The first rat was easy.
I cut my palm—barely a wince now, I was getting used to the pain—and let three drops of blood fall onto the corpse. I reached for that cold, empty space inside me, that void where death lived, and pulled.
The rat twitched.
Its legs spasmed.
Its eyes opened—milky white, glowing faintly with purple light.
And then it stood up.
YES.
FUCK YES.
I DID IT AGAIN.
The rat turned its head toward me, waiting for commands, and I felt that same rush of power I'd felt yesterday.
This is MINE. This corpse, this magic, this POWER—it's all MINE.
"Good," Corvus said. "Now the second one. But this time, don't use blood. Use pure will."
Oh.
Oh, that's MUCH harder.
That's the difference between beginner necromancy and actual skill.
I approached the second rat, my palm still bleeding, but I didn't let any blood fall. Instead, I focused entirely on that cold void inside me, on the space where death lived, and I reached.
Nothing happened.
Come on. COME ON.
I pushed harder, focusing all my will on the corpse, trying to force life—or the mockery of life—back into dead flesh.
The rat twitched.
Just once.
And then nothing.
Fuck.
FUCK.
This is harder than it looks.
I tried again, pouring more energy into the attempt, feeling sweat bead on my forehead from the effort.
The rat's leg moved.
Its jaw opened.
And then it collapsed back into stillness.
This is BULLSHIT.
Yesterday I raised a bird on my first try and now I can't even get a fucking RAT to move?
"You're forcing it," Corvus said calmly. "Necromancy isn't about force. It's about connection. You need to understand death before you can command it."
"I understand death," I said through gritted teeth. "Truck-kun made sure of that."
I DIED. I know what death feels like.
I know the cold, the emptiness, the absolute NOTHING of it.
So why can't I make this WORK?
"You understand your own death," Corvus corrected. "But this rat's death is different. Every death is unique. You need to feel it, understand it, connect with it."
Feel the rat's death.
Connect with a dead rodent.
This is my life now.
This is what I'm doing with my second chance.
Truck-kun, I hope you're proud.
I took a deep breath and tried again, but this time I didn't force. I listened.
I reached for that cold void and instead of pushing, I just... felt.
The rat had died quickly—neck broken, probably by one of the manor's cats. There was a moment of panic, a flash of pain, and then nothing.
There.
That's the death I need to touch.
I reached for that moment, that transition from life to nothing, and I pulled.
The rat's eyes opened.
Its legs moved.
It stood up, shakier than the first one, but it stood.
THERE.
THERE IT IS.
I DID IT.
I wanted to scream in triumph, but I kept my focus, keeping the connection alive, keeping the rat animated through pure will.
It lasted maybe ten seconds before the connection snapped and the rat collapsed.
But those ten seconds were mine.
Progress.
Actual, tangible progress.
I'm LEARNING.
Corvus nodded, and I saw approval in his expression.
"Better. You're beginning to understand. Now—" He gestured to the third rat. "—this one died three days ago. It's been preserved with magic, but the death is older, colder. Try to raise it."
Oh, you sadistic bastard.
You're making this progressively harder.
I respect that.
I also kind of hate you right now.
The third rat looked different from the others—its flesh was grayer, its eyes more sunken. The death in it felt heavier, like it had settled deeper into the corpse.
This is going to be HARD.
I cut my palm again—deeper this time, letting more blood flow—and let it drip onto the corpse while reaching for that cold void.
Nothing.
Come on. COME ON.
I pushed harder, feeling the strain, feeling my energy draining as I tried to force life back into flesh that had been dead for days.
The rat twitched.
Just barely.
And then nothing.
FUCK.
This is IMPOSSIBLE.
I tried again, pouring everything I had into the attempt, feeling my vision blur slightly from the effort.
The rat's jaw moved.
Its leg spasmed.
And then I felt something snap inside me—not painfully, but like a rubber band breaking—and I stumbled backward, gasping.
Too much. That was too much.
I pushed too hard and hit my limit.
Corvus caught my arm, steadying me.
"That's enough for today," he said. "You've hit your threshold. Push past it and you'll damage yourself."
Damage myself.
There's a LIMIT to how much magic I can use.
Of course there is.
Nothing's ever easy.
I looked at the three rats—one successfully animated, one briefly raised, one completely unresponsive—and felt a mixture of pride and frustration.
Two out of three. Not bad for Day Four.
But not good enough.
Not NEARLY good enough.
"How long until I can raise the old one?" I asked, still catching my breath.
Corvus considered.
"Weeks. Maybe months. Older deaths are exponentially harder. You need to build your capacity, your understanding, your connection to death itself."
Months.
I don't HAVE months.
MONTHS.
The panic hit me like ice water.
Wait.
WAIT.
How much time DO I have?
I'd been so focused on learning, on proving myself, on becoming POWERFUL—
But I'd never actually calculated the timeline.
The heroine arrives in six months.
But when is the Royal Ball?
When do I need to demonstrate power publicly?
When does my reputation need to be ESTABLISHED?
My mind raced backward through the game's timeline, trying to remember—
The engagement ball was supposed to be where Original Isabel tried to prove herself as a proper noble lady.
Where she got humiliated.
Where Aldric threw wine in her face and the entire court branded her a villainess.
That was—
Oh FUCK.
That's TONIGHT.
"When is the Royal Ball?" I asked, and my voice came out sharper than I intended.
Corvus raised an eyebrow. "Tonight. Your mother mentioned you'd be attending."
Tonight.
TONIGHT.
I have HOURS, not weeks.
I have HOURS to figure out how to demonstrate power I don't actually HAVE yet.
The room tilted slightly.
I've been training for THREE DAYS.
Three days of necromancy.
Three days of blood magic.
And I can barely raise a FRESH corpse, let alone do anything IMPRESSIVE.
I can't raise the ancient rat.
I can't make multiple corpses dance.
I can't do ANYTHING that would make me look LEGENDARY.
I'm going to that ball with NOTHING.
And everyone will be watching.
Aldric will be watching.
The entire court will be watching.
Waiting to see if House Raven's daughter is actually POWERFUL or just TALK.
Nyx shifted on my shoulders, sensing my panic.
"Isabel—" it started.
"I need to go," I said, already moving toward the door.
I need to think.
I need to PLAN.
I need to figure out how to fake power I don't have yet.
Or—
Or I need to accept that tonight might be where my legend DIES before it even begins.
I walked out of the library, my mind racing, my heart pounding.
Three days of training.
Hours until the ball.
And absolutely NO idea how to pull this off.
I thought I had TIME.
I thought I could build power GRADUALLY.
But the game doesn't WAIT.
The plot doesn't PAUSE.
And I just realized—
I stopped in the middle of the corridor, the truth hitting me like a physical blow.
I have no idea how much time I actually have.
For ANY of this.
The heroine arrives in six months—but what if other plot points happen SOONER?
What if I've been counting on time I don't actually HAVE?
Nyx coiled tighter around my shoulders.
"You're spiraling," it observed.
I'm CALCULATING.
I'm realizing that I've been playing this game on EASY MODE in my head.
But this isn't a game anymore.
This is REAL.
And I'm running out of time.