When I made it back to the watchtower, Reinbach and the others had already finished preparing the campsite.
"Oh, you're back. What kind of slime did it become this time?"
Reinbach, who was in the middle of pitching a tent, was the first to notice us. He seemed to have already grasped my patterns of behavior; he asked the question as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I took the opportunity to explain what I had learned about the Grave Slime through Monster Appraisal and my recent experiments.
"Grave Slime... I’ve never heard of such a thing. I’m sure it’s a new species, but its abilities are far more fascinating than its name."
"An ability to attract and prey upon the undead—it evolved at the perfect time," Sebas added.
"It gorged itself on the way here, so that's likely what triggered the evolution," I replied.
Remily chimed in. "We were watching the experiment, so there’s no doubt about its abilities. Personally, I’m more interested in that Miasma Resistance. I wonder if it can process miasma by eating it along with the undead?"
"If I can figure out exactly how much miasma a Grave Slime can handle, we might be able to use it to purify the air while it disposes of the undead. I’ll need to experiment under different conditions to be sure, though."
"If that’s possible, the value of a Grave Slime would skyrocket," Remily said thoughtfully.
Undead and miasma can manifest whenever and wherever living things die. The more numerous the dead and the more gruesome their passing, the higher the chance they will appear.
While there are ways to prevent undeath—such as proper burial—and methods to deal with them once they arise, humans are far from perfect. They rarely appear in settled areas, and even when they do, they are usually handled immediately. However, the former prison ruins nearby served as a grim reminder of what happens when prevention and response fail.
While few places were as catastrophic as this basin, there were apparently many locations where the undead and miasma gathered. Grave Slimes would likely be invaluable in such spots.
"Personally, I’m intrigued by this Corpse Deposition skill," Sieber said. "If it can store and retrieve bodies regardless of whether they’re undead, I’d want one assigned to every unit in the army or the knighthood. On subjugation missions, knights are permitted to sell the meat and materials of the monsters they slay as a bonus on top of their pay. But if they're traveling light, they have no choice but to leave it behind. If they can carry back more materials, their profits increase, and morale would inevitably rise. And then... there are the times when comrades fall in the line of duty."
"...I see."
If a friend or comrade died, it was only human nature to want to bring them home.
"As a tamer, one might consider contracting with an Undead-type monster directly," Reinbach suggested.
The group shared their thoughts on the Grave Slime's potential, offering insights I hadn't considered. However, Reinbach's next words caught me off guard.
"Is it actually possible to form a taming contract with the undead?"
"The undead are valid monsters, so yes, it is possible. Though very few tamers choose to do so. In particular, using humanoid corpses is a taboo that most people shun. Such a tamer would find it nearly impossible to stay at an inn and might even be barred from entering cities. Even if you look at it strictly from a monster-taming perspective, the only real benefit is their regenerative ability. When you factor in their weakness to sunlight, the smell, and the social stigma, the disadvantages far outweigh the gains."
"That makes sense. I can see why it wouldn't be popular... Are there actually people who go through with it?"
"I tried it once just to confirm my own aptitude as a tamer," Reinbach admitted. "I had no intention of actually employing them, but apparently, tamers who only have an aptitude for the undead—or researchers who require them for their work—sometimes use them out of necessity."
Researchers using them out of necessity... those people sounded like they were in an even more unfortunate position than slime researchers. I wondered what they would think if they learned about Grave Slimes. If they could keep their undead inside the slime until needed... No, that probably wouldn't help much.
Regardless, I turned my focus back to the task at hand. "Grave Slimes seem to have a wider range of uses than I expected. Since slimes divide once they've stored enough nutrients, would it be all right if I increased their numbers while we're here?"
"Ah, we were just discussing the plans for the future. Of course, I don't mind."
"Either way, I want to thin out the undead in this area," Sieber added. "I have no objections."
"It’s already getting dark, so we should save the full-scale subjugation for tomorrow," Remily said. "First, we need to secure our perimeter."
She was right; the distant sky was already beginning to glow red. With the Town of Ghosts right under our noses, the number of undead emerging at night would be vastly different from what we had seen the night before.
I set about constructing a defensive position for the night. In the square in front of the watchtower, I installed another slime stone wall and some barbed wire. I used the Emperor Scavenger Slime to block the only staircase leading up to the tower. By placing the Grave Slimes behind it, we could stop any enemy that couldn't fly. Even if a massive wave arrived all at once, the Emperor could funnel them into the Grave Slimes or simply hurl them back down the stairs.
