Undead Metamorphosis

Disguise.

An active skill of the Antagon Rune that consumes mana to temporarily alter one's appearance.

As the skill level rose, it became possible to transform into monsters as well.

Of course, I could only transform into monsters I had defeated at least once. There were also stat restrictions, meaning I couldn't pull off any childish exploits like polymorphing into a Golden Dragon and slaughtering everything in sight. But...

In a situation like this, it was incredibly useful.

"It's my first time transforming into a monster..."

I recalled the appearance of the skeleton I had defeated earlier.

Grimy, yellowed bones; pitifully scrawny arms and legs; a jaw that clattered incessantly.

Yet, for some reason, my body didn't change at all.

Strange... It was definitely on the list of available transformations.

Did transforming into a monster require some special condition?

Like having to fully immerse my mind into the monster's state of being?

Knowing Velheim, a game that obsessed over the most absurdly minute details like a total pervert, that was highly likely.

I stopped trying to merely mimic its outward appearance and instead focused on embodying a skeleton entirely.

The source of movement for a skeleton resurrected from the despairing sentence of death.

The endless craving, desire, and envy directed toward the living.

I tried to understand and fully embrace that obsession and madness for warm flesh and blood, making it entirely my own.

The cold gaze that had stared back at me from beyond those hollow eye sockets.

The moment I understood that gaze, a chaotic mixture of ugly desire and thirst—

"O walker in death, rise and walk once more."

Fwooooosh!

The moment I chanted the incantation that surfaced in my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠mind, my flesh rotted away in an instant. Before I knew it, I had become a heap of bones.

A single skeleton—weak, yet with hollow eyes that gleamed with a strange, ambitious light.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

I slowly clenched and unclenched my hand, marveling at the change.

Oh... this is amazing...

But those words didn't actually leave my mouth.

From the oral structure of a skeleton whose vocal cords had long since withered away, only the clattering, raspy cackle of a third-rate monster escaped: "Kuh-hehk-hehk-heh—!"

Back when I played the game, I used to think the developers were incredibly lazy for making monsters emit such cliché cries. But experiencing it firsthand, I realized it might actually have been a highly accurate historical representation.

...I see.

So this is what happens when I transform into a monster with my current specs.

To think the debuffs would be this severe just for turning into a low-tier skeleton.

I stripped off the captain's clothes and slowly headed toward the door.

My body felt heavy and sluggish.

It felt as if I were walking along the ocean floor.

I had assumed that transforming into a skeleton would make me swift and light, but for a body lacking muscles and cartilage, I suppose this made sense.

Feeling an unexpected sympathy for the struggles of low-tier undead, I checked to make sure no one was around, then slowly opened the captain's cabin door and stepped out.

There was something I had to do before negotiating with Orgilrian and leaving the ghost fleet.

And that was...

Robbing the Lich's treasury!

My jawbone clattered as I let out a sinister grin.

It was a plan that would make the pirates, who had just barely escaped death, faint in sheer terror if they heard it!

Only someone like me, who had tempered his courage through countless misfortunes, could conceive of such an idea.

But I wasn't doing this purely out of greed.

Velheim is not a forgiving world.

Even if I sailed away right now and escaped this place, I would only barely scrape by. Using my game knowledge to hunt low-level mobs like kobolds or goblins and selling their materials would keep me fed, but that was far from enough.

In Velheim, gold and silver coins were required for absolutely everything.

Mercenaries needed money for equipment and maintenance.

Peddlers paid customs and tolls.

Bakers paid windmill and oven taxes.

Mages spent fortunes on reagents and maintaining their social standing.

Even if you saved diligently and managed to buy a house, you were taxed on the number of windows, fireplaces, and stairs it had.

Even breathing was taxed.

That wasn't a metaphor. If you failed to pay your quarterly taxes, you would either be turned into a serf or banished from the city.

If you were kicked out of the city, you might survive for a short while, but a miserable end inevitably awaited you. Without sturdy castle walls, you would be swallowed whole by a monster in the dead of night, or left completely exposed to periodic disasters like floods, droughts, or some senile, terrorist mage dropping a Meteor on your head.

In short, to survive in this world, I needed money.

And this heist would serve as my first stepping stone to adapting to this world.

If only to spend my retirement in a mansion fully equipped with air-conditioning magic.

Let's see... The vessels where the Lich stored his treasures were definitely Spanish-style galleons and carracks, right?

Even in the game, the Lich was programmed to act with a highly sophisticated algorithm and AI. A cunning Lich would naturally distribute his precious treasures and armaments across multiple ships in case the flagship sank.

And identifying those ships wasn't difficult.

Death Knights, Dullahans, Doom Knights...

They were the massive vessels teeming with high-ranking undead that made your bones rattle just by looking at them!

Looting even one of those treasuries would make me filthy rich, but for now, it was nothing but a pipe dream. If ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a mere skeleton like me loitered around those treasuries, it wouldn't be surprising if I got kicked straight into the ocean.

Not to mention the Lich's flagship and primary treasure ships, where even the lowest-ranking guards were boss-level elites.

