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

Chapter 179: A Seat at Her Table

The path to the moonlit hall was lined with crystal lilies, their petals glowing softly in the warm dusk. Isaac followed the subtle curve of the walkway, led by a gentle attendant whose footsteps made no sound.

He wasn't armored.

He wasn't summoned.

He was invited.

When the arched doors opened, they revealed a tranquil garden atrium bathed in silver and violet light. Long flowering vines curled down from the ceiling like silk, and lanterns floated slowly above a table made of living stone. The air smelled faintly of rosewood, warm bread, and magic older than most gods.

Asmodeus stood at the far end of the table.

Her hair shimmered in candlelight, and her dress tonight was simple—a deep crimson wrap with a violet sash, elegant but unadorned. Her eyes caught his the moment he entered.

She smiled. Not as a queen.

As a host.

"Come," she said softly. "You're among friends."

—

There were five others seated at the curved table.

Closest to Asmodeus sat a tall, silver-haired man dressed in understated black robes with a blade at his hip—his presence sharp without being threatening. His eyes were bright gray, and his nod to Isaac was respectful.

"This is Veylan," Asmodeus said. "My First Blade."

"Guardian of her person, and occasionally, her schedule," Veylan said dryly.

Across from him sat a woman with honey-gold skin and a veil of translucent silk covering her eyes. Siyra, the high priestess of Lilyshade's reformed Way of Lust. She inclined her head with calm grace.

"It is an honor to finally meet the one who walks beside our queen without bending beneath her shadow."

Isaac nodded respectfully. "It's good to meet you too."

Beside her was a younger, more animated woman—freckled cheeks, violet curls, and a long scroll tucked into a sash at her side. She grinned at Isaac as he sat.

"Liorae," she chirped. "Dreamscribe and unofficial gossip archive. I've already written six poems about you."

Isaac blinked. "…That was fast."

She leaned in. "You're very inspiring."

Asmodeus chuckled softly. "Don't let her overwhelm you."

Isaac took the seat beside her—directly across from Asmodeus.

A moment passed.

Then dishes appeared—glowing crystal plates and carved bowls filled with steam, scent, and spice. No meat. No blood. Just elegant flavors: sweet root glaze, firefruit rice, warm sourbread, and pale nectar wine.

It wasn't royal food.

It was home food.

—

Conversation flowed gently.

They didn't ask about his system. Or his battles. Or his status.

They asked what kind of weather he liked.

If he enjoyed music.

What he feared at night.

No one pressed.

No one pried.

Only offered.

And he found himself answering.

"I used to be afraid of silence," he said once, quietly. "Now I think I'm afraid of losing it."

Siyra smiled. "Silence doesn't vanish, child. It waits for us to remember it."

Liorae chimed in, "And if you forget it, I'll write you a lullaby."

Asmodeus sat beside him, not speaking much, but watching every word—and smiling, ever so gently, when he laughed at something Veylan muttered.

—

At the end of the meal, Siyra rose and stepped around the table.

She stood before Isaac with her veil glimmering like mist.

"Isaac, Soulborn, Flamebearer, Wielder of what cannot be named…"

He stood slowly.

She raised her hand and placed it softly over his chest.

"May your presence add to the warmth of this house," she said solemnly, "and never its weight."

A soft golden glow spread from her fingers—no system message, no binding, just a blessing older than law.

She smiled faintly.

"And may you never walk these halls alone unless you wish to."

Isaac blinked.

"…Thank you."

And he meant it.

—

Later, after the others had left and the lanterns dimmed to low flickers, Isaac lingered by the archway with Asmodeus beside him.

"They like you," she said.

"I think… I like them too."

She looked at him, head tilted slightly.

"You're not what they expected."

He smirked. "I don't think I'm what I expected either."

She nodded, eyes soft. "Good. Then perhaps you're finally starting to become something more."

He didn't answer.

But he didn't step away.

And that said enough.