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

Chapter 159: Sunlight, Soup, and No Apocalypses

The light filtering through the canopy of Yggdrasil's upper branches had never looked quite so golden.

It wasn't enchanted, not exactly—it was just that the World Tree itself seemed to breathe easier now. The tension in the magic had melted. The breeze, once whispering with warnings and stress, now stirred the leaves with a sleepy kind of welcome.

Isaac sat on a wooden bench in the center of a garden courtyard, spoon in one hand, a shallow bowl of elven vegetable stew in the other. The flavors were gentle—earthy roots, citrus herbs, and something floral he couldn't name. He wasn't sure if it was the soup that was making him relax…

…or the fact that no one had tried to kill, study, or chain him in the past five minutes.

Across from him sat Sylvalen, her usual elegant armor replaced by a soft green tunic lined with silver embroidery. Her long silver-platinum hair was loosely tied, catching the filtered sunlight in soft, gleaming strands that shimmered like moonlit silk. Her blue eyes, usually sharp with royal intensity, were calm and quietly watchful. But the most surprising thing was her expression: completely at ease. No diplomatic masks. No formal tension.

Just quiet, genuine calm.

To his right, Lira had pulled off her boots and was lying barefoot in the grass, arms spread like she'd been waiting for this exact moment since they left Karlune. A half-eaten fruit tart sat beside her. She hadn't even touched her dagger all morning.

"I don't understand," Lira mumbled, eyes closed. "Why does this soup taste like victory?"

Isaac stirred his bowl and replied flatly, "Because you're not eating it under threat of dismemberment."

"Fair," she murmured. "Still weird."

Sylvalen took a sip from her own cup—something faintly golden and herbal—and tilted her head toward Isaac.

"You really weren't going to tell them what you did down there, were you?"

He shrugged. "They didn't ask. And honestly, if I did tell them I woke up Belphegor with a guilt trip and sarcasm, they'd either try to exile me again or invite me to lead a religion. Neither option sounds restful."

Sylvalen smiled faintly. "You really are more dangerous when relaxed."

"I learned from the best," he said, gesturing lazily upward. "Belphegor fixed a planetary sleep plague with a finger twitch."

"You fixed him," she reminded.

Lira, eyes still closed, held up a hand without looking. "He technically guilt-tripped a god so hard he fixed the world out of spite. That's a new achievement tier."

"We should have gotten loot for that," Isaac said.

"You got peace and soup," Sylvalen replied.

"A rare drop," he admitted, and sipped again.

The quiet stretched.

A calm, real one—not heavy with anticipation, not sharpened by threat.

For a while, no one spoke.

Birdsong filled the spaces between breath. The scent of warm earth and herbs mingled with sunlight. Wind rustled leaves like pages of a book being lazily flipped by the world itself.

Lira yawned and rolled onto her side, propping her chin on one hand.

"Hey, Isaac."

"Hm?"

"You ever stop and wonder what you'd be doing right now if you weren't… y'know… a glitchy soulbound anomaly that kills demons in his spare time?"

Isaac didn't answer immediately.

He stared into his soup.

"Sometimes," he said. "But every time I try to imagine something else… I end up back here anyway."

"You mean with us?" she asked.

He didn't smile, but his voice softened.

"Yeah. Here's fine."

Sylvalen placed her cup down gently.

"Then rest for now, Isaac. You've earned it. We all have."

Isaac exhaled and leaned back against the bench, letting the sun warm his face.

"Right. No saving the world today."

"No collapsing timelines," Lira added.

"No existential monologues from sleeping gods," Sylvalen finished.

For a moment, it was as if they had all agreed—unspoken—to just be.

Not legends.

Not warriors.

Not anomalies.

Just… themselves.

And for once, the world let them.