The roar echoed through the stone corridors, shaking loose a curtain of dust from the ceiling cracks, and Mark pressed himself flat against the wall on instinct, holding his breath.
Think, think, think.
His only skill was "Wake Up," and when he focused on it, a description materialized in his mind:
[Wake Up - Level 1]
Type: Basic Necromancy
Effect: Partially revives a corpse, though the target does not regain consciousness or free will.
Cooldown: 1 hour.
Limit: 1 target.
"Great. I can make zombies—dumb zombies that last an hour, one at a time—so I'm basically useless."
Another roar.
Closer this time.
Mark weighed his options: stay still and hope whatever that thing was passed by, or move and look for an exit. Neither sounded particularly attractive.
That was when he noticed it.
The smell.
Not just damp and mold—something else underneath it. Something his new body seemed to recognize on a level that bypassed conscious thought entirely.
Corpses.
A lot of them.
He started forward carefully, hugging the shadows, and realized his new eyes handled darkness better than his old ones ever had. Shapes materialized from the gloom where before there would have been nothing.
The first body appeared after a bend in the corridor.
A man—or what was left of one—in shredded leather armor, a rusted sword still clutched in his hand. Dead for days, maybe.
The stench was strong but not unbearable.
An adventurer, Mark thought, noticing the metal tag at the man's neck. Rank E.
He kept moving.
More bodies.
Two, five, ten.
All adventurers. All dead violently. Some frozen in expressions of sheer terror, others looking almost peaceful, like death had caught them completely off guard.
"What the hell happened here?"
The corridor widened gradually into a broad chamber, and there, in the center, he found his answer.
It was big.
Very big.
A mass of rotting flesh and fused bone that barely fit inside the room, with multiple arms jutting out at impossible angles—some human, others definitely not. No distinct head, only a gaping opening at the top that might've been a mouth.
It was asleep. Or at least it seemed that way.
Its wet, bubbling breathing filled the chamber like a broken bellows.
"Nope, nope, nope, nope."
Mark started backing away, slow and deliberate, calculating each step to avoid noise—
And then he saw her.
Among the scattered corpses, one stood out.
A woman.
Her armor, unlike the rest, gleamed even in the darkness—silver, etched with intricate designs that screamed master craftsmanship. Her long, snow-white hair spread around her like a halo, framing her face.
She's beautiful, Mark thought, before immediately feeling guilty for thinking that about a corpse.
But something else caught his attention.
Something his veteran-gamer instincts recognized before his brain even finished processing the image.
That armor wasn't Rank E. Not Rank D. Not even Rank A.
"That's legendary gear. What is someone with legendary gear doing dead in a trash dungeon like this?"
Curiosity beat common sense—it always did—and Mark approached slowly, keeping one eye on the sleeping monster.
Up close, he noticed the details.
The breastplate section of her armor was missing, leaving the chest area open and oddly vulnerable, replaced instead by a vivid red collar-like ornament. The sword still in her hand gave off a faint glow that suggested serious enchantments.
And around her neck—
[Adventurer Plate]
Name: Elyndra Ashford
Rank: SSS
Class: Holy Knight
Mark blinked.
Read it again.
Then a third time, just to be sure.
"Rank SSS. Triple S." He stared at her. "How the hell does someone Rank SSS die in a place like this?"
He inspected her body more carefully, searching for the cause.
No visible wounds. No blood. Nothing.
As if she had simply… stopped.
Then he saw it.
A small empty vial still clutched in her left hand, its label worn unreadable—though the symbol was unmistakable.
A winged skull.
Poison. She poisoned herself. By accident? Mixed up the vials?
The irony was almost poetic.
The most powerful adventurer in the dungeon hadn't been defeated by the monster.
She'd been defeated by her own stupidity.
"Well. At least she died more pathetically than I did." He paused. "That's… comforting, I guess."
Mark looked at her body.
Then at the sleeping monster.
Then back at her body again.
An idea was forming.
A terrible idea. Morally questionable. Probably suicidal.
But also the only one he had.
Wake Up only works on corpses. They don't regain consciousness or free will, but… what if the corpse belonged to someone ridiculously powerful? Would it keep its stats? Its skills?
It was a gamble. A massive one.
If it worked, he'd have a Rank SSS warrior as his personal zombie.
And if it didn't—
Well.
He'd already died once.
How bad could dying again be?
"Here we go."
Mark extended his hand over Elyndra's body, focused on his only skill, and whispered:
"Wake Up."
The energy flowed from his hand like icy water, sinking into the lifeless body beneath him. He felt his mana reserve—apparently he had one—drain almost completely from that single spell.
For a moment, nothing happened.
"Shit. It didn't work. I knew it was too good to—"
Elyndra's eyes opened.
Blue.
