Yeomyeong's battle was far from glorious.

It wasn’t the heroic struggle often seen in zombie stories, nor did it have the majestic power of overwhelming force.

His fight was more like labor.

Like a janitor in an alley cleaning up filth for a momentary cleanliness, he moved his hands steadily... such was his fight.

He began with swordsmanship. Yeomyeong raised his sword and brought it down on the head of the first zombie that lunged at him.

“Kyahhh!”

The voice from its decayed vocal cords fell silent as decaying fluids and flesh splattered.

Another zombie targeted his arm with its open jaws, but Yeomyeong didn’t dodge. Instead, he punched, smashing the zombie’s head.

More fluids, flesh, and bone fragments soaked the cave floor, staining his uniform—once pristine, now splattered like a butcher’s apron.

It was a brutal sight, but the zombies, lacking intelligence, continued to swarm. And Yeomyeong’s sword didn’t stop either.

By the time he’d cleared over a hundred zombies, his sword had shattered into useless fragments.

Quick-thinking—likely Seti—tossed him a replacement sword, and he continued swinging.

After switching swords three or four times this way, the weakest among them, Soemiri, could no longer hold out and retreated.

With the rear-line mage pulled back, the captured weapons they’d looted from the attackers quickly ran out, and their stamina was nearly depleted.

The Saintess, having squeezed out her mana to the limit, collapsed in exhaustion, and Ms. Gemini fell unconscious after a severe zombie bite.

Next was Wesley. He tripped over a zombie torso and was buried under a swarm for several seconds.

By the time Yeomyeong pulled him out, his body was barely holding together.

The student-priests in the shelter poured mana into him to barely keep him alive, but he was too injured to fight again.

In the end, only Jeon Yunseong, Seti, and Yeomyeong remained at the shelter’s breach.

All three had the skill and stamina to fend off the zombies, but no one can block ten with just one hand.

“Kyahhh!”

“Damn it, all mages, fall back!”

Some zombies bypassed the three and entered the shelter.

While one or two could be handled by the students, the number of zombies making it past the three defenders and into the shelter was steadily increasing.

At this rate, even the exhausted Saintess and Soemiri would soon be in danger.

Yeomyeong stopped wrestling with the zombies and leapt into the cave.

“Yeomyeong?! Where are you going alone…?”

Soemiri’s startled voice called out from behind as dozens of zombies simultaneously turned to look at him.

Yeomyeong pulled Uragan’s Handle from his pocket.

[Heir… no, Successor! You’ve finally summoned me! Oh, zombies! You have quite a habit of encountering the undead, don’t you? Now, where’s the curse or magic I must dispel?]

So you’re not calling me “Heir” anymore? Yeomyeong thought with a wry feeling.

‘Forget the shield. Just give me light—bright enough to draw their attention.’

[… Light?]

‘Just enough light to distract the zombies. Can you manage that?’

[… My first duty after being passed down is to act as a flashlight. I’m so moved I could cry!]

Despite its sarcastic reply, the unicorn spirit immediately emitted a bright light. The zombies crowding the cave turned to look at Yeomyeong.

In the next moment, Yeomyeong landed in the center of the zombie horde.

Boom!

Mana erupted, forming a crater in the cave floor. Zombies in the vicinity fell back, creating space around him.

Yeomyeong tightened his legs and clenched his fists.

“Alright… let’s do this.”

A blue haze swirled around his body.

 

In front of the shelter’s wall, where corpses were piled like a mountain.

Seti steadied her breath and spoke.

“Hoo… Mr. Cheonyeom?”

Yeomyeong, with one eye half-closed, looked at her.

“Are you alright?”

Her voice was light, but her face showed concern for Yeomyeong.

She wasn’t worried about anyone seeing her expression, as she stood with her back to the entire shelter, facing only him.

Meanwhile, Yeomyeong faced everyone in the shelter, so he naturally responded with a cold expression and tone.

“Why, do I look unwell?”

An act to hide their familiarity.

Yeomyeong thought his acting was embarrassingly awkward, but no one doubted his behavior.

Even the Saintess, lying on the floor, muttered something like, “That rude…” pointing at Yeomyeong.

In any case, Yeomyeong and Seti exchanged a few words to check on each other’s condition.

What was the name of that blue haze technique? How was life as a mercenary? Who among us was the most helpful?

Their conversation, important to them but meaningless to others, went on for a while.

Then, a clanking sound signaled the release of the shelter’s lock.

“Just wait a bit! We’re here to save you!”

It was the voices of adults beyond the door. The previously defeated students sighed in relief.

However, there was no grand celebration. The terrorists and zombies threatening their lives had already been defeated by Yeomyeong and his group.

Perhaps because of this subdued response, the voices outside grew more urgent.

“Just hold on! We’re almost there!”

When the clattering sound from the lock was about to end, Yeomyeong slowly stood up.

