‘I should have beheaded that cobra long ago,’ Beatrice thought. ‘What a mess.’

  Marching through the swampy terrain, she barely registered the mud squishing beneath her boots. The unit she commanded slogged beside the annoying lizardman’s troops.

  ‘I really should have killed him sooner,’ the undead groaned internally.

  After her faction had finally managed to overthrow the last city in their path, that cobra—whose name she couldn’t be bothered to remember—showed up with the remaining rebels and blasted the celebration party to pieces. That event, of course, had been full of important figures.

  To say The Lord, her faction leader, wasn’t pleased would be an understatement. Hence why she—and another general—were now wading through this muck, hunting for rebels.

  ‘If only the asura here weren’t so thick,’ Beatrice thought. ‘Then we could have just blasted the whole place without risking an explosion that might engulf several cities.’

  The air reeked of rot and sulfur. If the temperature leaned toward blistering hot, at least she couldn’t feel it. Being undead had its uses.

  The tentacles drag behind her like a cape, picking up every little branch or clump of mud. The bond connecting them to her mind is completely fried. Even if it were still usable, the undead seriously doubts it would matter, considering the tentacles’ consciousness had already been destroyed.

  More notable is the heavy pressure that indicates the abundance of asuras in the environment. Sometimes, if she focuses, Beatrice can almost visualize the strings of colorful threads. If this were back when she was younger, the undead would have spent countless hours studying how it works. Now, it only brings a bitter taste to her mouth.

  “Ugh, why must those rebels be hiding here?” a raspy voice asks from beside her. “Can’t they just hide in some nice desert?”

  The lizardman suddenly turns toward her. “Hey, aren’t you going to say something? Or are you just gonna stay silent as usual, miss emotionless?”

  Barely sparing the lizardman a glance, Beatrice continues forward. Without looking at him, she can tell that the lizardman is rolling his eyes.

  “Out of everyone, I just had to be stuck with her,” The lizardman mutters under his breath none too quietly. “Might as well replace her for a drone.”

  Letting Kaxl drones on, Beatrice scans soldiers under her command, many of whom are like her: undead, with tentacles sprouting from somewhere along their backs and other types of disfigurements.

  “Based on reports, the rebels should be farther ahead,” Beatrice says in a flat voice, doing her best to ignore the lizardman. “I’d suggest you be on guard, Kaxl.”

  Kaxl lets out a loud scoff and shrugs.

  “Yeah, right,” the lizard snorts. “I doubt they have much of a force left after we crushed them.”

  That is true. After years of brutal fighting, they had finally brought down one of the last cities standing in their way. What remains of the once powerful and intimidating forces are now nothing more than scattered rebel stragglers.

  ‘Who would’ve thought?’ Beatrice thinks. ‘That our little faction, made up mostly of undead, would grow strong enough to overthrow them.’

  When she first joined, the faction had been just a ragtag group of undead and weaklings rebelling against the world’s restrictive standards.. An impressive feat, especially something that took ten years.

  “General,” one of the undead under her command says, handing her a tablet. “Here’s what we managed to gather.”

  Without sparing them a glance, Beatrice takes the device and begins scanning the report.

  “Are your Essevians so incompetent?” Kaxl asks. “Why do we have to step in?”

  Doing her best to ignore him, Beatrice continues to march while reading. Every one of her senses remains focused on their surroundings.

  “If it were just regular stragglers, I wouldn’t be bothered,” she says simply. “But they’re not.”

  ‘That’s including the cobra who manages to escape my grasp,’ Beatrice kept to herself. ‘No need for Kaxl to know about that.’

  The undead says instead. “Besides, this is a direct order from the Lord himself.”

  Kaxl opens his mouth to speak, but one of the lizardmen beside him leans in and whispers something. With a grimace, the reptile flicks out his tongue and shakes his head.

  “Ugh,” he groans beside her, “this is going to ruin my scales. I swear, if a bug—”

  A blur of blue scales suddenly flashes in the corner of her eye. Beatrice turns just in time to see Kaxl slip against some mud.

  ‘Splat!’

  A thick cloud of dust billows into the air, with splotches of mud splattering against Beatrice’s sleeves.

  Pausing in her steps, Beatrice slowly turns to her right in silence. Splayed out with limbs in every direction lies Kaxl, his body half-submerged in the mud.

  Silence descends over the scene as the undead quietly stare at the lizardman. With every passing second, Kaxl seems to sink deeper into the mud.