Furthermore, if I got too close to the Lich's aura, which had a magic-nullification effect, there was a chance my Disguise skill would unravel.

So, did that mean I had to suck on my finger bones and give up?

Not a chance.

The Mary Celeste fleet had several ships dedicated to storing confiscated spoils. Junk that was too trivial to be called treasure, yet too good to throw away.

These antiques were usually distributed to low-tier undead who distinguished themselves in battle, or used to trade with other monsters. However, among them were items whose true value had yet to be discovered.

Those were exactly the items I was targeting.

And one of the ships storing this junk was...

...right here!

Scurrying along the mooring ropes connecting the ships, I arrived at a medium-sized carrack.

As I trudged toward the hatch, two skeletons raised their worn spears, on high alert.

I headed toward the stern of the ship, out of the guards' line of sight, and scanned the deck.

Creak—

Just as I thought.

A wooden plank, rotted and warped by the wind and rain, leaving a gap.

I immediately grabbed the plank and pulled, but with my weakened skeleton strength, I couldn't pry it loose.

If only I had something to use as leverage...

...Should I use this?

I wedged Barbo's cutlass, which I had taken from the captain's cabin, into the gap like a crowbar and pulled. My joints rattled from the weakened strength of my undead form, but as I pulled with all my might, the plank popped out along with a rusted nail.

After confirming the sentry skeletons weren't coming, I slipped through the gap before anyone could spot me.

I didn't expect even these minor details to be replicated so perfectly...

In the past, while giving magical advice to Lich Mortemius on this very ship, I had suffered the misfortune of having my foot slip through this exact spot. Back then, I had cursed the undead for their poor maintenance, but to think it would help me like this in the far future!

Keeping my guard up, I scanned the interior of the cabin.

The interior was dark, but not completely pitch-black. Confiscated spoils bearing the marks of time and battle were piled haphazardly everywhere.

It looked like a literal junkyard.

I took down a kerosene lantern hanging on the wall and shone its light over the armaments.

Cracked helmets, rusted longswords, dust-covered plate armor left abandoned...

They were antiques you wouldn't even see in a museum—the kind of junk where it was painfully obvious why they had been tossed in here.

The chances of finding a decent item in this pile of scrap were extremely low, but it wasn't that difficult if you knew exactly what to look for.

As I carefully sifted through the mountain of junk...

...Found it.

Beneath a heavy set of plate armor, I unearthed a pair of worn greaves.

They were shabby metal greaves, covered in scratches.

No matter how you looked at them, they seemed like common trash, but their true value would be revealed once certain conditions were met.

I tied the greaves securely to my ribs, then climbed back up the pile of junk toward the hole in the ceiling I had entered through.

Aside from this item, there was nothing else worth taking here. There was no need to risk my neck just to grab one or two more pieces of trash.

Satisfied with my haul, I was about to slip out of the warehouse.

Huh...? Was that always there?

With only a single step left to the exit, a wooden box sitting squarely in the center of the room caught my eye.

There was no such thing here when I visited during the late game.

Unable to resist my curiosity, I approached it as if possessed.

The wooden box was locked, but after pulling out a lacrimal bone from inside my eye socket, splitting it thin like a pair of tweezers, and picking the lock, it popped open easily.

And inside lay something completely unexpected.

W-What the hell...! Why is this here...?

I stared at the black sphere, about the size of a fist, which was vibrating intensely with a low hum.

A treasure of the Order of Andira, the god who governed death in the world of Velheim.

Considering its rarity and the difficulty of obtaining it, it could practically be called a holy relic.

It was a terrifying item that would ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠stack debuffs on you just by touching it.

The problem was, judging by its color, it had already been activated once, meaning someone was currently cursed by it...

S-Should I take it for now...?

Although this orb had limited uses, if I could find the right buyer, I could sell it for an astronomical price. Even if it belonged to an ominous cult of an evil god, it was still a near-relic-grade treasure.

Though the chances were slim, if I could track down the person currently afflicted by the curse and strike a deal, I might be able to trade it for a mountain of gold.

One thing was certain: this was absolutely not the kind of item that should be mixed in with this pile of worthless junk.

I stuffed the orb into my empty eye socket and tied a cloth over it, disguising it as an eyepatch. This way, I would look like a run-of-the-mill, one-eyed pirate skeleton.

Just then, the voices of undead drifted down from above.

"Hey! Are you keeping proper watch?"

"S-Sir Imarit! As per your orders, we are k-keeping a strict watch...!"

"Then get inside and bring out the wooden box Lord Mortemius entrusted to us."

"B-But our shift is about to end—"

"Do you want to become a figurehead on the bow? Bring it out, now."

"Y-Yes, sir!"

Uh-oh...

They were here for the orb.

Thinking quickly, I grabbed a metal ball from a nearby sling, tossed it into the wooden box, and slipped out of the warehouse. With this, they wouldn't notice anything was amiss until they actually opened the box to check the contents.

It would buy me enough time to escape the ghost fleet.

...They're going to be absolutely furious when they realize their relic has been swapped!

Grinning, I slid down the mooring rope and made my escape from the junk ship. Right on cue, my notifications updated.