Evolving My Undead Legion In A Game-Like World - Chapter 519: The Situation Of The World [2]

Chapter 519: The Situation Of The World [2]

Lily’s two friends—who had been so giddy just moments ago—shifted uncomfortably. Their excitement dimmed, and they glanced at one another guiltily.

Next year would be their first awakening attempt. They’d talked about it endlessly, fantasizing about soaring straight into power.

But cultivation?

They had always brushed it aside.

It was hard. It was boring.

Day after day of slow breathing methods, long hours of body training, straining to move even a fraction of an inch forward. And for what?

Sure, cultivation gave strength… but aside from that, what did it do in daily life? None of them had ever heard of cultivators landing glamorous jobs. The best they could picture was becoming a bodyguard.

And if you failed to enter a cultivation academy, wasn’t that the end anyway?

So they had quietly agreed: better to save their energy and pin their hopes on awakening. At least that carried the chance of something great.

Now, hearing the professor’s words, both of them squirmed in their seats. His calm voice cut through their childish reasoning with ruthless precision.

As for Lily… she sat with her arms folded, expression cool.

She had been the same as them. Just as lazy. Just as dismissive.

Until her brother awakened.

Michael hadn’t asked her opinion. He hadn’t let her continue to waste time on excuses. He had shoved cultivation resources into her hands, and forced her to endure the long hours of training she had once sneered at.

At the time, she had hated it. Every second of it.

But now, listening to the professor’s words, she realized something: without Michael’s heavy hand pushing her forward, she would have been no different from the friends beside her.

Maybe even worse.

Darius gave a short, uneasy laugh and leaned back in his chair.

“Professor… I have to admit something. We’re guilty of this too. Despite our age, neither Selene nor I are even official knights. We trained for a while in our youth, but when we didn’t qualify for any academy, we put cultivation aside completely.”

Selene offered a wry smile, her expression soft but tinged with embarrassment. “Yes… that’s true. We both assumed it was normal. Most people who don’t get into academies do the same. It never seemed like a problem.”

Professor Veylin’s expression didn’t shift. His gaze was steady, calm, but his words carried weight.

“I understand,” he said gently. “You’re not alone in that. Most people, when the door of an academy closes, simply put cultivation aside. For many, it feels natural, even reasonable. But this habit has led to a steady reduction in the number of active supernaturals across the years.”

His eyes narrowed faintly, his tone tightening with an edge of gravity. “If I am being honest, this approach has its merits. It ensures that those who do reach the higher stages are truly qualified, not wasting resources on the unfit. But—” his voice dipped lower, deliberate, “—as the years go by, the overall number of supernaturals has been steadily dropping. And that is… worrying.”

The camera lingered on his expression. His words seemed to stretch across the airwaves, seeping into living rooms, cafeterias, and roadside diners alike.

Selene’s brow furrowed, her curiosity sharpening. “But, Professor—why? Why should the decline worry us? From what we can see, aside from the dimensional cracks—places that need clearing of monsters—there’s little need for so many supernaturals, is there? Not everyone is meant to be a fighter, after all. Most citizens live normal lives without ever needing such power.”

Darius nodded in agreement, his eyes glinting as he leaned toward the professor. “Exactly. We’ve been taught to view supernaturals as… specialists. Guardians of cracks, guardians against disasters. But those incidents don’t happen every day. To the average person, life goes on quietly. Why, then, should more supernaturals be necessary?”

The question hung in the air, pressing down on the studio like a stone dropped in a still pond.

Professor Veylin’s eyes flickered, the faintest shadow crossing them. His lips parted slightly, as though he were weighing how much truth to reveal.

Inside, however, he almost laughed—though it would be bitter and hollow.

These children… these reporters… they speak as though the world has always been this quiet. As though “dimensional cracks” are the beginning and end of all dangers. They don’t know.

Unlike most liberal college professors, Alaric Veylin had walked the path for real. Once, decades ago, he had entered a cultivation academy. Barely. He had clawed his way past the entrance threshold, only to stagnate year after year.

His talent was too low, his progress too slow. While others advanced to brilliance, he remained mired. Eventually, he left the academy in shame.

Now, he was old. At his peak, he had managed to step into the elite stage of knighthood—an achievement, yes, but one far too small for the burden of the times.

The public believed that supernaturals were just guardians of cracks and monsters. But history told another story.

History whispered of what happened when ordinary society became too enamored with the supernatural. When admiration curdled into worship… and worship into arrogance.

Supernaturals had once declared themselves above the common folk. Better. More deserving. They demanded tribute, privilege, reverence. And when society resisted, they split. The proudest, the darkest of them became something else entirely: demonic supernaturals. Those who saw normal life as meaningless before their power.

That age had ended in blood. But the stain had never truly washed away.

That was why Veylin himself belonged to the faction in the Federation that resisted public exposure. In his heart, he believed the ordinary people had no business peering too far into the supernatural world. The more they involved themselves, the more the supernatural would involve itself back—and history had proven how badly that ended.

But even he could not ignore the truth: the worries from beyond the realm were growing too heavy. The pressure of foreign powers, the whispers of devouring forces pressing against the edges of Aurora. If the Federation did not increase its strength—if more young supernaturals did not rise—then when the worst came, their world would be nothing but prey.

He smiled faintly at the reporters, his face calm, his tone gentle. But beneath it, his thoughts were steel:

You want to know why more supernaturals are needed? Because if we do not grow stronger, all of Aurora will be eaten alive.