I Got Reincarnated as a Zombie Girl-Chapter 327 - 323 – When the Sea Is No Longer Safe
Several days passed in the silent depths of the sea.
In the ocean’s depths, time did not move as it did in the world above. There was no sun rising or setting, no morning marking the beginning or night ending everything. All that existed were shifting currents, subtle vibrations in water pressure, and the slow pulse of ancient life moving through dark abysses. But for those residing in Nerys’s Temple, that rhythm was enough to distinguish one day from the next.
And during those several days... tranquility persisted.
Sofia began opening her eyes more often. Though still bedridden, her breathing was now steady, and the flow of her essence was no longer chaotic. The conceptual wounds on her body had not fully healed, but the soft light enveloping her indicated that recovery was progressing correctly. Alicia occasionally smiled faintly, though mental exhaustion was still clearly visible in her eyes. The souls that once roared were now tamer, flowing slowly like ocean currents obedient to a single center of balance.
The little Treant ran around again in the temple’s coral garden, playing without fear, even with deep-sea creatures many times its size. Strangely, none showed hostile intent. They only observed for a moment, then swam away, as if acknowledging the small one’s presence as part of this territory.
And Sylvia...
Sylvia sat on one of the balconies inside the temple. A simple chair, a small table, and a cup of warm tea still faintly steaming in front of her. From the outside, she appeared relaxed. Her shoulders were loose, her body leaning calmly, one hand supporting her chin.
But inside her, something never truly rested.
The War Sun Flame pulsed gently, controlled. The Death Flame slumbered in silence, like a predator resting with one eye open. Since the Velgrath incident, Sylvia more often examined herself not about how great her power was, but where its boundaries lay.
Whether she still stood on the same line.
Whether that line... still existed.
"Strange," she murmured softly while staring at the tea’s surface. "Too calm."
A few steps away, Stacia stood gazing at the coral pillars emitting a bluish-green light. She slowly opened her eyes, her expression serious. "I feel it too. The space around us is too stable... like it’s holding its breath."
Sylvia glanced at her. "That’s never a good sign."
Before Stacia could respond
BOOOOOOM.
The entire temple shook violently.
It wasn’t a gentle tremor from strong currents. This was a rough impact, directly striking the structure of reality around the temple. The coral pillars creaked, the lights on the walls flickered irregularly, and the water pressure changed abruptly, as if the ocean itself was startled in fear.
The tea cup on Sylvia’s table vibrated intensely, its liquid splashing into the air.
Sylvia was already standing.
Stacia instantly activated her time perception. Thin threads of light shimmered around her body, holding back the follow-up waves.
Inside the temple, Alicia awoke with a jolt, the souls around her surging restlessly. The little Treant stumbled and quickly hugged a coral root to avoid being thrown. Sofia, though still lying down, frowned, her essence reacting reflexively.
And Nerys...
Nerys froze in the middle of the main hall.
The sea goddess’s face paled, her eyes widening as she sensed something that made her chest feel like it was drowning.
"No..." she whispered, almost inaudible amid the rumbling water. "This... isn’t just one."
She raised her hand and touched the temple’s coral wall. Currents of information from the entire ocean flooded into her consciousness. What she saw made her heart pound in panic.
"My creatures..." she murmured softly. "They... were defeated."
Sylvia turned sharply. "How many?"
Nerys swallowed hard. "The guardians of the western trench. The Leviathan overseer of the deep currents. Even the water demon troops I made as outer fortresses..."
Her voice trembled.
"They didn’t last long."
A second tremor struck.
This time closer.
The outer structure of the temple cracked loudly. The water defense layers, which had been nearly impenetrable, began rippling chaotically, like a wall being pounded from outside by a will indifferent to the laws of the sea.
Stacia stood beside Sylvia. "Only we’re ready."
Sylvia nodded briefly. "I know."
Nerys took a deep breath, forcing herself to stand firm. "They’re already outside. Now I can feel it clearly."
She looked at Sylvia.
"Xynareth... and Zha’gor."
The names fell heavily.
Sylvia didn’t look surprised. Just cold. "Finally."
Outside Nerys’s Temple, the darkness of the deep sea split.
Space warped unnaturally, like wet fabric forcibly crumpled. From that rift, structures that should never exist underwater began to emerge. Not sea creatures. Nor abyssal monsters.
Space itself was forced to yield.
Xynareth floated without needing water for support. Her body was semi-transparent, filled with ever-changing geometric lines, as if reality around her never agreed on her form. Every step she took caused distance to collapse and direction to lose meaning.
Beside her, Zha’gor stood like a frozen shadow of time. Half his body appeared young, the other half decayed and cracked. Illusions of past and future collided around him, shadows of birth, destruction, and void overlapping.
