"Your Highness, I believe this is a decision they should make themselves, rather than us making it for them," one of the Cardinal Archbishops suggested, deflecting the responsibility back to the Watchmen.
"Unfortunately, I've already asked them. The vast majority refused, only a few who felt their sanity slipping agreed to transform into angels," Muria spread his hands, showing a look of helplessness. "So I hope you will make the right decision on their behalf. Between descent into despair and rebirth, it's a simple choice."
"Your Highness, if I may ask, what does your fiancée plan to do with the Watchmen once they become angels? Will it be for war? If so, there's a risk they might fall in battle, isn't there?" Another Archbishop frowned as he spoke. By the time they reached the Legendary rank, many secrets of the world were no longer hidden from them. For instance, they knew the purpose of the Seraphim race's angelic rebirth pools—to replenish their fighting forces.
"After becoming angels, they will indeed need to fight under my fiancée's command. But the frequency of angelic battles is much lower than you might think. Moreover, their battles are primarily conducted from within the floating city, where the death rate is very low. In any case, it's far better than their current state as undead," Muria said, tapping the table with a mocking smile on his face. "And let me ask you, is there any race or being in the world that doesn't have to fight? Whether small as ants or great as the ancient gods, all must undergo countless battles. The question you're asking is quite laughable."
"If you could preserve their memories during the angelic rebirth, we might agree. But losing all their memories in the process is a deeply regrettable flaw," one Archbishop shook his head. If the Watchmen could retain their memories during rebirth, they would undoubtedly choose to stay on the Obisto continent, continuing to protect it. But with their memories erased, they would likely follow the Seraphim elsewhere.
"Do you know who my fiancée is?" Muria asked coldly, noticing the Archbishops' reluctance.
"She is the foremost genius of the Seraphim race, born with ten wings, and with a pure bloodline. If not for me, she could easily command an army of a million angels. Even now, she has fifty thousand angels at her command.
Humans, understand this clearly—it's not us who need you. Because of the noble character of the Watchmen and my influence, my fiancée, who currently lacks enough subordinates, is offering this opportunity for the Watchmen to be reborn as angels. Otherwise, who would care about a group of undead? Think carefully before you refuse; this is a one-time offer. There won't be a second chance."
"Your Highness, may I ask, if an individual who became an undead 1,800 years ago were to enter the angelic rebirth pool, how much of their memory would remain?" Archbishop Asimio hesitated before cautiously asking.
"For such an undead, most of their memories would be lost during the rebirth. Only the memories etched deep within their soul would be preserved, but these remnants would be like a vague dream to the reborn angel," Muria replied.
"Perhaps we should look at this differently. The Watchmen have already done more than enough for us. In life, they died as heroes, protecting humanity. In death, they forsook the chance to ascend to the divine kingdom, choosing instead to continue protecting us as reviled undead," a younger Archbishop stood up, his golden-red robe revealing armor beneath—a symbol of his dual role in both the church and secular authority. More impulsive and idealistic, he believed helping the Watchmen be reborn was the right thing to do.
"They've already done enough. We should not burden them further. Let them become angels and be reborn," Asimio said, thinking of his beloved, who could never face him in her true form.
"Do you know what you're saying, Asimio? If you choose angelic rebirth, your Pamela will never recognize you again. Are you sure you want to make that choice?"
"I cannot let my attachment cause her more suffering. Awakening once every millennium, only to face endless battles each time—that's too cruel. They shouldn't have to endure such a fate."
"Don't talk to me about that. All I know is that without the Watchmen, our forces will be severely weakened. In the next undead calamity, we will suffer greater losses. How will you address that?"
"If you're really concerned, I can sign a contract with you, witnessed by your gods. I promise to dispatch a corresponding number of angels to assist you during the undead calamities," Muria offered.
"Oh, one more thing—you should know that the longer an undead has been corrupted by deathly aura, the higher the chance they will be completely purified during the angelic rebirth," Muria added solemnly. "As I understand it, those heroes who willingly became undead are slowly losing their sanity as the years pass. Eventually, their worldviews will completely change, turning them from protectors of humanity into demons that slaughter them. So, make your decision soon."
"And what about the Watchman who became undead 1,800 years ago…?"
"Don't worry. She's only awakened twice. If she's a Legend, she can become an angel without issue, but don't expect too much memory retention. Even memories of past lovers and parents will likely be forgotten."
"I see," the old man's face showed hesitation and struggle, but finally, he made up his mind. "Your Highness, I'd like to request a place in the angelic rebirth pool for a Watchman friend."
...
The undead calamity that brought unimaginable suffering to the common folk was still ongoing. From the rivers of deathly energy, countless powerful, mindless undead emerged, ravaging the land and destroying all living settlements. Meanwhile, numerous liches and intelligent undead took the opportunity to wreak havoc.
Muria, with the Legends of Synapse, tirelessly defended the western region of Obisto, striving to minimize the calamity's damage. But despite his efforts, news of cities falling continued to reach him. Muria felt powerless; he was doing everything he could, fighting battles across the land every day, but the undead were everywhere.
After a year, the calamity finally ended. The sun, imbued with faint divine power, purified the gray mist shrouding the land, once again shining upon the beleaguered common folk. On the day the mist dissipated, the Watchmen returned to their burial tomb. But as soon as they lay back in their coffins, some of them were quietly carried into Synapse by a group of prearranged clergy and taken to the floating city.
...
In the vast, sacred floating city, angels gradually gathered along the streets, watching curiously. They were surprised to see undead brought into such a holy place.
Dressed in priestly robes, the clergy, working in pairs, carried coffins radiating deathly energy into the city's central structure and unhesitatingly tossed them into the angelic rebirth pool.
"What a bunch of bastards."
"I have a question," Muria said, approaching the next group of Legendary Watchmen about to enter the angelic rebirth pool. He addressed a fallen temple knight clad in black armor, who was muttering curses.
"Between becoming an undead and ascending to the divine kingdom, why did you choose to become undead? It doesn't seem pleasant. Even if you had chosen to ascend, no one would have blamed you—you died fighting to protect others. And as I recall, the teachings of the Lord of Dawn do not encourage such methods of combating evil."
"You don't understand. You don't know how much suffering humanity endures when we're weak. Every day is a struggle to survive; ordinary people can't even fill their stomachs, let alone guarantee their safety. They could die at any moment from some random event. I was born into such a family. During my childhood, my parents died when our house collapsed due to a battle between two powerful beings.
Then the church took me in. I wanted the power to protect, but I lacked the talent to become a warrior, so I prayed to the gods for strength.
Holy one, understand this: when I prayed to the gods, I didn't ask for immortality, only for the power to protect what I cherished."
"Now you can gain even greater power. After transforming into an angel, you might initially be weaker than you are now, but you will have far greater potential. You will become much stronger."
"But the price is that I'll forget what I wanted to protect," the knight, shrouded in dark mist, smiled bitterly.
"Not necessarily. If your desire to protect was so strong that you were willing to sacrifice your life and soul, you might still remember after rebirth. It all depends on your will," Muria said with a smile. The realm of the soul was something only the gods and Epics could truly study, and even they hadn't fully unraveled its mysteries.
_________________________
[Check out my Patreon for +200 additional chapters in all my fanfics! $5 for all!!]
[w w w . p a t r e o n .com / INNIT]
[+50 PowerStones = +1 Chapter] [+5 Reviews = +1 Chapter]