“…Finally, it’s over.”

He brushed the filth off his uniform and sighed.

‘…To think my first day in this uniform would end like this. I guess uniforms and I aren’t meant to be.’

As he chuckled at the thought, he looked around and was a bit surprised. He was the only one still standing on two legs.

Seti and the others who had fought with him were all too exhausted to rise, while the other students huddled near the shelter walls.

Just as he was about to extend a hand to his companions, unable to endure their strange gazes on him—

Clack.

The heavy door opened, and armed adults, mostly academy staff, entered the shelter.

All except for one man.

Click.

A man holding a small camera. Having encountered his fair share of reporters in Manju, Yeomyeong quickly identified his profession.

“…How did a reporter get in here?”

The reporter, almost in a trance, snapped a photo of Yeomyeong.

The Saintess, experienced with cameras, reflexively threw her gun at the reporter, but the last person entering the shelter caught it mid-air with a quick snatch.

“…Oh.”

The students who had been running toward the staff froze, their jaws dropping in awe at the woman’s imposing presence.

She surveyed the hole blocked with zombie corpses, then strode toward Yeomyeong with a wide grin.

Yeomyeong subconsciously adjusted his clothes. Standing eye-to-eye with him, she smirked and poked his forehead with her index finger.

“Long time no see?”

“Yes, it’s been a while… Sacred Sword.”

The Sacred Sword.

At the sight of her, the students, who’d been harboring doubts, widened their eyes in recognition. Especially Baonic, hiding behind the students, looked as if his eyes would pop out.

As always, the Sacred Sword ignored the stares around her and only said what she wanted.

“Did you make good use of the item I gave you? From what I heard about Manju, it seems you’ve already mastered it.”

“Yes, it’s been very helpful.”

“Is that so?”

Her uncovered eye subtly scrutinized Yeomyeong from top to bottom.

“What did he say? ‘Finally found a true successor,’ right?”

“Uh…”

Yeomyeong held back his response, recalling the last wish of the comet within the Comet Sword.

‘When you meet Freya Khan, make sure to return the dagger. I… I’m asking this as a favor.’

Remembering the desperate voice, Yeomyeong concealed his thoughts.

He felt sorry for the Comet Sword back in his dormitory, but returning it immediately seemed impossible.

“…Could we talk about that later, just the two of us?”

“Of course. Why make it sound so hard? We’re both inheritors of the comet, after all.”

Laughing playfully, the Sacred Sword patted him on the shoulder.

For those familiar with her, this sight was shocking enough. What she did next was even more surprising, even for those who didn’t know her well.

“Oh, and let’s take a photo together.”

“…A photo? Isn’t he already taking one?”

Yeomyeong glanced at the journalist, still feverishly pressing the camera shutter.

“Not that kind of photo—let’s do a proper pose.”

“….”

What’s she talking about? While Yeomyeong was still bewildered, the Sacred Sword began helping the exhausted group to their feet.

“Let’s take a solo shot of you… What? Already done? Then let’s get one with your friends sprawled out here.”

Grateful, his companions grabbed the Sacred Sword’s hand and stood up.

Only the Saintess refused her hand, instead clutching onto Seti’s skirt hem as Seti sighed and helped her up.

In the end, even the Saintess didn’t refuse to be photographed.

The Sacred Sword called the journalist over to start taking pictures of the group against the backdrop of zombies.

They posed for everything from staged battle shots to candid photos resting together.

While everyone was bewildered by this sudden photo op, Yeomyeong cautiously asked,

“…What’s the point of all this?”

“Just adding some spice in advance… or rather, it’s a political matter, so don’t worry yourselves too much.”

“….”

“Trust me, in a few days, you’ll be thanking me.”

Her tone was full of confidence. Yeomyeong didn’t bother to ask what they’d be grateful for.

After all, he had no way of foreseeing what kind of aftershock this academy attack might bring.

 

Beyond the dimensional portal lies a nation called the Empire.

Once, it was the strongest, greatest nation in the world.

Now, it’s nothing more than an empty shell.

Self-styled sages may boast that maintaining even a shell, untainted by Earth’s capital, technology, or ideologies, was a feat in itself…

But the Third Prince thought otherwise.

There’s a saying that even a wealthy family can survive for three generations after ruin.

Even if only a shell remained from his father’s and grandfather’s failures, the Empire was still the Empire.

With the bloodline and will to greatness still intact, the Empire would reclaim what Earth had taken and restore its past glory someday…

The Third Prince would often voice such thoughts.

His nurse would fuss, warning him not to say such things lightly, but he thought differently.

If he were of common blood, such ambition might be inappropriate, but as a prince of the Empire, wasn’t it natural to have grand aspirations?

Even his elder brother, the Crown Prince, shook his head at his ambition, but the Third Prince didn’t stop at words.

