The Necrosmith
Fifty years have passed since the gates appeared.
We live in an age where mana engines and monsters are part of everyday life.
Hunters are the suppliers of mana stones—the new energy source—and an indispensable force that protects people from the threat of monsters. Worldwide, it ranks first in mortality rate. That is also why everyone aspires to the job.
I am one of those hunters.
“Grr! Growl!”
“Huh? Wait—”
“One slipped through over there!”
A dog-headed beastman. A kobold ignored the tank line and charged straight in.
Alright. Time to earn my keep.
Click—
I opened the cargo carrier. Inside lay severed arms and legs. It looked like I was hiding evidence of a crime. I wasn’t. Look at the face. Not human—a pig snout.
The corpse of a D-rank monster: an orc. Matching the separated arms, legs, and torso took five seconds. I laid my hand on the cold skin.
“Open your eyes.”
Corpse Crafting
A gloomy energy stitched the divided corpse back together. The orc lurched upright and gave a faint shudder.
“Grr! Grr!”
“Urrrgh.”
Like an actor frozen solid with stage fright, the orc moved in stiff, jerky motions, seized the kobold, and toppled over with it. Pinned beneath the corpse, the kobold stabbed wildly at its side with a dagger. Thud, thud—the body rocked left and right, but not a drop of blood came out.
Of course not. It was a zombie.
The orc zombie pinned both of the kobold’s arms so it couldn’t move, then sank its teeth into the creature’s throat.
Crunch!
Experience points increased.
You have reached the level cap. Excess experience has been converted into cumulative experience.
A message confirming the kobold’s life had been snuffed out.
“That’s enough.”
Corpses cost money too. If it ate the whole thing, there’d be nothing left.
The orc zombie scrambled back to its feet. An E-rank hunter hired as day labor nearly jumped out of his skin.
“Park—you’re a necromancer?”
“Scavenger. I’m a scavenger.”
Not a true necromancer—those are guaranteed at least B-rank the moment they awaken. My class is something adjacent. Necrosmith.
“You didn’t know, Kim? Park’s famous for being a permanent E-rank.”
“Permanent E-rank?”
“Five years stuck at E. He’s a celebrity at the hunter temp agencies. You really didn’t know?”
Son of a bitch. Thanks so much for introducing me in my place. Really. I appreciate it.
“Grr! Grr!”
Barking stabbed at my eardrums.
“More kobolds incoming!”
“Do it like you trained! Tanks to the front!”
“Y-yes, sir!”
“Mage over there—why are you preparing a fireball?! You trying to roast our tanks?!”
“Sorry!”
Clang—something hit the ground and rang out, and nervous little gasps of “Hic!” and “Hah!” rose from every direction.
The first real combat for students of a mid-sized hunter academy. I’d come as the paid meat shield for hunters with zero field experience. Catching the kobolds the tanks let through was part of the job.
“Park. Same work as always?”
“The pay’s pretty good.”
“Wiping the butts of these snot-nosed kids is a pain, though.”
“Not much choice.”
A bitter smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.
Five years since I awakened as a hunter. After awakening, I walked into gates five days a week without fail. The average hunter goes in three times a week, right? I put in nearly twice the effort—and I still hadn’t climbed to D-rank.
“Still, your undead’s movements look a little smoother.”
“Ha… haha. Thanks.”
Not a chance.
My undead could barely manage their own limbs. Charging in blindly, knocking something down, and biting it was the best combat strategy they had. People say undead are stiff because of rigor mortis, right?
Corpse Crafting
Rank:E
Restriction:Necrosmith
Proficiency:100%
Processes materials classified as corpses to craft equipment or undead.
Undead created through Corpse Crafting are influenced by the crafter.
When a soul from another world is imbued, the crafter inherits a portion of that soul’s abilities.
▷ Evolutionary skill.
A necromancer can raise corpses as undead with nothing but mana. My class actually requires crafting. A complete downgrade of an ability—or so it feels. Fine. I can live with that much.
The real problem is this part: influenced by the crafter.
In other words, athletic sense. You know the type—the kid who chases a ball across the playground and trips over nothing? That was me. Owner of a cursed motor nervous system.
Taekwondo. Muay Thai. Kickboxing. Personal training at the gym. I tried everything to fix that cursed coordination.
—I’m sorry. Please just come through today.
—I don’t see any room for improvement with you, sir.
—We’ll refund your membership fee.
All of them failures.
“Urrrgh.”
Watching the orc zombie rise in its stiff, wooden way made my brow furrow. The reason I still hadn’t made D-rank was the promotion exam. The level cap. Once you hit level 50, you have to take the advancement test. The content differs by class. For necromancer-line classes, the D-rank exam evaluates crafting and control.
