"Well, I can confidently say that this guy doesn't mean me any harm. If he did, I wouldn't be here, staring straight into his eyes," Dylan said, his gaze locked onto the undead figure before him.
Still, a frown crept onto his face as confusion settled in. "But what I really don't understand is how I ended up in the embrace of an undead… And judging by the piercing cries I can hear, I'd say I'm an infant," he added, the realization slowly sinking in.
The situation made absolutely no sense to Dylan. He had no recollection of how he got here, nor did he know that his father's guards had brought him to this place to have him killed. Right now, all he knew was that an undead being was holding him, gazing at him, and speaking in a language he couldn't understand.
Meanwhile, the lich, the very creature holding Dylan, let out a sigh. "I may have done many things in my life, but raising a child… Now that's something new," he mused.
For centuries, he had achieved much, learned countless things, and even dabbled in matters far beyond mortal comprehension. Yet, despite all that, the idea of nurturing a child—especially from infancy—was something he had never even considered. But fate was a strange thing, and somehow, he had now ended up with an infant that he was responsible for.
Dylan, still trying to make sense of everything, narrowed his eyes. "This guy must be a high-level undead if he's capable of speech and has intelligence," he assumed, taking in the lich's composed demeanor.
The lich suddenly turned slightly, his eerie, glowing eyes flickering as he spoke. "It's time we head home, though I doubt you'll like it."
Then, as if it was an afterthought, he glanced at the lifeless bodies surrounding them. "But first, let's get rid of these."
With a mere gesture of his hand, the corpses erupted in black flames, consumed instantly by the unnatural fire. Within moments, they crumbled into nothing but dust, carried away by the wind as if they had never existed.
The lich observed his surroundings, his expression unreadable. The green thriving land had turned dark and barren, stripped of all vitality. Even though no life had existed here, the grass, the trees—everything that once grew—had been eradicated. The mere leakage of his undead energy had tainted the soil, and it would take an incredibly long time for the land to recover.
"I should have controlled myself," he muttered, his tone laced with a hint of regret. "I've ruined this place."
With the bodies taken care of, the lich extended his hand, conjuring a portal that connected directly to his home. He didn't even bother raising the fallen guards as undead minions—such weaklings were utterly worthless in his eyes. Instead, he carefully ensured that the infant did not witness the burning corpses, nor the destruction he had caused. Perhaps, even in his cold, undead heart, he understood that exposing a newborn to such things would leave a bad imprint.
Holding the baby securely in his arms, the lich stepped through the portal. In an instant, they vanished from the ruined ground to his home.
"That's crazy! Real freaking magic! I'm actually in a fantasy world!" Dylan gasped, his excitement overflowing.
As soon as they stepped through the portal, all his worries and confusion evaporated. His mind, once filled with unanswered questions, was now consumed by pure exhilaration. The sight of magic being used right in front of him confirmed everything—this was a world where people could fly, teleport, or even create craters with a mere flick of their hands. It was a world of endless possibilities. A world of fantasy. His dream had come true.
However, what awaited him on the other side wasn't quite what he had expected.
The lich's home was… normal. It wasn't a towering, ominous castle shrouded in darkness, nor was it a crumbling ruin filled with bones and eerie glowing runes. Instead, in the middle of a quiet forest stood a simple yet well-maintained wooden house. It had everything—an inviting porch, a neatly trimmed lawn, a backyard, and even a small river gently flowing in front of it. A rocking chair sat on the porch, lazily swaying with the breeze.
The house wasn't grand, but it was warm and cozy, something Dylan never imagined an undead lord would live in.
"Let's go inside," the lich said as he stepped forward.
Before they could enter, a voice called out from the yard.
"Welcome back, Mast—" The speaker, an undead figure tending to the lawn, paused mid-sentence, his hollow eyes shifting toward the baby in his master's arms. "Who's that little fella, Master?" he asked, his tone laced with curiosity.
"A new member of the family," the lich answered, his voice steady. "I found him while subduing some trespassers. They brought this child here to kill him."
The undead servant's gaze softened—well, as much as a reanimated corpse's gaze could. "I see… In that case, Master, you should put some clothes on him. He might fall sick."
"You're right," the lich agreed without hesitation.
Dylan, still caught up in the whirlwind of revelations, suddenly snapped back to reality.
'Wait a minute… Just who the hell is this undead guy?!' he thought, his mind spinning.
At first, Dylan had assumed the lich was just an ordinary intelligent undead. However, seeing another undead bowing in respect before him shattered that assumption. This wasn't just some common reanimated skeleton—this was holding authority. Even though Dylan couldn't understand their conversation, the way the other undead addressed him made it clear.
"Is this guy… a lich or something?" Dylan wondered, his tiny mind piecing things together.
His guess felt right, but with no way to confirm it, there wasn't much he could do except take in his surroundings with his infant eyes, his curiosity growing by the second.
"Let's get you some cloths first I shouldn't parade you naked," The lich said as they entered his house.