I sighed, running a hand through my hair. Or, well, the vague approximation of hair my soul-self had conjured.
I stopped my mind from spiraling down the how-did-I-die rabbit hole. No good could come of that now.
What was the point of surviving an apocalypse, System Integration, and god knows how many near-death experiences, only to end up here? This… this holding pen for souls?
Instead, I focused on what was here. On me. Souls. That was my area of research. My expertise, back when I had a corporeal form and a lab that wasn''t a featureless void.
I turned my hand over, flexing my fingers. But whatever this was, it was… more. Closing and opening my hands, I felt the movement, the reaction. It was… faster. Quicker than my physical body I''d inhabited. Lighter. More responsive.
Then I looked around at the endless expanse of nothingness. What''s at the end? Hell? Reincarnation? Oblivion? Take your pick, really.
That''s what''s been lurking in the back of my mind, I realized. The only afterlife options I could see. All three spectacularly unfavorable.
No point standing around like an idiot, I started walking, pushing through the sluggish mass of… people? Souls? Whatever they were. I collided with someone. Then someone else. And someone else. Each impact a jarring reminder of their insubstantiality, their vacant presence.
After the seventh collision, I''d had enough.
Time to see what this soul can do.
I marshaled my will, drawing on the soul strength I knew was there, somewhere.
Except it wasn''t "somewhere" anymore. It was here. It was me. This power…it was fundamentally different. When I''d accessed my Soul Realm before, it was always… ethereal. Hazy. Like reaching for a half-remembered dream.
This was… substantial. Like gravity itself, a heavy, undeniable presence at my core. The mental pressure surged, sharp and heavy, but it wasn''t just in my head. It resonated through my entire being, as if my very essence was solidifying. I leaned into it, embracing the unfamiliar power. The pain made it feel all the more real.
My feet lifted off the ground, and it wasn''t like floating. It was soaring. My body surged through the void, cutting through the stagnant air, and there was resistance, a force against me, like cutting through a heavy fog.
An impossibility pressing down, telling me I couldn''t. Shouldn''t. But I grit my mental teeth, and surged through it. If my understanding of the Soul Realm was anything to go by, then this was possible. I had to believe it was. Even if I wasn''t sure.
With a burst of focused thought, the resistance tore and I was suspended, a few feet above everyone else.
Authority: 1502 ( 1572 )
Freedom at last. At the cost of 50 hundred of my Authority. By this time it was easy to understand that [ Authority ] was the major active force here.
I suddenly realized that here, there was no body, no mind, no soul. Just… this. My entire existence, my awareness, was focused here, in this form, this now. Instead, my consciousness was a single, unified entity, which was both terrifying and exhilarating. That was based on my [ Authority ]
The buzz wore off pretty quick, leaving me a bit dizzy. I blinked, trying to get my bearings again.
Below, no one turned their heads, no one even seemed to notice. The line of hazy figures shuffled onward, and the space I''d vacated was instantly filled by the person behind me. Like I''d never been there at all.
After a glance, I noticed that the edge of the crowd was now closer to my left side. Finally.
Then I turned and rushed past the masses. Mental pressure clawed at my mind, heavy and unnatural, but I pushed through it, focusing on the goal, the edge. A surge of will carried me toward it — and then, as I reached it, another force clashed with my soul. It was like hitting a brick wall made of… not-there.
What the hell?
Authority: 1552 ( 1572 )
My body spun around, and I crashed beyond the masses of people and watched the scene beyond — chaos.
A war.
On one side, a group of plated legionaries stood in formation, guarding the buck-naked, dazed people. A few of them handed out swords and armor that materialized out of thin air. While those newly equipped people, jerked and then moved as if controlled or commanded, their motion becoming smooth by the time they reached the fight.
Further ahead, hazy figures clashed in a maelstrom of light and darkness. Energy crackled, and the air shimmered with… something.
I squinted, catching flashes of scaled limbs — a dragon? No, multiple dragons. And was that a snake? A colossal serpent, its scales shimmering like a thousand sunsets, locked in combat with… something that looked vaguely humanoid but radiated power like a miniature sun.
