I Got Reincarnated as a Zombie Girl

Night descended slowly over the black castle. The magic torches along the walls glowed steadily, their pale-blue light reflecting on the snow's surface. The winter wind slipped between the tower crevices, carrying the faint clinking of chains that hung from ancient stone statues. Yet, despite the thousands of new zombies now occupying the outer courtyard, the atmosphere did not feel chaotic.

These troops from Nocture were unlike the zombies of this world. Their eyes were not the hollow voids of shambling corpses, but calm, controlled carrying a faint but directed awareness. In a single night, they had already begun adapting: guard lines on the walls stood firm without command, hunter units patrolled the surrounding forest in disciplined groups, and even a few undead mages erected small wards in the courtyard's corners.

From the main tower balcony, Sylvia watched it all.

She sat on a wooden chair cushioned with leather, clad in a thin black camisole against her pale skin, paired with simple shorts. Only a long black cloak shielded her from the biting air, though her undead body no longer felt the cold. A faint mist of breath left her lips with each exhale not out of need, but from a human habit she had yet to shed.

Her crimson eyes glowed softly beneath the moonlight. Her left hand propped her chin while her right hand held a glass of red wine she barely touched.

"Should I strike them now… or not?" she murmured, her voice a whisper to the night air.

Her thoughts drifted back to the day Alicia and Stacia nearly died at the hands of human forces. The paladins and priests who attacked them had not been common soldiers. From their robes and shields, Sylvia could guess they hailed from the central church. Yet something was off.

Her lips tightened, fingers tapping the rim of her glass.

"If it really was the central branch… Why send so few? High-ranking paladins don't march without larger protection. Or… was it another branch, trying to provoke me?"

She straightened, eyes lifted to the starlit sky above the veil of frost. The image of the Goddess of Light, Lumielle, crossed her mind with her gentle face, radiant aura, and the words she had once spoken: 'Do not strike first against mankind.'

Sylvia remembered them clearly. Back then, she restrained herself. She chose neutrality, even though humans viewed her as a threat. But now… it was humans who struck first.

"If I retaliate now, does that mean I've broken her warning?" Sylvia whispered. "Or is this exactly what they want? For me to ignite the war, so the gods can unite against me?"

Her mind wandered to the past, when the heroes had opened the gate to the underworld. It had not been the folly of ordinary humans, but the gods' own scheme. By unleashing the underworld above, they provoked chaos. Humanity would panic, and the gods would harvest faith with ease.

But that plan failed. Sylvia and her army had pushed the creatures back. The gate cracked, and before the chaos could spread, it was sealed.

"And when I evolved…" Sylvia shut her eyes. The memory was sharp, the descending sword of judgment, a beam of light that threatened to cleave the world. They had truly meant to erase her then.

She could still feel the air rippling, the fractures left behind when that sword shattered under her power, fused with Alicia and Stacia's.

"The sword failed… it cracked… and I'm still alive. Of course they're furious," she muttered. "Maybe the attack on Alicia and Stacia was nothing but bait. A lure for me to lash out blindly."

Her fingers dug into the arm of her chair.

"If I strike the wrong church, if they weren't the true culprits… Lumielle could see me as breaking my vow. If that happens, even neutral gods may side with those who want me erased. I'd become a stain far easier to target."

The wind howled, whipping her cloak, making the thin camisole shimmer faintly under the moonlight. Sylvia raised her wine glass, staring into the red liquid as if it were blood.

"So… what should I do? Attack now… or seek the truth first?"

She sipped lightly, then rose, walking to the iron railing. From there, her gaze swept the castle courtyard filled with her undead host. Noir, her black dragon, lay like a mountain at the field's edge, eyes shut yet head lifted in alert watch.

Alicia and Stacia were asleep in their chambers. Celes was still in the study, no doubt buried in papers she refused to leave unfinished.

The night's silence pressed against her, each second of thought weighing heavier.

"If this truly is provocation… then I must find the hand behind it. And the only way is…"

She drew a deep breath, then smiled faintly.

"…to go to Anarats."

The name left her lips softly. Anarats is the nearest great city with a strong Church presence. A place with both a branch cathedral and Lumielle's temple. A place that might hold answers.

