I Got Reincarnated as a Zombie Girl

The night air in Anarats grew sharper, biting to the bone. Though the blizzard had just passed, snow fell again in fine flakes, dancing beneath the flickering glow of torches along the main street. Sylvia descended swiftly from the hilltop temple, her cloak whipping, her hood shadowing a pale face still burdened by the memory of her encounter with Lumielle's fragment.

Her thoughts had yet to settle when a foreign voice pierced her mind not through her ears, but directly within her thoughts. Deep, heavy, yet familiar.

"My Queen…"

Sylvia stopped. Her crimson eyes narrowed, her breath caught for a moment. It was Noir, her black dragon. He rarely used telepathy unless the matter was urgent.

"Our castle… is under attack."

Though her heart no longer beat like a human's, Sylvia felt a tremor within her chest. Her cold blood seemed to surge faster.

"Attacked?!" her whisper cut sharp into the drifting snow. "By whom?!"

Noir's answer came with a low hiss, mingled with the echo of distant roars behind his words. "Thousands. The Church's army."

Sylvia fell silent, her body taut. Images of Celes, Alicia, Stacia, and every soul within the castle flashed through her mind. Instinct screamed at her to break into a run, to tear through the snow and fog until she returned to her fortress.

But Noir's voice continued. "Be calm, my Queen. They are unharmed. Their light… does not work as they expected. We are not black-magic corpses. We are bodies born of the virus. Holy light merely stings the flesh; it cannot destroy the soul."

Sylvia's crimson eyes widened faintly, then dimmed. The violet fire flickering in her hand died away slowly. She exhaled heavily, cold mist billowing from her lips.

"So… no casualties?"

"None. They scream, they pray, they shine their light. Yet to the zombies, it is nothing more than a spectacle. Some of your soldiers even laugh at them. They tried to storm the gates, but the snow broke their bodies faster than we did. My Queen… do not worry."

Sylvia lowered her head, letting snowflakes cling to the fur trim of her cloak. For a moment, silent, strange relief washed over her.

But her mind could not rest. The Church had dared strike directly at her fortress. This was no probe, no test. It was a declaration.

"Noir," Sylvia answered in thought, her voice low yet firm. "Stay vigilant. Do not underestimate them. No matter how weak their strike appears, never dismiss them. I will return once my business here is done."

"As you command, my Queen."

The voice faded, leaving only the chill of night.

Sylvia stood still, the wind brushing her pale face. Then she turned back toward the city, quickening her pace. Her cloak swept the snow in urgent rhythm, her boots striking hard. She had to return to Velthya's manor, to be certain no further shadows crept near.

The streets to Velthya's residence were quiet. Snow mirrored the torches, pale glimmers weaving between stone houses. A few townsfolk remained awake, sweeping snow from their doors or carrying firewood. They bowed their heads respectfully as Sylvia passed, none daring to meet her gaze.

Each step felt heavy, laden with worry masked beneath her cold facade. Even with Noir's assurance, Sylvia knew the Church was not one to relent. Today's failure meant tomorrow they would come again perhaps with something worse.

At last, Velthya's manor rose at the end of the road. Bright torches flanked the great wooden gates, their light falling upon the carved sigil of a wolf. Two guards stood with spears in hand, rigid yet alert.

Seeing Sylvia approach, they exchanged glances, then lowered their weapons.

"Lady Sylvia," one greeted respectfully. "Welcome back."

Sylvia inclined her head slightly. "Has anything happened in my absence?"

The guard quickly shook his head. "Nothing, my Lady. The city is quiet. No suspicious movements."

Sylvia studied them for a long moment, as if weighing their words. Finally, she passed through the gate into the courtyard.

The air felt warmer inside the compound. Great torches burned at each corner, melting snow faster here, and faint sounds of clattering dishes drifted from the servants' kitchens, still busy with a late supper.

Sylvia drew a deep breath, a sliver of ease settling in her chest.

Velthya was already waiting in the main hall. She stood by the great hearth, her fur cloak still on despite the fire's warmth. Her face tightened when Sylvia entered, then softened with visible relief.

"You returned sooner than I thought," Velthya said, hurrying forward. "Did you find anything at the temple?"

Sylvia glanced at her briefly, then answered flatly, "There are things we must discuss. But not here. Later."

Velthya flicked her gaze toward a servant in the corner. The servant bowed and withdrew silently. When they were alone, Velthya turned back, eyes fixed.

"I can see it on your face. Something weighs heavily."

Sylvia did not reply at once. She moved to the chair by the fire, sat with composure, and pulled back her hood. Her black hair spilled free, catching faint glints of the flames.

"Much," she said at last. "And the Church… has begun to move. Not only in this kingdom, but against me."

Velthya straightened, her wolf ears twitching slightly. "What do you mean?"

Sylvia's gaze lingered on the fire, crimson eyes glowing with its orange light. "My castle… was attacked. Thousands. But they failed. My forces remain unharmed."

Velthya caught her breath, her face a storm of shock and anger. "They… dared to strike you openly? That means "

"They no longer care for secrecy," Sylvia cut in coldly. "They thought their light could unmake zombies. But they don't understand… I am different. My army is different. Not conjured from dark sorcery, but born of the virus. Light only sears the flesh; it cannot touch the soul."

Velthya's eyes widened, her hands clutching her knees as she slowly sat opposite Sylvia. "Then they'll panic. And the more they panic… the more dangerous they become."

