The Ritual Begins
The blue glow of the System screen flickered, casting an eerie light across the room.
Leon stared at the new command window that had appeared before him.
[Summoning First Undead… Please Stand By.]
His breath slowed.
Then, the temperature dropped.
A chill crawled up his spine as the room darkened, the edges of the walls seeming to blur. The single candle flickering on his desk flickered violently, then snuffed out, plunging the space into shadows.
Something was happening.
A strange pulling sensation spread through his chest, as if something deep inside him was being tugged forward.
Then, the ground changed.
A circular summoning sigil etched itself into the floor, pulsing with veins of deep blue light. The patterns shifted and twisted like living ink, expanding outward beneath his feet.
Wisps of black mist seeped into the room, curling around his legs, coiling through the air like unseen hands reaching out from the abyss.
Leon shivered.
This wasn't like any summoning he had read about.
Then, the mist began to rise.
A shape formed in the center of the circle, slowly emerging from the void.
Leon braced himself.
His Expectations vs. Reality
Every necromancy textbook described zombies as the lowest form of undead. They were slow, mindless, and barely stronger than normal humans.
That was what he was expecting.
Something grotesque. Rotting. A decayed corpse shambling forward with empty eyes.
What emerged… was not that.
A hunched figure pulled itself from the mist, its tattered cloak fluttering as it fully materialized. It wasn't a rotting corpse or a disfigured monstrosity—it had form.
Leon's gaze locked onto its eyes.
Not empty. Not lifeless.
But glowing—pulsing with eerie blue light.
The creature straightened slightly, its thin, clawed fingers twitching at its sides. Strange arcane symbols glowed faintly on the back of its hands, etched into its dark, leathery skin. The air around it shimmered with faint mana residue.
Leon's heartbeat quickened.
This wasn't a mindless corpse.
This thing was aware.
The realization sent a shiver through him.
System Notification
A soft chime rang in his ears.
[Zombie Mage Summoned – Rank F]
More text scrolled across the System interface, breaking down the details of the summon.
[Summon Status]
Name: [Unnamed Zombie Mage]
Rank: F
Class: Undead Spellcaster
Skills:
Mana Bolt (Weak): Fires a basic projectile of condensed mana.
Dark Sense: Can detect mana sources nearby.
Potential: Evolvable
Leon's eyes widened.
This wasn't just an ordinary zombie—it had stats. A skillset. A class.
Normal necromancers had to rely on sheer numbers, raising weak, mindless undead that only responded to the simplest of commands.
But this thing…
It was an actual caster.
And if the System was right… it could level up.
A slow grin crept onto Leon's face.
Maybe this power wasn't trash after all.
Leon swallowed, his throat dry as he stared at the hooded figure in front of him.
The zombie stood motionless, its skeletal frame cloaked in ragged fabric that clung to its form. The only thing truly alive about it was its glowing blue eyes, flickering like distant embers in a dying fire.
They locked onto him—unblinking. Unwavering.
It was waiting.
For what?
Leon had no idea.
The silence stretched.
His pulse drummed in his ears as he studied the undead before him.
Would it even respond to him?
Most zombies were just hollow shells that followed basic instinct, requiring constant orders just to function.
Maybe he had been too hopeful. Maybe this was just another disappointment waiting to happen.
He cleared his throat.
"Uh…" His voice came out rougher than he expected. "Can you… understand me?"
The zombie tilted its head slightly, the movement unsettlingly smooth. The hood shifted just enough to reveal the outline of sharp, bony features beneath the shadows.
It didn't respond.
Leon's excitement dimmed slightly.
So it really was just another—
"Orders…?"
The voice was low, cracked like dry leaves scraping across stone. It was neither human nor entirely dead—it was something in between.
Leon's breath hitched.
It spoke.
Not a mindless groan. Not the guttural noises of a rotting corpse.
A word. A request.
A confirmation of awareness.
He felt the weight in his chest shift—from hesitation to something sharper. Something brighter.
This wasn't just some lifeless husk.
This was a real minion.
A soldier.
His soldier.
Leon exhaled sharply, excitement bubbling in his chest. He could feel it—a tiny ember igniting into something dangerous.
He had power.
It was weak. It was small. But it was his.
"Alright," he muttered, his fingers clenching into a fist. "Let's see what you can do."
Leon's eyes darted around the room, searching for something—anything—to test its abilities. His gaze landed on a stack of wooden crates in the corner, remnants of old supplies he hadn't bothered to clean up.
Perfect.
He turned back to the Zombie Mage.
"Hit those crates," he ordered, his voice steady this time. "Use Mana Bolt."
The zombie twitched, its glowing eyes narrowing slightly.
Then, it moved.
Its thin, clawed fingers lifted slowly, palm turning outward. Strange arcane symbols traced along its skin pulsed faintly, glowing in sync with its flickering blue eyes.
A low hum filled the air, faint but growing stronger.
Leon felt the mana shift around him. It was raw, unrefined magic—unstable, but powerful.
Then—
It fired.
A small, glowing projectile burst from the zombie's palm, streaking through the air like a miniature comet. The blue light cut through the darkness of the room, moving faster than Leon expected.
Then it struck.
A loud crack split the air as the bolt slammed into the crates.
Wood splintered.
Dust exploded outward.
The top half of the crate collapsed inward, a smoking hole burned straight through the center.
Leon's jaw dropped.
His mind raced, trying to process what he just saw.
That… wasn't weak.
It wasn't a flimsy attack that barely did anything.
It had precision. Power. Speed.
Zombies weren't supposed to be this fast.
Necromancer summons—especially weak, low-rank ones—were slow, sluggish things that barely responded in time.
But this?
This thing had obeyed instantly.
It hadn't hesitated. It hadn't fumbled. It had executed the command flawlessly.
Leon turned back to the undead, eyes burning with new intensity.
His summon stood still, its arm slowly lowering as the light faded from its fingertips. Its glowing eyes remained locked onto him, waiting for the next order.
Leon exhaled, his heartbeat loud in his ears.
This…
This was real combat potential.
He could command it in real-time.
And that meant—
His lips curled into a slow grin.
He could fight.
For the first time since his Awakening, the crushing weight of failure lifted.
The sneers. The laughter. The looks of pity.
The words from the recruiter, the warriors who mocked him—
None of it mattered anymore.
Leon clenched his fist.
The System wasn't a curse.
It was a gift.
And if this summon could grow stronger—if it could evolve into something greater…
Then so could he.
He could see the path forward now. It wasn't going to be easy. He was still F-Rank. Still looked down on by the world.
But that wouldn't last forever.
Tomorrow, he would test this power in the real world.
He would prove them all wrong.
And when the time came…
He would make them regret ever doubting him.