"If I enter that temple, perhaps I can speak directly with the priests. Or… perhaps Lumielle herself will hear me."

But she could not deny the other reason. Her eyes softened, moonlight shimmering within them.

"…And maybe… I simply want to walk again. To wander. It's been too long since Velthya, the werewolf's city."

Her long black hair lifted in the night breeze, and memories stirred: bustling crowds, merchants shouting, the aroma of hot food drifting through the streets, simple things she had only known when she was still human.

"Anarats…" she whispered again, softer. "I'll go. Not as a feared zombie queen. Just as… Sylvia."

Her lips curved faintly. She set the glass on the railing, then turned back inside. The night was long, but her resolve had formed.

Inside, the castle halls were warmer than the balcony's air. Magic torches crackled softly, shadows dancing against stone walls. Sylvia's steps were slow, her cloak trailing behind her.

She paused outside her chamber, glancing toward the study at the corridor's far end. Its lamp still burned. She could faintly hear the scratch of Celes's pen.

"…She won't like it if I go without telling her," Sylvia murmured. "But… maybe it's better as a small surprise."

Her hand pushed her door open quietly. Tonight, she chose to rest in peace, though her mind brimmed with plans. Tomorrow… she would tell them. Her next destination: the city of Anarats, where Lumielle's temple stood, and where answers awaited.

The room was warmer, the magic hearth already lit by dutiful undead servants. Sylvia shed her cloak, walking to the wide desk near the window.

She filled a kettle from a jug, conjuring a small Nether Flame beneath it. Steam rose swiftly. Into a cup she placed dried herbs and their soothing fragrance filled the room.

"Looks like I'll be working late again," she muttered, eyes flicking to the endless reports.

Minutes passed in silence, the scratch of her pen filling the chamber. Outside, the night wind tapped faintly on the windows.

Then the door creaked. Someone entered, their steps silent. Silver hair gleamed faintly in candlelight: Celes.

She walked in casually, clad in a simple nightgown, a thin shawl draped over her shoulders. Her eyes moved first to the bed, only to find it empty.

"…Hm?" Her brow furrowed briefly.

Her gaze shifted to the desk. There Sylvia sat, writing intently, black hair spilling over her shoulders, crimson eyes glowing faintly in focus.

Celes hesitated, something like embarrassment flickering across her face before she masked it with calm. Her intent of slipping in to sleep at Sylvia's side faltered.

"…You're still working," she said at last, voice flat, yet softer than usual.

Sylvia glanced over briefly, then back to her parchment. "Yes. Too much to finish. You haven't gone to bed?"

Celes tilted her chin, feigning nonchalance. "I wanted to make sure you hadn't slipped away. And here you are, buried in papers." She approached lightly.

Sylvia only gave a small huff, her pen still moving.

Celes stopped beside the desk, eyes scanning the pile of reports. Her slender fingers plucked one blank sheet. "Let me help. Otherwise you truly will be awake till dawn."

Sylvia narrowed her eyes briefly at her. "You don't need to "

"Don't argue," Celes cut in firmly, her tone sharper than usual. "I've already grown used to tidying reports you ignore. Let me do it."

For a moment, Sylvia simply stared at her calm face, then sighed. "Fine. If that pleases you."

A faint smile touched Celes's lips slightly, almost invisible, but enough to shift the air between them. She sat at the side chair, sorting papers with deft precision, her fingers moving as if long practiced in this rhythm.

Minutes stretched. Sylvia's pen scratched; Celes's hands shuffled documents. A quiet harmony of work filled the room.

At times, Celes glanced sidelong at Sylvia. That pale face glowed faintly under the candlelight, focused yet serene. Her chest stirred faintly, a mix of admiration, and something else she dared not name.

Sylvia, without realizing, glanced back once. "You look more serious than usual."

Celes didn't turn, still sorting. "If I weren't, who would ensure these reports don't drive you mad? Someone has to guard you… from yourself."

Sylvia's brow lifted, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "That sounded like scolding."

"Then consider it so," Celes answered, her voice soft but firm.

They fell into rhythm once more. The night deepened, yet the room remained warm, the scent of herbal tea lingering, and time seemed to flow more gently.