Unraveling the Secrets of the Deathborn
Leon sat in silence.
The only light came from the flickering glyphs etched into the pages of the Path of the Deathborn, casting dull purple shadows across his apartment floor. He leaned over the tome, his eyes scanning each line like it might vanish at any second.
The book was alive—not in flesh, but in presence. Every page turned like it remembered who had opened it before. The ink shifted beneath his gaze, reshaping itself when he reread certain sections. Some passages refused to stay still until he understood their intent.
This wasn't a spellbook.
It was a test.
A gateway.
A guide written for necromancers who didn't want to command the dead—but evolve them.
His fingers paused over one section. The script pulsed with soft, crimson light:
[Necromantic Evolution – The Birth of Undead Generals]Three conditions must be met:
The undead must reach a threshold of intelligence and resilience.
A mana catalyst must fuse with their soulcore.
The necromancer must prove dominance over battlefield entropy.
Leon leaned back in his chair.
This wasn't theoretical.This was his system's next threshold.
The Elite Sorcerer and Warrior Zombie had already shown signs of autonomy. He'd pushed them far. But they hadn't broken.
Not yet.
He looked at the final line scrawled in red ink at the bottom of the page:
"You do not command a General. You trust one."
His grip on the book tightened.
If he wanted them to evolve...
He needed pressure.
Real battle.
Gearing Up for the Unknown
Leon moved like someone preparing for war, not an expedition.
He cleaned his gear. Checked his gun's chamber. Inspected each round manually.
Then—he accessed the system.
[System Notification: Weapon Augmentation Available]Two slots detected.
He selected:
Necrotic Round Infusion – Bullets weaken defense over time.
Mana Overcharge – Impact triggers miniature detonations.
The gun responded immediately. The frame pulsed, blackened metal twisting inward like a beast sharpening its fangs. The rune-etched barrel throbbed once, as if aware.
Leon lifted it, aimed at the wall.
Bang.
The bullet struck—then exploded in a silent, bone-deep shockwave that rattled the furniture and blew splinters across the floor.
He lowered the weapon.
Perfect.
Now he turned to his summons.
The Elite Sorcerer and Warrior Zombie stood silently in the center of the room.
[Enhance Summon – Target: Elite Sorcerer][Upgrading to: Deathborn Sorcerer]
A pulse of raw necrotic mana surged outward. The Sorcerer's cloak unraveled and reformed in layers of animated scripture—dark runes trailing like smoke. Its skeletal frame lengthened, jaw sealed shut by a woven bone plate. Fire crackled between its fingers—arcane blue with a black core.
[Skill Acquired: Soulfire Barrage – Fires homing mana-drain projectiles]
Leon didn't smile.
He moved to the next preparation.
A Quiet Moment Before Battle
The hum of city lights faded as Leon stepped through the quiet halls of the hospital.
He kept his hood low.
No one in the above world knew what he'd done in the Black Market. And that's how it would stay.
He wasn't here for recognition.
He was here for one person.
Room 316.
He opened the door slowly.
The monitors beeped in rhythm. His mother lay still, her body thinner than he remembered. A soft blanket draped across her chest. Tubes fed her fluids. Mana IVs pulsed faintly at her bedside, keeping her body alive while her mind stayed silent.
Leon stepped in.
He didn't speak at first.
He pulled a chair closer, placed a folded envelope on the table beside her.
Inside—payment receipts. Upgrades to her care. Nutritional recovery programs. A new warding circle to protect against system drift from long-term coma patients.
"I'm almost there," he whispered.
Her breathing didn't change.
He didn't expect it to.
But he sat with her anyway, for twenty more minutes.
Silent.
Then he stood, placed a hand briefly over hers, and left without a word.
Stepping Into the Unknown
The entrance to the B-Rank Dungeon felt like the edge of the world.
Carved directly into a cliffside just beyond the city limits, the gate stood thirty feet tall—obsidian black, rimmed with red demonic script that shimmered when looked at directly.
Unlike lower dungeons, this one didn't hide.
It invited.
A line of hunters—organized, ranked, team-bound—stood in clusters nearby, finalizing strategies, sharing potions, running diagnostics.
Leon walked past them all.
Alone.
Some stared.
Most didn't speak.
A few whispered.
"A solo necromancer?""No party? He won't last five minutes.""Look at that coat—Black Market style.""He's bluffing. Just another suicide run."
Leon ignored them.
Let them think what they wanted.
He stepped toward the mana gate.
The inspector standing nearby raised a brow.
"You're alone?"
Leon handed over the token.
"B-Rank," the man muttered, scanning it. "You've cleared E and D, but this…" He exhaled. "These things think. They wait. They trap. You're not just up against muscle—you're up against memory."
Leon met his eyes. "Good."
The inspector stamped the token and gestured to the gate.
"Hope your summons are better than you look."
Leon stepped through the barrier.
First Steps into the Labyrinth
The light vanished behind him.
The moment Leon crossed the threshold, the world shifted.
The air grew heavy, like a tide pressing down on his shoulders. The walls weren't just stone—they were layered flesh, pulsing with veins of red-black corruption that moved like serpents beneath skin.
He stood on a platform of bone, suspended above a pit with no visible bottom.
He took a breath.
Even that echoed.
Then came the voice.
Not from a mouth.
From the walls.
"Another soul for the feast…"
Leon raised his gun.
The system flickered.
[B-Rank Dungeon: "Sovereign Spine"]Status: ActiveObjective: Reach the HeartSub-objective: Survive
He summoned both undead.
The Deathborn Sorcerer flared into form.
The Warrior Zombie stepped forward, now taller than before, its armor reinforced with curved spikes like ribs protecting a broken heart.
Leon nodded once.
And took his first step forward.