I shot a guilty look at the hesitating orcs. Drawing a slow breath, I forced my voice to steady.

  “This wasn’t an attack.” The words stumbled out awkwardly, “I... I might’ve... uh, overreacted. But why did you say the domain’s under attack?”

  My aura prickled at the edges, restless. I clenched my jaw, trying to rein it in.

  My heart pounded like a war drum, but I did my best to keep my face neutral. That seemed to help my aura, too.

  What the hell just happened? Was it my mana? It’s never wrecked people like this before.

  Beside me, Mike was helping the coachman sit upright, his own face bone-white.

  The coachman clutched his head, blood seeping through his fingers: courtesy of that brutal faceplant.

  Yolanda perched on the coach steps with Elenia slumped against her, gasping but unhurt.

  Miranda knelt in the dirt, retching into the dust with abandon.

  The orcs, though, they fared better.

  Race or levels? My thoughts flicked back to the viscount’s guards. The stronger ones had resisted it, too.

  I shoved the guilt aside and focused on smothering my aura, keeping it thin and contained.

  Just like with the horse, when I zeroed in on someone, the energy coiled thicker around them.

  Now, I had low-levelers blacking out under the weight, just like rookies stumbling into high-tier dungeons. Mana density crushes the weak. Figures. Me and high-tier dungeons...

  A rustle in the dirt. The fallen horse lifted its head with a shaky whicker - for the second time. I let it be this time.

  The orcs exchanged uneasy glances. The one who appeared to be in charge finally let out a sigh, clearly relieved, though he didn’t press for explanations. He shifted awkwardly, then struck his chest with a gauntleted fist in the standard orcish salute before speaking.

  “Lady Lores, there were heavy fights a couple of hours ago - about halfway to the castle, along the Huiesta-Oxfarm road,” he said. “I’ve heard there are dead and wounded... but that’s all we know at this post.”

  That was all I needed to make my decision.

  “Mike! Stay here with the girls. I’m going to investigate!”

  In the next instant, I was already hundreds of meters away, perched on an elevated rise. I transformed into a dragon and launched myself into the air, snapping a couple of unlucky trees in the process.

  I soared upward, scanning the landscape below for signs of trouble as I angled toward the Huiesta-Oxfarm road.

  It didn’t take long to find the site. A scorched patch of earth marked the battlefield, crackling with residual high-magic energy. Blasted spell traces lingered on the ground, along with the shattered remains of magical artifacts. Scattered across the area were several massive humanoid figures, made of metal, or perhaps just thick enchanted armor, partially broken and torn apart. Blood was everywhere, though the orc bodies had likely already been removed.

  A group of orc peons was at work around the wrecked constructs, dismantling them, perhaps, or salvaging what they could. A few orc soldiers stood off to the side, silently observing the area. Not far away, a handful of peasants lingered, murmuring among themselves, watching with nervous curiosity. Some made repeated religious signs, visibly shaken by whatever had happened here.

  I landed and shifted back into human form to examine the remnants - when a familiar shadow appeared behind me.

  “Hey, Lynx,” I greeted warmly, without turning, my eyes still fixed on the fallen constructs, trying to understand what I was seeing.

  “Oh, thank the gods, it’s you!” he exclaimed. “For a moment I wasn’t sure. Good to see you, Lores!”

  There was clear relief in his voice. When I turned to face him, my eyes widened at the sight of dried blood and visible wounds marring his usually pristine fur. Knowing how quickly he healed, those must have been deep, brutal cuts.

  What kind of enemies had he fought that could hurt him that badly?

  “Oh my, Lynx! What the hell happened to you?” I asked, staring at him before carefully pulling him into a hug as he shifted into human form. The wounds had carried over and were now even more visible, deep, raw, but thankfully not lethal. I decided not to heal him; the risk of white mana intoxication was too high, especially if the attackers were still nearby.

  He let out a short growl, even in his human shape, before answering.

  “Most of these were golems. But that one,” he pointed to a heap of shattered metal, “that one had a dwarf inside.”

  “Golems... and a dwarf?” I echoed, frowning.

