inside, bowed deeply, and presented a sealed scroll bearing the crimson sigil of House Vaelorn—the dynasty famed for their military tradition.

"The Lords of Vaelorn request an immediate audience, Your Highness. They bring urgent news from the southern frontier."

Sylvalen frowned. "Let them enter."

A moment later, a tall elf clad in armor entered with two guards flanking him. His brows were stern, his tone clipped and disciplined. "Forgive the intrusion. I am Captain Ilthean Vaelorn. We've come to report a worsening crisis."

Isaac stood, curious. "What kind of crisis?"

"An outbreak," Ilthean replied. "Thousands of monsters spilling from a rupture near the Wyrmshade Highlands. We've lost five outposts. Our strongest squads were overrun."

"That sounds… unusually bad," Isaac said. "Ruptures aren't uncommon, but five outposts?"

Ilthean hesitated, then shook his head. "We don't know the cause. But the monsters are more aggressive, more numerous… and they're evolving."

Isaac leaned back with a calm smile. "So it's a perfect place to test my new abilities."

The others blinked.

"You're going?" Sylvalen asked.

"Why not?" Isaac stretched his arms lazily. "It's been a while since I had a good fight. I've been leveling steadily, but I need to push the limits again. Besides—" he glanced toward the window "—I want to see just how far I've come."

Lira gave him a soft look. "Then I'm going with you."

"So am I," Sylvalen added without hesitation.

Ilthean was visibly stunned. "You would assist us directly…?"

"I have no grand reason," Isaac said honestly. "I'm just… in the mood to break a few records."

As the others rose to prepare, Isaac stepped briefly outside the council chamber. In the garden courtyard, a small crowd had gathered near the palace gates—commoners, merchants, and injured soldiers awaiting aid.

A little girl with a bandaged leg limped toward him, clutching her mother's hand.

Isaac knelt down and handed her a glowing fruit from Emberlight, smiling gently. "Here. Eat this."

The moment her teeth broke the skin of the fruit, a silver light washed over her. Her wounds closed. The limp vanished.

A gasp spread through the courtyard.

Isaac looked up, then turned away without answering.

He didn't notice the small prayer forming in the crowd behind him, or the ripple of belief that bloomed like a spark.

Chapter 220 – Three Paths, One Sanctuary

The skies above the Wyrmshade Highlands churned with stormy clouds and acrid smoke. The land, once rolling hills of green and misty stone, now lay broken—blackened earth, shattered barricades, and the twisted remains of fallen outposts marking a grim path through the war-torn landscape.

Isaac stepped forward, calm and composed, the wind barely shifting his cloak. Around him, shattered husks of monsters still twitched with residual energy. Fresh blood steamed on the rocks. A cleanup squad stood in stunned silence, watching as the final beast—towering and mutated—charged with a roar.

Isaac didn't flinch.

He flicked his wrist. A spectral spear, summoned from [Phantom Legion], tore through the beast's skull with pinpoint precision. It collapsed without a sound.

Behind him, three figures watched with mixed expressions.

Sylvalen adjusted her gloves with an arched brow. "He hasn't even used a fraction of his strength."

Lira lowered her staff, her silver hair swaying. "We thought this would be dangerous. He's not even breathing heavily."

Selene, whose true name was Asmodeus, folded her arms, a faint smile curving her lips. "It seems the frontier doesn't need us today."

Isaac turned, tilting his head. "Bored already?"

Sylvalen stepped forward. "Not bored. Just… aware of the imbalance."

"We'd be more useful elsewhere," Lira added.

Selene nodded. "We have things to tend to in Emberlight."

Isaac smiled slightly and extended his hand, calling forth a soft shimmer of dimensional light. A portal bloomed beside them, opening a path back to the radiant world they now called home.

"Take your time," he said. "I'll keep things tidy here."

The three women exchanged glances—then stepped through the gate, disappearing into golden light.

In Emberlight, the Sanctuary of Creation...

Sylvalen emerged into a quiet meadow bathed in warm sunlight. She immediately retrieved a notebook, her sharp mind already cataloging the phenomena around her. The trees here bore crystalline leaves that rang softly in the wind. The rivers shimmered with faint mana currents. Even the soil hummed faintly beneath her boots.

She walked slowly through the area, noting the creatures peering from the forest's edge—docile spirit beasts with intelligent eyes. Some regarded her with wary interest. One even bowed its head.

"This world…" she whispered. "It's more than sacred. It's… designed."

She crouched beside a glowing flower and made a sketch. In her heart, she felt something bloom—a curiosity she hadn't felt since her youth. And perhaps… a question of whether her people might one day walk this land in peace.

Lira stood alone in an open clearing, the wind tugging at her cloak. She raised her hands, drawing mana from the air—startled again by how effortlessly it flowed. Her magic surged with a vibrancy she'd never known in Terra. Each spell she cast shimmered with fluid grace, needing only a whisper of intent.

Bolts of lightning arced from her fingertips, weaving between summoned runes. A spell circle flared beneath her feet, and instead of resisting, the mana harmonized. It was exhilarating.

"I've never felt this connected," she murmured. "Is this what he feels all the time?"

She remembered Isaac's calm confidence, his knowing smile. It stirred something in her chest—admiration, yes… but something deeper, too.