Behind them, troops advanced.
Water demons with fluid bodies and cold eyes, corrupted deep-sea creatures under ancient will, and intermediate entities that even Nerys hesitated to name. They swept away anything trying to block them.
A guardian Leviathan attempted to attack.
The space around it folded.
In one second, its head separated from its body without blood, without sound.
Zha’gor didn’t even turn.
"A beautiful fortress," he said flatly. "Too reliant on old agreements."
Xynareth gazed at Nerys’s temple, now clearly visible. "Sylvia is inside," she stated. A statement, not a question.
"And she’s not alone," replied Zha’gor. "That’s the problem."
Xynareth raised her hand. The space in front of them contracted, then exploded like a giant bubble.
The temple’s outer defense layers began to crack.
Minthe was nowhere in sight.
She wasn’t on the front lines. Not leading the troops. Not standing beside the two primordial gods.
She was hiding.
Far behind the damaged folds of space, in a place where the gods’ attention was directed elsewhere, Minthe observed. Her eyes glowed dimly, full of bitter patience.
"Not yet," she whispered to herself. "Not the time yet."
She waited.
Waiting for Sylvia to come out.
Waiting for attention to divide.
Waiting for the moment when old wounds could be reopened with one precise stab.
Inside the temple, a natural alarm sounded not as sound, but as pressure making every creature aware that the defenses were about to collapse.
Sylvia sighed deeply.
"Stacia," she said calmly. "Protect the others. Don’t let them get dragged out."
Stacia looked at her. "You’re going forward alone?"
Sylvia smiled faintly, without humor. "As usual."
Nerys wanted to say something, but the words stuck in her throat. She knew. She had always known this would happen.
Sylvia stepped forward.
The Death Flame rose slowly, flowing like obedient black mist. Behind it, the War Sun Flame ignited, dim gold mixed with dark shadows.
She stared at the cracking temple wall.
"Xynareth," she murmured. "Zha’gor."
The aura around her tensed.
"If you want this sea," she continued, her voice now clear and cold, "you’ll have to go through me first."
In a different world, far from the ocean’s pressure and the cries of folding space, another silence waited to break.
The underworld was never truly quiet. It breathed in its own way the rustle of shifting bones, the flow of souls like dark rivers, and the pulse of black earth holding memories of death. But in the deepest hall, the silence felt whole, thick, and for the first time uncomfortable.
Persephone sat on her throne.
The ancient obsidian throne gleamed softly, carved by hands long turned to dust. Pale green fire burned low around the room, steady, indicating the underworld’s balance was still maintained. Her gown fell calmly, her hair cascading like a night that chose to remain beautiful despite knowing all ends.
She was silent.
Not because there was nothing to do.
But because something had just... touched her.
Not a physical touch.
Not a call.
Not a prayer.
A bond.
Her chest throbbed sharply. Persephone frowned, her fingers gripping the throne’s armrest. The green fire around her trembled, then burned a bit brighter.
"No..." she whispered.
She closed her eyes.
The underworld responded.
The soul rivers slowed. Shadows stopped moving. Even the guards sensed a different chill, not the cold of death, but the anxiety of a goddess who rarely admitted it.
Persephone opened her eyes again.
In the depths of her irises, layered light moved. Not vision, but resonance. She didn’t see the full picture, only fragments: collapsing space, splitting time, and most piercing the pulse of a soul she knew better than anyone.
Sylvia.
The soul-blood bond vibrated intensely, like a thread pulled too hard from the other end of the world. Persephone took a long, held breath, as if breathing too quickly could snap the thread.
"Xynareth..." she murmured. "Zha’gor."
The names fell coldly in the hall.
She rose from the throne. The obsidian ground resonated, lines of green light spreading with her steps. The entire underworld felt the change not a war alarm, but absolute readiness.
"My daughter..." she said softly, to the undeniable bond. "You always choose to stand in front."
Her hand rose, then stopped in the air.
She could open a portal.
She could send reinforcements.
She could force the world to open a path.
But she didn’t.
Her face hardened, not from doubt, but from bitter understanding. Direct intervention now wasn’t salvation. It would only accelerate something that should still be held back by Sylvia’s own choices.
"I must not," she whispered, almost like a forbidden prayer.
In the distance, an old guard bowed, waiting for orders that didn’t come.
Persephone closed her eyes once more, longer.
She extended her awareness not to change, but to guard. Not intervention, but a thin anchor. A subtle resonance that would hold Sylvia true to herself if the power tried to swallow her again.
"Hold on," she said softly, her voice slipping through the cracks of existence.
"Don’t forget who you are... and don’t forget, you’re not alone."
