I Got Reincarnated as a Zombie Girl-Chapter 151 – Cracks Beneath the Light

Morning arrived slowly, but brought no warmth. Sunlight crept between the leaves of the western forest, illuminating the battlefield that had become a stage of disgrace. Broken branches, lingering traces of magical explosions, and the scattered corpses of common zombies filled the air with the stench of burnt flesh and rotting blood.

Three figures lay among the ruins and charred debris. Their breaths were labored, their clothes tattered, and the wounds on their bodies spoke louder than any words left unspoken.

Aurelia, the haughty mage in the crimson robe, now lay limply on the roots of a large tree. Her red hair was matted with blood, her robe torn across the shoulders and back. Her eyes stared blankly at the sky through the swaying branches.

"What... really happened yesterday...?" she whispered faintly, her voice like a thin breeze trying to escape reality.

Not far from her, Sena the lancer struggled to sit up. Half of her body was bruised, her spear lay several meters from hands too weak to grasp it. She stared at the last spot where that terrifying figure had stood—but only a thin veil of mist remained.

"He... didn’t mean to kill us," Sena murmured. "He just... toyed with—"

"He humiliated us," came a sharp voice from nearby.

Riva, the shadow dancer, stood on shaky legs, her shoulder dislocated. Though her physical wounds weren’t as severe as the others, her eyes held something deeper: the shattering of pride. Cold. Full of resentment. But not toward the enemy. Toward herself... and one name absent among them.

Aurelia clenched her weak hand. "Arwen..."

Silence.

No one responded. No one defended him. His name hung in the air like a cold mist stabbing at their hearts.

Riva spat on the ground. "He ran. We all know it. Even if you want to deny it, our bodies already tell the truth."

Sena looked down, unable to argue. "Maybe he went to get help. Maybe..."

"If he was going to get help, why didn’t he give a signal? Why no orders? He didn’t lead. He fled," Riva cut in, her tone like sharpened steel.

Aurelia closed her eyes, enduring the throbbing pain in her wounded arm. "We need to get back to city. Our wounds are too severe... and if that monster returns..."

"He won’t," Sena said quietly. "He already gave his message. We’re... just messengers of fear now."

Riva looked up at the sky. "And we succeeded... in becoming a joke."

None of them denied it.

That zombie the terrifying creature clad in black armor, with eyes filled not with rage, but with eternal weariness had shown them a bitter truth. They, the ’heroes of the heavens’, were not a threat. Merely empty symbols. Names to be chanted in temples by ignorant citizens. Only now did they realize: being a hero... didn’t make them important.

Three hours later, they staggered back along the mountain path. Slow steps, ragged breaths, broken bodies and pride shattered worse than any bone. The sky was clear, birds had begun to chirp, but their songs sounded like mockery.

When they finally reached the city gates, the guards rushed forward. Shouts echoed, clerics and healers were deployed. Healing circles were cast. But amidst the chaos, one question passed through many lips:

"Where’s Arwen?"

There was no answer.

They just stared ahead. Blank faces. Hollow eyes. Silence was the best answer to a question too painful to speak aloud.

In the medical tent, silence was heavier than pain. Aurelia lay wrapped in bandages, staring at the swaying canvas ceiling. Riva sat in a corner, wrapping her own hand. Sena gazed at the table, as if waiting for something that would never come.

Aurelia finally spoke. "He didn’t come back."

Riva smirked slightly. "Of course not. He’s a coward. A chosen hero of the gods, huh? I’d love to see how the temple explains this."

Sena looked at her wearily. "If we report what really happened... we’ll be stripped. Our status revoked. We’ll be called traitors."

Riva stood. "Good. I’m sick of it all. The title of ’hero’ didn’t make me stronger. It just gave me fake responsibility."

She walked to the table, picked up an initial report and a pen.

"Don’t fill this with lies," she said coldly.

Sena was silent. "You want us to write... that Arwen ran?"

"I’ll write it myself," Riva replied.

Aurelia closed her eyes. "Then... we’ll be rewriting history."

"Of course. Because the history we’ve been told was always a lie."

On the other side of the city, Arwen stood on the upper balcony of the main barracks. His face was pale, his eyes sunken. He stared at the sky the same sky that had witnessed his escape the night before.

His hand clutched a silver pendant the symbol of the God of Light. But now the pendant felt cold. Lifeless. No warmth, no divine voice. Only silence.

"I was just following instinct..." he muttered, trying to convince himself. "If I died, who would carry the warning? Who would bring back the report? I’m... I’m not a coward. I... was thinking strategically."

But even his heart rejected those words.

Someone knocked, then entered. A young officer handed him a letter. "Sir Arwen, this arrived a few minutes ago. It came through an unusual route. No temple seal... but the Holy Council requests you read it privately."

Arwen opened the letter. His hand trembled. Inside, there was only one sentence:

"Did you see clearly now, Hero?"

He froze.

There was no seal. No official insignia. But at the bottom corner of the page... was a small symbol: a lightning-like crack, resembling the fracture in the sky that had welcomed the being he couldn’t fight.

His eyes widened.

It wasn’t a symbol of the gods.

It was... something older. Deeper. Darker.

And for some reason, he felt a strange pull in his heart.

Behind the letter, there was a faint magical etching. When touched, another message appeared in glowing red:

"If you want power come. The upper world will never give you a place. But we will give you a role."

Arwen dropped the pendant.

The sacred object clinked softly as it hit the stone floor.

And for the first time... he no longer saw the light as salvation.

Arwen stared at the letter once more, as if hoping the words within would change. But the sentence remained the same. Firm. Alluring. Haunting.

"If you want power come. The upper world will never grant you a place. But we will give you a role."

His hand clenched.

Not out of fear. Not out of regret.

But out of challenge.

"I... only ever wanted power," he whispered softly, as if confessing a truth long buried. "Power great enough to silence everyone. Power that could bring the world to its knees. Power... that could satisfy my pride."

He looked down at his own hand the one once praised as the "Hand of Light," a symbol of courage and justice. But now, his fingers trembled not with fear, but with hunger. A hunger for more. To become something that no one not even his own comrades could tear down.

"If the gods can’t grant it... then I’ll find it elsewhere."

He tore the letter in two, then burned the remains over a small candle on the table. But at the corner of his lips, a thin smile began to form cold, determined, and aimed toward something far darker.

Loyalty to the light? That had long since cracked.

All that remained... was ego.

And now, that ego had found its door.

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