I Got Reincarnated as a Zombie Girl-Chapter 356 - 352 – The Burning Threat

That night, the fog of Nocture grew even thicker, as if the dead land itself was breathing, exhaling a cold breath that wrapped the black walls of the city like a deadly embrace. The refugee campfires outside the gates flickered like the hungry eyes of wolves, and their shouts, murmurs, and cries echoed faintly through the cracks in the crystal stone.

Sylvia stood on the castle balcony, her hand touching the cold obsidian railing, her pitch-black eyes gazing downward. Sofia stood beside her, her golden hair gently fluttering in the night wind that carried the scent of blood and smoke from the refugee camp.

"They’re growing more numerous," Sofia murmured, her voice soft but filled with worry. From this height, the crowd looked like a restless sea of humanity; new tents sprouted like wild mushrooms across the open plain. What began as hundreds had now swelled to thousands of humans fleeing the mutant wars from the old Earth, feudal farmers who had lost their lands, and even nomadic survivors chased by monsters from the northern forests. They came in waves, bringing horrific stories of a world spiraling into chaos, but also carrying the seeds of conflict ready to explode.

Sylvia gave a small nod. The Chain of Abyss around her wrist vibrated faintly, as if sensing the tremors from beyond. "Zark has reported. Every day, new waves arrive from the south. Clashes at the border are driving them here, but that’s not all. There’s something strange among them provocateurs, perhaps. People deliberately infiltrate to stir up chaos."

Sofia turned to her, her golden eyes glowing dimly in the darkness. "Provocateurs? From where?"

"From the old Earth or some other world hard to say," Sylvia replied flatly, her voice like a cold gust of wind. "Humans are always like this, Sofia. They cannot stand the existence of beings higher than themselves. In Nocture, the undead, lycanthropes, dwarves we are all stronger, more eternal. To them, we are monsters that must be destroyed, not allies. The rumors are already spreading: someone in the camp is whispering tales of the ’Bloodthirsty Queen of Death,’ as if we were the ones who started this war."

Below, the crowd grew more restless. A tall man in tattered feudal robes stood atop a pile of wood, shouting in a hoarse voice. "We need shelter! Nocture belongs to everyone, not just those monsters! Open the gates, or we’ll open them ourselves!" His cry was met with cheers, and stones began flying again, crashing against the gate with loud clangs. The Elite Zombies remained motionless, their black crystal spears raised in perfect unison, their empty eyes showing no expression. But behind them, the Velthya lycanthrope clan was already preparing low growls echoing from the shadows, their yellow eyes burning like embers.

Velthya himself appeared at the western gate, his muscular, black-furred body standing tall, claws impatiently raking the ground. "Queen," he said through the communication crystal, his voice a wolfish rumble. "They’re growing bolder. Some among them carry weapons, swords, bows, even stolen plasma guns from mutants. If we let this continue, they’ll attack before dawn."

Sylvia touched the crystal at her neck and replied calmly. "Hold for now, Velthya. Let them tire themselves out. Nocture is under total lockdown no one enters, no one leaves. Even our monster hunters have switched duties; they’re now reinforcing the city defenses, setting traps around the walls."

Indeed, the city of Nocture had become a tightly sealed fortress. The main gate was bound with shimmering purple mythril chains, reinforced by spells that made it impervious to ordinary force. The monster hunters, a group of dark elves and veteran zombies who once roamed the surrounding forests hunting beasts were now working inside the city. They repaired dwarven forges, strengthened Elite armor, and even assisted in the mythril mines to produce more weapons.

Fortunately, the citizens of Nocture knew their place. They respected Sylvia as their queen, the sovereign of death who had saved them from annihilation. There was no chaos within; the city’s rhythm remained steady, the sound of hammers and training roars mingling with the laughter of children playing in the black rose gardens. They trusted Sylvia’s judgment, knowing that opening the gates would invite disaster.

But outside, the situation worsened by the day. More refugees arrived every morning, bringing tales of burned villages, poisoned rivers, and monsters unleashed by the anti-undead alliance. They pitched tents closer to the gates, forming what now resembled a small city of its own complete with makeshift markets, giant bonfires, and informal leaders organizing guard rotations. Among them, the provocateurs became more visible. A mutant woman with a mechanical arm whispered to groups of feudal farmers, spreading rumors that Nocture hid treasures from other worlds and that the undead inside thirsted for living souls. Another old man from the old Earth, scarred by radiation preached about "human justice," declaring that creatures like lycanthropes and zombies were threats to humanity: superior in power, yet inferior in morality.

