I Was Reborn in Another World, But I Awoke Inside a Corpse

Chapter 122: The Council of Six

The doors to the Grand Hall opened in silence—massive arcs of living rootwood folding inward like the petals of a closing bloom. Light from hanging mana-crystals rippled across the curved walls, their glow pulsing in rhythm with the heartbeat of Yggdrasil itself. At least… what remained of it.

Isaac stepped forward, flanked by Sylvalen and Lira. Every instinct told him this room was not just ceremonial—it was judgment in living form.

Six thrones awaited them, arranged in a perfect ring beneath a canopy of intertwined branches. Each throne was alive, grown—not carved—and reflected the essence of its dynasty:

Thalara, veined with moonlight and etched in spirals of memory.

Vaelorn, a towering seat of dark ironbark, lined with runic steel.

Y'selaria, formed from vines and scripture, woven with divine law.

Naelith, barely visible, cloaked in illusion and layered in whispers.

Lorienn, shimmering with golden leaves and trade tokens.

Eryndros, blooming with crystal flowers that pulsed in harmony with unseen music.

Each was occupied by a single figure of immense presence. Behind them stood attendants and elite guards, masked in stoic silence.

Sylvalen bowed deeply. "I present myself before the Council of Six, and with me—Isaac of unknown origin, bearer of the Spiritforge Blade… and Lira of the Storm."

None of the six returned her greeting.

Instead, the matriarch of Naelith spoke first, her voice soft as silk soaked in secrets. "So this is the one."

The Vaelorn general scoffed. "He does not look like a god-killer."

Isaac stepped forward. "You haven't seen me in battle."

A few murmurs passed. Not approval. Just calculation.

"Tell us, outsider," said the Y'selaria priestess, "What manner of being are you?"

Isaac's gaze didn't falter. But inwardly, his thoughts sharpened. Not yet. Not here. These people didn't deserve his truth—not while they weighed him like a weapon.

"I'm someone who wasn't born into power," he said carefully. "But I earned what I carry. Through trials. Through pain. Through my will."

A pause followed. Measured. Testing.

"That is no answer," said the Naelith matriarch.

"It's the only one you'll get," Isaac said flatly. "At least, until I trust someone here."

Sylvalen's expression didn't change, but her hand subtly flexed at her side—approval, hidden pride.

The Vaelorn general rose to his feet. "You enter the sanctum of Yggdrasil. You carry a divine weapon. You refuse to answer directly. If we weren't at war with uncertainty, I'd strike you down now."

"I welcome the attempt," Isaac said calmly.

Silence gripped the chamber.

Then Lady Aelira—standing at the Thalara throne—broke it. "Enough. He's dangerous, yes. But danger is not our enemy today. We've summoned you because a disturbance coils through the deeper roots of the World Tree. Something we cannot reach. Something only an outsider might be able to."

Isaac's eyes narrowed. "You want me to go down there?"

"To find the source," said the priestess. "Or to reveal that you are the source."

He met their gazes one by one, seeing layers of fear, suspicion, and—just beneath it—desperation.

"You want me to prove I'm not the cause," he said. "But you're not telling me everything."

A few thrones stiffened.

Isaac glanced toward Sylvalen, who avoided his eyes just briefly.

He noticed.

But said nothing.

"I'll go," he said at last. "Because if something's threatening this world, I want to see it with my own eyes."

"You would walk into the unknown for us?" asked the Eryndros elder.

"No," Isaac replied. "For myself. To learn the truth."

As the chamber began to empty and murmurs resumed behind closed lips, Isaac remained still, thoughtful.

They didn't trust him. That was fine.

He didn't trust them either.

And he would not—would never—share the truth of his rebirth until someone proved they were worth knowing it.