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

Chapter 160: Morning at the Blossom Baths

The morning sun filtered gently through the high canopy of Yggdrasil, spilling threads of golden light across polished vinewood floors. Birds chirped somewhere above, and faint temple bells marked the turning hour. For the first time in what felt like an age, Isaac didn't wake up in a dungeon, a battlefield, or a strategy hall.

He woke up to warmth. To silence.

To peace.

He lay still for a while, half-wrapped in a soft woven blanket, listening to the lazy breeze slipping through his open balcony. No warnings. No urgent system pings. No weight of choice on his chest.

Just sunlight and the scent of lavender.

He finally sat up when he noticed the folded parchment left on his bedside table—pressed with Sylvalen's seal and penned in her precise, elegant handwriting.

You've been kidnapped. Voluntarily. Meet us at the Blossom Baths. No excuses. Bring a towel.– S.

A second note was scribbled beneath it in Lira's handwriting—messier, crooked, but unmistakably hers:

She means it. She threatened to freeze your tea if you try to skip.– L.

Isaac chuckled to himself, standing and stretching out his arms. He didn't know what day it was. Didn't care. He changed into a loose tunic, slung a towel over his shoulder, and stepped out into the quiet city paths.

For once, no one followed. No one stared.

He was just another silhouette walking beneath the leaves.

—

The Blossom Baths were nestled along the upper terraces of Elaraiya, where enchanted roots dipped into warm natural springs and wove pools from glimmering stone. Flowers bloomed year-round here—ethereal, fragrant, and half-alive with light mana. Small wisps drifted lazily above the surface, glowing like stars caught in a dream.

Isaac arrived barefoot, towel slung over one shoulder, and paused at the entrance arch carved from woven silverbark.

He found them quickly.

Sylvalen sat waist-deep in one of the larger pools, her silver-platinum hair unbound and cascading down her bare shoulders like liquid starlight. Her eyes were closed, her face serene. The soft steam around her curled as if unwilling to disturb her presence.

Lira, meanwhile, was floating on her back in a smaller spring nearby, humming a tune off-key and occasionally flicking water into the air with her toes.

She spotted him first.

"Well, well, look who actually listened," she called, waving one dripping hand lazily. "The anomaly emerges."

"I was threatened," Isaac replied, stepping onto the smooth stone edge. "And mildly bribed by the scent of flowers and the promise of not dying."

Sylvalen cracked one eye open and gestured to the water beside her. "No excuses. Join us."

Isaac hesitated only long enough to test the temperature with his hand—warm, rich with magic, and deeply relaxing—then slid in with a sigh that escaped him before he could stop it.

"…Okay," he admitted. "You win."

Lira splashed toward him, grinning. "Isn't this better than chasing ancient demons and lecturing gods?"

"Marginally," he said, letting the warmth soak into his bones. "But don't tell Belphegor. He might get ideas."

Sylvalen chuckled under her breath.

They drifted there for a while—talking about nothing. The kind of nothing that people earned after surviving everything. Lira told a story about how she once faked a sword injury to avoid a noble etiquette lesson. Sylvalen confessed she used to sneak into the Blossom Baths herself, decades ago, just to get away from court tutors.

"Did you have guards back then?" Isaac asked.

"I had shadows," she replied. "But I learned how to walk through them."

Lira dunked herself under and popped back up with a splash. "You two are too poetic. Just admit you like soaking."

"I do," Sylvalen said easily, tilting her head back. "And today, I like not having to be anything else."

Later, they sat at the water's edge, wrapped in soft towels, sipping fruit tea delivered by a quiet attendant. Isaac leaned back against a sun-warmed rock, eyes closed, listening to the wind in the trees. Lira sat cross-legged beside him, nibbling on a pastry she'd smuggled in. Sylvalen rested her head lightly on Isaac's shoulder.

No one spoke for a while.

Because no one needed to.

Eventually, Isaac opened one eye and looked out across the water, where blossoms floated like drifting stars. "This feels unreal," he murmured. "Like the kind of peace that only shows up before something big and terrible ruins it."

Sylvalen didn't move. "Let it come. Tomorrow."

Lira added through a yawn, "We've got tea. Blankets. And towels. We're basically unstoppable."

Isaac smiled faintly.

Then something caught his eye—a single petal, drifting toward them across the surface. It was silver, not pink. It shimmered faintly with a hue that didn't belong to sunlight or magic.

Sylvalen noticed it too. Her brows furrowed.

"…That's not native."

Isaac's fingers brushed it as it passed.

He didn't feel fear.

Only a whisper of something ancient.

"Something's stirring," Sylvalen said softly.

Isaac leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

"Let it stir tomorrow," he replied.

And for now, the water held still.