The undead returned to Eleres, carrying two chunks of flesh caked with blood and dirt. Following the system's guidance, it began the slow process of reconstructing his body. Kneeling on the ground, the undead embedded each bloody fragment into the torn musculature of Eleres' chest, dark energy pulsing from its fingertips.
Suddenly, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed from the distant mist.
Eleres' pupils contracted. His nerves, though not yet healed, instinctively tensed.
Through the dense fog, a six-man squad emerged like specters. Their cloaks fluttered in the wind, footsteps in perfect sync, eyes sharp and alert. The captain at the front caught sight of the royal insignia on Eleres' shattered armor and rushed forward, voice filled with relief:
"Your Highness! You're alive! Thank the stars—we'll escort you back to the capital immediately!"
Eleres instinctively tried to speak—but before he could utter a word, a cold flash of steel sliced through the air.
"You talk too much."
A longsword pierced through the captain's chest from behind, the blade erupting from his sternum in a spray of blood.
His eyes still held the glimmer of joy and disbelief, but that hope faded as the sword slowly withdrew, replaced by agony and fury. His body collapsed forward, landing heavily at Eleres' feet, blood soaking into the earth.
In just two heartbeats, death had arrived.
The vice-captain roared and reached for his sword—but before he could react, one of the traitors lunged like a predator. The dagger flashed upward from below, slicing through ribs and shattering collarbone. The vice-captain's body went rigid, pinned to the ground before he could even fight back.
"Bastards!" shouted one of the loyal soldiers, drawing his blade and charging into a deadly duel. Steel clashed with steel, sparks flew, and blood spilled. The two men locked in a brutal, close-quarters brawl. In a final violent clash, both fell simultaneously, their lifeless bodies crumpling into the dirt.
The air fell eerily still. Only the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps remained.
In the haze of dust and death, two figures still stood.
One, shoulder drenched in blood, smiled cruelly, seemingly unfazed by his gushing wound. The other, cold-faced, his sword still dripping red, stood motionless and silent.
"Well, well, Prince Eleres," the wounded one sneered, licking his cracked lips, voice full of malice. "You really are hard to kill."
Eleres struggled to move, but his body was still mid-reconstruction—he couldn't even scream.
"Don't worry. We'll make sure you don't suffer too long—"
BANG!!
Before he could finish, a mangled, pale hand burst from the mist and clamped down on his skull like a steel trap.
CRACK!
Eleres watched as the traitor's neck twisted violently. His head drooped sideways, eyes frozen in shock and mid-sentence.
The undead had returned.
But this time, its movements were more savage, more vicious—like a death god risen from the abyss.
The second traitor gasped and tried to draw his blade, but he was too slow. The undead lunged like a beast, claws tearing through armor, fingers hooking into his heart. With a screech of agony, the man was shredded into a cloud of gore.
Both bodies dropped near Eleres, twisted and broken beyond recognition.
He looked up at the undead's hollow, lifeless eyes—and for the first time, he felt something unexpected.
A sliver of peace.
Because this was the power he had summoned.
The wind still howled as it swept through the charred mountain path, stirring up dust and scorched debris. Torn cloaks fluttered violently in its wake. The sky was as dark as if it were about to collapse, and the dying sun had long been swallowed by the clouds. Between heaven and earth, only pale gray and blood-red shadows remained, interwoven in silence.
Eleres stood motionless, eyes deep and steady, gazing through the battlefield outline shown by the undead's vision. His face was unreadable, but a firm decision had already taken root in his heart.
[Current mission progress: Flesh Fragments 100/100]
[Mission Complete.]
[Six complete corpses detected. Initiating transformation process...]
[Overcompletion detected. Bonus progress +20%]
[Flesh reconstruction in progress...]
The next moment, a cold and familiar chill surged from his chest.
It was the power of the system—the price of his rebirth.
Under the undead's manipulation, the six corpses rapidly rotted, dissolved, and liquefied into black-and-red energy. The morbid current flowed steadily into Eleres's body, like sacrificial offerings to a corpse-forging altar. His skin shimmered with a ghostly black light, and his wounds began to stitch together visibly, as if an invisible hand were threading his flesh back into place. His bones cracked and shifted, rebuilding themselves like a craftsman reforging broken steel.
The once-collapsed, mangled chest began to rise again—reformed muscle fibers overlapped like tempered armor. His shattered spine reconnected, and nerves that had long gone numb sparked to life as blood surged anew.
[Flesh Reconstruction Complete]
[Physical Status: Combat-Ready]
Eleres opened his eyes. The bloodshot weariness was gone—replaced by a calm sharpness. He slowly clenched his fist, feeling power return to his grasp. This wasn't the refined technique of a nobleman, but something raw, primal—a beast awakened from the depths.
He lowered his gaze.
—His skin had regained its tone, now pale yet resilient.—The torn muscles were whole again; even breathing felt stronger.—Though his armor remained in tatters, his body, once on the verge of collapse, had been reforged through death itself.
He stood at the edge of the battlefield, one foot on scorched soil, the other sunken into a pool of blood.
The wind carried fragments of burned armor into the air.
The undead stood silently behind him, wearing his former face—now hollow, expressionless, as lifeless as the grave.
And yet, the one standing here was no longer the prince who once wore that face.
Just then, the system's voice echoed once more:
[Level Up: Necromancer Lv.1]
[Skill Slot Lv.1 Unlocked. Please choose one of the following skills:]
① Undead's eyes : Observe distant areas through the eyes of undead.
② Flesh Stitching: Rapidly heal wounds.
③ Summon: Wisp: Summon a floating scouting spirit.
The interface shimmered in his mind, cold and direct. Eleres's pupils contracted slightly; his breath paused almost imperceptibly.
—Time to choose.
His gaze shifted between the three skill options, each word etched with weight. His expression grew more serious with every second.
Flesh Stitching was the most practical. His body, though reconstructed, still ached. Muscles remained stiff. A self-healing ability would greatly improve his survivability—even during ambushes, he could recover and counterattack.
Summon: Wisp offered strong tactical utility. An intangible spirit capable of scouting ahead would be invaluable in unknown ruins or collapsed zones. It could detect traps, probe enemy positions, and explore safely.
But the one that truly made him hesitate… was Vision of the Dead.
This skill had no offensive power. It couldn't save his life in a pinch. But it allowed him to see—to view the battlefield through the undead's eyes, scout enemy positions, and control the flow of a fight.
"If I choose Flesh Stitching now, I might survive this moment," Eleres thought grimly. "But what about the next ambush? The next shadow in the mist?"
He didn't want temporary survival. He wanted a future—one carved out with his own hands in this war-torn wasteland.
"I can't only look at what's in front of me."
His eyes hardened.
He was not alone. He had the undead. And used wisely, they would become his second sight—his blade in the dark.
He murmured decisively:
"Option One. Vision of the Dead."
[Skill Confirmed.]
In that instant, his consciousness twisted sharply. His vision shifted—his soul leaping through the ether into the undead's eyes.
The gray-blue world unfolded before him. The mist parted. The mountain path stretched out like a map.
He saw:
—A faint figure lurking in the distant trees.—Tracks left by enemies along the roadside.—A narrow hidden trail leading out of the mountain.
Every detail, vivid and crisp, fell into place.
Eleres slowly opened his real eyes and whispered:
"To survive… you must first see."
He rose, body still weak, yet no longer burdened. Some deeper force now carried him forward.
He did not look back at the corpses behind him. Because the battlefield was not the end.
It was only the beginning.