I Got Reincarnated as a Zombie Girl-Chapter 355 - 351 – Refugees at the Gate

The days that followed passed with a fragile peace in Nocture, like morning fog draping the city, ready to vanish at any moment beneath a strong gust of wind. The sun rose and set as usual, its light slipping through the thick mist rising from dead soil, reflecting softly off the death crystals embedded along the black stone roads.

The city sang with a familiar rhythm: the echo of dwarven hammers ringing from newly built forges in the western district, the howls of Velthya’s lycanthropes and her clan as they trained for night patrols, the laughter of children from many races playing in the black rose gardens, and the wind carrying the scent of fresh black mushrooms mixed with furnace smoke.

The four zombie angels had adapted quickly. They no longer hovered arrogantly in the skies; now they walked the city streets like ordinary citizens. Their dulled wings were folded tightly against their backs, their pale bodies dressed in simple black garments sewn by undead tailors. They claimed residences in the eastern district, occupying still-empty black stone houses with crystal roofs, turning them into modest nests.

By day, they patrolled the borders, their dim eyes scanning the skies with a new sharpness born of zombie venom. By night, they went their separate ways according to personal interests: one worked with the dwarves’ crafting tools, another became a chef, one spent nights in the library reading books, and the last worked as a monster hunter.

Sylvia observed everything from the castle. Her spacious study was now most often visited in the early hours before dawn. Stacks of documents still covered the obsidian desk, but new reports had joined them: lycanthrope integration was progressing smoothly, the mythril mines were yielding greater amounts of soft purple ore after the explosion, and the four zombie angels had begun reporting faint movements in the skies.

No new angels had descended yet. Heaven seemed silent after losing its envoys, but Sylvia knew it was merely the pause before a storm.

Beyond Nocture, however, conflict was growing ever more violent.

Reports from Zark arrived daily: clashes along the southern borders were becoming more frequent, mutated humans armed with plasma weapons were burning down small settlements of world-crossing migrants, and feudal mages retaliated with fire spells. In the north, anti-undead alliances were forming, nomadic tribes joining small kingdoms, while ancient Norse deities granted blessings to their warriors.

The southern seas churned uneasily, ancient maritime fleets began attacking mutant ports, and rumors of "false light from the sky" spread like wildfire. This fused world was no longer a place of peace; it had become an arena where old and new grudges collided like lightning in a storm.

And as a result, refugees began arriving at Nocture.

At first, their arrival was peaceful. Small groups of humans from other worlds, feudal farmers whose villages had been burned, exhausted mutant survivors, even nomadic tribes who had lost their hunting grounds came to the city gates empty-handed, eyes filled with hope.

They had heard rumors of Nocture: a city of death that accepted anyone, a place where undead and the living coexisted without war. Zombie gate guards allowed them entry after simple inspections, and Nocture’s citizens welcomed them neutrally, providing black mushroom meals, temporary shelter in the eastern district, and work in mines or workshops.

But the peace did not last.

The refugees repeatedly caused trouble with Nocture’s residents. They were unaccustomed to life in a city of many races: zombies, dwarves, lycanthropes, elves, and other forms strange to their eyes. A feudal farmer accused a zombie of stealing bread from his basket, claiming "dead things must crave blood." A radiation-scarred mutant struck a lycanthrope, snarling that "the stench of wild dogs makes me sick."

Minor conflicts erupted daily: scuffles in markets, accusations of theft, racial slurs that made the air of Nocture tense for the first time.

The city’s zombie guards fifty crystal-black armored Elites responded swiftly. They did not kill or torture. They simply expelled the refugees from the city with cold hands and raised spears.

"Nocture is for the peaceful," they said in flat voices, empty eyes staring without emotion.

The expelled refugees gathered outside the gates. Makeshift tents rose across the open plains, campfires burning bright in the cold nights. They complained bitterly, dissatisfied; they had come seeking refuge, only to be driven out because they "couldn’t live alongside monsters."

From her study window, Sylvia glanced at Sofia, who stood watching the scene below. The late afternoon sunlight slipped through the black glass, reflecting faintly off Sofia’s long golden hair. Her golden eyes glowed softly, but a small crease formed between her brows as she observed the hundreds of refugees clustered outside the gate, their murmurs rolling like an approaching storm.

