No shame whatsoever.
Nor was there any resistance or anger.
The pale and frail youth with white hair and clothes, like a pallid phantom, did not possess what is known as "self-esteem."
Rather, when he had transformed himself into an undead that day... all self-respect and glory had already completely shattered at that time.
"A life full of regret and shame. A meaningless way of existence. Like a joke... the bloodline of a clown."
The youth murmured softly, drawing deep breaths.
"I—"
He paused slightly, slowly exhaling a breath of cold air.
Centering on the Eternal Duke, the surrounding wheat field suddenly collapsed as if blasted by an air cannon. Then, it was covered with frost—instantly, golden wheat was enveloped by withered white frost marks.
As if speaking while exhaling smoke after a smoke.
The youth's voice became hoarse, and frost naturally seeped from between his lips and teeth.
"I... have long been 'dead.'
