Thoren woke from his slumber and stretched lazily, his spine arching as his body adjusted to consciousness.
A series of dry, cracking sounds echoed from his joints, sharp and oddly satisfying in the stillness of the abyss.
He exhaled slowly and rubbed the back of his head, blinking as he tried to gather his bearings.
For a brief moment, his mind was blank, suspended between sleep and wakefulness.
Then memories surged back in a flood.
Norman.
The ambush.
The killing.
After killing Norman and his men, Thoren remembered climbing onto the broad, chitinous back of a Level 8 Scorpion Skeleton and ordering it forward.
He had traveled deep into the abyss without stopping, driven by instinct and caution rather than any clear destination.
He had traveled for several hours before exhaustion finally forced him to rest.
At the time, he had believed he was still relatively close to the town, far enough to be safe, but not so deep as to invite unknown danger.
Now, as he looked around, he realized just how wrong that assumption had been.
Thick fog surrounded him on all sides.
It rolled across the ground in heavy waves, pale and dense, swallowing everything beyond a few steps.
The air felt damp and cold, clinging to his skin like a second layer of clothing.
Even his perception, sharpened far beyond that of ordinary people was useless here.
He narrowed his eyes and tried to peer through the fog, focusing his senses.
Nothing.
The mist devoured sound, sight, and distance alike.
"Where am I?" he muttered aloud, his voice sounding strangely muffled, as though the fog itself were absorbing it.
He stood up slowly and scanned his surroundings again, trying to piece together any landmark or familiar terrain.
But no matter how he looked, the scenery refused to give him answers.
After several minutes of futile effort, he let out a quiet breath.
"Forget it."
Shaking his head, he decided not to dwell on it any longer.
Worrying without information would only dull his mind. Whatever this place was, he would learn its nature soon enough.
"Let me see my stats," he said calmly.
A translucent blue panel unfolded before his eyes.
[Name: Thoren Starfall]
[Occupation: Necromancer]
[Rank: Iron]
[Level: 9 (2000/7500)]
[Attributes: Strength 14, Agility 10, Constitution 10, Intelligence 14, Perception 12, Charm 12]
[Spirit: 25.45]
[Skills: Undead Summoning, Bone Manipulation]
[Talent: Ex-Rank Undead Space]
[Sub-Talent: SSS-Rank Soul Lantern of the Eternal Crypt]
[Abyss Market: Unavailable (Available at Bronze Rank)]
[Attribute Points: 25]
[Inventory]
"Huh… I still need close to six thousand experience to level up."
He pressed two fingers against his temple, eyes narrowing slightly as he calculated.
The requirements were steep, but not unreasonable, not considering how quickly the abyss rewarded killing.
His gaze shifted to one particular number, and a slow grin tugged at the corner of his lips.
Spirit: 25.45
As a necromancer, Spirit was everything.
It determined how many undead he could summon, how long they could persist, how precisely he could control them, and how much strain his soul could endure.
Without sufficient Spirit, even the strongest necromancer would collapse under their own power.
"Not bad," he murmured.
His attention then moved to the unused attribute points.
Twenty-five.
A quiet thrill ran through him.
"It's time to power up."
Charm was the first attribute he dismissed.
"I don't need Charm," he muttered, shaking his head. "Inside the abyss, who would even care about that?"
Without hesitation, he began allocating his points.
[Strength 14 → 20 (+6)]
[Agility 10 → 14 (+4)]
[Constitution 10 → 14 (+4)]
[Intelligence 14 → 20 (+6)]
[Perception 12 → 17 (+5)]
[Attribute Points: 0]
The effect was immediate.
Warmth flooded his body, spreading from his chest outward like liquid fire.
It felt as though he had been submerged in a natural hot spring, every muscle loosening, every ache dissolving.
Fatigue vanished.
For a fleeting moment, an illusion took hold of his mind, an intoxicating sense that nothing in this world could withstand his strength, that he could crush stone and bone alike with a single strike.