I also wondered if the Grave Slimes could absorb flying undead. I had confirmed they worked on zombies and skeletons, but I hadn't seen any wraiths or wisps yet. If they could, they would be an excellent anti-air defense. Then again, wraiths had no physical bodies, and wisps were essentially floating fireballs. I'd have to experiment to find out.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the undead began to appear in greater numbers. Wraiths and wisps were particularly numerous, drifting through the roofs of the prison buildings and floating into the sky. From a distance, they looked like fireflies. It was almost beautiful.
"I wonder if that, too, is a brilliance of life..."
"That’s quite poetic," a voice said.
"Ah, Sebas."
It was a bit embarrassing to have my internal musings overheard like that.
"Those wraiths will start drawing closer as the darkness deepens. Dinner is ready, so please, join us."
"Thank you."
I followed Sebas into the Holy Space. The moment I crossed the boundary, the difference in the air was palpable. Breathing became easier, and I could feel the light-attribute mana actively purging the miasma.
"Good work, everyone. Remily, this effect is incredible."
"It feels much stronger when you come in from the outside, doesn't it? I put a little extra effort into the spell today, so we can eat in peace."
As she spoke, she took the lead and pulled a retort pouch out of the pot. But the moment she tore the bag open, something shifted.
Above the Town of Ghosts, some of the undead flying near the tower suddenly swerved and headed toward us. I instinctively checked the Grave Slimes, but they hadn't used their Undead Attraction skill.
The flying undead hovered in the air directly above our campsite. The Holy Space prevented them from getting any closer, but they didn't attack the slimes outside, either. They just drifted there, as if they were peering down at us.
"Don't let them bother you, Ryoma," Reinbach said. "This happens all the time here."
"It does?"
"An undead’s behavior often reflects the emotions or thoughts they held in life. In this basin, prisoners were frequently executed by starvation. Many of the undead here are still plagued by hunger and thirst, even in death. If you have anything they recognize as food, they’ll naturally be drawn to you."
"I understand the reason, but it still feels awkward..."
"That’s a perfectly normal reaction," Sieber said. "Even if they were criminals, few people can eat calmly with a starving audience. I’d doubt the sanity of anyone who could. Even in the knighthood, most recruits lose their appetite during training. The longer you take to eat, the harder it gets. It’s best to just finish your meal quickly."
I took his advice and focused on my food. Conversation at dinner was sparse, and we finished much faster than usual.
However, even after the food was gone, the undead didn't leave.
"They aren't going anywhere, are they?"
"They probably think you might have something else hidden away," Sebas suggested.
The undead hovered around the perimeter with a sense of longing. Even if they weren't a direct threat, their presence was unsettling. Because we were safe and my mind was at ease, I couldn't help but notice them. In that sense, last night’s training match had been a good distraction.
"I wonder if they would go away if I actually gave them something to eat?"
Hearing that they were spirits suffering from eternal hunger brought to mind the "hungry ghosts" of Buddhist tradition back on Earth. I remembered hearing about rituals where food was offered to soothe such spirits during the festival of the dead.
I decided to ask if there were any similar customs or rituals here.
"People offer flowers or wine when praying for the repose of the dead," Sebas explained. "But we don't do that for the undead. They're far too dangerous. Subjugation or flight is always the priority."
"Besides," Sieber added, "giving food to the undead doesn't actually satisfy them. Every year, some soft-hearted rookie tries to give away part of their rations. The undead try to eat it, but a zombie's arms will fail and drop the food, or a skeleton will let the food fall right through its ribs. Wraiths and wisps don't even have a physical form to hold anything. Far from helping, their desperate struggle just makes them look more pitiful."
"I see..."
Sieber spoke with the weight of someone who had seen this many times—and perhaps someone who had tried it himself once.
If that was the case, was putting them out of their misery the only real option? As that thought crossed my mind, a single wraith caught my eye. Like the others, it was a blurry humanoid shape without a face, but while the rest of the spirits wandered aimlessly, this one stood perfectly still by the edge of the Holy Space, staring directly at us.
"What's that one doing?"
"Who knows? You can't apply logic to an undead's actions," Reinbach said.
"High-ranking ones might retain a fragment of their memories," Remily noted, "but even then, they have almost no capacity for reason."
"If it bothers you, why not try forming a contract with it?" Reinbach suggested. "You might learn something."
It was true that even the feelings of the slimes were transmitted through a taming contract. Perhaps it was the same for the undead. Besides, I was curious if I'd be able to contract with any undead-type slimes I might find in the future.