If they’d just told me to fight a monster one-on-one like a warrior, I wouldn’t have felt so wronged.
“Hey! Another kobold slipped through!”
“On it.”
The orc zombie lumbered stiffly into the kobold’s path.
Please take the hits reasonably. Repairing you costs materials. You want the repair bill to outrun my day wage?
That was the name of the gate the rookies were crashing through with all the grace of a stampede.
“Ow! That hurts!”
“Hold the line! Don’t fall back!”
“Somebody stop the kobolds!”
For all its grand name, the main monsters here were kobolds—the weakest of the E-ranks, standing shoulder to shoulder with goblins.
“You people! Get to work!”
The academy supervisor’s neck veins stood out.
You failed to train your students and you’re taking it out on us?
“Park. You can only run one zombie?”
“I can run several.”
“Then why only one?”
“Cost-performance is terrible.”
My undead are handmade. When they break, I have to repair every last one myself. Unless I’m clearing a gate alone, there’s no reason to field a crowd.
“Aren’t necromancers all about the swarm?”
“That rush is real, sure.”
But it’s an equal exchange between cool factor and the thickness of your wallet. Not happening.
“You could just slap undead together on the spot.”
“They need a curing process.”
That was why I brought corpses in the cargo carrier. A corpse that hasn’t been aged with mana doesn’t perform properly. The upside is that they cost no mana to maintain—but when every break turns into money, that advantage doesn’t land very hard.
One of the day-labor hunters clapped me on the shoulder.
“I got tense looking at the gate name, but it’s nothing special.”
Yeah.
There was one reason besides money that I’d taken this side job. A mausoleum is just another word for a tomb. Maybe I could find an “otherworldly soul”—one of the options for Corpse Crafting. I’d walked into the gate clutching at that straw.
As you can see, all we had were kobolds panting roughly for air.
Near the far end of the gate, the atmosphere shifted. One of the academy students looked around and muttered,
“The vibe’s pretty convincing, at least.”
“Who gossips in the middle of a gate clear?”
“S-sorry!”
A ransacked graveyard. Atop a coffin dragged up onto the ground sat a kobold shaman. Ten kobolds clustered near the graves. We’d have to clear the fodder before we could go for the shaman.
“Grrraaagh!”
The boss monster—the kobold shaman—let out a low growl and thrust its staff forward. A magic circle bloomed before the staff. Dangerous.
“Students. Watch carefully.”
The academy supervisor, who’d been barking orders from the rear, broke formation and charged straight in. D-rank hunter, wasn’t he?
Howling Blade
A blade humming with vibration sheared through the fireball, then—slash—cut down the creature preparing its next spell in a single stroke.
“Damn. D-ranks really are different. Even slicing magic like that.”
That’s the item doing the work.
Necromancer plus blacksmith. Thanks to my class traits, item effects were immediately clear. Vibrations raised by mana canceled the fireball; the leftover force executed the kobold shaman.
The rookies’ parade of black-comedy blunders continued, but the clear finished without any major accidents.
“We did it!”
“We cleared the gate!”
“I’m a real hunter nooow!”
Excited voices roared from the gate exit. That feeling—I understood it. I’d been the same the first time I stepped into a gate. Back then I had no idea I’d still be stuck as an E-rank after five years of hunter seniority.
“Tch.”
Left a bad taste in my mouth.
“No clear message yet, so we still need to mop up the stragglers.”
The academy supervisor herded the rookies. When a gate is cleared—
You have successfully cleared this gate.
Grade — E ~ SSS
—the grade is set by completion time, and each participant receives a reward. This clear had taken quite a while. Good rewards were off the table.
While the rookies shouted themselves hoarse, I circled the graves. Who knew? Maybe I’d find that otherworldly soul. Though honestly, I doubted such a thing even existed. Killing monsters never produced one. Out in the world I sometimes saw spirits, but Corpse Crafting wouldn’t even activate—wrong skill target, it said.
“Another bust, huh.”
I edged closer to the coffin. Not so much as a whisper of a soul.
“Urrrgh.”
The orc zombie shuffled over with its slow, creaking gait, instinctively trying to protect its master. Right. At least I’ve got you—
“Who goes there?”
The coffin trembled lightly. A genderless voice drove itself into my mind. Not sound. The will of the dead, spoken as thought.
Thump—thump—
My heart hammered. A coffin that hadn’t reacted to anything until a moment ago. Was it responding to the orc zombie? The reason didn’t matter. If the owner of that will was an otherworldly soul, I might finally see a side of Corpse Crafting I hadn’t managed to attempt once in five years.
I forced my trembling under control, put on a mask of composure, and slowly parted my lips.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Isra. Strongest knight of the Enras Continent.”