The Half-Living

The dead do not dream.

This is but a fragment of memory.

[Forgive your father for leaving you such a nation.]

He cannot stop the nightmares from pouring forth.

This nation, the capital, the people…

On the day everything was consumed by flames, the King knelt before him for the first time and wept, as if atoning for the past.

[I should have entrusted everything to you from the beginning…]

Regret, no matter how swift, always comes too late.

But why does he always watch the same scene unfold?

“My lord.”

He slowly opened his eyes.

The world where the nightmare had vanished was filled with a desolate reality.

“I found one.”

He turned his head toward the man kneeling before him.

This place was the realm of the dead, the Netherworld.

Even if all the world’s delicacies and treasures lay before one’s eyes, they would be meaningless.

In this world where only souls remain, the only pleasure is the childish pride of standing above other dead.

For the man who conquered all the dead and subdued the entire Netherworld, even that had become nothing more than a worn memory.

After his loyal subordinate appeared for the first time in ages, the man maintained his expressionless demeanor.

“A half-living.”

At those words, he rose from his seat.

* * *

Half-living.

A phenomenon where body and soul separate.

A soul forcibly torn away wanders the Netherworld for two weeks before returning to its body.

Thus, the dead called such souls “half-living”—those still among the living.

Throughout the Netherworld’s long history, a half-living had appeared only once before.

Now, such a rare half-living had appeared again.

“That boy?”

The man pointed to a young soul that had left the procession from a distance.

“Yes. He broke away from the procession and leaped up to this ‘Middle,’ so I checked and found he was half-living.”

The procession was the path that newly arrived dead followed in an unbroken line.

At the end of that path existed a means of reincarnation called the Soul Processing Facility.

Most of the dead, having lost their reason, were judged at the Soul Processing Facility.

However, absolute beings who achieved great feats in life were exceptional—they retained their reason and departed from the procession.

The space where these absolute beings gathered was called the “Middle.”

“I heard he caused quite a stir from the very first day.”

“I can see lingering resentment in that soul.”

“The half-living harbors intense hatred. I extracted a portion of it, and it was quite interesting.”

His subordinate, the Lord of Despair, knelt on one knee and offered up the fragment of soul he had extracted from the half-living.

Within it lay the memories of both the boy and the Lord of Despair.

“Why do you weep?”

“It’s not fair. I knew nothing, I was living happily with my mother! That bastard tore my mother apart right in front of me! He plunged a sword through my chest!”

The boy’s anguished cry dragged forth nightmarish memories.

“We just lived ordinary lives!”

His mother had never once spoken of his father’s identity.

The boy, knowing nothing, lived peacefully with the villagers.

One day, flames engulfed the village.

The First Prince, calling himself “brother,” came and killed the boy’s mother, then spoke these words,

[You are a tragedy that should never have been born.]

The boy was the King’s bastard.

The product of debauchery, born from the King’s lust for his mother’s beauty.

On that day when his mother was torn apart by the First Prince before his very eyes, the boy learned for the first time who his father was.

The price of a secret he never knew until then was death—pierced through by a blade wreathed in flame.

“…He’ll just die again.”

His assessment was dry and matter-of-fact.

Given the circumstances, even if the boy came back to life, his chest wound was too severe—he wouldn’t live long and would soon return to the Netherworld.

The thought that the half-living, driven mad by vengeance, would ultimately meet death anyway made his interest plummet.

But the Lord of Despair was smiling.

“The boy foresees his own death. So he made me an interesting proposal.”

“What did that impudent brat say to make you so talkative?”

“Hahaha, he said he would give everything if we would grant him the power to take revenge on them.”

The dead cannot contract with the living.

Having already died with only a soul remaining, summoning was impossible, let alone lending power.

“I told him it was possible.”

“You’ve developed a nasty hobby.”

But there was one thing.

One method worth attempting.

“Did you teach him about manifestation?”

For the contractor themselves to lead that body instead.

In that moment, the half-living’s soul would fall to become one of the dead, and the dead would be newly born in the half-living’s body.

It was also the only way besides reincarnation to be born in the lower world without losing one’s memories.

“An opportunity that comes once in hundreds of years. But even so, we cannot do it. Even if we brought all the dead from the Middle, it wouldn’t work. Only you can do it, my lord.”

In the beginning, the gods bound body and soul as a pair.

This workaround was a defiance of providence, directly opposing the order established by the gods.

If there existed a being capable of making this possible, it would be…

A transcendent being who ruled over absolute beings.

Only such a one.

“The one most desperate wasn’t the half-living—it was all of you.”

He slowly turned around.

Before he knew it, all the absolute beings of the Middle had assembled in formation.

The man’s gaze moved to the two souls at the very front.

His three great subordinates who followed him in the Middle.

Including the Lord of Despair, the Lord of Pride and the Lord of Calamity humbly offered their counsel.

“Does Your Majesty not feel the same as we do?”

Emperor.

Without anyone telling them to, at some point he came to be called Emperor.

He, too, now accepted it calmly.

The weight of the word “Emperor” continued to stir his memories from life.

It was regret.

Or perhaps bitterness.

He sought from those already dead the emotions one regrets only after dying without achieving them in life.

