Chapter 24 : The story of the Immortal Siblings (3)

In an ordinary war, Wolfgang’s choice might have been poison. 

Utilizing the undead, a symbol of fear, would undoubtedly provoke massive backlash from other nations.

Even among allies who had to fight alongside the undead, morale would plummet. 

After all, seeing a comrade who died yesterday return as a lifeless undead soldier today—what kind of sentiment would that evoke?

Would one feel reassured by allies who could rise again even after death? 

Or would fear of meeting the same fate prevail? 

For most, unless they were particularly unusual, it would be the latter.

However, the Winter War was different. 

Those who participated in the Winter War were descendants of people who, for over a century, had seen their families and friends devoured by Wendigos.

[What’s the big deal about corpses? If we bury them, the Wendigos will just eat them anyway.]

[If I die, please use my corpse. I don’t want my death to end without purpose.]

[If I’m resurrected as an undead, can my soul return too? No? That’s a shame. I wanted to see the Wendigos fall with my own eyes.]

Thanks to the horrors they endured for a century, they already understood—leaving a corpse untouched as a gesture of respect meant turning it into a meal for the Wendigos. 

It was better for it to be used in battle instead.

The girl resurrected only those who volunteered, and the proportion of soldiers who willingly chose to be part of the undead army after death exceeded 70%.

This was why Wolfgang enlisted the girl. Everyone, including herself, knew that Wendigos were the true enemy, far surpassing any concerns about the undead.

When the girl officially joined Wolfgang’s legion, at least she no longer faced one-sided defeat at the hands of the Wendigos. The undead turned out to be surprisingly convenient.

From reconnaissance and vigilance to delaying tactics that hindered the Wendigos’ movements—the undead excelled. Wendigos, who typically healed their wounds by consuming human flesh, couldn’t eat undead.

Thanks to this, Wolfgang was no longer overwhelmingly outmatched. 

However, the undead were still primarily a defensive tool. 

Offensive capabilities were another matter entirely.

Although Wolfgang’s flames could kill Wendigos, and sunsteel forged with her flames also worked against them, there was a stark difference between having the ability to kill a monster and successfully doing so.

“The undead can’t seem to use sunsteel.”

“Yes, it seems your flames have the power to repel evil.”

“Well, that’s inconvenient. It would’ve been better if it only worked against Wendigos.”

“So? Are you planning to discard me now that I’m useless?”

At the time, the girl was still uncertain. 

Though she had reached out and grabbed Wolfgang’s hand, drawn to her warmth, she constantly asked these questions, consumed by anxiety and fear of abandonment.

She was scared.

She was anxious.

And so, she persistently sought reassurance, needing Wolfgang to reaffirm her worth again and again.

Only then could she feel a brief sense of relief.

‘Ah, she’s starting again,’ Wolfgang thought.

From the girl’s perspective, it was a desperate need. But for Wolfgang, having to repeatedly address her insecurities was exhausting—a drain on her patience. It felt akin to dealing with a high-maintenance recruit in the military.

Though her old PTSD from being a squad leader in the army threatened to resurface, Wolfgang managed to take a deep breath and calm herself.

While it was irritating, Wolfgang had no intention of earning the girl’s resentment over fleeting emotions. Her response was clear.

“So, you mentioned you don’t remember your name?”

“Yes. I don’t know what kind of tricks the liches played, but I absolutely can’t recall my name.”

“Natascha Hellflame.”

“…Pardon?”

The girl was taken aback. 

Suddenly being given a name was surprising, even if not unpleasant. 

After all, who wouldn’t be caught off guard by someone arbitrarily deciding their name?

“What’s this about all of a sudden?”

“Names are the foundation of relationships between people. Isn’t it natural for humans to introduce themselves by name when they meet?”

“…Are you saying I’m human?”

Though she hadn’t become a lich, calling her a living human was a stretch. She commanded an undead army and could even rise again after dying.

Could such a being truly be considered human?

Wolfgang fell silent for a moment before pointing at an undead knight standing nearby, clad in black armor. 

It was her brother, resurrected as a Death Knight.

“You have a family you hold dear.”

For the girl, the Death Knight was just an undead she could resurrect repeatedly. 

Yet, she hated seeing her brother hurt or killed—even as a Death Knight.

“You eat, sleep, and live like any living person.”

“…That’s—”

“And most importantly, you have the heart of a human.”

“…!!”

“So why can’t you be human?”

She cherished her family, feared betrayal, sought warmth despite her connection to the undead, and clung to that warmth as though afraid to lose it.

The girl believed her behavior was simply due to her role as a necromancer. 

But to Wolfgang, who had seen all sorts of human nature in her life, she was just human.

“Like I said earlier, names are the beginning of relationships.”

“So, you’re saying…”

“Yes, starting now, you and I are connected. Understood?”

When Wolfgang tapped her chest and said those words, the girl felt her hollow heart fill with warmth. 

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she murmured without realizing it:

“…Can I call you ‘Mom’ from now on?”

“At least call me ‘Sister.’”

That day, the girl gained a name—Natascha—and a precious family.

In that moment, she realized that all she had ever wanted was a family she could trust not to betray her.

Realizing this, Natascha found herself embracing Wolfgang.

But she missed the expression Wolfgang made at that moment.

‘Just as planned.’

At least she’d stop being so troublesome now, right?

From that day forward, Natascha and her brother, the Death Knight, devoted themselves to Wolfgang. 

She was willing to throw away her life for her—something Wolfgang often had to intervene to prevent.

Ironically, it was Wolfgang’s concern for her well-being that made her neglect her own health even more. After all, she wanted her attention entirely for herself.

At first, it was just the three of them—her, her brother, and Wolfgang. But as time passed, others began to join Wolfgang’s ranks.

Though she understood her growing army logically, Natascha hated the fact that Wolfgang had less time to spare for her.

Even as the tide of battle turned in their favor, restrictions on Natascha increased.

Don’t turn humans into undead. Don’t use necromancy on people.

Surprisingly, Natascha welcomed these restrictions.

To her, restrictions were like a leash.

And as long as Wolfgang held that leash, they would never be separated.

Late one night, as Wolfgang dozed nearby, Natascha’s dark, hollow eyes lingered on her.

To others, her gaze would seem normal, but to her, the chains binding her to Wolfgang were visible.

To her, the leash was proof of their bond and a reminder that their connection remained unbroken.

Yes, she cherished the chain binding her to Wolfgang.

Perhaps now, she could express her feelings, even just a little.

After much hesitation, Natascha approached Wolfgang. Seeing her completely defenseless made it impossible to resist.

She brushed aside her white hair to reveal her forehead and placed a gentle kiss there.

Though she wanted to go further, this would suffice for now.

With a smile, she whispered:

“Sister, thank you for reaching out to me that day.”

And in her heart, she added:

I will love you, even this leash you’ve placed on me.