Leon’s new zombie stands motionless at his side, alert and ready. Warrior class. It still grips the mantis blade, its edge slick with drying green.
Leon runs a system check with a flick of thought:
[Summon: Warrior Zombie]
[Level: 1]
[Class: Warrior]
[Weapon: Mantis Blade]
[Abilities: Cleave, Guard, Adapt]
[Obedience: High]
[Intelligence: Moderate–can process and combine multiple simple commands]
He studies the zombie closely, testing its responsiveness.
"Guard the entrance."
The creature moves at once, blocking the only exit with its blade raised. It’s more than just a puppet, there’s a calculation in how it scans the shadows, the blade shifting to extend its reach. Leon nods, impressed.
His previous zombies have been awkward and jerky, their minds barely functioning. This one feels... closer to human. Not in appearance—its face is frozen, half-rotted, and its eyes glow a faint blue—but in how it interprets his intent. He steps left, and the zombie mirrors him, consistently positioning itself between Leon and any potential threat.
He tries another command: "Pick up that pouch."
The zombie complies, scooping the coin pouch from the ground and waiting for his next instruction. Quick. No hesitation.
Leon sifts through the rest of the loot, sorting as he goes.
Enchanted bracers—too bulky. He tosses them aside.
A spare mana crystal—into his pocket.
A broken sword is useless.
He strips away anything worth more than a handful of coppers and stashes the rest, ensuring nothing ties him to the scene. There’s no point in giving the guilds a trail to follow.
Kneeling behind a fallen pillar, he pulls up his system window. The blue script shimmers:
[Level: 4]
[XP: 76/100]
[Stat Points Available: 3]
[Current Summons: 3/3]
[Inventory: Coin pouch, Manna rings, Throwing knives, Manna crystal, Ares Guild badge]
He weighs the mantis core in his palm, its faint glow pulsing softly. He could evolve the zombie now, give it the mantis’s blade arm and perhaps unlock new skills. But he feels drained and too exposed. If the upgrade fails—or worse, backfires—he’ll be left alone with nothing but empty manna and a rising body count.
Leon sets his jaw and slides the core deep into his pack. Not here. Not now. He’ll wait for safer ground—somewhere he can manage the fallout.
His thoughts turn to longer-term plans. If this works, if he keeps stacking upgrades and adapting every summon, maybe F-Rank won’t mean bottom-feeder forever. Maybe he can build something the guilds can’t ignore. Or control.
He closes the window and rolls his shoulders, wincing as soreness flares in his arm, a bruise blooming purple from elbow to wrist. The room feels colder than before. No more monsters. No noise—just a heavy, unnatural hush after so much violence.
Leon pauses at the door, his senses on high alert. His zombie follows, silent but watchful. The corridor beyond stretches empty—not even a rat scurries through the cracks. Every footstep echoes too loudly.
He moves slowly, checking every corner, his eyes flicking back to the chamber. The absence of danger feels wrong—like the dungeon holds its breath, waiting for someone else to bleed. He replays the fight in his mind, analyzing his steps and mistakes, recalling the feel of the blade biting into bone and the faces of the dead. He locks it all away, piece by piece.
At the exit, he pushes open the heavy door, which swings shut behind him with a resounding, final thud.
The last stretch is even colder. Shadows stretch long in the corridor, with no sound but his boots on stone. He keeps the zombie close, scanning for signs of life—another monster, or worse, a second ambush.
Nothing. The dungeon is spent, emptied of everything but echoes.
Light glimmers ahead—dull at first, then brighter as he nears the surface. The cold fades, replaced by weak, dying sunlight.
Leon steps out into the open, battered and blood-spattered, the taste of metal still sharp on his tongue.
A guard stands at the checkpoint, spear in hand, eyes wide as saucers. He gapes at Leon as if he’s seen a ghost.
"You ... you actually made it out alive?"
Leon lets the silence answer, dust and blood gleaming in the last light of day. He keeps moving, never looking back.