I Got Reincarnated as a Zombie Girl - Chapter 322

Chapter 322: Chapter 318 – Silence After Death Moves
The silence was not the end of the battle; it was a pause too heavy to be called peace. It descended upon the shore like an unspoken burden, pressing down on the still-wirm black sand, causing the tiny obsidian grains to creak softly under the lingering pressure. The sea in the distance withdrew, its waves subsiding into whispers, as if afraid to disturb what had just transpired.

In the midst of the ruins, Sylvia stood alone for a moment.

The Chains of Abyss still coiled loosely in her hands, their ends dangling like black veins that had lost their pulse. The death fire within the chains dimmed, not extinguished, merely waiting. In her chest, the War Sun Flame pulsed irregularly, like a heart of war that had just been forced to stop mid-stride. The two essences clashed gently, creating vibrations that traveled to the tips of her fingers.

Velgrath was no longer a threat. His night had been torn apart, his essence tightly bound, bowed beneath invisible shackles. Yet Sylvia did not look at him.

Her gaze fell to the sand.

To the figure lying motionless.

Sofia.

The beat within Sylvia’s chest halted not from exhaustion, but from something deeper: a small crack in the emptiness she had long considered unshakable. Her steps faltered not from the cracked terrain, not from accumulated wounds, but from the shadow of a possibility that had nearly become reality.

She knelt.

The hand that had just torn through the concept of night now hesitated in the air, trembling as it approached Sofia’s cold shoulder. “Sof…” The voice came out cracked, breaking before the name was complete.

Sofia was breathing. Shallow, fragile, but present. Her white wings were stained, feathers broken in places, the conceptual wound on her side sealed by a thin layer of light left by Alicia and Stacia. Yet the mark still gaped not in flesh, but in the essence that kept her standing against the darkness.

Sylvia held her breath.

She dared not touch more deeply. Afraid that one wrong movement would worsen the cracks already there. “I…” she whispered, her voice nearly lost in the sea breeze. “I almost…”

The sentence hung unfinished. Because no words were vast enough to contain the guilt that had just been born within the emptiness.

The little Treant hopped down from her shoulder, landing on the sand with a soft plop. It looked at Sylvia, then at Sofia, as if confirming that the living were still alive.

In the background, Alicia sat atop a hardened chunk of obsidian. Her face was pale, her hands pressing against her temples, holding back the echoes of distortion still ringing in her head. She said nothing; she only watched, her blue eyes weary from seeing the world nearly collapse.

Stacia stood farther away, facing away from the now-calm sea. The threads of time around her flowed again, but knots remained untied remnants of the moment when she chose not to fully stop Sylvia. Her eyes were closed, weighing a decision that now felt heavier than before.

Nerys remained at the water’s edge, her feet submerged to the ankles. The sea goddess gazed at the ruined shore, her expression no longer defiant, only empty, as if the laws of the sea themselves had just been questioned. “She… lost control,” she murmured softly.

“Not lost,” Alicia replied faintly, without turning. “She chose not to hold back.”

The words fell heavily among them.

Sylvia finally touched Sofia fully. Her touch was light, careful, like touching glass that had just cracked but not yet shattered. She desperately restrained the Death Flame around her, not allowing a single wisp to escape. “Sorry,” she said, her voice now clear, though low. “I should have been faster. Stronger. More…”

More what?

There was no fitting answer. Only layers of regret piling up like the black sand around them.

Sofia moved slowly. Her eyelids fluttered, then opened halfway. Her breathing was labored, but her eyes found Sylvia’s face too close, too tense, too full of something rarely seen.

“…Hey,” Sofia whispered, one simple word.

But it was enough.

Sylvia exhaled the breath she had been holding, her shoulders slumping. Her head bowed until it nearly touched Sofia’s forehead. “Don’t ever do that again,” she said, her voice trembling between anger and relief. “Don’t make me… afraid like this.”

Sofia smiled faintly, weak but real. “You… are scarier than me.”

Sylvia let out a soft snort not laughter, not tears, something in between.

Stacia approached, her steps calm but her eyes sharp as she examined Sylvia’s aura. “You’re back,” she said flatly.

Sylvia nodded. “Not fully aware.”

“That’s what’s dangerous,” Stacia replied. “And also… what made you win.”

Alicia stood and approached. She looked at Sylvia for a long moment before speaking. “The most terrifying thing isn’t your power,” she said softly. “It’s how easily the world surrenders to you.”

Sylvia did not respond. Because she knew it was true. When she let go, the world did not fight, it parted, giving way. As if it knew resisting would be more fatal.

That was not a good sign.

She helped Sofia sit up slowly, then stood. Her gaze returned to the still-bound Velgrath, his night now tame, almost waiting.

Their eyes met.

No words.

Only the understanding that limits had been reached.