And legionaries. Lots and lots of legionaries. With shields and swords. An endless stream of them running through that meat grinder. Screams and war cries blurred together, a symphony of destruction.
A hand clapped me on the back. “Take your sword, legionary.”
I stumbled forward as a sword was shoved into my hands. Legionary? What''s that?
I blinked down at the weapon. The blade was longer than my arm, silver polished to a dull sheen. Black-edged, double-bladed. Elegant, deadly.
No embellishments, no runes except for that ominous black edge, but the weight was perfect in my hands — balanced, sharp. My fingers curled around the golden hilt, feeling the rough brown leather grip bite into my palm. It felt… familiar. Like an extension of myself.
What the hell am I supposed to do with this?
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I glanced at the soldier who had given it to me — but the man’s face was nothing more than a shadowed blur.
Welcome to the [ Fifth Expedition War: Netherworld ]!
Name: Tristan Von Astar (Alive)
Abnormal Status:
<ul>
<li style="font-weight: 400">Conscription Status – Frontline Legionary ( New Roman Empire )</li>
<li style="font-weight: 400">Suspended Dead ( Ineffective )</li>
</ul>
Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me—
“Hey, I don’t want to be in whatever this is?” I said, shoving the sword back towards him.
The soldier''s face focused, sharpened. Gone was the blur, and I found myself looking at the face of a... Mars incarnate. Bronze helmet, a stern jaw, and eyes that seemed to hold the weight of centuries. Not a Roman per se, but definitely giving off that vibe. Like those Spartans in the movies before System Integration disrupted the whole industry.
[ [ D ] Roman Legionary Lvl. 11282 ]
Definitely a Roman. And a legionary.
He gave me a confused look, brow furrowed, as he stared at my offered sword. He didn''t take it.
“Don’t you understand?” I said, moving the sword closer. “I’m not a soldier… or legionary.”
His hand moved. Not for the sword. Down. To the hilt of his own weapon. A gladius, short and brutally efficient. The corner of his lip curled in a way that wasn’t a smile. “You’re with them?”
“Wait, wait! No, hold on a minute.” I took a step back, hands raised, palms out. “There’s no enemy here. Or at least, I’m not your enemy.”
Too late.
He drew his sword. The blade sang as it left its scabbard, the sound echoing in the strange, still air. "You''re either a legionary or you''re with them."
A few heads turned in our direction, the blurry figures suddenly… sharper. Interested. A ripple of… anticipation? went through the crowd. Great, a freaking audience.
My fingers tightened around the sword hilt. Crap.
The legionary lunged, his gladius a silver streak. I barely had time to register the movement before my own blade met his, not with the expected clang, but with a jarring shudder that ran up my arm and into my very core.
It wasn''t the impact of steel on steel. It was like… like my existence was being challenged. Diminished. The world swam for a moment, and a wave of nausea, of pure wrongness, washed over me.
Then, instinct took over. Not the careful, considered movements of a scholar or a mage, but something raw and visceral. Something… ancient. My body moved. I slashed. The gladius met my blade again, and that sickening feeling returned, but I pushed through it, fueled by a sudden, desperate surge of adrenaline.
Right. Thrust. Step back.
There was no cluttered surrounding, only an open fight in the void.
He was good. Damn good. This wasn’t some clumsy brawl; it was a dance of death, precise and economical. I was on the defensive, my movements reactive, my mind struggling to keep up with the onslaught.
A thrust aimed for my… my soul, I guess? I dodged, the tip of the gladius slicing through the barest edge of my awareness. It felt like a razor had just been dragged across my very being.
Thrust. Dodge. Kick.
My researcher training, my carefully honed skills, were built over a layer of pure, unadulterated battle instinct. An instinct that whispered of blood and survival, of a time before the system, before… me. Before I lost her.
My eyes narrowed, focusing my mind. Soul body combat? This felt nothing like the controlled exchanges of mana and force I was used to.
I''d fought before — but not like this.
I pivoted, sidestepped another swing. Blade up. Slash. The edge of my sword bit deep into the soldier’s arm. A dark ichor welled out, and he staggered back, his form flickering.
Fighting with a soul body is… different. Smooth. Instantaneous.