Then, slowly, the sensation settled.
His body returned to a stable state, but the changes remained.
Beneath his clothes, his muscles felt denser, more compact, coiled with latent power. Even his breathing felt steadier, deeper.
He rose to his feet and jumped down from the back of the Level 8 Scorpion Skeleton.
Bang!
His feet struck the ground, leaving behind a deep footprint carved into the hardened earth.
Thoren glanced down at it and nodded.
"Impressive."
Satisfied, he opened his status window again.
[Name: Thoren Starfall]
[Occupation: Necromancer]
[Rank: Iron]
[Level: 9 (2000/7500)]
[Attributes: Strength 20, Agility 14, Constitution 14, Intelligence 20, Perception 17, Charm 12]
[Spirit: 25.45]
[Skills: Undead Summoning, Bone Manipulation]
[Talent: Ex-Rank Undead Space]
[Sub-Talent: SSS-Rank Soul Lantern of the Eternal Crypt]
[Abyss Market: Unavailable (Available at Bronze Rank)]
[Attribute Points: 0]
[Inventory]
He closed the panel and checked his inventory next.
Over three thousand copper coins.
Most of it came from the corpses of those who had tried and failed to kill him.
"As long as I reach ten thousand copper coins," he murmured, his eyes firm, "I can repay my parents' debt."
That debt had never once left his mind.
It was the chain that anchored him, the reminder of who he was before the abyss, before necromancy, before blood and bone.
It was why he refused to become anyone's pawn, why he rejected offers and schemes alike.
He would survive on his own terms or not at all.
"Now," he said quietly, "it's time to reshuffle my undead army."
His consciousness slipped into the Undead Space.
Bone and shadow stretched endlessly before him.
Skeletons lay scattered across the domain, silent and obedient.
Each one represented a life taken, a victory earned. Killing Federation officers and assassins sent by the Slave Trade Guild had yielded powerful additions.
He began organizing them, assigning names for clarity.
[Assassin Number One – Level 10]
[Assassin Number Two – Level 10]
[Archer Number One – Level 9]
[Warden Number One – Level 8]
Lower-level human skeletons remained unnamed, aside from the six elite Ace Skeletons.
He didn't bother with the rest.
With two Level 10 assassin skeletons, one Level 9 archer skeleton, and a Level 8 warden skeleton, his core force was already formidable.
His undead army was growing stronger by the day.
He also possessed numerous beast skeletons ranging from Level 7 to Level 9, but they lacked flexibility.
Beast skeletons excelled in frontal combat, raw power, brute force, but human skeletons were far more versatile.
Defense.
Stealth.
Coordination.
During the previous battle, Warden Number One had blocked multiple sneak attacks and deflected deadly arrows with its shield. That alone had proven its worth.
Even if he could summon a Level 9 skeleton at will, doing so recklessly would only strain his Spirit and reduce efficiency.
Strength without control was meaningless.
Now, he possessed more than five distinct professions within his undead ranks.
In time, this force would evolve into a full-fledged battalion.
Satisfied, Thoren withdrew his consciousness.
He stood still for a moment, listening to the quiet hum of the fog.
When he moved again, it was with purpose.
"If I want to fight the Federation and the Slave Trade Guild head-on," he muttered, stepping forward, "I need to reach at least Level 15."
He wasn't delusional.
He knew his current limits.
Power was not something gained overnight, no matter how talented he was.
He needed numbers.
He needed levels.
He needed time.
And so, he walked deeper into the fog.
"Slave Trade Guild," he whispered, his eyes burning with cold vengeance, "wait for my return."
The mist swallowed his figure completely.
What Thoren did not know was that he had already entered uncharted territory…one of the most terrifying regions within the abyss.
A place where only awakeners above Level 10 had even a chance of survival.
Even then, death was common.
Only the strongest among the awakeners dare to enter.