The first thing Akira noticed when he woke up was the cold. It wasn’t the kind that seeped into your bones after a night spent outside—it was deeper, more absolute. A chill that didn’t just touch his skin but clung to something deeper, something beneath flesh and blood.

He took a sharp breath, expecting pain, expecting exhaustion. Instead, his body felt… fine. No hunger, no thirst, no aching muscles. Just the cold.

He sat up.

The world around him was gray and lifeless. Gravestones stretched in all directions, some cracked and weathered, others newer, their inscriptions still legible. A light mist rolled over the uneven ground, curling around the bases of tombstones like ghostly fingers. The sky was an endless stretch of dim twilight—no sun, no stars. Just an oppressive, heavy gray.

Akira frowned. Where am I?

Then, the memories came.

A knife.

The sensation of cold steel slipping between his ribs, the dull pressure before the pain set in. The gasp that tore from his throat, the way his body had locked up, hands trembling as warmth spilled down his side. A streetlamp overhead, flickering. Footsteps fading into the distance.

Betrayal.

He had trusted them. He wasn’t naive—he knew better than to put faith in others so easily—but he had miscalculated. He thought he had leverage. He thought they needed him.

He was wrong.

The last thing he remembered was lying on the pavement, staring up at the night sky, realizing just how insignificant he was in that moment.

Then… nothing.

Now, he was here.

Then, a voice echoed in his mind.

[You have awakened.]

It wasn’t a sound. More like a thought placed directly into his head, impersonal and calm.

He stiffened. “Who said that?” His voice came out steady despite the unease creeping up his spine.

No answer.

Just as he was about to dismiss it as his imagination, something new appeared before his eyes. Not physically—more like an imprint on his vision, words forming in the air.

[Fate has abandoned you. The Cycle rejects you. You do not belong.]

A cold knot formed in his stomach. What the hell does that mean?

Before he could process it, more words appeared.

[You have been granted the System.]

[Your existence is now your own to shape.]

His breath came slower now, controlled. A system? That sounded familiar—like something out of a game. But this was real. Too real.

More text appeared.

[Initial Skill Acquired: Raise Undead]

[A body is required.]

Akira lowered his gaze.

Just a few feet away, partially buried in loose dirt, was a corpse.

It was fresh.

And something inside him stirred.

The dirt around it was loose, as if it had been hastily buried. The body was intact—no visible decay, no scavengers having picked at it yet. A young man, probably in his twenties, with an expression frozen in fear. His clothes were torn, stained with blood. Whoever he was, he had died violently.

Akira clenched his fists. He had no idea where he was, no idea what this System truly was, but one thing was clear: he had been given a power.

And it wanted him to use it.

He took a slow breath, pushing aside his hesitation. If he had been reborn—or whatever this was—then the rules of his old life no longer applied. He couldn’t afford to hesitate.

“What now?” he muttered.

The words answered him.

[Skill: Raise Undead]

[A body is required. Do you wish to proceed?]

Akira exhaled.

Let’s see what this does.

He reached out toward the corpse. The moment his fingers brushed the cold flesh, something shifted. A sensation unlike anything he had ever felt before surged through him. It wasn’t warmth, wasn’t energy—it was absence, an unnatural void that pulled at something unseen.

The air grew heavy. The mist thickened.

Then—

The corpse twitched.

Its fingers flexed. Its chest rose, taking a breath that no longer belonged to it.

Then, slowly, it sat up.

The young man’s eyes snapped open, but they weren’t human anymore. The pupils were gone, leaving only a dull, lifeless gray. His expression was empty, devoid of thought or recognition.

Akira stepped back instinctively, but the undead did not move beyond that first motion. It remained still, waiting.

Then, the System’s voice echoed in his mind again.

[Undead Raised.]

[Lesser Thrall Created.]

Akira let out a slow breath. “Lesser Thrall… does that mean there are stronger versions?”

No response.

He studied the undead carefully. It wasn’t rotting, at least not yet. The body seemed mostly intact, though the way it sat—stiff, unnatural—made it clear that this thing was no longer human.

A thought occurred to him.

“…Stand up.”

The undead obeyed.

Akira narrowed his eyes. So it follows commands.

Then another thought surfaced, darker this time.

He glanced around. The graveyard was silent, desolate. If he had been dumped here after dying, then it stood to reason that others had been too.

His gaze drifted back to the fresh dirt around the thrall’s grave.

“…How many more are buried here?”

The mist swirled at his feet, as if answering his question.

