Awakening (1)

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One month ago.

I'd come home from work and was lying sprawled in the corner of my one-room apartment when the system message floated up before my eyes. At that moment, I was practically drowning in euphoria.

After all, it meant I'd made it into the top 1% of the population.

At the same time, though, a creeping anxiety began to smolder in my chest.

From here, I'd have to beat another lottery — a 10% chance — before I could even set foot in a dungeon.

"Come on! Come on!"

Chanting please a few dozen times, I opened my status window. And there it was, floating in front of me.

The name was just my name, obviously. Let's read down the list slowly.

Level 1 — normal for someone who'd just awakened. Then the affinity... Magic?

My heart started pounding at that point. If it was magic, the odds of it being a dud weren't that high. Even without combat magic, any decently useful spell could get me into a dungeon — and even if it couldn't, a useful spell was a livelihood in its own right.

Clutching that fluttering hope, I looked at my class — and my voice trembled.

"N-Necromancer?"

Holy crap! That was a jackpot — a straight-up lottery win! A Necromancer! The world's strongest hunter, the man single-handedly responsible for ten percent of France's GDP — Ahmad Triaine — was a Necromancer himself.

The class had always been popular, but after Ahmad Triaine swept the 57th-tier dungeon — the highest-difficulty dungeon in existence — practically single-handedly, its popularity shot through the roof. I mean, how does one person account for a tenth of an entire nation's GDP? The monsters from that dungeon yielded a compound called Elixir when processed, and when a high-rank alchemist got their hands on it, out came the finished product: Elixir, the miracle panacea. A magical medicine that doubled your lifespan just by taking it regularly, and cured every illness known to man.

That dungeon was the only place it came from, and that bastard was the only one who could work it — so even ten percent of a major nation's GDP was no exaggeration. Which meant that now, I too could become a Necromancer like Ahmad...

"Kim Se-gyun, you lunatic, get a grip."

A freshly awakened level 1 had no business comparing himself to Ahmad. Besides, Necromancers were heavily dependent on their traits and skills. So as long as I had a proper trait...

You know what they say — short text means powerful text.

It was powerful. It was fucking powerful.

"I'M GOING INSAAAAAAANE—!!!"

How was anyone supposed to hold it in? At this point, kicking my legs in the air was simply unavoidable. I stayed up all night, and the moment eight o'clock rolled around, I headed for the Awakener Rating Center in Gangnam. It existed to filter out the riffraff — the randoms who'd wander into a dungeon and get themselves killed.

Even at one percent of the population, that was still half a million people. At least a few dozen self-proclaimed awakeners showed up every day, so the receptionist, flushed and harried, addressed me with weary indifference.

"You're here for a rating assessment, correct?"

"Yes."

"Level 1, presumably. And your class?"

"N-Necromancer."

A flinch. The way the receptionist jolted made the corners of my mouth curl up despite myself. The people waiting behind me started murmuring too. Ahh, so this is what awakening tastes like.

"One moment, please. I'll escort you to Testing Chamber 5."

Following her to Chamber 5, I found it lined with the carcasses of various animals.

"Ugh..."

It was a sight that made my brow furrow on its own — but I was a Necromancer now. This was something I'd have to get used to. Getting comfortable around corpses was a grim thought, but it came with the territory of being a hunter. I'd made my peace with at least that much.

The moment I stepped inside, a voice crackled from a speaker mounted on the wall.

Was the bar really that low? This wasn't supposed to be this easy. Other classes at least had to prove they could survive a tier-1 dungeon. Were they just dismissing a Necromancer with the Infinite Legion Commander trait? As I tilted my head, they apparently noticed, because the speaker continued, sounding sheepish.

So a free ride on the government bus was basically guaranteed. Kim Se-gyun's life, resolved in a single stroke.

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"Yes."

I answered calmly, then spoke quietly toward the orc corpse in front of me.

"Undead Rise."

".....?"

What the hell was that supposed to mean? It was a corpse. When nothing happened, the voice on the other end of the speaker sounded flustered too.

"Yes, it's just..."

The orc seemed like a no-go, so I tried the goblin next to it.

"Undead Rise."

Then surely the conch shell beside it, at the very least...

"Undead Rise."

Then the pig, the dog, the chicken, the cat. Every single one came back with the same message.

The rage carried through the microphone, and along with a roar came the staff, storming in.

"Okay, hold on. It says the skill can't be used on the target—"

"I'm dying of overwork and you're out here running a scam?!"

"I want to go to the police station!"

"I-I really am a Necromancer! I can't even show you my status window—!"

"What kind of Necromancer can't raise a single undead?! Get lost!"

A Necromancer who couldn't raise a single undead. That last line, heard as I was half-shoved out of the center, lingered in my head for a long while. They were right. What kind of Necromancer couldn't raise even one undead?

In despair, I slumped onto a bench in the park near ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the center. So what was the problem?

"Skill list."

Simple — but a single Undead Rise was all a Necromancer needed to make a living. The other skills were expensive, but I could earn the money and learn them from skill books.

"Undead Rise. Skill description."

It was different from the Undead Rise description I knew. And yet, this clearly still fell under the "short text means powerful text" category. What I'd seen on YouTube was definitely...

That was what it should have been. After some more searching on my phone, I found out that what I had was a unique skill — a category apart from basic skills, possessing distinctive effects or far greater power. It was another kind of lottery. It wasn't widely known, but apparently nearly all the top-ranked hunters who roamed the highest tiers carried unique skills rather than basic ones.

By that logic, mine should have been a good thing.

"Why me... why me...!! Of all things...! Ugh, AAAARGH!"

