Reborn as the Undead Overlord

Chapter 6: The Whisper Beneath the Earth

The night had passed in a restless silence, as if the world itself was holding its breath.

Aarav jolted upright in his bed, chest heaving, drenched in sweat. His fingers clawed at the air, as if trying to escape from something unseen. Moonlight spilled through the window, bathing the floor in silver. But the light didn't bring comfort.

Not after that dream.

Roots—black and writhing—wrapped around his throat, dragging him into a bottomless pit. A voice—inhuman, ancient—had whispered through the darkness.

"You broke the seal…

And now… the Forgotten One stirs."

He sat there, silent, listening to the slow creak of the house around him. Even the wind outside seemed afraid to speak. His hand trembled as he wiped his forehead.

"It was just a dream," he muttered.

But his heart knew better.

Dreams didn't leave the taste of ashes in your mouth.

He stood, bare feet touching cold wood. The floor felt damp, like something had seeped through the boards. He stumbled toward the water jug and drank deeply, hoping to drown the voice echoing in his head.

Then it came—soft, cold, mechanical.

[System Alert: Residual Necrotic Energy Detected]

[Origin: Unknown]

[Threat Level: Pending Assessment]

His stomach turned.

He moved to the window and pulled the curtain slightly. Outside, the pale morning mist clung to the earth like a funeral shroud. And in the garden below, unmoving—silent—stood his undead.

Its skull faced the forest beyond. The flowers around its feet had withered overnight, curling into black husks.

Aarav whispered, "I chose this path. I will not turn away from it now…"

But inside, he wasn't so sure.

He turned, breathing deep, and made his way to the small kitchen. The scent of warm lentils lingered faintly—his mother's cooking from the night before. Familiar. Comforting. But even that couldn't shake the cold settling in his bones.

Veluna's Gaze

When Aarav entered his mother's room, Veluna stood by the window, arms folded, her shawl wrapped tight. The wind teased the ends of her long braid as she gazed into the direction of the forest.

Her shoulders tensed the moment he spoke.

"Mother…" Aarav asked carefully. "Have you ever heard of something buried under the Blackroot trees?"

She didn't turn. But he saw her fingers tighten around the wooden window frame.

"That forest," she said quietly, "took more from me than death ever could."

Aarav blinked. "What do you mean?"

She sighed, finally turning. Her eyes shimmered—more haunted than before.

"I mean…" she softened her tone. "It's cursed. Always has been. Stay away from it."

He opened his mouth to protest, but Veluna's stare silenced him. The calm of a mother. The strength of someone who'd lost too much.

"Mother, I have to go," he said. "Something… something's calling me. It's not just a feeling. The system—"

"I don't care what your system says," she snapped, then immediately softened. "I… I'm sorry. But I nearly lost you once. I won't let the forest take you."

Aarav took a hesitant step forward. "Please… trust me. I won't do anything reckless. I just… I need to know what it is."

Veluna looked into his eyes. Searching. Measuring.

After a long moment, her hand reached toward a small, dust-covered chest beneath her bed. She opened it slowly, as if opening a wound.

From within, she drew a dagger—obsidian-black, with veins of crimson that pulsed faintly. Its hilt bore a single rune.

Aarav stared, eyes wide. "What is that?"

Veluna ran her fingers across the blade, her voice cracking.

"Your father's. He called it Rakt-teer... the blood fang."

A tear rolled down her cheek as she held it out to him.

"I prayed I'd never have to give this to you."

Aarav took it gently, the cold metal biting his skin. His voice was quiet.

"I'll come back."

Veluna placed her hand on his cheek, staring deep into his soul.

"You walk a dark path, Aarav. But even in shadow… don't lose your light."

The Warning in the Mist

As Aarav walked down the narrow village path, the sun barely piercing the morning fog, whispers followed him.

"That boy… he commands the dead now."

"Do you see what walks behind him? That… skeleton?"

"Veluna's cursed blood… it's true."

He didn't stop. He didn't need their acceptance.

But the hurt still dug in. Not for himself—for his mother.

Then, an old man—blind and hunched—stepped into his path.

"The forest remembers its dead, boy," he rasped. "Don't wake what still dreams."

Before Aarav could respond, the man vanished into the fog.

His undead gave a low growl. Protective. Almost… concerned.

Aarav gently touched its shoulder.

"I know. But we still have to go."

Blackroot's Grave

The forest grew darker the farther they walked.

The trees stood like sentinels, their bark twisted, roots exposed like the gnarled fingers of giants. Mist clung to the ground, thick and choking. The air smelled of damp soil, old blood, and something fouler—rot beneath rot.

No birds sang. No insects chirped. The forest had forgotten life.

Even Ghrol—his unnamed skeleton—moved cautiously. At one point, it raised its sword and turned slightly, scanning the trees. Its bones rattled faintly.

Aarav whispered, "You feel it too, don't you?"

They passed old bones buried in moss. A rusted helmet. A broken blade. Signs of battles long forgotten.

Then… the tree.

Twisted black roots drooped like dying veins. A large mark was burned into its base—an ancient sigil, pulsing faintly.

Aarav reached out, heart pounding.

The moment his hand touched the bark, his vision shifted.

He stood in darkness. A figure stood before him—tall, skeletal, cloaked in black. Red embers burned in its eyes.

"When soul and blood converge… I shall return."

Aarav's breath caught.

Then—darkness shattered.

He stumbled back into reality, gasping. Ghrol stood at his side, sword drawn, like a guardian shielding its master.

"What… was that thing?"

But before he could process it, they found it—the grave.

A coffin, jet-black with crimson trim, nestled against a tree whose roots curled around it like chains. Runes etched into the lid shimmered faintly. At the center, a carving of a horned demon with hollow eyes.

Aarav hesitated, heartbeat thundering.

"System… what is this?"

[Warning: This grave does not belong to your domain.]

[Do NOT proceed. Threat Level: Unknown.]

He stepped back—but his foot slipped, and a sharp branch tore his palm. One drop of blood fell—landed on the demon's carved mouth.

The air stilled.

"No… HOST, MOVE AWAY!" the system screamed.

But it was too late.

The earth beneath the grave trembled. The runes flared red. A blast of icy air erupted outward, knocking Ghrol back.

The coffin split from beneath. Bones. Dust. Screams.

A skeletal hand shot upward—wrapped in rusted iron bands, ancient runes burning along its knuckles.

A scream echoed—not from Aarav, not from the forest—but from below.

A presence rose. Heavy. Watching. Breathing without lungs.

"RETREAT!" the system roared. "This undead is NOT under your control!"

Aarav stumbled back, dagger in hand, shaking.

Then…

"Aarav…"

A whisper. Ancient. Close.

Aarav fell to one knee, his body trembling.

And the forest…

The forest fell completely silent.

All that remained… was a heartbeat.

Not his.

One buried deep, beneath the earth.