"See, Sofia," Sylvia said quietly, her voice calm but weighted with meaning. She sat on the long sofa, her right hand idly playing with the Chain of Abyss, the living black bracelet around her wrist. "Just as I said. Those refugees would cause trouble sooner or later. They come seeking safety, but they carry their resentment and fear with them."

Sofia nodded faintly, her gaze never leaving the window. Guilt stirred within her Nocture was meant to be a sanctuary for all but the sight before her forced understanding: not everyone deserved salvation.

Some refugees had begun throwing stones at the gate, shouting "Drive the monsters out!" echoing faintly. The zombie guards remained motionless, spears raised without emotion, but the crowd grew bolder.

"They don’t understand," Sofia murmured, her voice gentle yet edged with cold. "Nocture isn’t a place for those who hate what’s different."

Sylvia smiled thinly and rose from the sofa, walking toward Sofia. She rested her chin lightly on Sofia’s shoulder, her right arm wrapping loosely around her waist. Through the window, they watched as the refugee crowd swelled, campfires burning brighter, voices growing louder.

"We’ll let them be for now," Sylvia said softly. "But if they dare to attack... Nocture will show them why we are called the city of death."

Sofia nodded, her hand resting atop Sylvia’s. Outside, the night fog thickened, wrapping the gate like a blanket waiting to swallow everything.

Sofia drew a slow breath, still watching the crowd beyond the gate. Their campfires blazed brighter as the sun sank, human shadows stretching like pointing fingers toward Nocture. Some began forming ranks, voices growing harsher cries of "We need shelter!" mixing with "Monsters! Drive them out!" until the air felt heavy.

Sylvia released her hold on Sofia and returned to the obsidian desk. With a touch, a faint holographic screen appeared, summoning Zark’s latest report. Lines of dark-purple text scrolled rapidly: the refugee count outside the gate had reached nearly a thousand, mostly humans from the old world still haunted by apocalypse trauma and fear of "the other." Some had begun constructing crude barricades of wood and tent cloth, as if preparing to lay siege should the gates remain closed.

"We can’t let them in unconditionally," Sylvia said quietly, her voice calm but edged with frost. "They’re no longer refugees. They’ve become a threat."

Sofia turned from the window, her golden hair fluttering gently in the breeze slipping through the black glass. Her eyes shone brighter now not with anger, but with hard-earned understanding.

"I know," she replied softly. "I wanted to believe everyone could change... but seeing them throw stones at the gates, hearing their insults toward Nocture’s people... I understand now why you always said this city isn’t for everyone."

Sylvia nodded faintly, fingers brushing the Chain of Abyss around her wrist. The chain trembled softly, as if agreeing with an unspoken decision.

"Send word to Velthya," Sylvia ordered. "Have the lycanthrope clans ready at the western gate. If that crowd dares to move closer, let them hear the wolves’ roar before zombie spears ever touch them."

Sofia nodded and touched the small communication crystal at her neck. A faint golden glow flashed briefly the message sent without further words.

Outside, the crowd began to stir. Informal leaders stepped forward: a feudal man with a sword at his hip, a mutant woman with a mechanical arm, shouting demands for an audience with the "Queen of Death." The zombie guards stood unmoving, spears raised in perfect unison, empty eyes unblinking.

But the crowd grew bolder. Stones flew again, one striking a crystal helm of an Elite, cracking it with a sharp sound.

Sylvia looked back toward the window, her eyes narrowing.

"They think we’ll open the gates out of pity," she murmured. "They’re wrong." 𝘧𝘳𝘦ℯ𝓌𝘦𝒷𝘯𝑜𝑣𝘦𝓁.𝒸𝘰𝓂

Sofia stepped closer, standing beside Sylvia, gently touching her arm.

"What will we do if they attack?"

Sylvia smiled thinly, a cold smile that made the air in the room seem to freeze.

"We wait. And if they cross the line of the zombie guards... Nocture will answer in its own way."

Outside, the night fog grew thicker, wrapping around the gates like a blanket ready to swallow everything. The refugees’ campfires flickered in the darkness, their voices rising louder but behind Nocture’s black walls, the city of the dead began to prepare.