Roman stood frozen.
The dead walked toward him.
A woman crawled across the blood-soaked ground, her lower body torn away, leaving only a trail of entrails and shattered bone.
Her face was half-eaten, one eye gone, the other wide and wet with something that wasn't tears.
Black ichor poured from her sockets, streaming down her cheeks like a mockery of grief.
"Warherald Roman," she rasped, her voice wet and broken. "I died because of you."
She dragged herself closer, her fingers clawing furrows in the mud.
"I didn't get to see my child grow."
She lifted a small, mangled shape from the ground beside her a child's head, half-devoured, the tiny face frozen in a scream.
"Look. Look at him. The monsters ate his body too."
Her voice cracked.
"You are responsible.
Why did you abandon us?"
Roman's breath caught in his throat.
"And Goddess Aria," she spat, black ichor bubbling from her lips.
"I prayed. I prayed for our safety. Why did she not answer? Why did she let my son die?"
Across the battlefield, the dead rose in waves.
A knight stumbled forward, his chest cavity hollow, his heart missing.
"You led us here, Warherald! You said we would win!"
A young paladin barely eighteen dragged himself forward on broken legs.
"I believed in you.
I believed in the goddess.
Now I'm dead, and you're still breathing. Why?"
The accusations came from everywhere.
Every corner of the battlefield.
Every risen corpse.
They cursed Roman.
They cursed the goddess.
They cursed the world that had abandoned them.
And it wasn't just here.
In the Eastern Territories, the dead rose among the Murium warriors.
Gabriel watched in horror as fallen cultivators pushed themselves up, their bodies broken, their voices raised in accusation.
"You brought us into this war, paladin!"
"The goddess you serve where is she now?"
Chen Wuji stood frozen, his fists clenched, as a dead Tang Clan warrior stumbled toward him, poison needles still embedded in its own flesh.
"You let us die, Fist King."
Roman's hands trembled.
The sword slipped from his fingers and clattered to the ground.
He covered his ears, but the voices didn't stop.
They were inside his skull now, echoing through his mind like a chorus of the damned.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry. I couldn't save you. I couldn't"
"Sorry?" A dead knight laughed a wet, gurgling sound.
"What a sorry can do? Will it bring us back to life?"
"Stop it," another hissed.
"You scoundrel. You coward. You failure."
The dead who could still walk began to move toward him.
Their hands reached out broken fingers, torn flesh, bones stripped of muscle.
They wanted to touch him.
To drag him down with them.
Roman didn't move.
He couldn't.
His eyes filled with tears hot, silent tears that streaked through the blood and grime on his face.
His body shook.
His mind cracked.
I failed them.
I failed everyone.
Ronald the tyrant.
Roman the failure.
Nothing changes.
Nothing ever changes.
"ENOUGH!"
Selena's voice cut through the chaos like a blade.
She appeared in a burst of crimson flame, her aura exploding outward.
The dead nearest to Roman were incinerated instantly their bodies reduced to ash before they could take another step.
Jacob followed, his blue aura blazing.
He carved through the risen corpses with brutal efficiency, each strike precise, each movement fueled by decades of experience.
"Roman!" Jacob shouted, fighting his way to his son's side.
"You did everything you could! Without you, the death count would be higher much higher!"
Roman didn't respond.
He was still covering his ears, still trembling.
Jacob grabbed his son's shoulders, his voice raw with emotion.
"Pull yourself back! Finish your duty as the Warherald! You are my son and I am proud of you!"
Roman's eyes flickered. But he didn't move.
Then Selena grabbed him by the collar.
She yanked him forward, her face inches from his. Her eyes burned with fury and tears.
"Listen to me, you brat!" she screamed, her voice cracking.
"You did what you could! Not everything is in your hands! Not the monsters, not the dark mana, not the goddess's silence none of it! You think you're the only one who lost people? You think you're the only one who failed?"
Her grip tightened.
"But you're the Warherald! You're the one they're all counting on! So stop crying, stop apologizing, and stand up!"
Roman stared at her.
For a long moment, there was silence only the crackle of flames and the distant screams of the dead.
Then Roman's lips moved.
"I will fulfill my duty as Warherald."
His voice was quiet. Flat.
But something in it had shifted.
He raised his hand.
The Archon Sword flew back to him, its blade singing as it returned to his grip.
The golden and black aura flickered around him faint at first, then brighter, stronger.
He closed his eyes.
Shadow System.
The system's voice responded instantly.
Yes, Warherald?
Activate Fallen God's power.
Fifteen percent.
No holding back.
A pause.
Understood.
The world around roman exploded with light.