Life Simulation: I Caused the Female Sword Immortal to Regret Forever-Chapter 316:
[6th year of the Simulation. You are 23 years old.]
[Upon advancing to a Two-Ring Sorcerer, your soul power has materialized.]
[You have gained the ability to cast higher-tier spells.]
[Interwoven Fate of Life and Death is in effect…]
[The Thinker is continuously active…]
[Your soul is observing the cycle of life and death, constantly contemplating the construction of new spells. During this process, you purchase new sorcerer materials using soul stones.]
[The Soul Collector is active, effectively concealing your soul fluctuations. No one is aware of your breakthrough.]
[You maintain a low profile, knowing that if other sorcerers discovered the speed of your advancement, it would cause a massive uproar, even drawing out the rarely-seen Tower Master.]
[You sigh deeply, unwilling to waste time on such matters.]
[You love learning and continue studying, integrating knowledge from your past world’s sorcery to create your own Two-Ring spells.]
[You begin delving into the domain of the undead, refining your Nether Crow.]
[One drop of a lich’s tear, ten strands of Nethergrass, two wing bones from a Nether Crow, and the proper ritual formations under a blood moon.]
[Your incomplete Nether Crow mount has evolved.]
[It has transformed into a true Raven of the Netherworld.]
[A creature devoid of flesh, composed entirely of bones, its soul fire connected to the Netherworld’s depths.]
[Its strength is unimpressive, with speed being its only advantage.]
[But for you, this is an excellent beginning—it signifies your first true step into the realms of the undead, souls, and death.]
[You gaze into the endless Netherworld.]
[6th year of the Simulation. You are 23 years old.]
[After a year of training, you have mastered several Two-Ring spells. Though you have not yet reached your full combat potential, you no longer fear ordinary undead.]
[Even if you were to encounter undead knights or ghostly corpse wizards—mid-to-high-tier undead—you have confidence in facing them.]
[This year marks the once-in-a-decade surge of the Undead Dark Tide.]
[A grand feast for the undead, yet another countdown to the world’s demise.]
[White Crow Tower begins recruiting combatants to assist the Kingdom of Aoka’s knights in striking the advancing undead with full force.]
[You have no interest in participating. You relinquish your room in the tower and leave White Crow Tower early.]
“Dark Tide…”
“An undead outbreak like this would be the perfect opportunity to harvest soul fire, but there are too many eyes watching. White Crow Tower isn’t the right place for this.”
“My situation is unique—moving alone is the better option.”
Jagged wing bones pierced through the thick deathly fog. Hollow eye sockets burned with soul fire. The Nether Crow flapped its wings, leaving faint trails in the murky sky. Its weathered tailbones were cracked and eroded, with only a few tattered feathers drifting like broken arrows in the wind. Xu Xi sat on the Nether Crow’s back, cushioned by soft padding to counter the rigid bones. The wind howled around him. Below, the towering city walls stood strong, reinforced with steel and spell formations. Adventurers of all kinds came and went, gripping various weapons, their expressions tense, all on high alert for the approaching undead tide. Only a handful of sorcerer apprentices looked up in awe at the dark silhouette streaking across the sky.
In the past, Xu Xi had left White Crow Tower before. But those were brief excursions—to gather soul fire or to obtain other supernatural materials. This time was different. This time, he was leaving permanently. After harvesting enough soul fire from the Dark Tide, he would travel to even more distant lands, seeking the hidden truths of the undead world.
“Which direction should I go first…” Xu Xi gazed at the vast landscape below, his mind flashing through several possible destinations. But in the end, his eyes drifted back to the path he had come from. He felt a little uneasy… about that overly naive hero.
Darkness. So thick that one couldn’t see their own hand in front of them.
Cold. A barren world, stripped of all signs of life.
Exhaustion. A hand that had swung a sword too many times, now numb and trembling.
A world void of light, where only the black sun and blood moon marked the passage of time. Pale skeletal fingers broke through the soil, followed by one undead after another, dragging themselves out of the earth. As they stood, decayed mud dripped from the gaps in their bones. Deep within their skulls, dark blue soul fire flickered.
Boom—Boom—Boom—
The undead did not speak. They only let out meaningless rasps. But the sound of their misaligned bones grinding together created an eerie, deafening tide.
The territory of the Crowfield family… had been utterly consumed by the endless dead.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Amidst the sea of undead, the sharp clangs of metal striking bone echoed. A lone figure in armor was moving—swift steps, precise sword strikes—each swing extinguishing the soul fire of an undead.
But it was meaningless.
The wave of undead was as vast as the ocean, surging over every inch of Crowfield’s land. Everything in its path was trampled deep into the dirt.
“This… cannot…”
“I will not…”
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“Allow you to desecrate Crowfield’s land!”
A hoarse voice, weary and strained, came from within the armor.
Helplessness, exhaustion, rage.
Once more, the hero charged, wielding the so-called “holy sword,” slashing with the so-called “holy light,” desperately fighting against the undead before her.
But—
It was useless. Completely useless.
BOOM!
A towering undead warhorse stormed forth, ramming into the hero with brutal force, sending her rolling across the ground before she crashed hard against a boulder.
She struggled, trembling, pressing the tip of her sword into the ground to help herself stand.
Her helmet had fallen off.
Revealing a face that was half-undead, half-human.
Filthy. Exhausted. Gaunt and deathly pale.
It was a harrowing sight, a tragic painting of suffering.
A girl falsely claiming the title of “hero,” clad in ordinary armor, wielding an ordinary longsword, stood alone against a nightmare.
“Father…”
“Mother…”
“I will not disappoint you. Even if I am alone, I will protect Crowfield…”
“Aaaahhh!!!”
Her soul fire flared violently, raw emotion fueling her last reserves of strength. Sylvia gripped her sword and charged once more.
But against overwhelming power, resistance was futile.
The undead warhorse shrieked. The headless knight mounted atop it lowered its massive bone lance, galloping forward and skewering her through the torso.
Lifting her off the ground.
“I… I…”
Her armor cracked, exposing her undead body beneath.
Her soul fire flickered violently, her voice weak and broken. Suspended in the air, she gripped the lance with both hands, desperately trying to do something—anything.
But she could do nothing.
The headless knight carelessly swung its weapon, hurling her into the ground.
Sylvia’s body slammed deep into the earth.
The impact carved a crater.
Cracks spread outward.
So tired…
Father… Mother… Sylvia is so tired…
Clatter—Clatter—
The headless knight’s overwhelming strength sent debris flying. Countless small stones tumbled into the crater, clicking against Sylvia’s bones like raindrops.
Within her skull, her soul fire flickered, on the verge of extinction.
So tired.
So, so tired.
The thought echoed within her dimming flames.
Being alone… is exhausting…
