The Adventurers' Guild of Millbrook—so the city was called, according to a sign—was exactly what Mark expected: a stone-and-wood building with a quest board, a bar serving alcohol, and a bunch of muscular guys staring at him like he was an insect.
"Home, sweet home."
He approached the counter, where a middle-aged woman with a permanently bored expression greeted him.
"New registration or renewal?"
"New registration."
She sighed, as if that answer personally offended her.
"Name, class, and known skills."
"Mark. Necromancer. One skill: Wake Up."
The silence that followed was so thick it could've been cut with a knife.
The receptionist stared at him. Nearby adventurers stared at him. Even the guy vomiting in the corner stopped vomiting just to stare.
"Necromancer?" the woman repeated, disbelief heavy in her voice.
"Yes."
"Are you aware necromancy is… frowned upon?"
"So I've been told."
She studied him for a long moment, as if deciding whether he was stupid, suicidal, or both.
"Listen, kid. I don't care what you do in your free time. But if you cause trouble with your… skills… the guild won't protect you. Understood?"
"Understood."
"Good."
She pulled out a form and started filling it in with mechanical movements.
"Starting rank: F. Available quests: herb gathering, rat extermination, package delivery. Pay: pocket change. Any questions?"
"Are there any dungeons nearby?"
The receptionist raised an eyebrow.
"Dungeons? Kid, you're rank F. The closest dungeons are rank D at minimum. Going in there would be suicide."
If only you knew.
"Just curious," Mark said, accepting the adventurer plate she handed him.
It was copper, with an "F" engraved in the center—the symbol of his insignificance.
"Welcome to the guild," the receptionist said without enthusiasm. "Try not to die."
Mark stepped away from the counter, looking for a quiet place to sit and plan his next move. He found a table in a dark corner—perfect for someone who wanted to go unnoticed.
"Okay. Current situation: I'm a rank F necromancer in a world that hates necromancers. I've got a rank SSS zombie warrior hidden in my shadow. And I need to level up without drawing too much attention."
It was a complex problem. But Mark had spent thousands of hours optimizing builds and strategies in videogames. This wasn't that different.
"First: information. I need to know how the rank system works, how leveling works, and what dungeons are available."
"Second: resources. I need money for food, lodging, and gear. Rank F quests are garbage, but it's a start."
"Third: discretion. No one can know about Ely. If they find out I've got an undead rank SSS, I'll be dead before I can say 'it was a misunderstanding.'"
"Ely," he murmured quietly. "Can you hear me?"
A voice answered directly in his mind, as clear as if she were beside him.
Of course, Master. I am always listening.
"That's… mildly disturbing. But useful."
"I need you to tell me everything you know about the dungeons in this region. Difficulty levels, monster types, rewards."
With pleasure, Master. The nearest dungeon is the Shadow Wolf Cave, classified as rank D. It contains mainly lesser beasts and some low-level undead. The next is…
Mark listened intently as Ely recited information she clearly had memorized from her time as an adventurer. It was like having a walking encyclopedia devoted exclusively to him.
"This could work."
"I can use Ely to clear dungeons while I hang back, collecting experience and loot. No one has to know I'm not doing the real work."
It was a coward's plan. Dishonest. Completely lacking in personal merit.
It was perfect.
"Ely," Mark said. "Tomorrow we're going to the Shadow Wolf Cave."
Tomorrow, Master? Would you not prefer to rest first?
"No. The sooner we start, the better."
As you command. I will be ready to protect you with my life… or what remains of it.
Mark smiled. It was small, almost imperceptible—but genuine.
"Maybe this world won't be so bad after all."