Sylvia gave a slight nod. "That is my fear."

Silence fell. Only the crackle of burning wood filled the room.

Velthya finally spoke, her voice low. "Sylvia… I know your strength. But if the Church has truly marked you, this isn't only your fight. It is mine as well. And it is Anarats's."

Sylvia turned her gaze on her, unflinching. "You don't need to be dragged into this. I can handle it alone."

Velthya let out a short, bitter laugh. "Don't be foolish. You yourself said this is no longer a simple skirmish. If the Church assails you, sooner or later they'll press against this city too. And I will not cower behind your back."

Her golden eyes blazed, her tail twitching with restless resolve. "You've aided me, listened to my truths. Now it's my turn to stand with you. Don't drive me from this battlefield."

Sylvia studied her long, then at last, the faintest smile curved her pale lips a rare softness. "Then… we will stand together."

Velthya's relief showed in her own smile, though worry still shadowed it. "Yes. Together."

Above Sylvia's fortress, the sky lay black and grim. Snow poured in thick sheets, blanketing the surrounding plains in endless white. Yet that night was far from silent it roared with cries, with clashes, with blinding light.

"Uoooooohhh! For Lumielle's Light!"

Thousands of human voices thundered, melding with the stamp of boots and the crash of weapons on frozen shields. Their torches swung wildly, while in the priests' hands, holy light burst like flashes of lightning.

Fwooooshhh!

A wave of sacred radiance surged toward the fortress gate. The blast melted snow in an instant, steam billowing thick. But the black-iron walls shuddered only briefly, no cracks, no breach, the icy fortifications unmoved.

Upon the battlements, zombie sentinels stood rigid, crimson eyes glowing beneath rusted helms. The light struck them, skin sizzling with a hiss like smoking meat. Yet instead of collapsing, the wounds closed swiftly.

"Grooohhh…" a low growl rumbled from their throats, no pain, no fear.

A human soldier in the vanguard gaped. "What is this?! The light isn't burning them!"

"Keep striking! Don't falter! They're creatures of darkness they must fall!" a priest shrieked, fanaticism reddening his eyes. He raised his glowing staff, chanting fervently.

"Haaaahhh! Gloria Lux!"

Light flooded, dazzling the field. Yet when the wave swept the zombie ranks before the gates

"GRAAAAAHHH!"

The undead roared. Their bodies hardened, charred flesh knitting back with frightening speed, muscles bulging stronger. Holy light only enraged them.

KRANGGG! BAAAAMMM!

The fortress gates shuddered violently under warhammers' blows. But through the cracks, zombie hands thrust out, dragging any soldier foolish enough to draw near.

"GYAAAAAHHH!" a warrior screamed as he was hauled into the shadows. Bones cracked, blood sprayed across the snow.

"Don't retreat! For Lumielle, press on!" the priest shrieked again, voice piercing the storm. Yet doubt rippled through the rear ranks.

From the battlements, a Witch zombie raised her hand. Emerald fire flared in her palm, swirling into a burning sphere.

Fwooooshhh! KABOOOOOMMM!

The fireball struck the clustered humans, the blast flinging dozens skyward. Snow turned to red-stained slush as bodies crashed down.

"This can't be… the light doesn't work…" whispered a knight, his face pale.

Yet their commander strode forward, blade blazing in hand. "Do not falter! They are but walking corpses! Once the gates fall, we will cut out the root of this darkness!"

Doooommm!

His radiant sword slashed, cleaving the air in blinding arcs. Some zombies split apart, bodies falling to the snow. But the pieces twitched, crawling, slowly knitting back together.

"GRRRAAAAAHHHH!"

The severed bodies rose again more vicious than before.

From the left flank came a heavy rumble.

DUMMMM…! DUMMMM…! DUMMMM…!

A massive silhouette emerged from the gates. A Tank zombie, its bulk layered with thick flesh and jutting bone, advanced steadily. Holy light scorched its hide, but only left charred streaks that healed over at once.

"ROAAAAARRRRR!!!"

With a single swing, it hurled a dozen men through the air, their bodies crashing like broken dolls into the snow.

"Monster! That's no zombie, it's a demon!" a soldier screamed, terror etched across his face.

But the undead cared nothing for fear. Hunter zombies darted through shadows, leaping above the human ranks, claws rending throats.

SHHHRAAAKKK!

The sound of flesh tearing rang out, crimson spraying across the white.

From above came a piercing whistle. Fweeeettt!

A flock of zombie ravens erupted from the towers, crimson eyes gleaming, beaks slashing at human faces and eyes.

"KYAAAAH! Get them off my eyes!!" a youth shrieked before vanishing under the swarming black.

Torchlight, human screams, and undead roars blended into a symphony of hell.

And amid it all, a deeper voice boomed across the sky, pressing with immense weight.

"My Queen…"

Noir raised his head in the rear courtyard, crimson eyes blazing, wings spread though heavy with snow. His telepathic voice echoed across the fortress.

"We are unharmed. None can break through. Do not fear for us, my Queen. Focus on what you must seek there."

The zombies upon the battlements howled together, answering their master's call.

"GROOOOOOHHHHHHH!!!"

That night, amid the blizzard and the false light of the Church, the fortress of the undead stood unyielding. Not a single crack gave way. The assault was nothing more than a slaughter one-sided and absolute.