  ‘I can’t believe he and I are the same rank,’ the undead thinks, expressionless. ‘How did he even manage to get this far?’

  Half-covered in a thick layer of mud, Kaxl hurriedly raises his upper body.

  “What are you waiting for?” the lizardman hisses at the troops under his command. “Help me up.”

  Snapping out of their stupor, two lizardmen quickly rush to their general’s side. Briefly watching them wrestle around, Beatrice slowly blinks.

  The lizardman slips again, doing another somersault through the air.

  ‘Bam!’

  ‘Wait, no, seriously,’ Beatrice thought, watching as the lizardman slipped again. ‘...Actually, how did he manage to become one of the Lord’s generals?’

  The Essevian stares at the lizarman for a moment, blank-faced, before slowly turning away from the ridiculous scene.

  Tablet in hand, she scans the surrounding area once again. The only thing she can see for miles is nothing but mud and trees with leaves hanging low, almost touching the ground.

  ‘That’s strange,’ the undead thinks, narrowing her eyes.

  From what the scouts and their powerful scanners had gathered back home, everything had led to this spot.

  Bringing the tablet up, Beatrice takes another scan. As she scrolls through the report, she spots a small note indicating a large amount of unusual asura gathering in the area.

  Feeling her core catch in her throat, the Essevian quickly looks down at the ground.

  Sure enough, when Beatrice concentrates with all her willpower, she sees numerous green asura intricately threaded together—impossible to be the work of nature. In between some of the strands are glowing blue knots, the size of her nail.

  Immediately recognizing the pattern, the undead shoots her tentacles toward several trees.

  “It’s an ambush!” Beatrice shouts, using her tentacles to propel herself off the ground. “Get off the ground!”

  Barely a second after the words leave her mouth, several lights flash beneath the ground.

  ‘Boom!’ ‘Boom!’ ‘Boom!’

  The explosions set off one after another, sending layers of mud and debris flying in every direction.

  Far above the trees, Beatrice is mostly shielded from the worst of the impact, but she’s still close enough for the flames to singe the tips of her hair.

  Without a moment’s hesitation, Beatrice draws her blaster. Several tentacles on her back sharpen their tips, while a few others grab guns from her holsters.

  Using the remaining tentacles—those not preoccupied with being on guard—Beatrice leaps from branch to branch, scanning the ground below.

  ‘Korrkkkk!’

  Swiveling her head around, the Essevian turns her weapon toward the source of the noise, just in time to see several walls of earth rising.

  Up close, Beatrice can see what looks like several of her soldiers trapped within the walls, held back by strange metallic contraptions with transparent window panes.

  The contraptions immediately catch her eye, not just because of how out of place they look compared to the dirt walls, but also because, unlike the rest of the earth, infused with a faint green asura, these emit a darker, bluish asura.

  On the surface of the walls, the undead can see faint traces of asura drawn into an intricate pentagon-shaped pattern.

  Before Beatrice can study it further, metal bullets come rushing toward her. Narrowing her eyes, the undead raises several tentacles tipped with sharpened points to block them.

  ‘Klang!’ ‘Klang!’ ‘Klang!’

  The tentacles easily swat the bullets aside as she leaps from branch to branch. One of the bullets manages to lodge itself deep in a tendril, drawing a bit of blood.

  Moving that tentacle in front of her, Beatrice continues dodging as she examines the bullet embedded in her tendril.

  ‘The attacker must not have strong offensive power,’ the Essevian notes, observing how plain the bullets look—no trace of asura energy on them.

  While deflecting the barrage, Beatrice scans the top of the wall.

  With such a limited attack range, it’s either because the shooter isn’t capable of more, for whatever reason, or they’re simply trying to buy time.

  Remembering the oddly drawn asura and the fact that some of her troops are trapped, Beatrice decides it’s a combination of both.

  Just as the Essevian comes to that conclusion, the tree her tentacles are swinging from suddenly vanish, replaced by several sharp spikes made of mineral shards.

  core catching in her throat, Beatrice feels herself start to fall. Right before she lands on the spikes, a flash catches her eye.

  Scaly hands grab her midsection effortlessly, launching them both away from the danger. The impact knocks the air from her lungs.

  Beatrice briefly resists before realizing it’s just Kaxl holding her.

  “Wow, I really can’t leave you alone, can I?” Kaxl says as he hovers far above the spikes and wall. “A second later, and we might’ve had Essevian skewers for dinner.”

