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

Chapter 178: Whispers Beneath the Veil

The silver gates of the central palace opened quietly as Asmodeus stepped through, Isaac walking calmly at her side.

They weren't touching. Not anymore.

But the closeness between them was unmistakable.

She walked with ease, expression serene, steps soft and unhurried. He walked like someone who had stopped waiting for betrayal—just enough to feel the ground under his feet without looking over his shoulder.

And Lilyshade Vale noticed.

Whispers stirred like petals on the wind.

Not harsh.

Not fearful.

Just curious.

"That's him, isn't it?"

"The Soulborn?"

"The one who devoured Beelzebub's curse…"

"But look how he walks beside her…"

"Like he belongs."

—

Within the palace, veiled attendants and spiritweavers bowed low as Asmodeus passed. Their eyes flicked toward Isaac—many had never seen a guest remain so long in her presence, let alone one who was still breathing.

One elder succubus, her hair braided with strands of silver memory-ribbon, leaned toward a younger servant.

"Has she ever walked with anyone like that before?"

"No," the girl whispered. "Never."

"And she lets him near the inner garden?"

The old woman's eyes narrowed—then softened.

"…She trusts him."

—

At the edge of the grand spiral courtyard, a group of young incubi-in-training sat around a low fountain. Their lesson had long since paused as they watched Isaac cross the marble floor beside their queen.

"Do you think he's her consort?" one whispered.

"Don't be stupid," said another. "If he were, the entire garden would've bloomed."

"But look at her smile," a third murmured. "It's… different."

Their instructor, a lean, hawk-eyed incubus named Veylan, approached from behind.

"He may not be a consort," Veylan said calmly, "but make no mistake—he is welcome."

The boys turned.

"He is seen," Veylan added, gaze resting on Isaac with subtle approval. "And in Lilyshade, that means more than any crown."

—

Asmodeus sat on her throne only briefly that afternoon—not to declare law, but to listen.

The court brought her no warnings, no complaints.

Only gentle observations.

Curious questions.

Soft congratulations from those bold enough to voice them.

"Your light seems steadier these days, my queen," murmured one artist in attendance.

Asmodeus smiled faintly.

"Perhaps it is," she said.

—

Later, in a shaded walkway lined with spirit-blossoms, Isaac leaned against the railing overlooking the city. His eyes followed the curves of buildings, the shimmer of lights, the quiet people going about their day.

"They don't fear me," he said aloud.

"No," Asmodeus replied, joining him.

"They're… curious."

"Because you're something new," she said. "But this kingdom has always welcomed the unfamiliar—as long as its heart is sincere."

He turned toward her.

"And they trust you."

She nodded. "They always have. I gave them peace. Now they wonder if I've found some of my own."

Isaac looked away again, eyes distant.

"…Maybe you have."

She stepped closer—close enough for her voice to drop to a whisper only he could hear.

"And maybe I'm not the only one."