Chapter 90 | Reincarnated as a Necromancer, I Turned a Death Desert Into Paradise

As the evening bonfire crackled to life, Shane sat on a sandy slope not far from the pool. Holding a bowl of warm bean soup, he sipped it slowly, having already changed into a clean sand-resistant robe.

The camp was incredibly lively. The guards had cracked open several jars of fruit wine brought back from Greystone Post. The aroma of the wine mingled with the charred scent of roasting meat and the fresh fragrance of the bean soup, enveloping the entire oasis in a rare, bustling warmth of everyday life.

Shane looked up and scanned the surroundings. He saw Ksaz arm-wrestling with one of the guards, surrounded by a cheering crowd that kept egging them on.

On the other side of the bonfire, his clansmen were roasting chunks of meat on short bone spears over the flames. Karu, acting too hastily, singed his fingertips and let out a sharp hiss, drawing a burst of laughter from those around him.

“You certainly know how to pick a spot to enjoy some peace and quiet.”

Footsteps sounded from behind. Shane turned his head and saw Elon walking over, holding a clay bowl.

The old druid plonked himself down on the sand beside him, letting out a satisfied sigh, before turning his head to examine the red marks on Shane's wrist.

“Does it hurt?”

“I don't really feel anything.”

Shane cast his eyes down. He indeed didn't feel much pain; his constitution as a necromancer naturally made his pain threshold much lower than that of ordinary people.

Elon gave a soft snort but didn't press further, asking instead, “Why aren't you sitting over by the bonfire? There's food and wine.”

“Too many people.”

Shane's reply was as brief as ever, but Elon could tell he was telling the truth.

The man had always been like this. When there was work to be done, he dared to charge into any situation, but once he was free, he would avoid crowds, looking for all the world like a lone wolf that couldn't fit into the pack.

Elon shook his head and didn't try to persuade him further. He took a sip from his bowl, his gaze drifting toward the brightest side of the bonfire.

There, Alicia sat atop a pile of stacked wooden crates. Her fiery red hair looked even more vibrant under the glow of the fire. Holding a clay cup, she was laughing and chatting with the guards gathered before her.

She had also changed out of her light armor, wrapping herself in a loose linen robe. Her collar was casually open, revealing a faint scar on her collarbone that had not yet fully faded.

However, she seemed in excellent spirits. Her eyes shone brightly as she spoke, and her lips were constantly curved in a smile, as if she had finally laid down some heavy burden.

“Her Highness is very happy today.”

Elon spoke suddenly. One could hear that he was trying his best to conceal something, yet the glances he kept casting toward Shane still gave him away.

Shane did not reply, only taking another sip of his bean soup.

Elon turned his head to look at his expressionless face and couldn't help but add, “When she was talking to Harold just now, she asked three times if Shane was back yet.”

Shane's fingers holding the bowl paused for a moment before he continued drinking his soup as if nothing had happened.

“Later, when she heard you were sitting here on the sandy slope, she looked over here quite a few times.”

“Is that so?”

Shane's voice was very soft, and his reaction was as flat as ever.

But as Elon looked at him, a complex feeling he couldn't quite describe suddenly welled up in his heart.

He knew his princess's temperament.

Alicia von Augustus might appear highly approachable on the surface, able to chat with anyone, but in reality, she kept a very precise scale in her heart.

Toward the guards, attendants, and common folk, she was always perfectly gentle and proper, leaving no room for fault, but she also never crossed that boundary.

Just like the way she addressed Shane—from “Mr. Leynas” to “Leynas,” and then suddenly changing it to “Shane” over the last two months—it sounded close, but Elon could see that it was still the Imperial Princess's customary method of closing the distance when managing interpersonal relationships.

But today was different.

When she was carried out of that breach by Shane today, Elon had been standing not far away and had seen the momentary expression on her face with absolute clarity.

It was a complex look he had never seen on the princess's face before—somewhat self-conscious, with a touch of indefinable innocence.