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Glancing down, she watches the way the lizardman’s asura swirls around his body to keep him in the air.

  “Where are the rest of our soldiers?” Beatrice asks.

  “Right below,” the lizardman promptly answers. “Currently fighting against some monsters that came out of nowhere.”

  As Beatrice looks down, the dust covering the ground begins to clear. She sees the soldiers have just finished dispatching the last of a furry-looking monster.

  “Status report?” Beatrice says.

  “Some scuffs here and there. Nothing serious,” Kaxl answers, effortlessly avoiding a barrage of bullets. “What’s the situation?”

  Turning toward the wall again, Beatrice frowns.

  “Based on what I can see—two attackers,” the undead answers. “Both are geared more toward defense.

  “How can you tell?”

  “First, there’s the fact that the owner of that dirt wall over there seems limited to just spikes and bullets for attacks,” Beatrice points out. “The one casting this large wall doesn’t seem able to make his asura create varied things. If he could, he’d be blasting us with more than this.”

  Kaxl swiftly dodges several rounds of bullets and spikes coming toward him. “What about the other?”

  “The other must’ve exhausted most of his asura reserves. Remember the explosions?” Beatrice says.

  Kaxl lets out a small grunt. “Don’t remind me. The singes on my scales are going to take forever to buff out.”

  “Well, the spell they cast on the whole marshal was pretty expensive,” Beatrice continues, completely ignoring her companion’s grumbling. “Even if his asura is impressive for someone primarily geared toward defense, it would still be costly.”

  Kaxl regards the undead in his hands carefully. “You can sense their asuras?”

  “Yes,” the Essevian answers. “I don’t know one of them, but the one who cast the explosion is a certain animated armor….”

  Kaxl lets out a low whistle, forming a shield before him.

  ‘Klang!’ ‘Klang!’ ‘Klang!’

  The bullets smash against the barrier harmlessly, like rubber toys. With quick footwork, Kaxl leaps onto a branch just as the asura keeping them afloat begins to dissipate.

  “What?” the lizardman casually asks, sending several greyish blasts toward the wall. “Is this something you stole from the poor souls who crossed your path?”

  Beatrice simply shrugs, the tentacles on her back twitching.

  “I might not be able to passively sense it like you, but this Essevian hounhell sense of mine is more attuned to differences in asura,” the Essevian replies casually.

  Kaxl lets out a disgusted scoff.

  “Figures,” the lizard huffs. “I guess it makes sense, considering your kind’s nature.”

  Ignoring him, Beatrice points upward. “Think you can get Fortilux’s attention?”

  “Pfft. Leading some poor souls to their doom?” Kaxl hisses with a smirk. “What, you think that highly of that animated armor’s skill? You’re underestimating me here.”

  “I never said that.”

  It’s true. While this lizardman is annoying—and a half-brained twit at the best of times, there’s no question about his usefulness on a battlefield.

  Kaxl places Beatrice on the ground near her troops, none too gently. Then he turns to his soldiers and lets out a sharp whistle. Every single one immediately snaps to attention.

  “Oh, right,” the lizardman says, pointing at Beatrice’s left arm. “Might wanna get that fixed. Whether or not you feel pain, missing an arm in battle isn’t ideal.”

  At his prompting, Beatrice glances down. Where her arm is supposed to be, there’s now nothing more than a bloody stump—bone exposed, with bits of flesh barely clinging on.

  Satisfied, Kaxl turns to glance toward a spot on the wall.

  “Alright,” he calls, leading his troops away. “Catch me if you can!”

  With that, the lizardman and his soldiers disappear.

  Turning back to her own troops, Beatrice points at one of the Essevians—one who was recently recruited and has barely any experience.

  “You. Follow me,” Beatrice commands, then turns to the rest. “The rest of you, divide into two groups and begin your attack on both sides of the wall.”

  Two groups of Essevians are charging on either side of the wall relentlessly. Standing at the very top of it is a gigantic brown cobra, with two arms as its only humanoid features.

  A green mist — asura — keeps flowing from his body, almost bright enough that one could burn themselves without even touching it.

  The cobra is busy, panting heavily as he works to direct both efforts toward subduing the two groups of Essevians. Whenever one of them manages to get close in passing, the snake quickly conjures up another wall or a set of spikes to block them.

  ‘He really is just trying to buy time,’ Beatrice notes as the battle continues. ‘He’s more focused on stopping us from advancing than on dealing serious damage.’

