The Skeleton Warrior

My flesh was enveloped in a black mist, rotting away in an instant to reveal a yellowed skeleton.

At the same time, a voice filled with shock echoed from behind me.

“U-Undead transformation...? I heard that only a select few chosen necromancers could turn their own flesh into the undead...!”

Malton stared up at me with wide eyes, but I had no time to pay attention to him.

As I squeezed the orb with my bony hand, a chilling warning message flashed before my eyes.

Regret? Why is this thing so talkative?

Ignoring the warning, I squeezed the sphere even harder.

Taking on an incurable, eternal curse was reckless to the extreme, but it wasn't an act without reason.

It was because of the description that had popped up when I first swiped the orb from the ghost ship.

This orb has the effect of strengthening the undead...!

This was because Andira was both a hotbed of all kinds of black magic and the god of the messengers who governed death.

Of course, no sane person would use a sacred relic so rare that it could temporarily bind a pureblood dragon just to buff a single undead minion.

Furthermore, in the game, transforming into the undead usually resulted in an instant "Game Over" screen, leaving no opportunity to test this. However, the Andira Cult's cursed orb was a frequent topic of speculation on the community forums.

If ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a player transforms into the undead themselves and then uses the Andira Cult's orb, wouldn't they be able to bypass the debuffs and only absorb the buffs?

And just how strong would that buffed undead be?

It was time to put those rumors to the test.

But I didn't have the luxury of leisurely watching the transformation unfold.

The moment the slowly cracking orb finally shattered, a monstrous wave of agony hit me, and my vision was dyed blood-red.

“Arghhh!!”

A horrific pain surged through me.

It felt as if my soul were being shattered into a thousand shards of glass.

A sensation as if someone were violently hacking away at my very spirit.

Had Malton been enduring this on a regular basis?

I thought I wouldn't feel pain after turning into an undead...

No, this wasn't mere pain.

Emptiness, disillusionment, loneliness, anger, regret.

Remorse, despair, grief, thirst, terror.

It was an agony that felt like the curses of countless dead souls being branded onto my spirit.

The curse of the god Andira was far more than just a simple hex.

“Guaaaah...”

After the indescribable wave of pain washed over and toyed with my entire body, I quickly regained my senses and checked my status.

Fuck... what kind of curse is this... First, the most noticeable change is...

My body felt light.

I could feel that the undead-specific debuffs, which had restricted my movements like shackles, had completely vanished.

Not only that, but power surged through me as if I had just awakened from a long slumber.

I felt like I could take on a whole horde of monsters right now.

I felt like I could ruthlessly cut down worthless humans and quench my thirst with their blood without feeling a shred of guilt.

And...

“Ah, ah... My voice is coming out properly now...”

“Y-you...”

“I'll go ahead, so follow me. Let's deal with these bandits first.”

I dashed forward without waiting for Malton's reply.

The mercenaries, who had been pushed into a corner, were starting to look like they were in real danger.

Drawing my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠cutlass, I headed toward the rear of the bandits who were locked in combat. A few of them spotted me and shrieked.

“A-A skeleton!!”

“Why is a skeleton popping out in a place like this?”

“Did it just spawn naturally...? Wait here. I'll go take care of it.”

One of the bandits swaggered over.

I could tell he was looking down on me from his smug, careless expression.

He swung his sword with all his might, but—

He has no experience fighting the undead.

I stared at the approaching blade with a look of sheer ridicule.

What was the reason I had struggled so much when dealing with the skeletons on the ghost ship?

A simple slash does not work on a skeleton.

Screeech!

“W-Why is it slipping like this...!”

As the blade slid harmlessly off my bones, the panicked bandit swung again. But I didn't even bother to block; I simply stepped forward and took the blow with my body.

A combat style that only a skeleton, devoid of flesh and blood, could pull off.

Not sacrificing flesh to sever bone, but sacrificing bone to sever flesh.

“Tsk... I suppose ruining my clothes can't be helped.”

“W-What...?! A skeleton is talking?!”

“Die.”

While the bandit's sword was caught between my ribs, I ripped through his abdomen with the tip of my curved cutlass.

Plunging the blade deep with my enhanced strength, I twisted my wrist and yanked it back out, dragging his long intestines along with it.

The bandit next to him locked eyes with me, paled in terror, and hurriedly swung his sword, but—

*Slash!*

I deflected the sword and sliced through his forearm with the edge of my blade.

An attack thrown out in blind panic was nothing short of pathetic.

Did they really think they wouldn't be the ones hunted?

...What is this?

For a brief moment, an unpleasant emotion writhed inside me like maggots.

“How laughable!!”

Even when fighting monsters, there was a fierce battle of wits where lives hung in the balance.

Even a lowly kobold knew how to throw away its life like straw, burning with absolute resolve.

Yet humans, who prided themselves as the lords of all creation, were reduced to this pathetic state.

Where had that iron-blooded fighting spirit, that shining pride they boasted of, gone?

“Farcical!”