A blue so intense and deep it looked unnatural—like liquid sapphires lit from within.
And they were fixed directly on him.
Mark froze.
Couldn't move.
Couldn't speak.
The woman's body sat up in one smooth motion, unnaturally graceful, with none of the stiffness or clumsiness a corpse had any right to have.
She moved like she'd never been dead at all.
"Oh, shit. Oh, shit, shit, shit."
[Summon Successful]
Name: Elyndra Ashford
Status: Undead (Partial)
Loyalty: Absolute
Stats: [VIEW DETAILS]
He opened the details with a thought—and what he found nearly made him faint.
Strength: 9,999
Agility: 9,999
Endurance: 9,999
"Max stats. MAX FUCKING STATS. How is that even possible?"
Before he could finish processing it, another window appeared:
[Congratulations! You have reached Level 2]
[New Skill Unlocked: Consciousness Modification (Lv. 1)]
"Consciousness… what?"
[Consciousness Modification - Level 1]
Type: Advanced Necromancy
Effect: Allows you to alter the memories and base personality of an undead under your control.
Changes are permanent.
Use: 1 time per target.
Mark read the description three times.
Then he looked at Elyndra, standing motionless in front of him like a statue, waiting for orders.
I can change her personality. Her memories.
The implication was disturbing.
Very disturbing.
And also… tempting.
She's dead, he reminded himself. Technically she isn't a person anymore. She's an animated corpse. She doesn't have real consciousness. She just… follows orders.
But that wasn't entirely true, was it?
Wake Up said targets didn't regain consciousness—but "Consciousness Modification" implied there was something there to modify.
"This is ethically questionable at best."
The monster shifted in its sleep. A low growl. The floor trembled.
"But it's also my only chance of surviving."
Mark made a decision.
A decision that would probably damn him to hell, if hell actually existed.
He focused on Consciousness Modification and aimed it at Elyndra.
Memories: She knows me. She has always known me. I'm her… her master. The necromancer who saved her from death. The most important person in her life.
Personality: Loyal. Absolutely loyal. Devoted. Protective. And…
He hesitated.
What he was about to add crossed a line. A very clear, very important line.
And in love. Madly, obsessively in love with me.
Energy surged—stronger, deeper. He felt the skill activate, felt the changes carve themselves into whatever remained of Elyndra's mind.
When it was over, she blinked.
And for the first time, her expression changed.
A smile.
Small, almost imperceptible—but definitely a smile.
"Master," she said, her voice soft and melodic, like the word had been waiting to leave her mouth. "You finally awaken."
Mark swallowed hard.
What did I just do?
"I was so worried," Elyndra continued, stepping closer. "When I found you unconscious in this dungeon, I feared the worst. But I knew you would be fine. My master is always fine."
She thinks I saved her. The modification worked too well.
"Uh… yeah," Mark managed, scrambling to keep his composure. "I'm fine. I just… needed to rest for a moment."
"Of course, Master. The journey here must have been exhausting."
Her eyes shone with a devotion so complete it was almost uncomfortable to look at directly.
Like staring into the sun—except the sun was unconditional worship.
This is wrong. Very, very wrong. And also exactly what I needed.
That was when the monster woke up.
The roar hit like a wall, a sound that seemed to come from every direction at once. Its many arms thrashed wildly, searching for the source of the disturbance.
Panic seized Mark before he could even think—
But Elyndra was already moving.
It was beautiful.
In a terrible, bloody sort of way—but beautiful.
Her sword cut the air with a whistle, trailing a ribbon of golden light.
The monster's first arm hit the floor before it could register the attack.
The second followed an instant later.
Then the third.
Then the fourth.
In under ten seconds, the thing that had made Mark's blood run cold was reduced to a trembling pile of meat, too broken to fight back.
"Would you like me to finish it, Master?" Elyndra asked—in the same calm tone she might use to ask about the weather.
Mark stared at her.
Then at the monster.
Then back at her.
I just created a weapon of mass destruction that's in love with me. What kind of person am I?
"Yes," he said—because what else was there to say? "Finish it."
The final blow was mercifully quick.
Her sword drove through what might've been the monster's heart, and it collapsed with one last pathetic groan.
[Victory!]
[Experience Gained: 500]
[You have reached Level 3]
Mark stared at the notification.
He had died. Been reborn in another world. Revived a legendary heroine and rewritten her mind from the inside.
And now he'd killed a dungeon monster without lifting a single finger.
My old life was garbage, he thought. But this… this might actually work.
Elyndra stepped toward him and wiped her blade clean with practiced ease, like she'd done it ten thousand times.
"Where to now, Master?"
Mark looked down the corridor leading out—toward the exit, the outside world, the complete unknown.
"Out," he said. "Let's see what kind of world this is."