Sylvia turned to Sofia to the broken wings, the drying blood, the still-fragile breaths. Something inside her hardened; the door that had opened now closed tightly.

“No,” she said softly.

One word.

The Chains of Abyss immediately tensed, their ends glowing coldly.

Velgrath lifted his head, realizing the end had come. “I have surrendered,” he said, his voice of night faint. “My night…”

“Surrender is not forgiveness,” Sylvia cut in, flat and final.

The chains moved.

Dozens of strands pierced at once not into the form, but into the concept that made Velgrath exist. Death Flame locked every possibility of escape. War Sun Flame ignited within those wounds, burning from the core outward, white-gold mixed with pitch black.

Velgrath screamed.

A scream of night being slowly torn, layered, until ancient symbols crumbled into ash that never even touched the ground.

Sylvia did not look away.

No hesitation.

No stopping.

The fire continued burning until nothing remained to consume. When the chains withdrew, only fine dust was carried by the wind, not enough even to form a final shadow.

Velgrath was gone.

Nerys stepped back half a pace into the sea, the water around her rippling nervously. “…I was lucky to choose to kneel,” she murmured, her voice lost in the wind.

Sylvia lowered her hand. The fire was extinguished. The chains returned to emptiness. She turned to the others. Her face was calm again, cold like the obsidian surface beneath their feet.

“Four,” she said, her voice clear and unshakable. “Two remain.”

Her gaze turned to the now-dark horizon.

“And the ones left,” she continued, “will not be given a second chance.”

Sofia closed her eyes for a moment, then opened their acceptance there, though her body was still fragile.

Alicia drew a deep breath, calming the souls still echoing within her.

Stacia nodded slightly, the threads of time in her hands beginning to weave new patterns thicker, heavier.

The sea breeze blew, carrying the black dust away, and the world, for a moment, held its breath again waiting for the next step from the queen who had just closed the door on mercy.

Sylvia stood gazing at the dark horizon a little longer than necessary, then drew a slow breath. Before her stretched two untouched names Xynareth and Zha’gor and for the first time since the first step of this war, she did not advance.

Not out of doubt.

But out of calculation.

Xynareth was space itself. Not merely teleporting, not merely folding distance, but a presence that refused to be approached in ordinary ways. And Zha’gor beginning and end was not an enemy that could be crushed with raw power. He was the closing line, the threshold waiting for the smallest mistake to swallow everything.

Sylvia looked back.

Sofia sat leaning, her breathing steadier but her body clearly not yet recovered. Every small movement made her pause, holding back pain that had yet to take form. The conceptual wound did not scream or bleed anymore, but pulled from within, like a bad memory refusing to leave.

Alicia stood with half-closed eyes, her shoulders tense. The souls she had calmed were quiet, but that silence came at a cost. She was now like a new center of gravity for echoes not yet fully unraveled. The mental exhaustion was not obvious, but Sylvia knew the signs: focus that had to be forced, breathing regulated too consciously.

Stacia was quieter than usual. She stared at her own hands, feeling the flow that was not entirely obedient. The elements she wielded time, space, and boundaries resonated too closely with Xynareth’s domain. Every calculation she made now had to be weighed twice, because similarity in elements meant the potential for far more dangerous collisions.

The little Treant ran short distances around them, trying to appear cheerful as always. But Sylvia saw it. Fine cracks in its bark. Burn marks that had turned black. It still smiled, still said “plop” in the same tone, but its small body had paid a price it did not complain about.

Sylvia clenched her fist, then released it.

“Not now,” she said finally.

Her voice was not loud, but enough to make everyone turn.

“We are not attacking Xynareth and Zha’gor in this condition,” she continued, her tone flat but firm. “One mistake, and nothing can close it.”

There was no objection.

Sofia nodded slowly, without a smile, without protest. Alicia let out a breath of relief she hadn’t realized she was holding. Stacia bowed her head slightly, accepting the decision as necessary, though heavy.

Nerys, who had been standing at the water’s edge, stepped forward half a pace.

“…My temple,” she said finally, her sea voice low and cautious. “In the depths. No spatial rift can be opened carelessly there. The pressure of the sea will… reject intruders.”

Sylvia looked at her.

Several moments passed before she nodded. “That will suffice.”

The choice was not about comfort. Nerys’s temple lay in a realm hostile to concepts of space and beginning-end. The pressure of the sea was not merely physical, but law. There, Xynareth could not peek without consequence. And Zha’gor, whatever his form, would not easily touch something submerged beneath the boundaries of ordinary life.

“Rest,” Sylvia said again, this time softer. “Recover. Reorganize. We continue afterward.”

She turned once more to the dark horizon.

Not with fear.

But with patience forced by experience. Because this war was not won by the one who struck fastest but by the one who did not fall when the end arrived.

The sea began to part, its waters swirling slowly to form a passage into the depths. Dim light from below called, calm and heavy.