Chapter 3 — At Last... I Can Move!

Hattie, hearing Gao Yang's reply, breathed a great sigh of relief as well. As a spellcaster of exceedingly rich theoretical knowledge, she did have some understanding of the undead risen again—these blasphemous creatures bore a fatal flaw in their souls. Upon first awakening, they were almost all incapable of speech or thought; even the stronger among them, who might quickly regain the capacity for thought, would completely forget the events of their former lives.

Moreover, they absolutely could not speak their own names. Whether by recovering their memories or by being prompted, once the dead spoke the name they had borne in life, it would trigger a backlash and burning of the soul-fire. Even if they were not burned "dead," the agony was more than any undead could endure.

And the phenomenon of soul-fire backlash and burning could absolutely not be concealed.

So she relaxed, though she remained in the grip of immense confusion—because if the one before her, of the Xuanyuan Sect, had not been raised by necromancy, then this whole affair was even more inexplicable.

Xuanmai Sect, how is it that you just up and rose in the middle of being dead?

But however confused she was, the necessary courtesy must still be observed. So Hattie stepped forward and bowed with tension and reverence. "Ancestor of the Cecil family, I am your descendant, Hattie Cecil. This one beside me is likewise your descendant, Rebecca Cecil. Please, for the sake of her youth and ignorance, do not hold her rash act against her, and... please forgive us for disturbing your rest."

Uh, so this one before him was a great-great-great-great...-granddaughter, and the one beside her seemed to be one as well.

The frenzied infusion of memories seemed to have finally ended. Gao Yang now had no time to carefully peruse the neatly arranged records in his mind; he wanted to grasp the situation around him as quickly as possible. Bracing himself against his coffin, he tried to rise, muttering, "It's fine, it's fine, I don't even know how I woke up—could one of you give me a hand?"

He found he had overestimated his ability to adapt to the new body; he put forth his strength and still could not sit up, and was suddenly somewhat embarrassed.

Rebecca, who had been standing nearby clutching her staff and watching nervously all this while, realized that her moment to shine had finally come. She immediately bounced up onto the stone platform and, supporting Gao Yang's arm to help him out, said, "Let me help you out of the coffin, let me help you out of the coffin..."

However you heard it, it sounded awkward.

"Over seven hundred years, is it..." Gao Yang, stiff all over, was helped out of the coffin by the girl. He glanced down at the clothes he wore, and the thing he remarked on left Rebecca quite baffled. "What material is this fabric?"

"It seems to be moonmark cloth woven by elves..." Rebecca said, not entirely certain.

"Truly black technology."

Rebecca: "Huh?"

The Xuanmai Sect founder sure speaks profoundly.jpg.

With Rebecca's support, Gao Yang finally made it down from the stone platform and stood steadily on the ground. He felt his control over this body improving at a tremendous rate, as though his soul were rapidly installing drivers—his consciousness and body coordinating at a jaw-dropping pace.

He let go of Rebecca's hand and tried taking a small step forward on his own.

The next moment, he was very nearly in tears. If there had been a microphone beside him, he felt he could have thanked every person he knew and every television station without repeating himself.

After all these years—by now, a transmigrator in a novel would have long since slain gods, extinguished buddhas, and unified the cosmos—he had only just completed his first achievement as a human being: walking upright...

And only after achieving upright walking did he remember the girl he had nearly forgotten, the one surrounded by four hulking men.