The tavern job was far easier than Caro had imagined. Simply put, she only needed to do what any waitress would—play the harp occasionally.

To be honest, her playing wasn’t great. But the guests seemed quietly pleased, proving her music wasn’t unpleasant—a small relief. She’d stayed up late the previous night figuring out how to strum the harp well enough to produce a barely recognizable tune. At least it was passable. If they’d scorned her, Caro might have abandoned music entirely out of sheer embarrassment, turning solely to storywriting.

Still, when she checked her skill panel during a break, no harp skill had appeared. Clearly, this level didn’t qualify. Caro figured she’d need to properly play a full song first. What she’d just done was plucking out a vaguely coherent melody—she wasn’t even sure what it was.

Thankfully, townsfolk here weren’t musically discerning. A blessing that even an amateur like her could earn a meal.

She decided to check out of the inn tonight and find cheaper lodgings. Staying there was unsustainable—let alone funding story research or publishing. Everything costs money!

As a former rich kid, she now truly felt money’s weight… though not *that* deeply. Life’s about enjoying the moment!

Wiping a glass, she mused.

Truthfully, she’d expected adventurers to fill the tavern. But small towns rarely had an Adventurers’ Guild—those existed only in larger cities. For minor issues, locals handled things themselves; only truly unsolvable problems went to adventurers. No one hired an adventurer just to gather common herbs. Everyone had to make a living.

Most patrons were townsfolk. Night-shift workers—casino staff, brothel employees—drank by day.

Naturally, such venues lacked official kingdom licenses and stayed sparsely attended… Others came to drown sorrows or celebrate occasions.

Still, a town of one or two thousand should feel livelier. Caro’s intuition wasn’t wrong: abandoned fields halfway through cultivation meant something happened. If the population had always been this low, why clear so much land?

She listened closely to patrons’ chatter.

The tavern served simple fare—the “lavish” option was stewed meat with potatoes. Local fruits were available too.

Caro itched to sneak a bite, but this world’s scarcity made even a small cup of wine a meaningful employee perk. Fortunately, she adapted easily.

She’d suspected something had happened here—hence the sparse population—but uncovering clues on day one surprised her.

The speakers were two or three companions. Likely local merchants.

“Have you heard about Undead Lucy?” one asked. “We can’t stay. The Knights claim it’s resolved, but we all know it’s not over.”

“Surely it is?” another replied hesitantly. “The Knights are reliable—unlike town officials.”

“Exactly!” the third chimed in.

“Oh, you have no idea!” The first speaker glanced around cautiously, as if fearing eavesdroppers. Caro began cleaning nearby, inching closer.

“The Knights are hunting *him*! You know—the False Hero!”

The other two gasped. “Y-you mean Lord Arnold?!”

Hearing the familiar name, Caro perked up. Of course Arnold’s recent presence was common knowledge—he was the legendary Dragon Slayer.

“But… you know what happened before. The Knights hunt *him*—do you think Undead Lucy will stand idle? Even Demon Purifier Helen couldn’t…”

*Demon Purifier Helen.* Cleric of the Heroic Rank party Demon Purge. Arnold’s former teammate. Wait—*that* party visited Maelzu Town? Incredibly exciting!

An undead even Helen couldn’t cleanse? If Caro uncovered this story… could she borrow a fraction of Undead Lucy’s power?

Terrifying, yes—but as a Bard, that power meant basic self-defense.

She kept listening.

“But Lord Arnold said she was benevolent…” The speaker froze, face paling as he stared at the informant, horror dawning.

“He is the False Hero!”

With a few exchanged words, they pieced together a chilling theory. They glanced around fearfully. Caro scrubbed harder, avoiding suspicion.

“Then we leave. Now.”

They finally lowered their voices, whispering urgent plans.

Logically, Demon Purge had traveled widely—visiting Maelzu Town was normal. But an unresolved issue left behind? Only a fool would investigate… unless they thought themselves stronger than a Heroic Rank Adventurer party.

By all reason, Caro should flee. Self-preservation is natural. Fear of death is valid.

She’d always believed: as long as you live, there’s hope…

But still—

Her heart hammered. An irrepressible thrill surged. *Undead.* She’d transmigrated. Died yet lived. Seen magic and steel. Yet this… remained utterly irresistible.

Dying on an adventure held romance—like her past life. When that call came, she’d sensed unease. During preparations, subtle clues hinted some wished her ill.

But she went anyway.

Because it was a canyon she’d never seen. Photos weren’t enough. She *needed* to witness the vista, breathe the air, hear the wind—feel the world.

The fall’s final glimpse was beautiful, however brief. She held no resentment—only a fleeting wish: *If only I could’ve seen more.*

Preserving life to see more isn’t wrong. But abandoning wonder solely to survive? Perhaps not right either.

Lost in thought, she worked diligently. During quiet moments, she’d whisper, “Sing with me,” enlarge her harp, and play clumsily.

Guests didn’t mind. The boss stayed silent. Emboldened, she tried a simple tune—*Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star*? Her first guitar lesson song back then.

She fumbled the notes, but patrons were here to drink and chat. No one noticed.

Night fell. Searching for lodging now would be hard.

“Boss, any lodging recommendations?”

She had to ask someone familiar. Though burly, the boss seemed mature, steady—trustworthy.

“I’m from out of town. The inn’s too expensive.”

He poured himself a drink. “Lodging? You seemed quite interested in Undead Lucy today.”

Caro startled. “Y-you noticed?”

“Rather, no outsider *isn’t* interested. You could stay with Undead Lucy herself.” He paused. “If you’re afraid, find elsewhere. Those merchants were outsiders—they don’t know the truth. Undead Lucy… would never harm anyone.”

*Hm?*

Words utterly contrary to earlier rumors.

“You may think me an evil sorcerer luring outsiders to offer blood and life to Undead Lucy,” he added calmly. “But it’s your choice. I merely answer your question.”

*Washing his hands clean, huh.*

Caro sighed inwardly. “Alright, Boss. Where can I find Undead Lucy?”

Outwardly calm, her pulse raced. *I have to meet her.* An undead… How classic!