She cast again, the sky above crackling. She didn't know what she was becoming here, but she knew she liked it.

Selene, the Great Demon, Asmodeus, returned to the heart of Lilyshade Vale—a city reborn in light.

Once shrouded in mist and caution, the community now bustled with activity. Succubi and incubi walked alongside humans and former cultists. Celestials in hidden form swept streets or taught children. There were no chains here. No rituals. Only effort—and redemption.

She moved gracefully through the city, acknowledged by all with deep respect. Children waved. Elders bowed. Her people—those she had personally judged worthy—greeted her not as a ruler of fear, but as a guide of purpose.

She convened a small council, discussing food distribution, building expansion, and education.

"No temptation," she reminded gently. "No manipulation. We earn our place here."

One of the elders, a former cultist with white hair, bowed. "Understood, Lady Asmodeus. All who walk in your light will be reminded of your mercy."

She looked out at the vale—her vale—and smiled.

Later that day, as the sun kissed the golden hills of Emberlight, the three women each found themselves standing at different points in the world.

Sylvalen atop a research terrace built into a crystal cliff.

Lira seated beneath a willow tree, spellbook in her lap.

Selene overlooking the central plaza of Lilyshade, heart full of pride.

Each of them, in their own way, had found something in Emberlight—something they hadn't realized they needed.

And through it all… one name remained in their thoughts.

Isaac.

Back in the Wyrmshade Highlands...

Isaac stood atop a ruined tower, gazing across the battlefield where not a single monster remained.

He could feel the connection to his domain even from here. Emberlight pulsed in the back of his mind—alive, evolving.

And for the first time in a long while, he felt something close to… contentment.

Chapter 221: Slaughter Without Strain

The battlefield had long since turned red. The soil cracked under waves of mana, and the horizon was a haze of dissipating smoke and corpses stacked in grotesque formations. Isaac stood at the center of it all, breathing evenly, his black coat unruffled, not a single drop of blood staining him.

A massive beast, twenty meters tall, let out a guttural roar—then exploded mid-charge, torn apart by a dozen phantom blades that shimmered into being around Isaac and cleaved it to chunks in midair.

His hand never moved. His stance never shifted.

He glanced down casually at the field of scattered corpses. "That's the six-hundred-and-twelfth one," he murmured.

Behind him, a woman hovered on a conjured disc of light—a royal commander from House Vaelorn who had brought him here. Her hair was slick with sweat, armor partially scorched, and her eyes were wide with awe and disbelief. "You… You counted them?"

Isaac turned his head slightly. "Hm? Of course. It helps track how many stat packets I'm absorbing."

A burst of light shimmered across his body as [Devourer Omega Matrix – Ω Rank] activated again. He didn't even need to check to know—another ten or so stat points just slotted into his already towering pool.

"It's like watching a god sharpen his claws," the woman muttered under her breath.

Isaac yawned. "You know, it's kind of boring when they all rush at me without thinking. It's like they don't even try."

Another wave of monsters surged from the hills, fanged maws snapping, claws flashing. Isaac raised a single hand, and a dozen conjured scythes tore through them in a sweeping arc. Explosions followed—elegant, efficient, emotionless.

"Are you… actually enjoying this?" she asked, cautiously flying closer.

He shrugged. "A little. It's not every day I get to stretch without holding back. Besides—"

A boulder-sized creature lunged. Without looking, Isaac summoned a lance behind him. It struck like thunder and pinned the beast to the mountainside.

"—you make decent company. Better than silence."

The woman blinked, her lips twitching between confusion and awkward pride. "You're complimenting me while you're… massacring thousands."

Isaac smiled faintly. "Multitasking."

The hours passed like flowing water.

Day bled into dusk, then dusk into night. Then the light of dawn returned, casting long shadows over what had become a wasteland of broken bodies and ruptured terrain. Mountains had collapsed. Craters dotted the valleys. The rivers ran black with blood.

Twenty hours had passed since they'd arrived.

And not a single monster remained.

Isaac stood amidst the silence, brushing phantom dust off his shoulder. "That should be the last one."

He opened his status window, expression unreadable.

[STATUS – Isaac]

Level: 128

HP: 375,650 / 375,650

MP: 249,310 / 249,310

Strength: 117,940

Agility: 115,954

Endurance: 118,765

Intelligence: 114,931

Willpower: 114,212

Charisma: 109,883

Luck: ???

Gained: +90,000 to all stats from Devourer Omega Matrix

Behind him, the commander slowly descended to the ground. Her lips trembled slightly as she tried to find words. "I… I thought I'd seen what power looked like. I thought I understood the difference between mortals and monsters."

She looked at him.

He looked back with a faint, almost sheepish smile. "I'm kind of hungry. Is the food back at your outpost any good?"

She stared.

This wasn't some otherworldly warrior drenched in glory. This wasn't a being who exuded divine wrath or apocalyptic grandeur.

This was a man who had spent the last twenty hours casually chatting about soup preferences and weather patterns while wiping out thirty or forty thousand monsters.

He hadn't broken a sweat. Hadn't flinched. Hadn't once acted like he was "above" anything at all.

And that terrified her more than anything.

'Today… will be a day I never forget,' she thought, numb with shock. 'Because today, I learned what it means for someone to be strong enough to laugh through an apocalypse.'