  Currently, she and one of the newer Essevians are perched on several thick tree branches.

  During one of the explosions, her own troops had set off against the wall, a tentacle had been thrown onto the top of it as a distraction.

  As the thought flashes through her mind, the cobra suddenly swivels his head toward her—or rather, toward the detached tentacle that has managed to sneak onto the top of the wall.

  Without wasting a second, the cobra hurls a green bolt of electricity toward her position.

  ‘Bang!’

  The view from the tentacle cuts off abruptly as a wave of pain slams into Beatrice’s head.

  Pinching the bridge of her nose, the undead lets out a small groan as she massages her temple, trying in vain to distract herself from the sensation of her brain being torn apart.

  Shaking her head, Beatrice quickly turns back to the other undead. The rookie Essevian is still staring at her with wide, admiring eyes.

  “Let’s go,” Beatrice commands, turning away from the Essevian. “It’s about time we get started.”

  As she turns back around, Beatrice briefly scans the chaos unfolding below once more.

  ‘Bam!’ ‘Bam!’ ‘Bam!’

  Flashes of color can be seen as the two groups of Essevians Beatrice had split up are still faithfully launching a series of barrages at the wall, successfully diverting the cobra’s attention.

  Observing the scene from afar, Beatrice assumes that Kaxl must be drawing the animated armor away, judging by how the cobra struggles — it took him this long just to notice the tentacle.

  Taking advantage of the distraction, Beatrice quickly leaps from branch to branch before launching herself at the wall.

  ‘Pak!’ ‘Pak!’

  Several tentacles shoot out, digging deep into the wall like metal hooks. Using them as anchors, Beatrice quickly scales up.

  As she begins her climb, the undead briefly glances back.

  The rookie Essevian bounces behind her, somewhat clumsily but desperately trying to catch up. There’s a twinkle in her eyes whenever she stares at Beatrice — something that can only be described as admiration.

  Still watching the rookie with a neutral expression, Beatrice lets out a small hum before turning back to face the wall.

  Normally, she would have preferred a more experienced Essevian to accompany her, but this time, it works better to have someone like this instead. It's more effective that way.

  With the distraction from the units below — and thanks to their physiques and other advantages — Beatrice and the rookie Essevian manage to scale the wall within seconds.

  It’s only when Beatrice reaches the top of the wall that the cobra notices her. Even then, he can only glare, still preoccupied with the Essevians battling below, occasionally trying to create barriers to block her approach.

  As Beatrice charges toward him, the snake hurls several blasts of green energy at her face.

  Without blinking, one of her tentacles snaps out, grabbing the rookie Essevian and hurling her forward.

  “Huh?!” the rookie gasps, just moments before the blast slams into her.

  ‘Bang!’

  The Essevian’s entire head is blown off, leaving behind only a bloody, gaping hole. Still alive, but extremely weakened.

  Without wasting another second, Beatrice simply kicks the Essevian’s body straight at the cobra.

  The snake barely has time to react, instinctively raising his hands in defense.

  ‘Pak!’

  A spike made of dirt stabs through the Essevian’s chest from one side to the other. At the tip of the spike is a glowing sphere, leaking colorful mist with every passing second.

  While the cobra is distracted, Beatrice strikes. Getting behind him, she stabs all her tentacles into his body.

  “Ack!” the cobra groans, blood spurting from his mouth.

  Watching him struggle on her tentacles, Beatrice stares down with a blank face. All the asura from the snake’s body begins to be sucked into the tentacles buried deep inside him.

  Normally, it would have taken much more to take down an opponent like him, but...

  The Essevian’s eyes scan over the cobra’s body, marred with scars and dirt. Dark bags hang under his eyes, and bone shows through his ribcage.

  “Sacrificing your own?” the snake coughs, a bitter smile twisting his face. “How ruthless.”

  Grabbing the cobra’s head, Beatrice glares down at him. “What are you planning?”

  “Planning?” the cobra scoffs, spitting blood into her face. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “I saw the way you drew asura against the walls,” Beatrice says, ignoring the blood.

  “That’s not a normal pattern. And of all places, you chose this swamp.”

  “I heard the mud’s good for scales,” the cobra says lightly.

  Beatrice narrows her eyes. “What big spell are you preparing?”

  The cobra simply shrugs. “Who knows.”

  A dark look crosses his face as he glances off to the side.

