Chapter 2 Unearthing The Dead

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.

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