  There were several small dwarven nations on the continent, mostly in mountainous regions, but none anywhere near us. Besides, we had good relations with the wandering dwarven merchants who passed through. Dwarves had a reputation for being fiercely mercantile, yes, but also for their honesty and sense of honor. Why would they attack us?

  He shook his head.

  “These weren’t regular troops. These were elite units...” He trailed off, then turned to look at me directly. “Have you heard?”

  “Heard what?” I asked. I had just landed minutes ago, how could I have heard anything?

  He swallowed hard. Something was clearly tearing him apart. He looked like he wanted to say it, but also didn’t want me to hear it. Then his eyes filled with tears, and he could no longer hold them back.

  “Alice died,” he mumbled.

  As if he wasn’t sure I’d heard, he repeated it, voice breaking.

  “Alice is dead.”

  I froze. My mind went blank.

  No. This wasn’t possible.

  I stared at him, barely able to form words.

  “Where is she?”

  I had to see her.

  A dull thud echoed nearby. Then another. My mind was spinning, so much so that I didn't registered what was happening, peasants and peons were suddenly collapsing to the ground in droves.

  “They gathered the dead in the small chapel on the road toward Oxfarm,” Lynx said. He turned his head sharply at the sound of the falling bodies, alarm written across his face. The orc lieutenant and his troops sprang to their feet, but I was already gone.

  I shifted into shadow and surged forward, closing the distance to the chapel in seconds.

  Twilight had already fallen by the time I arrived. The small wooden building had once been a chapel to Merloux, the God of Magic, but it had long since fallen out of use.

  The followers of Merloux believed magic was the source of all life. According to their doctrine, every creature, every god, every aspect of existence was a product of magic, and therefore inferior to it. Some scholars and high-level mages followed the cult but few among the lower classes did.

  Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

  Inside, two peons were carefully arranging the bodies, cleaning them as best they could. Seven dead orcs... and Alice.

  The workers gasped and flinched when I materialized inside the chapel, but I barely noticed them.

  All I could see was Alice.

  Her face still held the shadow of a struggle. Blood stained her features, and her body—her poor body—had been nearly cleaved in two by a brutal sword stroke through the heart. Her ears were gone, clearly cut off after her death, likely taken as trophies.

  I stared at her, refusing to believe what I was seeing. All the while, a voice kept repeating in my head: If only I had arrived a couple of hours earlier. But I was too late. Too late, as always.

  A wave of mad energy rose inside me. This shouldn’t be how it ends.

  Was it too late? How long after death could someone be resurrected?

  Some said a minute. Others, more skilled casters, claimed a few. The truly exceptional ones could stretch it to ten.

  But was that all just guesswork?

  When we played this world as a game, hadn’t the angels resurrected us hours after we died?

  How had that worked?

  And why shouldn’t I be able to do the same?

  “What are you trying to do?” Lynx asked.

  He was back into his lynx form, breathing hard from the run, one that probably hadn’t helped his wounds. He stood at the chapel’s entrance, watching me with clear worry in his eyes.

  Inside, the magic was already thick in the air, swirling like luminescent smoke.

  The peons were long gone… or had collapsed somewhere out of sight.

  “I’m going to resurrect her,” I said.

  “But, but that’s impossible! You can’t—” he started.

  “I already have,” I cut in. “It works. I know it works. Who says it shouldn’t this time? Are you going to stop me from trying?”

  He blinked, stunned into silence.

  Maybe he was still trying to process what I’d said.

  Maybe… he was still hoping for a miracle.

  A group of riders approached along the road, and Lynx shifted back into human form to meet them. I didn’t try to guess what they were discussing. My eyes never left Alice.

  Even in death, her face was beautiful. Too beautiful. A soft, almost tender smile still clung to her lips, as if meant for me. Her fiery red hair spilled over her bare shoulders. But her crystal-clear blue eyes stared into nothing, frozen in shock and disbelief.

  I’ve done this before. It worked.

  If I could do it for Yolanda, I could do it again for Alice.

  I reached out, pulling magic from Flo. But this time, it didn’t flow as easily. Unlike before, it resisted me, dragging, stuttering as it seeped into my veins. I focused harder, forcing the connection, my eyes still locked on Alice.

  I knew what I was looking for.