Especially when she stood up; although her posture was upright, she had to pause for a second after standing straight before she could transform back into the familiar Imperial Princess.

Elon hadn't said anything at the time, only burying all his doubts deep in his heart.

But now, as he looked at Shane quietly sipping his soup on the sandy slope, and then at the Imperial Princess laughing so brilliantly under the firelight, those suppressed emotions bubbled up once more.

Shane was a necromancer, an exile. Even though he had now accumulated a great deal of merit, and half of this oasis had been built up by him using bones and magic, that identity label would never be stripped from him.

The Empire's attitude toward necromancers would not completely change because of a few trees, and the Magical Council's scrutiny could return at any moment.

And Her Highness, even if she had been exiled here, was still of the Imperial royal bloodline, the Emperor's daughter, and the legitimate lord of this land.

These two lines should not intertwine too deeply.

Elon cast his eyes down. The turbulent thoughts in his heart were ultimately suppressed by him. Out of his recognition of Shane, he said nothing, but he still secretly drew a line in his mind.

“Elon.”

Shane's voice suddenly rang out, interrupting his thoughts.

“Hmm?”

“Your bean soup is spilling.”

Elon looked down. Sure enough, because he had been so lost in thought, the bowl in his hand had tilted sideways, and the warm broth was already spilling over the rim onto his hand.

He hurriedly adjusted the angle of the bowl in a flurry, letting out a low, vexed curse.

Seeing his flustered state, Shane's lips twitched as if he wanted to laugh, but in the end, he didn't. He looked down and took another sip of his own bean soup, his gaze drifting casually toward the bonfire.

Then, his movements paused. At some point, Alicia had stood up from the wooden crates and was walking toward the sandy slope with a clay cup in hand.

Her pace was neither hurried nor slow, but her eyes were locked onto Shane. Across the distance of half the camp, those violet eyes shone brilliantly in the firelight.

Shane instinctively set his bowl down and sat up a bit straighter.

Watching this unfold from the side, Elon quietly wiped his soup-soaked hand on his clothes, tactfully picked up his own bowl, stood up, and moved a few paces away.

When Alicia reached Shane, she stood still for a moment.

Then, she offered the clay cup forward, her tone light: “Here, have a drink.”

Shane looked at the clear amber liquid in the clay cup. The aroma of fruit wine was subtle, carrying a hint of the sweet and sour scent of seabuckthorn.

“Your Highness, I don't really drink.”

“Just a little, as a gesture.”

As Alicia spoke, she didn't wait for him to agree and shoved the cup directly into his hand. When her fingertips brushed against the back of his hand, they carried a warmth from the bonfire, lingering a fraction of a second longer than a normal hand-off.

Shane looked down at the clay cup pressed into his hand, then looked up at the princess standing before him.

Her face was slightly flushed under the glow of the firelight.

But she had no intention of sitting down, just standing there with one hand on her hip in a casual posture.

“About today...”

Alicia spoke suddenly, but stopped halfway. She looked down at her toes, then raised her head again, offering a smile that was much more relaxed than her usual ones.

“You did well.”

For some reason, Shane felt that the princess's expression and tone carried a meaning entirely different from the words she spoke.

But he said nothing. He simply held the clay cup and took a sip. As the fruit wine went down his throat, it was unexpectedly smooth rather than harsh, leaving a sweet and clean aftertaste.

“It tastes good.”

He evaluated briefly.

Hearing these words, a spark suddenly lit up in Alicia's eyes, her smile deepening a bit more. She nodded, turned around, and walked back toward the bonfire, her steps much lighter than when she had arrived.

Shane watched her departing figure, the clay cup in his hand still holding the warmth from when she had handed it to him.

He took another sip, the corners of his mouth curving slightly.

Standing a few paces away, Elon took in the entire scene. He looked down at the bowl of bean soup in his hand, which had already mostly cooled, and sighed silently.