I laughed mockingly and swung my cutlass.

With every swing, the agonizing screams of the bandits erupted.

Whenever the sword-light flashed, blood splattered and pooled inside my hollow eye sockets.

My entire body was painted crimson with the blood of my enemies.

There was no need to think about complex swordsmanship or tactics.

Because right now, I was a skeleton.

...How pathetic.

Even if they were bandits, they weren't highly trained assassins.

In pre-modern societies, the majority of bandits were commoners who engaged in farming or milling before temporarily straying from the path of law.

There was no way people whose only tactics were blocking carriages with fallen trees or launching ambush attacks with superior numbers had ever encountered a monster like me.

As I ruthlessly slaughtered the bodies before me, the bandits shrieked and shouted.

“This fucking crazy undead!! It's no ordinary skeleton! Everyone, watch out!!”

“Silver! Does anyone have a silver weapon?! Or someone who can use holy power!”

“F-Fire!! They say undead are afraid of fire, so let's use this!”

A bandit swung a torch he held in one hand, looking as if he had just come up with a brilliant master plan.

“Farcical! Did you think a mere candle like this would work on me?!”

I was a man who had returned from a fire that burned down an entire building!

*Crunch!*

I bit down on the torch, extinguishing it. As the embers flickered outside my hollow eye sockets, the bandit's face turned pale.

“How farcical!”

I laughed arrogantly like a Death Knight, slicing through the necks of the bandits.

With every haughty swing of my cutlass, fresh corpses piled up and rolled across the ground!

An undead swordsman build... maybe it's worth seriously looking into...

Just like in reality, all swordsmanship in Velheim was based on the principle of defense.

In this place, where every hardcore element imaginable was crammed together, even a top-ranked player could lose their life to a stray swing from a complete novice.

Therefore, all swordsmanship—at least, the swordsmanship of humans with fragile skin and limited regeneration—was fundamentally designed to protect the user while cutting down the enemy.

But now that I had cast off the limitations of a fragile fleshly body, I could employ a far more aggressive style of swordsmanship.

Taking minor blows directly with my bones, and using the time I would have spent dodging to plunge my blade even deeper—a miraculous trade of damage!

An undead's swordsmanship, pushing forward purely on the offensive without a shred of fear or hesitation!

“Kahahahaha! Laughable!! Farcical, truly farcical!!”

“This fucking crazy undead!!”

“H-How is a skeleton speaking human tongue...”

“That hostility...! That swordsmanship...! It's... it's no ordinary skeleton!!”

““A-A Death Knight!!””

“...Hmm?”

*You bastards have clearly never seen a real Death Knight before.*

I let out a dry chuckle.

If Orgilrian had heard them, he would have snorted and shown them what a real Death Knight was, but he wasn't here.

Though, considering the shock the bandits were experiencing right now, such a misunderstanding was understandable.

As I approached, blood dripping from my entire body, the terrified bandits shrank back.

Realizing they couldn't face me with just a few men, they racked their brains and managed to form a crude line.

Did they plan to surround and launch a coordinated attack once I got close?

In that case, shall I try using that?

As I gestured in the air, white flowers began to sprout from the field.

Flowers that glowed beautifully, bathed in the soft moonlight.

But their true nature was nothing short of horrifying.

Flowers made of human finger bones—Bone Flowers.

At the center of each flower, bloodshot eyes snapped open, glaring at the enemy.

“O flowers of consolation for the dead, strike down those who disturb your rest... Bloom!”

With a sharp *snap*—like the flintlock of a musket—I snapped my fingers, and the bone flowers exploded, showering the bandits.

A hideous distortion of mana, bone fragments tearing through the battlefield, and screams blooming in full force.

Having experienced the dark magic of the undead for the first time in their lives, the bandits fled in utter panic, but...

“Do you think you will find peace where you run?”

With another snap of my fingers, an even more intense storm of bones swept over them.

A spell designed for absolute slaughter, with no safe zones or distinction between ally and foe.

I laughed wildly as I watched the bone fragments burst in every direction.

This was the moment where the experience I had gained while researching magic during my days of raising a necromancer alt account truly shone.

I had to make the most of it while I could cast magic freely under the influence of the evil god's orb.

Huh? Why the mercenaries?

Puzzled by the log, I looked back toward the carriages and saw the mercenaries staring at me with their swords held awkwardly.

Their eyes were filled with intense confusion.

A monster? Should we help it or not?

It's killing the bandits, so maybe it's not an enemy...?

But strictly speaking, that skeleton looks way more evil!

“Well, whatever! Farcical! Farcical! Kahahaha!!”

“Fuck!! Why is a crazy undead like that roaming around in a field like this?!”

“I-It's karma! Heaven is punishing us...! We're all going to die...”

While the demoralized bandits scrambled to find a way to survive, a subtle, discordant sound tickled my skull.

While everyone else was trying to get away from me, a presence was quietly approaching, brushing past the grass.

The distinct aura of a strong warrior.

