My life ended in the dim hallway of a near-empty hospital—no hand to hold, no tear to mourn, no one to whisper goodbye.
My name was once Alaric Veyron. Just an ordinary man who had worked himself to the bone, sacrificing years for a company that, in the end, cast me aside like garbage. They framed me in a scandal I had no part in. I lost my job, my reputation, and what little reason I had to keep breathing.
I thought death would be the end.
But I was wrong.
As my heart gave its final beat, I felt something… strange. Not fear, not pain, but a pull—gentle, almost soothing. Like darkness itself had reached out to embrace me.
And then—I woke up.
But not in any world I knew.
The first thing I noticed was the cold earth beneath my back, the damp air thick with the stench of rot and decay. A wind cut through the silence, but it didn't bite. Not on skin. For I had none.
I opened my eyes—and the world was no longer human.
A gray sky loomed above, cloaked in mist. Dead trees clawed at the heavens like desperate hands. The ground around me was littered with bones, brittle and cracked.
And when I looked down…
"What the hell…?"
Or tried to say. The voice that left my mouth was hollow, raspy—like a whisper dragged from the grave.
My hands… were skeletal. Pale, dry bones with jagged fingers. My chest was exposed ribcage, bound by a faint, otherworldly light. There was no heartbeat. No breath. No blood.
My body was dead.
And yet—I lived.
A disembodied voice echoed in my mind, mechanical and cold:
> [Welcome, Entity: Azrael]
[Species: Greater Lich – High-Tier Undead]
[Initial Class: Necromancer of the Abyss]
[State: Complete Resurrection – Full Memory Retention]
[Skill Integration Available]
"…Azrael?"
Not my name. And yet… when it echoed in my mind, it felt strangely familiar. As if… it had always belonged to me.
Had I… reincarnated?
But why this form?
Lich. The word echoed with weight. I remembered it from games and fantasy novels—a skeletal sorcerer, master of death magic, an enemy of the living. But I felt no hunger for blood. No thirst for vengeance. Only… a hollow calm. And curiosity.
I sat up slowly, scanning the landscape. Not far from where I awoke stood the ruins of an ancient fortress. Crumbling walls, weathered stone, and in its center, a stone altar pulsing faintly with arcane light.
Was this… where I was reborn?
I stepped closer. The moment my bony fingers touched the altar, visions surged into my mind.
A sorcerer. Old, desperate, broken. A torn cloak. Blood offerings. A forbidden ritual. He had tried to summon a servant—one strong enough to destroy his enemies. But something went wrong. His body crumbled mid-ritual, and the magic took on a will of its own.
It summoned me.
But it failed to bind me.
"No master," I whispered. "I'm… free."
The voice returned.
> [Unique Skill Unlocked: Soulbind Sanctuary]
[Effect: Raise undead with intact souls. Undead retain personality, memory, and true loyalty.]
[Warning: This ability violates Divine Law. Likely to be labeled heretical by Holy Orders.]
I looked to the mist-covered sky.
I didn't understand the laws of this world yet—but one thing was clear:
I was an anomaly.
And anomalies… tend to be hunted.
Footsteps echoed from the east. Through the fog, I spotted silhouettes—armed humans. Adventurers, from the looks of their gear and weapons. They moved cautiously, torches raised, eyes sharp.
They were looking for me.
I could run. I should. But just as I turned to retreat, a faint sound reached me.
A whimper. Weak. Shaky. From behind a collapsed wall.
I followed it, stepping through broken stone and ash. There, huddled in the dirt, was a small figure—a young goblin, barely clinging to life. His chest was slashed open, breath shallow, eyes glazed with fear.
He looked up at me—and trembled.
"P-please… don't kill me…"
His voice was barely a whisper. He tried to crawl back, but his limbs gave out.
I froze.
To adventurers, goblins were just pests. Easy kills. Lootless exp. But this one… was shaking like a terrified child. Like someone who knew death was already inches away.
"I won't hurt you," I said softly.
Or tried to. My voice still rasped like the dead, but… somehow, he stopped retreating.
I knelt beside him. My hand extended, hesitating. I had no idea what I was doing, but something instinctual took over. Magic flowed from my hand—not dark, not cursed. But healing.
A gentle, pale-blue light enveloped the goblin's wounds. Slowly, the gash began to close.
The system chimed again.
> [Behavior Logged: Anomalous]
[Liches are not meant to use restorative magic]
[Evolution Path Shifted – New Potential: "Undying King"]
[Title Updated: "Lich" → "Azrael the Benevolent"]
I stared at the goblin. His breath evened out, his fear dulled. He couldn't speak, not yet—but I saw it in his eyes. Confusion. Hope. Awe.
He didn't see a monster.
He saw… something he couldn't explain.
The adventurers were getting closer now. I could hear them speaking.
"The summoning circle is still active!"
"Be on guard! Could be a high-tier undead!"
"If we can't destroy it, collapse the ruins!"
I looked down at the goblin again. He would not survive if they found him.
And… I couldn't let him die.
I made my first decision in this new life.
My fingers danced in the air. A glyph formed—a circle of mist. Thick fog rolled in, cloaking the ruins. Then, with a simple wave, I opened a hidden passage beneath the altar—an ancient escape tunnel.
Lifting the goblin gently in my arms, I descended into the dark.
"If this world hates beings like me," I whispered, "then I'll build a place for those it casts aside."
The darkness swallowed me whole.
Above, the world returned to its endless cycle of ignorance and fear.
But beneath, in the shadows…
A new king had awakened.
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