  After Yolanda’s resurrection, I had spoken with Ju. She told me the truth: it had worked with Yolanda by sheer luck, because it was fast, almost instantly after her death. I hadn’t done everything right, but the timing had saved me.

  There’s a light, she’d said. You have to find the light first.

  Never cast the spell blindly, you need to see it, lock onto it, and anchor the magic to that very point.

  With Yolanda, I had seen the light - by chance. I hadn’t even known to look for it. Ju explained that it isn’t visible to the eyes; you have to search for it with your magic sense. You’re not just looking at space - you’re looking into time, reaching for the moment when the soul was still connected to life. That’s where the spell must root itself - pull that moment forward, back into the body.

  I don’t know if that makes sense. But that’s how Ju said resurrection works.

  And now... there was no light in Alice.

  No warmth. No flicker.

  Only a dark tunnel.

  It’s probably not enough magic, I told myself.

  I pulled more, and more. The air grew heavy, buzzing as if charged with electricity.

  Still nothing, but I was not done yet.

  More magic. More power.

  It was getting harder to separate Flo’s white magic from my own. Her mana was beginning to intoxicate my channels, making them burn and blur, but I didn’t care. What was a little magical illness if it meant I could bring her back?

  My vision trembled. Sweat poured down my face. I gritted my teeth, and then, finally, I saw it.

  A pale light.

  It wasn’t like the one I’d seen with Yolanda. This one was weaker, greenish, flickering. But it was there. Probably because the moment I needed was so much further back in time.

  Hope surged in my chest. See? It was worth it.

  Focusing on that dim image, I let my magic flow gently into her. Slowly, I began to rebuild her, heal her, while drawing even more white magic from Flo. I didn’t want to leave scars. I wanted her perfect - as she was.

  In my magic sight, I watched her body gradually fill with light. Bones aligned. Wounds closed. Even her ears, fresh, unscarred, began to grow back at the sides of her head.

  Then something else caught my eye. A glow nearby. Another light.

  The orc lying next to her... could I resurrect him too?

  My first thought was: No. Hell no. I’m not risking it!

  Sweat streamed down my face and chest. My lips trembled with the strain of holding focus as I wrestled with the decision.

  Do I have to choose?

  If it came down to one, of course I’d choose Alice. But… did I really have to choose?

  If I’d managed a resurrection before, with the meager power I had then, shouldn’t I be able to do more now?

  I wouldn’t get another chance for days. I knew the cooldowns on these kinds of spells. If I didn’t act now, the other one would be lost.

  And I felt that I could do it.

  I’d never heard of anyone performing multiple resurrections at once, but in theory, it was possible. Maybe it was just a question of magic power and I had enough of it, didn't I?

  I pulled even more power into me. The entire chapel glowed with it. Swirls of white mana lit the air like drifting stardust, giving the space a divine shimmer.

  As I began reconstructing the orc, I noticed something, more lights. Every one of the fallen here had that resurrection light.

  I hesitated again.

  The same questions rushed back: Should I? Can I? What if I fail them all?

  But I had already answered them.

  They were my orcs. They had died fighting for me.

  If I could bring them back, even try, how could I not?

  My head was spinning. The spell couldn’t last much longer. I had to anchor it with clear intent.

  One more breath. One more beat of hesitation.

  Then I made my choice: all seven.

  I let the magic pour from me into all seven additional bodies. The light grew so intense, I lost all vision in my eyes, but I continued through my magic sense alone.

  My head tipped back. My body arched. The spell took hold.

  With my arms stretched wide, I became the conduit.

  A pillar of radiant light engulfed the chapel. For a few heartbeats, they all floated in the air, suspended in that brilliance. Then, like a slow-motion explosion, white light burst outward, flooding the space with searing illumination that lasted for long, blinding seconds.

  Then darkness.

  I collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath. It was one of the most excruciating, draining spells I had ever cast. Every muscle screamed. My lungs burned.

  I stayed there, drenched in sweat and breathing hard for what felt like an eternity.

  Slowly, my vision began to return.

  In the stillness that followed, I heard movement and lifted my head.

  Alice was slowly rising. Her eyes met mine, and she smiled. And in their soft, glowing light, I understood what I had done.