"Humans are always like this," Sylvia murmured to Sofia as they returned to the study. The obsidian desk was now covered in holographic reports from Zark purple text scrolling across maps showing refugee movements. "They envy us. In this fused world, we undead feel no pain, lycanthropes wield the power of the moon, dwarves possess the endurance of mountains. Humans? They are fragile, yet their ambition knows no bounds. Those provocateurs must have been sent by someone, perhaps the northern alliance, or even remnants of the heavenly spies."

Sofia sat on the long sofa, hugging her knees. "But not all of them are like that, right? Some of the refugees look like truly desperate children, the elderly. They came because they had no other choice."

Sylvia approached and sat beside her, gently touching Sofia’s golden hair. "True. But that mixture is what makes it dangerous. The provocateurs exploit their desperation. Look, even a plague has begun spreading in the camp."

Indeed, Zark’s reports mentioned it: a strange epidemic spreading among the refugees. It started with coughs and fevers, but soon turned into something far more horrific skin rotting as if touched by undead poison, eyes turning blood-red as though infected. Some said it came from river water contaminated by southern battles, but Sylvia suspected foul play. "The provocateurs may have brought the virus," she said. "To force us to open the gates, or to pin the blame on Nocture."

In the refugee camp, tension reached a boiling point. That night, a small child perhaps ten years old with tangled hair and exhausted eyes collapsed in front of a tent. His mother wept, begging the informal leaders to request help from the city. "They have healers inside! The undead don’t get sick, they must have medicine!" But the feudal man only shouted louder. "See! Nocture lets us die out here! They’re heartless monsters!" Cheers erupted again, and a small group began advancing toward the gate, carrying torches and improvised weapons.

The Elite Zombies reacted swiftly. Their spears lowered, forming an unyielding line. Lycanthrope howls echoed from behind the walls, causing some refugees to retreat in fear. But the provocateurs did not stop. The mutant woman hurled a large stone, striking the gate with a resounding clang that echoed into the distance. "Open it! Or we burn everything down!"

Inside the castle, Sylvia stood once more and summoned four zombie angels via hologram. They appeared on the screen, their pale faces expressionless. "Patrol the skies," Sylvia commanded. "Check for movements from the north or south supporting them. Heaven may be silent, but the anti-undead alliance could be sending aid."

One of the angels, the one who once loved cooking nodded. "We see faint lights to the north, Queen. Small airships, possibly from the Norse kingdom. They’re carrying warriors blessed by their gods."

Sylvia exhaled softly. "So that’s it. They’re using the refugees as bait to attack us."

Sofia rose, her eyes glowing brighter. "We can’t let this continue. If the plague spreads inside, or if they actually attack..."

"We’re ready," Sylvia answered calmly. "The dwarves have prepared crystal pit traps that can swallow a hundred people at once. The lycanthropes will strike from the flanks if they breach the line. And our undead... we cannot die."

The night passed in mounting tension. In the camp, the plague worsened, dozens fell ill, tents turned into makeshift hospitals. The provocateurs seized the opportunity, rallying the healthy for a "grand action." By morning, as sunlight pierced the fog, the crowd reached its peak. Thousands gathered, forming lines armed with whatever they could find wood, stones, even stolen spears. The feudal man stood at the front, shouting: "Today we take Nocture! For humanity!"

Yet Nocture remained silent. The gates did not budge. Inside, the citizens continued their lives dwarves forging new weapons, lycanthropes training, children playing. They knew their queen would protect them.

Sylvia and Sofia stood on the balcony once more, watching.

"What now?" Sofia asked.

Sylvia gave a cold smile. "We wait for them to make their move. Then we show them the power of Nocture."

The crowd began to advance, their voices like an approaching storm. But in the sky, the four zombie angels hovered again, their tarnished wings spread wide. Lycanthrope howls grew louder. And the Chain of Abyss in Sylvia’s hand began to glow with black light, ready to summon the darkness.

Outside, the plague spread faster, causing some refugees to falter. Doubt crept in. "They won’t open it," one farmer muttered. "Maybe we were wrong..."

But the feudal man refused to yield. "Attack!" he roared.

And at that moment, Nocture stirred. Zombie spears lowered, lycanthropes leaped from the walls, and the fog rose thicker, enveloping the camp like the hand of death. The battle began not a grand war, but a lesson for those who dared threaten the city of death.

That day passed with blood and screams outside, but inside Nocture, peace endured. The citizens remained obedient, honoring Sylvia who stood firm. The monster hunters, having switched duties, returned to their old tasks, cleaning up the remnants of the threat. The plague never touched the city, thanks to the protective spells. The provocateurs were captured, some from the old Earth, others spies from the northern alliance and interrogated by the zombie angels.

Sylvia sat once more in her study, Sofia beside her. "This is only the beginning," she said quietly. "The fused world grows more chaotic. But Nocture will endure."

Sofia nodded, her hand resting on Sylvia’s. "Together."