I didn''t wait for him to regain his balance. This wasn''t some sparring match. It was a fight for survival. I feinted high, then, as his guard shifted back, I dropped low and pivoted, twisting my torso to the side.
My sword, instead of continuing its arc, changed direction mid-swing, thrusting out from my side. The black edge of the blade slid between his ribs, piercing his heart. Or whatever passed for a heart here.
A jolt, like plunging my hand into ice water, ran up my arm. His eyes widened in disbelief, then dimmed as his form dissolved into motes of light.
A [ [ D ] Roman Legionary Lvl. 11282 ] has been obliterated!
Huh. So they do die here.
Authority +117
What!?
That was the cheapest Authority I had ever gained. 117? From one kill? Usually, it''s a trickle, barely double digits even for tough ones. 117. That''s more than I got clearing the entire [ [ E ] Goblin Dungeon ] last week. What was his level? Over eleven thousand... maybe the scaling is exponential? Or was there something else? Something about him? It felt... too easy. Like a trap, or a glitch. Is this place breaking? Or am I just getting that much stronger?
I watched the light motes coalescing, swirling like dust motes in a sunbeam.
What… what is that?
I reached out, letting my hand brush against a stray mote. It flared for a moment, and a fragmented consciousness flooded my mind: a cacophony of dying sensations and disjointed memories.
Pain. Betrayal. A desperate lunge. The clang of metal. Orders barked in a harsh, unfamiliar tongue. A glimpse of a burning city. Fear. Then… nothing.
For a long time there was nothing but the similar void.
The memories flooded my mind, playing out like a disjointed movie. I saw myself, or rather, the soul whose essence clung to those motes, adrift in that endless void, a sea of lost faces swirling around me.
Then there were fragments of crossing through a river.
A shore appeared, a desolate land where others had washed up, equally lost and confused, wandering lands without end.
A fight broke out - a chaotic mess of limbs and desperation.
For what? I couldn''t grasp. Or it felt more like that the memory was erased.
Then, flashes of other battles, against different groups, different weapons. Each encounter a desperate struggle.
Then he found a similar man. A fellow legionary. They huddled together and slowly, small groups formed, then tribes, clinging together for survival.
Then, the Centurion came. A strong hand on my shoulder, a voice promising safety and citizenship in exchange for service. Join the New Rome.
Under his rule, we became proper legionaries of the New Rome, fighting endless wars against other tribes, other nations, for… for what? The memories offered no answer, just the endless cycle of violence.
Then, the drums. A deep, guttural rhythm that resonated not in the ears, but in the very core of his being. A call to arms, a summons to a final battle.
The memories fractured: a blinding flash of light, the screech of steel, and then… this sword, appearing in my hand, and another faceless Centurion barking orders to arm the others. The scene dissolved into the recent fight, until finally, blackness.
The memories weren''t mine, but the emotions… they lingered. Raw and visceral. It was like being stabbed in the soul. I recoiled, severing the connection. My head throbbed. Even with the information that felt like a soul attack.
Oh. They don''t die. They… unravel. Dissolve. Become nothing. Oblivion.
Too much. Way too much. I wasn''t sure I could absorb that much… experience without losing myself in the process. Was there a time limit? Was I leaching his very essence? And the feeling of Oblivion? His whole body shuddered recalling that last memory.
The pounding in my skull subsided, the echoes of the memories fading into a dull throb. I blinked, my eyes focusing as if for the first time on my surroundings. The swirling motes of light were gone.
Vanished.
A cold dread washed over me. Had I absorbed them all?
Then, a flash of gold caught my eye. A figure was running along the edge of the battlefield, heading straight for me.
The remaining motes of light were converging on him, at least half the size from before, drawn to him like iron filings to a magnet. Not absorbed, then. Just… collected.
A Centurion.
The memories of the dead legionary supplied. An officer rank.
He wore the ornate breatplate of a roman centurion, complete with a crested helmet and a shield strapped to his back. Bearing carved into the resolute impassive state that battle hardened people have. And his face… his expression was a mask of fury. Eyes narrowed, jaw clenched, the lines on his face etched deep.
Uh oh.