Deciding to test the theory, I approached the edge of the Holy Space and attempted a taming contract with the stationary wraith. I focused my mana and cast the spell.
Snap!
I could have sworn I heard a physical sound.
"What happened?"
"I failed. Usually, the mana line connects smoothly with a slime, but this time, it felt like it was violently torn away."
It felt like rejection—as if I had reached out for a handshake and had my hand slapped away.
"A failure, then," Reinbach said. "It seems you have a very poor compatibility with wraiths—or perhaps the undead in general. Usually, a failure just feels like resistance or a line that won't hold. To feel a violent snap suggests deep-seated rejection."
To confirm, I asked the Grave and Emperor slimes to assist me. I tried to contract with a zombie and a skeleton that were attempting to climb the stairs, but the result was identical. It seemed my compatibility with undead monsters was truly abysmal. Every single one of them rejected me.
Still, I noticed something. Though every attempt ended in rejection, the quality of that rejection felt slightly different each time. I couldn't explain how, but it left me feeling a strange sense of sadness.
Perhaps subjugation was indeed the kindest thing I could do for them. But still...
"I'm sorry, but could I try giving them food one more way? If more undead gather and it doesn't work, I'll take responsibility and subjugate them immediately."
"I won't stop you," Reinbach said.
"Do whatever helps you sleep tonight," Remily added.
With their permission, I used earth magic to form a large vessel from the ground. I pulled firewood and potatoes from my Item Box and lit a fire in the center of the vessel. The undead reacted instantly, their attention fixed on the flames.
"Are you planning to cook for them?" Sieber asked.
"No. Once the fire is large enough, I’m going to offer the food to the flames."
I was drawing on the religious traditions from Earth—rituals where food and offerings were burned so their essence could reach the gods or the spirits. I remembered that in some traditions, spirits were believed to consume the fragrance of offerings rather than the physical substance.
I had no incense or proper tools, and the people here didn't have such customs, but I figured it was worth a shot. I explained the concept to the four people watching behind me, then offered some dried meat to the fire with a silent prayer.
"...Is it not working?"
As the smoke from the meat rose, several wraiths were caught in it. They began to fly around frantically. It didn't look peaceful at all; even without words, I could feel something like anger radiating from them.
Perhaps they thought I was just wasting food in front of them? I decided to try again, but this time, I channeled dark-attribute mana into the fire along with a dried potato.
Dark magic can influence the mind. Just as I had used it to strike fear into that examiner, I now poured my intent into the mana. I prayed that their hunger would be eased, and that they could move on to the next life without hesitation. I kept the smoke rising, thick and constant.
Then—
"Wait... did it work?"
the wraiths, who had been lashing out in anger, suddenly slowed down. Their movements became calm and rhythmic. One by one, they began to actively dive through the smoke.
"It looks like you succeeded," Reinbach said. "So they just needed it turned into smoke?"
"I don't think burning it is enough on its own," Remily observed. "You should think of this as a form of dark magic."
"Dark magic?" I asked. I had just been acting on a whim.
"Magic in general relies heavily on 'concepts,'" Remily explained. "Take my shadow magic, for example. I have a spell called Shadow Needle. It isn't natural for a shadow to suddenly become a physical needle and pierce someone, right? It only happens because I hold that concept in my mind and use mana to make it a reality."
According to Remily, understanding the logic of a spell makes it more efficient. But if you have enough mana and a strong enough visualization, you can force a phenomenon into existence using the concept alone.
"You took the concept of a mourning ritual you knew and combined it with fire and dark mana. The result was a unique spell for offering sustenance to the undead. Ritualistic magic like this—especially regarding the dead—is usually the domain of people trying to become liches or raise armies. They usually fail, but the fact that you achieved a peaceful result isn't entirely surprising. Besides, you’re always tinkering with magic on a whim. I’m past being shocked by it."
I couldn't argue with that.
"But look," she added, "it seems they still want more."
"Oh, right. Thank you."
The single piece of meat and potato had already burned away. I added more food and mana to the flames, creating a steady plume of smoke. As I repeated the process, one of the countless wraiths stopped directly in front of me.
I couldn't read its expression, but for a fleeting second, I thought I saw a peaceful look on its face. Before I could decide if it was an optical illusion, the spirit dissolved into the smoke and vanished.
I hope your next lives are happy ones, I thought.
Perhaps I felt this way because I had died once myself. One by one, the spirits began to fade away. I stayed there, seeing them off and praying for their peace—all while hardening my heart to deal mercilessly with any who remained when morning came.