“The only way to descend to the lower world with memories intact is possible only for you, my lord. If we try to transfer our souls into the half-living’s body, we will either bounce off or be annihilated.”

They were the same.

“Now we wish to let go of everything at last.”

Fearing that the memories filled only with regret would disappear with reincarnation.

Hoping someone would resolve this resentment, they gathered in the Middle.

And after long ages, a method to fulfill their wish appeared.

“Finding hope in despair. That’s unlike you.”

“I apologize, my lord. However, we have been desperately wishing for this moment.”

How long would they remain captive to memories, clinging to regrets with no promise of resolution?

[I will protect everyone and advance together! I will not live like my father!]

He who had ruled this Middle longer than anyone else harbored the most regrets of all.

The man cried out to those gazing at him with desperate eyes, wanting to tear away their burdens.

“I once believed that an honorable death was the path to victory. But that’s the excuse of a loser.”

He spat out his past regrets.

“That’s the excuse of a loser!”

Death is futile.

He could only watch as the souls of his people formed an endless procession.

“In the end, they reincarnate having lost their memories, not knowing what they truly tried to accomplish. What they left behind, what they should have protected! They will live on, forcibly separated from the most precious things! That is not honorable, and it does not make me, does not make you, great!”

The man stood tall before them.

“I will not live as a loser again! I will embrace all your regrets within me! And thus, I will accomplish once more in the lower world the ideals you and I dreamed together, transcending time!”

The absolute beings smiled brightly at those words and knelt.

“Wanderers driven to despair by regret! Absolute beings defeated by reality!”

He extended his hand to them.

“Now is the time to become victors!”

In that moment, the souls of the absolute beings emitted a brilliant white light.

Their wishes, containing both memories and regrets, were absorbed into his hand.

* * *

When he climbed to the edge of the cliff, the waiting boy bowed his head politely.

“My name is Pernok! It’s an honor to meet the transcendent being who rules the Netherworld!”

This was the greeting the Lord of Despair always taught to new absolute beings entering the Middle.

“What did the one who guided you here tell you?”

“That only Your Majesty can grant my wish.”

“What else?”

“I heard that the living and the dead cannot interfere with each other, so contracts are impossible. And even if I return to life as I am, my chest wound is too severe and I’ll die again before long.”

“And yet you still petition me for your wish?”

Pernok cried out desperately.

“If I’m going to die anyway, I want to take revenge on that bastard who killed my mother and the villagers!”

Pernok had no other options.

Even if he came back to life, his wound was too severe and he wouldn’t last long before dying.

“Anything, I can do anything!”

Reading the desperation of one driven to a dead end, the man nodded.

“There is one method.”

“What is it?!”

“For my soul to enter your body.”

“…!”

Even Pernok, who had no knowledge of the Netherworld, could clearly understand what that meant.

Pernok would lose his body and fall from half-living to one of the dead, but the man would instead live in that body and fulfill the revenge he could never dream of achieving with power beyond imagination.

“However, this is not a contract but a one-sided act. Even if I don’t kill the First Prince, you will have no means to bind me. Can you still say you will give everything?”

Pernok had nowhere else to go.

The next time he ascended to the Netherworld, he would be walking in the procession, having lost his reason like any other dead.

And having lost all memory, he would be reincarnated in an unwanted form—as a beast or anything else.

He did not want such a wretched ending.

His hesitation lasted only a moment.

“I wish you’d kill that bastard and all those royals who look down on the people!”

For the first time, the man smiled slightly.

“Then I swear on my regret, which is all pride that remains.”

And he extended his hand to Pernok.

“Your body will now become mine, and your name will become my name, and I will surely grant your wish.”

Pernok grasped his hand.

In that instant, the thread that connected the half-living’s body was transferred to him.

* * *

In the beginning, the gods bound the bodies and souls of living creatures as pairs.

This was called the soul-body synchronization rate, and both he and the half-living had extremely low compatibility.

Synchronization Rate – 0.1%

Trying to stuff an ocean into a cup causes cracks to form in the body.

A situation where he might bounce right back out of the body.

If they were absolute beings, they would have to be prepared for annihilation here, but he manipulated souls at will.

He tore off a portion of his infinite soul and carved it down again to a level suitable for the half-living.

Synchronization Rate – 1%

When the soul and body reached the minimum threshold to merge, his hearing opened first.

“…Think there’s anything to salvage?”

“It all burned up… Huh?”

“What?”

“One’s alive!”

Unpleasant voices reached him.

“He’s practically a corpse.”

“The chest wound is deep, but if we stop the bleeding properly, he’ll be fine.”

“What are you going to do with him alive?”

“Sell him to the fighting pits!”

Not the gloom of the dead, but the vitality of the living.

“Doesn’t a corpse work just as well?”

“Same goods, but a living one fetches a higher price.”

“Got it. Let’s keep him breathing just enough to keep the blood fresh.”

“Move quickly! We need to finish up before people come out from the castle!”

A chill crept up his back.

The burning sensation in his chest.

Arms and legs collapsed in helplessness.

Sensations he couldn’t feel in the Netherworld slowly awakened.

Synchronization Rate – 5%

Transcending the ages.

At last, the ruler of the Netherworld manifested in the world with all his memories intact.