I laughed heartily and blocked the longsword with my cutlass. The face of the man who had attempted the ambush contorted.

“You finally show yourself, mercenary captain! ...Or should I call you the bandit leader now? Lord Richman!”

“...I don't recall having an undead as an acquaintance.”

“And I don't recall hiring bandits as escorts either. Isn't that right?”

“...Could you be!”

“Let's end the small talk here.”

*Crunch!*

Laughing boisterously, I stepped forward with my bony foot. The mercenary captain's longsword, which had been aimed at my chest, slid right in.

The sharp blade tore through the place where my heart used to be, but it sliced through nothing but cold air.

The mercenary captain was momentarily flustered, but he immediately pulled his sword back to counter.

He's a master...!

His strength, agility, and reflexes were all superior to those of the ordinary bandits.

His swordsmanship, which utilized the structure of the long blade to defend and attack simultaneously, was textbook.

After all, being able to defend and attack at the same time was one of the most powerful characteristics of a sword.

He certainly hadn't become the leader of a bandit group for nothing.

“Ho... You! You certainly know how to handle a sword! Did you learn that at some third-rate swordsman guild?”

“You crazy undead bastard...!! How on earth did you disguise yourself as a human?! For three whole days!”

“I'll tell you once you die and become my minion. I'm sure you'll find it fascinating!”

“...Fuck, you parentless monster!!”

Richman let out a rage-filled roar and swung his sword.

I inwardly admired his response as I continued my slashes.

With every clash of our blades, sword-light flashed and killing intent erupted.

I met his incoming slashes with my own blade, binding and deflecting them.

And when a strike rushed in from an unexpected angle?

“Kahahahaha!!!”

“Ugh?!”

Instead of blocking, I lunged past his sword path and thrust my cutlass forward, piercing his iron gauntlet. Crimson blood seeped through the chainmail.

The mercenary captain grimaced in pain and stumbled backward.

The more he did, the harder I pressed him.

“Farcical!!!”

Slashes! Blood! Skeletons!

The brutal and fierce exchange of swordsmanship.

A banquet of eerie, blood-dripping trajectories.

Mixing killing intent into every step, every breath.

A sneer past the sparks. A strike past the thunder.

I slashed and slashed again!

Until my joints shattered!

And for attacks that lacked weight?

I'll take them with my body!!

Bursting into an arrogant laugh, I thrust my head forward, and Richman's panicked sword was blocked by my bones.

A rib broke under the heavy longsword, but what did it matter?

Right now, I was a skeleton.

One who had risen from death to walk the mortal realm.

A mere scratch on a decaying body of hollow bones was nothing but a triviality.

“Kahahahaha! How delightful!! Mortal! Entertain me more!!”

“Urgh...!! This crazy undead...!!”

“Are you starting to lose your strength? Your movements have grown sluggish.”

“Cough...?!”

At the split second our figures crossed, I channeled magic into my left hand and pressed it against the mercenary captain's abdomen.

As I softly chanted the spell, a sickening *crack* echoed, and the mercenary captain's bones twisted and ruptured outward.

It was a fatal wound; dark red blood spilled from his mouth.

In an instant, the mercenary captain was pushed to the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠brink.

With the situation turning against him, Richman drew a dagger and attempted a desperate, decisive strike.

Just as I was about to take the pathetic blow with my body—

—...!!

A sudden, chilling sensation washed over me.

Like a warm flame crawling up my bones...

I quickly moved my feet to dodge, and a shimmering white aura at the tip of the dagger caught my eye.

“A dagger imbued with holy power...! Impressive!”

“...”

“It seems that was your trump card! ...But what will you do now?”

“Dammit...”

Richman spat out bloody saliva, glaring at me with eyes full of hatred.

This really makes me feel like the villain!

However, I had no choice but to keep a close eye on him with a different level of caution than before.

As expected, those who have rolled around in real combat can't be underestimated.

No matter how much I was buffed by the Chaos skill and the orb, it was difficult to bridge the gap in levels and experience accumulated over the years.

The opponent was a mercenary who had survived for decades in this brutal dark fantasy world, and he was skilled enough to lead a whole bandit group.

Thanks to his lack of experience fighting the undead, I was holding my own, but now that he had pulled out a holy dagger, blindly rushing in might end up backfiring on me.

However, with the moon at my back, I laughed casually and sheathed my sword.

“Is it already that time... What a pity.”

“Time is up...? What on earth...”

“Kahahahaha! You will live the rest of your life regretting that you didn't die by my hand today!”

“...What does that mean?”

“What do you think it means, you dimwitted mortal? Exactly what I said.”

After all, the scariest thing in this place wasn't a clownish skeleton, nor was it a holy dagger.

Just as the mercenary captain furrowed his brow in confusion, a dark shadow materialized behind him.

“O elven mortal! You are late! Come, grant this man his eternal rest!”

“...”

Malton, now freed from his curse, severed Richman's tendons with a slightly displeased expression.