Undead!? -1-

My consciousness, which should have sunk completely into darkness, began to awaken bit by bit. Amid the hazy fog of my mind, a familiar scene flickered into view.

"…."

There was a boy there. He wore a school uniform like any middle schooler, but his build and face were anything but ordinary. It was young me. My dead little brother had once said his face would make even demons piss themselves in fear—and now it was twisted mercilessly, more grotesque than ever.

In front of that child version of myself lay ten corpses. Three of them were my blood kin, slaughtered: father, mother, little brother. Bullet holes marred their heads, their faces frozen in terror even in death. The others were soldiers, dressed like special forces. But they weren't Korean military. Their camouflage didn't match anything used in Korea, and they carried Eastern Bloc rifles.

That's right. They were North Korean infiltrators. Armed commandos sent south. It was the 1990s, back when I was in middle school. While I was at cram school, these bastards—dispatched to assassinate the president—had raided our remote house on the outskirts of Seoul to use it as a base. Naturally, my family was massacred. They tried to kill me too when I came home late, but unfortunately for them, I wasn't your average middle schooler.

At the time, I was clueless about my own freakish physical abilities. Blinded by rage at my family's death, I beat seven heavily armed commandos to death with my bare hands. My face lit up with the thrill of combat—the first real fight I'd ever known, something I never should have felt—but at the same time, there was this inexplicable emptiness, a hollow void from losing my family. Not the usual grief of losing loved ones. Something else.

"Why'd you leave me? Please, just wake up again."

The kid I was stood before our parents' corpses, eyes vacant as he muttered those words.

My vision warped. My previous life's memories flashed by in fast-forward.

After that, to fill the void—or maybe chasing the ecstasy I'd felt fighting those commandos, my true nature laid bare—I became a total thug, pursuing brawls like a mad dog. Anywhere fights broke out, I dove in. It started with Korean gang wars, then mafia hits abroad, yakuza clashes, gang turf battles. I threw myself into every underworld organization skirmish, drunk on the violence.

Along the way, I learned a key lesson: never do good work for free. I became a legend in the shadows—hire me, and victory was guaranteed. Word spread, drawing in other battle-crazed degenerates like me. We outgrew the underworld slums, so I rebranded us as a private military company under the name Dogs of War. Unknown to civilians, we gained infamy even among political and business heavyweights. Hell, I even raided North Korea once for kicks, stacking up near-mythical feats as a merc.

And the last battlefield before I died: Russia. The frantic scenery slowed back to normal speed.

"Boss, time to join the fray. Payment's cleared."

"Good. Fancy a stroll to the Kremlin? Been too long."

"Can't wait to crack some Spetsnaz skulls."

Before diving into the war proper, I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was chatting with my adjutant, the Butcher Igor—my right-hand man from the early days, hooked on my strength and loyal ever since.

"You're sitting this one out, by the way."

"Huh? Come on, don't be stingy. You hogging all the fun again?"

"Not what I mean, you dumb fuck. You're married now, got a kid. Can't keep charging into hell like this."

"Who's gonna back up a maniac like you if I'm not there? I'm with you to the end."

"Sigh... Forget it. Fine, let's go."

"SUCK!! KILL!! FUCK!!"

"Fuck, I told you not to use that slogan."

But his bold words didn't come true.

"Haa... Fuck... Should've listened... You goddamn idiot... Get up..."

"…."

"Shit... Haa, fuck... I tried so hard to stop you..."

Igor died ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in the chaos, taken out by Russian chemical weapons aimed at me and the unit. And in that moment, I realized the feeling—or rather, the wish—I'd had when my family died.

I want the dead to rise again and stay with me. With bodies like mine—unbreakable, or able to stand even if shattered.

To me, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠other people were fragile things that broke too easily. They shattered and vanished just from walking beside me. So I craved unbreakable companions.

That unconscious wish drove my hobby of devouring undead and necromancer stories. Friends who could rise again, no matter how broken, and stick around. Drawn by that desire, I got hooked on a certain game like it was fate.

"Fuuu...ck...!!"

Consciousness surged back. Questions flooded my mind, fading until one massive doubt dominated: I definitely died, so why...?

No way I survived that fatal wound and the massive fall. And that sensation right before blacking out—the floating detachment, senses and mind shutting down like a power cut—it matched exactly the hit I took from that meteor-like Greek statue crashing on my head while retreating from the burning Kremlin.

In other words, I'd died again. For sure. But here I was, alive. Why?

The moment that question hit, a bizarre alarm rang out—ding! Ping!!—and without warning, a blue holographic window popped up in mid-air.

It was something I'd never seen in life, but I knew exactly what it was. The staple of fantasy novels with summoners or games.

"Staa...tus... wiiindow...?"

Why the fuck did my voice sound so goddamn slurred and retarded? But that mystery got shoved aside by what happened next when I croaked out "status window."

"Whaa...t the fuuuck...?"

The status window was way too familiar. Aside from the new [Perks] section, it was identical to the one from Aurora Fantasia, the game I'd played in my past life. Twenty years since I last touched it, but that memory stuck crystal clear while everything else faded.

It blended medieval Western fantasy with Eastern elements and arcane punk—high-power fantasy with massive maps, diverse playable races and jobs, insane freedom. The story followed a demigod protagonist, child of the creator god.

And now, that game's status window hovered before me—the one from my rare hobby.

No doubt about it.

I'd lamented its absence in this life; no way I'd mistake it.

Is this my reincarnation perk?

Common trope in necromancer/undead novels, another hobby. Not shocked. People reincarnate to other worlds; why not perks?

But why radio silence for twenty years? Only now?

No clue, but "early awakening" suggested a set awakening time. Near-death must've triggered it early, per the system.

Whatever. I'm alive. That's what matters.

I decided not to overthink it.

"...Nngh?"

Scanning the status, a few things snagged. My level: max 100 plus divine level 9 last I played, but now stuck at 30. Probably early awakening side effect. Fine—[EXP x500] perk meant killing enemies for XP like the game. I'd hit max fast.

Real issue: race [Zombie(Mage)]. Literal weakest undead—rotting corpse with minor magic aptitude. Popular starter for undead players due to evolution paths into stronger monsters, alongside [Zombie(Warrior)] or skeletons.

But zombie meant damaged flesh. In-game, that was the penalty skill [Damaged Body], debuffing physical stats.

So my current state...

-Swish

I raised my hand to inspect. Pitch black to normal eyes, but my undead passive [Darkvision] lit it up like daylight.

The result?

"Fuuuuuuck...!"

My hand and arm were shredded to hell, ragged and ruined like a goddamn corpse. Just like one.