  “I’m against it, considering all the factors,” he mutters, his eyes clouding over. “But a little do-over sounds... tantalizing right about now.”

  Beatrice frowns sharply. A thought flashes through her mind.

  'Pentagram patterns. Strange containers holding something like asura extracted from my own Essevians...'

  There is only one spell that makes sense.

  “No way,” she breathes. “Only an insane idiot would even try it.”

  The cobra shrugs again. “At this point? We might as well be. It’s better than whatever this is.”

  Without hesitation, Beatrice drives her hand into the cobra’s abdomen. Blood spurts instantly from the wound.

  Deep within the snake’s soft flesh, she feels the unmistakable texture of a misty, half-solid asura organ.

  Closing her fingers around it, Beatrice rips it free. The moment she lets go, the cobra crumples to the ground, life draining out of him.

  Despite how ruined he is, the cobra still manages to glare up at her with a ferocity that makes it seem like he could still leap up and punch her.

  Beatrice looks away. She briefly glances at the organ in her hand, then at her missing left arm.

  Opening her mouth, she quickly swallows it.

  ‘I don’t like taking risks,’ Beatrice thinks. ‘But I’m not facing the rest of the rebels without full strength. It should be fine — his asura should be compatible enough with my body.’

  The effect is immediate, the electricity of new power slamming through her system.

  Standing over the cobra’s corpse, Beatrice moves to free the trapped Essevians inside the walls.

  “Search every inch,” she commands after releasing them. “Uproot everything if you have to. They’re hiding underground somewhere.”

  Her troops nod and disperse like ants. Turning away from them, Beatrice marches forward with curled fists.

  ‘Time traveling machine,’ Beatrice thinks grimly. ‘There’s no way they’re that stupid... right?’

  Far beneath the battle above, a base with metallic walls stretches out in the darkness.

  Knick-knacks and strange contraptions are scattered across the floor.

  At the center of the room sits a huge, oval-shaped device mounted on a metal platform, with wires and tubes snaking into various parts of it.

  Several soldiers are stationed at the entrance, while workers tirelessly hammer away at consoles along both sides of the room.

  Standing at the forefront of it all is what appears to be a human boy—or at least someone caught between adolescence and adulthood.

  The only peculiar thing about him is the green flakes of scales decorating either side of his face, marking him as of mixed heritage.

  “The time machine seems operational,” the boy says, looking up from his clipboard. “We should be ready to go.”

  “Good,” says a woman near the front of the machine.

  She is none other than one of the rebels Beatrice and her troops have been searching for.

  The woman wears a standard military uniform, only in a slightly darker blue shade.

  Medals glint on her chest, along with a badge bearing the symbol of an eagle.

  Despite the impressive gear, her armor shows signs of heavy wear and tear. Her face is caked in grime and mud, barely masking her bloodshot, twitching eyes and the dark bags hanging beneath them.

  The boy hesitates, opening his mouth, then closing it again with a sigh. His sharp fingernails dig into the clipboard’s wooden surface, leaving gouges behind.

  “But...” he begins.

  “But?” the woman asks sharply, her eyes boring into him — a cold madness flickering just beneath her neutral facade.

  Shifting his weight to one side, the boy tilts his head. “...There are still a lot of flaws in the design. And with our current resources...”

  “It’s not like we have any other choice,” the woman cuts in. “This is the best we can do.”

  Suddenly, she places both hands on the boy’s shoulders, causing him to flinch.

  “We don’t have any other choice,” she repeats, her voice taking on a sharp edge as her fingers dig into his skin.

  “Most of our homelands are ablaze. Our friends and families are either dead or being turned into some kind of pill for the faction. The few people we have left are being pushed to the brink of extinction.”

  Her grip tightens against the boy’s shoulders. “This is our last chance to make things right. We can’t let everything be in vain.”

  As if in a trance, she repeats again, voice low and almost lifeless: “There is no other choice. We don’t have any other choice.”

  “I know, I know,” the boy sighs. “We’re out of options. I know.”

  The words seem to snap the woman out of whatever trance she was in. Her eyes quickly regain focus, the haunted glaze fading.

  With a sharp breath, she shakes her head, as if physically forcing herself back to the present.

  “Good.” The blonde turns away, facing the machine. “Start the process now.”

  Standing tall before the machine, the woman crosses her arms. A blue, misty glow leaks from her eyes as she stares at the device.

  “Let’s begin Project Start Over.”