He vowed to prove the superiority of their bloodline over Earth’s.

Against all opposition, the Third Prince personally crossed over to Earth and enrolled at Lord Howe Academy.

On the day he left the palace, he held his nurse’s hand and made a promise.

To prove the worth of the imperial bloodline.

For the past year, the Third Prince hadn’t forgotten that promise.

He disciplined himself, pushing harder and harder. Throughout his first year, he remained at the top of his class.

Of course, there were students who could match him in certain fields… but no one could surpass him in overall ranking.

Perhaps it was because of this that, as a second-year, he fell into the trap of arrogance.

He came to expect praise as his due and saw advice on humility as jealousy from the unworthy.

For this reason, he often skipped classes.

Especially the dreadful joint classes, which he didn’t attend at all.

He, of noble birth, was expected to sit and learn alongside commoners?

It was meaningless and pointless, at least in his opinion.

So, as always, the prince skipped joint class today.

…He shouldn’t have. At least not today.

“Kyahhh!”

The Third Prince ran from the zombies, regret flooding him.

If only he hadn’t skipped class.
If only he hadn’t ignored the alarm.
If only he’d heeded the broadcast to head to the shelter.

It was all pointless, but he couldn’t help regretting it.

To think that skipping a class would put him on the brink of death.

He gasped, nearly choking, as tears welled up.

“Hah… hah… someone… save me….”

He wanted to live.

At first, he’d thought he could handle a few zombies, but it hadn’t taken long to realize that was arrogance.

Fighting alone against hundreds, even thousands, of zombies was impossible. It was a miracle he’d escaped before being completely surrounded.

“S-Save… save me. Someone, please…!”

Those damn zombies showed no sign of exhaustion as they continued to pursue him.

Perhaps it was because he’d wandered around the school to avoid being surrounded that his stamina and mana had run dry long ago.

“Is anyone there? Save me! Help me!”

He’d reached the main building’s faculty office.

He’d hoped there might be a teacher there to save him, but all that greeted him was eerie silence.

“Oh….”

To die here? He, a prince of the Empire?

He chuckled bitterly, hearing the zombies’ footsteps echo down the hall.

“Please, someone, anyone, save me… Father… Nurse….”

Just as he slumped onto the office floor in resignation, someone opened the door and stepped inside.

“…A visitor?”

Fortunately, it wasn’t a zombie… but the person’s appearance wasn’t much better.

Drenched in blood from head to toe, leaving drops with every step, he looked like a deranged killer.

Were it not for his familiar second-year uniform, he’d have easily been mistaken for a madman.

But the Third Prince wasn’t in a position to be picky. Even that terrifying figure looked like a lifeline to him.

“H-Hey! Save me!”

He cried out urgently, hearing the approaching zombie steps.

“I’m the Empire’s Third Prince! I’ll grant you anything you want!”

The blood-soaked student hesitated, contemplating something, before kneeling down on one knee.

In his hand was a sword that he’d seemingly produced from nowhere. Presenting the sword, the student’s posture was one the Third Prince knew well.

“A… Knight of the Empire…?”

The guardians of the Empire, forcibly disbanded by Earth.

A long-lost order, gone without a trace, yet here was a student swearing allegiance to the Emperor.

“I greet Your Highness, the Prince.”

“You… could you be…”

The prince stared at him in disbelief.

The sword in his hand—it wasn’t an Earth-made replica but an authentic imperial knight’s sword imbued with mana.

“Is… is this a dream? Am I dreaming?”

The prince, on the verge of tears, asked. To witness the Empire’s old glory in this place, at this moment…

“This is no dream, Your Highness.”

The blood-soaked student rose to his feet, then lifted the prince with his bloodstained hand.

“Your Highness, would you like to hide here in the office?”

“Y-You’re going to fight all those zombies alone? How about… carrying me and fleeing….”

The prince trailed off as he saw the knight’s eyes flash like a snake.

“Rest assured. Zombies are no match for me.”

“Well, if you say so… I shall believe you.”

The prince swallowed hard, pondering.

Was there such a student in the second year? And why was he here in the faculty office?

The question was short-lived. The zombies were already hammering on the office door.

The prince clung tightly to the knight. The knight raised his sword, gently pushing him aside before heading for the door.

Just before opening it, he seemed to remember something and turned to the prince.

“Your Highness, could you retrieve a wooden box from Mr. Morrison’s desk drawer while I fight? It’s a finely wrapped red box.”

“…You’re asking me to steal a teacher’s belongings?”

“Steal? It was mine to begin with.”

“….”

The prince nodded quietly. The knight didn’t seem to be lying. And even if he were, the prince had no choice but to believe him.

“It would be best if you didn’t step outside this room.”

Leaving behind words that were part warning, part request, he stepped outside.

As the sounds of zombie groans and breaking objects filled the air, the prince crawled over to Mr. Morrison’s desk.