And for the first time since waking up, Akira felt something close to a smile.

Akira exhaled, glancing around the graveyard. The mist clung to the air, thick and heavy, obscuring the distant edges of the tombstones. If this place truly held more bodies, then his power had just become a lot more valuable.

But first, he needed to understand its limits.

He turned back to the undead standing before him. The thrall remained motionless, awaiting his command. It didn’t breathe, didn’t twitch—not even the faintest shift of expression. Whatever this thing had been in life, it was now nothing more than a puppet.

Akira stepped closer. “Follow me.”

The thrall obeyed instantly, its movements jerky but functional. Not mindless, but… lacking grace. As if something was still adjusting inside its body.

Good enough for now.

Akira knelt beside the disturbed grave. The loose soil suggested the burial was recent. If there were other fresh bodies nearby, they might be just as well-preserved. That meant more potential thralls.

“Let’s test this properly,” he muttered, scanning the area.

The graveyard stretched further than he first assumed. Rows upon rows of uneven, worn-down markers spread in all directions, some barely legible. Yet among the older, forgotten graves, a handful stood out—newer, with dirt just recently turned.

Fresh burials.

Akira’s fingers curled. His instincts told him that survival in this new world wouldn’t come from kindness. He had been betrayed once before. Left to die. He wouldn’t make the mistake of being weak again.

And power, no matter how grotesque, was still power.

The first grave was easy enough to open. The dirt was loose, making it more a matter of effort than skill. As he worked, his thrall stood idle, watching without thought or will.

Then, after minutes of digging, his fingers scraped against something solid.

He cleared more dirt away. Another body.

This one wasn’t as fresh as the first, but it wasn’t skeletal either. Decomposition had begun, but only just. The corpse’s clothing was still intact, its face recognizable—though pale and sunken.

Akira wiped the sweat from his brow and reached out.

[Skill: Raise Undead]

[A body is required. Do you wish to proceed?]

“Yes.”

The moment his fingers touched the corpse, the same cold void-like sensation coursed through him. The air thickened, and the mist around him swirled as if something unseen had stirred.

The body convulsed.

Then, just like before, its eyes snapped open. A second thrall.

[Undead Raised.]

[Lesser Thrall Created.]

Akira studied it carefully. It looked… slower. Less responsive than the first.

So condition matters.

He glanced between his two creations. The first thrall, taken from a fresh corpse, moved with relative ease. The second, slightly decayed, was sluggish, its posture more rigid.

That meant quality was something he’d have to consider. If he wanted a proper force, he couldn’t just raise any corpse—he needed usable ones.

He looked around.

The graveyard stretched onward, countless buried dead waiting beneath his feet.

Akira exhaled slowly. This place… it’s an opportunity.

He clenched his fists.

And I’m not going to waste it.

Akira worked methodically, moving from grave to grave. Each fresh mound of dirt held the promise of another thrall, another tool for his survival. Some corpses were too old, their flesh too degraded to be of use. Others were recent, their bodies still intact, still viable.

He learned quickly.

The fresher the body, the stronger the thrall. Older ones were sluggish, barely more than mindless husks. And though each undead followed commands without question, there was no sign of intelligence—no initiative, no instinct. They were obedient, but not useful beyond what he told them to do.

Still, numbers had value.

By the time he finished his grim task, five thralls stood before him. Some fresh, some not. None living, none thinking.

Akira studied them. This is real.

No denial, no pretending this was some fevered dream. He had died, been abandoned by fate itself, and now? Now, he had something that no ordinary man should have.

He clenched his fists. So be it.

A soft chime echoed in his mind.

[Title Acquired: Gravewalker]

[You have raised five undead.]

[The dead follow your will, but true mastery is earned. Continue walking this path.]

A title? That was new.

He didn’t feel stronger, but the wording intrigued him. True mastery is earned. Did that mean there were stronger undead? Could he improve his control over them?

No answer.

Just silence, just the graveyard mist curling at his feet.

Akira exhaled and turned his attention back to his undead. “Spread out. Search the area.”

The thralls obeyed, shuffling away in different directions. They moved awkwardly, but at least they could follow simple instructions. That meant they could scout, act as a distraction if needed.

He needed more information.

Where was he? Why had he been dumped in this graveyard? And—more importantly—who had buried these bodies?

Because if there were fresh corpses here…

Then that meant someone had put them here recently.

And that someone might be coming back.

—

Elsewhere…

A lantern flickered in the night.

