Single for Eternity
Chapter 97: I am Free

Chapter 97: I am Free

I guess I was never really human to begin with. Not in the way others were.

I was simply trying to blend in.

Back in my world—the world I left behind—I had always felt different. Misaligned. Out of sync with the people around me. I had friends. I played the part.

Smiled when they smiled. Laughed when the jokes landed. But underneath it all, there was this persistent emptiness. A void that echoed back at me no matter how deeply I tried to bury it.

I hated myself for it. For not being able to understand them. For being other. I hated that I could never mourn properly. When someone died—someone close or distant—it didn’t hit me like it hit them.

The tears never came. I would sit in silence, wear the mask of grief, but feel nothing beyond a dull curiosity.

Even in fiction, it was the same. A beloved character dies. The fandom mourns. Online forums flood with emotion. People post heartfelt essays, tributes, even fan art of grief.

And me? I’d feel... something. A flicker of sadness. A brief pulse of empathy. But never enough to cry. Never enough to ache the way they did.

So I clung to those moments—those hints of emotion—as proof. Proof that I wasn’t completely detached. That I could still feel.

Sadness. Happiness. Anger. Guilt. Regret.

I felt them. But only for me.

Never for others.

Even in relationships, it became clearer. I couldn’t endure the constant nudging. The need for validation. The petty jealousy. The suffocating expectation of emotional reciprocity. It was unbearable.

But I felt pleasure. I felt desire. I enjoyed sex. That had to mean I was human, right? Right?

Still... no matter how hard I tried, I could never share the ideals people like that jade-haired brat held so dearly. The talk of love, of sacrifice, of protecting others—none of it resonated.

It sounded like an elaborate performance to me, a play whose script I could read but never feel.

Because when I dug deeper, I realized the truth:

All my emotions existed in a vacuum.

They were mine.

And only mine.

My brother’s best friend died when we were in college. The guy had been like family to us. My brother spiraled for years. Nightmares. Panic attacks. A quiet, enduring sorrow that refused to fade.

My sister? Her heartbreak after her long-term boyfriend cheated on her shattered her for months. She barely ate. She stopped smiling.

And yet, eventually, they moved on. The crying stopped. The memories faded. They smiled again. Laughed again. Lived again.

That’s when it all felt so incredibly pointless.

Because no matter how deep your bonds, no matter how much you think you care about someone... it all fades. Grief dissolves. Love erodes. Memories grow distant. Even the sharpest pain dulls with time.

What’s left then?

Nothing.

And that’s why I stopped pretending. Why I stopped trying to care about people. Because deep down, I didn’t. I couldn’t.

I wanted to, sure. I envied them. Their ability to cry, to connect, to suffer beautifully for someone else. I wanted to bathe in their foolishness. To be part of it. To feel it, even once, for real.

But I couldn’t.

And when I transmigrated into this world...

I didn’t feel loss. I didn’t feel fear. I didn’t feel grief.

I felt unshackled.

Because in this world, I had no one. No baggage. No attachments. No lies to uphold.

There was no need to mimic humanity.

No need to fake emotions.

No need to understand others.

No need to pretend to care.

I was finally free to be what I always was.

Untethered. Unburdened. True.

This world... it was perfect for me. A world where strength was the only currency. Where connections could be forged, broken, or ignored entirely.

A world designed for the detached. A world where I didn’t have to apologize for not being human enough.

Here, I didn’t have to love.

Didn’t have to mourn.

Didn’t have to belong.

I could be what I was meant to be.

In the truest, most absolute sense—

I was free.

...

I didn’t have much time to bathe in the delight of freedom—the raw euphoria of accepting my indifference, of finally embracing the cold truth of my own individuality.

Because behind me, the ancient tomb began to shudder.

Violently.

At first, it was subtle—a low, guttural hum that reverberated through the broken stones and shattered ruins scattered across the landscape.

But within seconds, the tremor grew. The earth beneath my feet convulsed as if something ancient and monstrous stirred beneath the crust.

Then, with a sound like the grinding of titanic chains, the entire ground convulsed.

Cracks spread like veins in every direction, and before I could take another breath, the massive structure behind me—the tomb—began to rise.

Stone and dust cascaded down as the ancient monument uprooted itself from the earth, towering over me with terrifying majesty.

A monolith forged in a forgotten era, etched with indecipherable runes and cloaked in a darkness that seemed to absorb the light around it.

At its heart were two towering obsidian gates—smooth, seamless, and massive enough to make mountains look modest. And they were trembling.

Shuddering.

As if some great beast—or something far worse—was pressing against them from the inside.

Then... with a deafening crack, the gates burst open.

A shockwave of dark smoke and choking dust exploded outward, carrying with it the acrid scent of burned corpses and smoldering coal.

I instinctively raised an arm to shield my eyes, but the stench still clawed at my senses. My lungs recoiled. My skin tingled as the oppressive air around me thickened.

The earth shook again—not randomly, but rhythmically. Like a march.

Footsteps. Many of them.

My gut twisted with a deep, primal dread. And then, as if to confirm my fears, a sudden system prompt appeared before me in glowing red text:

——[ Sovereign Trial ]——

Event: The Army of the Undead Lord Malthorn has been unleashed upon the realm.

Threat: Demigod

Location: Ruined Prison of Malthorn

Clear Condition: Defeat the Undead Lord and his minions.

Points: Vary based on the number of adversaries eliminated.

——[ Good Luck ]——

I stared at the floating prompt, expression blank. My thoughts, however, were far from calm.

’Threat level: Demigod. Of course it is. Why would these damned admins ever let me live in peace?’

As the crimson glow of the trial message faded, the obsidian gates vomited forth a swarm of figures—skeletal monstrosities with bows gripped in bony, malformed hands.

Each of them towered over ten feet tall, their bones wrapped in faint shrouds of violet and black mist. The moment they emerged, the air around me became heavy—wrong.

Their presence exuded an aura so vile, so corrupted, that even I, an unawakened, could sense it crawling over my skin.

[ Sovereign Trial: Skeleton Archer of Malthorn ]

[ Threat Level: Awakened ]

Despite the individual rank not being too high, there was a problem—a massive one.

Their numbers.

Hundreds of them. No—thousands, steadily pouring out from the tomb like a cursed river of bones. An endless tide of death.

For a moment, they stood in rigid formation, bows at their sides. Then, in perfect synchronization, their hollow sockets turned toward me. Lifeless, yet full of a malevolent awareness. They knew.

Without a sound, each of them raised their bows. In a blink, silver-white arrows materialized out of thin air—pristine and impossibly sharp, glowing with a spectral light that felt unnatural.

And in one perfect, seamless motion, they nocked their arrows.

A moment of silence passed.

Then they fired.

The sky darkened instantly as a volley of hundreds—no, thousands—of spectral arrows streaked through the air, all aimed straight at me.

I exhaled deeply, planting a foot into the ground as the reality of my situation set in.

"Quite the welcoming party," I muttered under my breath, my voice dry and devoid of fear.

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