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Chapter 91: New Skin — Resurrection Magic Is the Best Way to Kill
🕑 Added 2025-05-12 17:27:51 +0000 UTC"It was a scroll."
The rasping, grating voice of the Alliance Master broke the silence, like fingernails across metal, as he listened to the account of his subordinate's demise.
"A scroll? Are you sure?" Khajiit blinked, still struggling to process what he'd just heard.
Revived from death, Khajiit felt weak to the core, but oddly… more clear-headed than he'd ever been in life.
The clearest memory in his mind was the exact moment he'd been killed by that man. He'd considered, briefly, that a scroll might've been involved—then quickly dismissed the idea.
After all, that was a third-tier angel.
The highest-tier scrolls currently available in the known nations barely reached the third tier. And even those were rare—produced only by a handful of master craftsmen, hoarded by magic guilds, and considered strategic-level assets by entire countries.
More importantly, magic cast from a scroll was typically weaker than when cast directly.
He'd heard whispers that only the Slane Theocracy was researching fourth-tier scrolls, and even then, he—once a nobody—had no way of knowing whether they'd succeeded.
"Don't be fooled by appearances," the Alliance Master said coldly.
"Third-tier scrolls are rare, yes, but they're not as rare as you seem to think. Gah-dee-dee-dee…"
He let out a strange laugh. The dark magic swirling around his form shivered along with it.
"In fact, the Slane Theocracy began researching fifth-tier scrolls over a century ago. As for the fourth-tier? That's old news. They cracked that long ago."
A century ago?
Khajiit's mind reeled. That was ancient history—his great-grandfather hadn't even been born back then. His own memories of his mother were already hazy…
This was what he had always chased—true power, rooted in time.
"You idiot," the Alliance Master sneered. "You still haven't figured it out, have you? Your opponent only ever used two spells the entire time. You don't even know what they really looked like—what size, what face."
There was a mocking coldness in the voice.
"I brought you back, didn't I? Then consider yourself a slave for now. Work off the cost."
"Y-yes," Khajiit stammered, bowing his head as he scrambled to his feet.
He glanced cautiously at his surroundings—a desolate place, steeped in the stench of death.
"Where… are we?"
"Terror."
The Alliance Master spoke the word flatly, and turned to walk deeper into the shadowy land of the undead.
The Next Morning
Veil's Tailor Shop.
It was a small store located two blocks from the Adventurer's Guild. The name was plain, but the owner, Old Veil, was something of a legend among adventurers.
His clothes weren't cheap, but the quality was unmatched—especially for outfits custom-made for adventuring needs.
Inside the store, Lyle stood in front of a mirror, inspecting his new look with visible satisfaction.
He wore a tight-fitting black inner layer that appeared loose at first glance, topped with a flowing white robe styled after a cleric's vestments. The robe, however, had been tailored to fit snugly around the waist and cut slightly shorter in length, avoiding the usual cumbersome drape of traditional priest robes.
After spending over a month in the Great Forest of Tob, his once-short hair had grown out quite a bit. He'd trimmed it slightly but decided not to cut it short again. Combined with his new outfit, the man in the mirror now gave off a warm, composed impression.
And since he was flush with coin, Lyle had no reason to skimp on appearance. A few days ago, he had commissioned Veil to tailor these clothes to his exact specifications.
The robe helped solidify his image as a practitioner of divine magic. The inner suit, however, was all about practicality—tight-fitting and mobile, in case of emergencies. Loose clothing might look mystical, but they were a death sentence when you needed to run or fight.
"What do you think, sir?" Veil asked quietly. The elderly tailor, with graying hair and a leather apron, stood politely to one side.
"It's excellent. Your craftsmanship is top-notch," Lyle said, nodding with approval.
Veil remained calm—he'd heard such praise many times before—but after a moment's hesitation, he ventured, "Sir, forgive me for speaking out of turn, but… don't you think the sleeves are a bit too wide?"
The sleeves of the white robe were indeed rather voluminous, entirely covering his arms when relaxed at his sides. Veil's concern was understandable—it wasn't ideal for weapon handling or most practical tasks.
Lyle just smiled and flicked his sleeve. "That's intentional."
The wide sleeves were perfect for concealing items drawn from his item box—and more importantly, masking the use of scrolls in combat.
"I, uh… also took the liberty of adding something." Veil looked a little embarrassed. "There are hidden clasps at the shoulders. If you fasten them, the sleeves will stay up and out of the way, giving you full arm movement."
Lyle raised his brows. Only now did he notice the tiny white buttons discreetly hidden in the pleats at the shoulder.
What a clever design.
"I like it. Good call," Lyle said, waving a hand dismissively. "And the other sets?"
"As requested, I made four in total—including the one you're wearing. Each costs six gold coins."
Veil paused, subtly watching Lyle's reaction.
The price was steep, mostly due to the rush job. The materials didn't actually cost that much—Veil just charged more to meet the tight deadline.
"Twenty-four gold, huh?"
Lyle raised an eyebrow but didn't object. He dug out his coin pouch and counted out the sum. Even after paying, he still had over 600 gold coins left, not to mention the Shadow Staff and Bone Necklace he planned to sell soon.
"Let's go, Little Black."
He grabbed the three boxed-up outfits and called to his loyal demon hound before exiting the shop.
The streets outside were lively, though slightly subdued compared to a few days ago. There was still foot traffic, but a faint tension hung in the air—one that might go unnoticed if you weren't paying attention.
Lyle had been paying attention.
He'd picked up some useful intel over the past few days. Which was why he planned to leave E-Rantel soon and head toward the Baharuth Empire.
His next stop was Granny Lizzie's potion shop—time to offload some of those herbs he'd collected.
Of course, he wasn't going to sell everything at once. That would raise too many eyebrows. Instead, he'd packed only a portion of the herbs—enough to seem like a reasonable harvest.
As he turned a corner in the street, his arm moved subtly, and the bag he was carrying seemed to change—the bundle of clothes was now a bundle of herbs.
A perfect switch. Sleight of hand wasn't just for thieves.
His mind drifted to the new spell he'd acquired the night before: Modified Resurrection – Dead Return, a fifth-tier magic.
The more he learned, the more Lyle realized the people in this world weren't nearly as simple as anime tropes made them seem.
They had taken faith-based spells and reverse-engineered them into mana-based versions—allowing arcane users to replicate divine effects.
Take the spell "Silence", for example—more advanced than "Mute", but normally locked to divine casters. The Theocracy had managed to cast it using mana instead of faith.
That was low-tier stuff.
But Resurrection? That was fifth-tier territory—a spell that revived the dead. To modify something like that?
It spoke volumes about the Alliance Master's capabilities—and the terrifying depth of human ingenuity in this world.
In just over 600 years, humans had dug deep into the theory and practice of magic—scrolls, potions, enchantments—advancing to levels unimaginable in the original game.
The only thing holding them back was species limitation.
If not for that, could they not have surpassed even the players, who merely treated this world as a game?
This was the power of time—of slow, relentless mastery.
And now…
Lyle's eyes gleamed as he looked down at his hand.
"Come to think of it," he murmured, "Resurrection magic really is the best way to kill someone, isn't it?"