Two figures moved through the dark, their cloaks heavy against the damp air. The man in front—tall, broad-shouldered—walked with purpose, his boots crunching against dead leaves. The one behind him, smaller, thinner, kept glancing around nervously.

“This is a bad idea,” the smaller man muttered.

The taller man didn’t stop. “We need to check.”

“The boss said to wait.”

“The boss isn’t here.”

They crested a hill, the graveyard stretching before them. Mist clung to the ground, shifting unnaturally. The smaller man shivered. “I don’t like this place.”

The taller man’s grip tightened around his lantern. His other hand rested on the hilt of a knife. “We buried them here. We make sure they stay buried.”

He stepped forward.

And in the distance, deep within the mist—

Something moved.

Akira’s thoughts were interrupted by the sudden sound of shuffling feet. He turned, expecting to see one of his thralls returning from their assigned tasks, but what he saw instead froze him in place.

At the edge of the graveyard, where the mist thickened and the moonlight barely reached, two figures had emerged.

One was tall and broad-shouldered, moving with purpose. The other was smaller, more jittery, eyes darting back and forth. They were both cloaked, their faces hidden in shadow. But the air around them felt tense, charged. They were here for something.

Akira’s first instinct was to retreat into the shadows, but the thrill of curiosity held him in place. He couldn’t afford to be seen—not yet, at least. If these people were from the world outside this graveyard, they might have answers. Or they might be threats.

His eyes flicked to his thralls, who had now returned to stand behind him like obedient statues. He quickly weighed his options. Could they help? He didn’t think so—not yet. They were far too weak. But they could be used to buy him time or act as a distraction.

He barely breathed, watching the figures as they drew closer, their footsteps slow but deliberate.

“What do you think?” the smaller man whispered to the other.

“Keep moving. We don’t have all night,” the taller man growled, his voice deep and commanding. He was clearly the leader.

Akira felt a small spark of annoyance. They don’t even know I’m here, yet they’re already treating the place like it’s their domain.

He clenched his fists and quickly assessed his position. He could make a run for it, but the graveyard was vast and filled with twisting paths and gravestones. If they had already entered it, there was no guarantee he’d find a safe exit without drawing attention.

His mind spun, weighing the risks and benefits. He could approach them, confront them directly and demand answers—or he could use the thralls. But if they were as powerful as they seemed, using the undead could be too risky.

The taller man’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Get the lantern closer. We’re almost there.”

The lantern swung low, casting a faint glow on the fog-draped ground. The air grew even thicker, the mist swirling unnaturally around them, almost as if it had a life of its own. Akira narrowed his eyes, sensing something amiss.

Then, with a jolt, the first figure stopped.

“What is that?” The tall man’s voice was low, alert.

Akira’s pulse quickened. They had seen something—his thralls.

The smaller man hesitated, then pointed to the dark figures in the distance. “There. They’re not moving like normal people.”

The taller man’s grip tightened on the knife at his side. “Stay behind me.”

Akira cursed under his breath. The last thing he needed was to be discovered by two strangers who were clearly prepared for trouble. But if they were already aware of his thralls, there was little he could do to avoid their attention now.

The time for running was over.

With a deep breath, Akira stepped forward, his voice carrying through the mist. “What are you doing here?”

The two men froze, their heads snapping in his direction. The tall one squinted, the light from the lantern glinting off his knife. “Who’s there?” he demanded.

Akira’s heart pounded in his chest, but he stood his ground. The System had given him power. And if these men were going to threaten him, he was prepared to use it.

“Come out and show yourself,” the tall man repeated, his voice sharp.

Akira took a step forward, allowing the mist to part just enough for his figure to become visible. The lantern light caught the edges of his silhouette. “I am the one asking questions here. What business do you have in my domain?”

The taller man’s eyes narrowed. “Your domain?” He looked to his companion. “Is this some kind of joke?”

The smaller man shifted nervously, glancing at the thralls standing motionless in the background. “They… they’re just standing there. Do you think they’re…” He trailed off, fear creeping into his voice.

Akira smirked, allowing a hint of amusement to show. “They are nothing more than my servants. And if you don’t answer me, I’ll make sure you join them.”

The taller man gripped his knife more tightly, stepping forward. “I don’t know who you are or what you think you’re doing here, but this is not your territory.”

The air between them thickened, tension building.

Akira’s gaze hardened. “Then you’ll regret stepping into it.”

Before he could finish the thought, the taller man lunged.

In that split second, Akira’s instincts flared. Without thinking, he raised his hand.

“Stop him.”

The first thrall, the fresher one