Higher proficiency lets you raise smaller targets. What kind of bullshit was that? Higher proficiency was supposed to mean bigger targets, not smaller ones! What was I supposed to do, raise a measly insect?

"Insects...?"

Wait — could I actually raise something insect-sized? I looked around, then stomped a passing ant dead.

"Undead Rise."

Casting a skill on a single ant was genuinely ridiculous, but I figured it was worth a shot. Except—

"Goddammit."

If it wouldn't even work on an insect, what the hell size was I supposed to use it on?

And so a month passed.

Not even three days of glory — half a day of it, and it ended that absurdly. I returned to my ordinary life. I decided to give up the pipe dream of being a Necromancer. Thank god I hadn't impulsively thrown in a resignation letter at work on a whim. From now on, I'd just live as if I were a non-awakener.

"Se-gyun."

A fulfilling— no, a shit-tier day of work was wrapping up, and I was gathering my things to head home when the section manager, who'd been tapping away at his computer beside me, called out. It never ended well when he did that.

"Yes, sir?"

"Heading home?"

"Yes, that's the plan."

"Anything planned after you get off?"

"Going home to rest, I guess?"

"Then run one more shift."

"Excuse me?"

Called it. What kind of nonsense was this guy spouting?

"Do you know what time it is? It's already eleven. You came in at eight in the morning and ran a full shift — and now you want to clock out?"

"What can I do? The client says come now."

"Ugh, this is insane."

"It's not a hard one, at least. The Seonggwang Biotech Research Center in Hwaseong."

"That's a bit better, I guess."

"Go and come back."

Overtime, half-forced onto my schedule. So what was my job, you ask? Garbage collection. Not recycling or household trash, of course — I was a third-year employee at a company specializing in dungeon waste disposal, and I mostly handled outsourced work for biotech labs. Which meant our job was dealing with the rotting monster carcasses left over after the labs' deranged scientists had chewed, torn, tasted, and savored every last piece. The industry called it "3D" work — Difficult, Dirty, and Dangerous — and we hit all three. One careless touch of a toxic carcass could kill you, so you needed the ability to identify monsters even in sliced-up, dismembered states. Difficult, yes. Naturally dangerous. And dirty — don't even get me started.

"The Seonggwang Biotech lab is at least on the easier side."

Whatever research they did there, most of the waste came out as sawdust-like powder. The number of powder sacks was no joke, granted, but sawdust was neither dangerous nor dirty. The workload being brutal was just par for the course.

Dragging the truck along and rubbing my burning eyes, I barely made it to the Seonggwang Biotech Research Center in Hwaseong. I waved at the usual guard, who raised the barrier and handed me a visitor pass. Taking it, I asked him casually,

"What's the occasion, calling us out at this hour?"

"No idea, exactly, but I hear the group chairman is visiting the lab tomorrow. Can't have messy garbage lying around when the chairman shows up, so I guess they called in a rush?"

"Ah..."

Son of a bitch. And they still called me out at this hour? It was already midnight — getting off work today was a lost cause. They say the plight of the powerless is doing what the powerful demand, but this was too much.

"Sigh. Nothing to be done, I guess."

Quitting wasn't an option. In times like these, this was still a decent job.

Sighing, I stepped inside the lab to find the night-duty receptionist slumped over, fast asleep. Talk about stealing a paycheck. He probably wouldn't even notice if someone walked right in.

"Excuse me."

Zzz.

"Excuse me!!"

At my raised voice, he jolted awake, looked around in a panic, and finally turned to me.

"Wh-what brings you here?"

"Hello. I'm from Hanyoung Systems. We were told there's waste to collect."

"Ah..."

Seemingly relieved that I was a subcontractor rather than internal staff, he let out a single breath, then jerked a thumb toward the back.

"Take the elevator over there up to the second floor, start with Room 2001, and clear them out."

What kind of novel nonsense was this now?

"Not the collection yard?"

Normally the job was sorting through waste already piled up in the collection yard. But now they wanted me to go into the labs themselves?

"An urgent order came down to clear them before the transfer-to-yard process. Just do it."

"No, that doesn't work. How am I supposed to collect them one by one from every lab, alone?"

"I was just told to pass the message along."

Shrugging with a face that said taking it up with me won't help~. Bastards, seriously. The curses climbed up my throat, but arguing with this guy would gain me absolutely nothing. Resigned, I trudged toward the second floor.

Knock knock. I knocked on Room 2001 and entered. An empty lab. Was the security here even okay?

Thankfully, the waste was neatly packed in sacks. Surely they wouldn't ask me to clean, too. I hoisted a few sacks at a time as I made my way around the room and hauled them toward the truck. If I could've parked at the collection yard and loaded everything in one go, it would've been fine — but shuttling back and forth to each lab like this would take forever.

Drenched in sweat, I made the round trip for two full hours, until only the last lab remained. I was so exhausted that sleep was starting to wash over me. Just finish up and go home, I told myself — and the moment I lifted a sack, the drowsiness got the better of me and I swayed slightly.

Right at that moment.

Crash. A sharp sound of something shattering. I turned my head to see a small petri dish lying shattered on the floor. I must have knocked it off the desk with the sack — it had been sitting right at the edge.

"Shit..."

I was screwed. Please don't tell me that was some kind of pathogen. Or... a zombie virus? In the movies, it's always exactly this kind of accident that unleashes a zombie virus on the world. With trembling hands, I touched the remnants of the dish — and spotted a label clinging precariously to the broken glass.

The words obligate anaerobic came as an initial relief. Three years at a Confucian school teaches the dog to recite poetry, as they say — after years of coming and going from labs like this, I knew terms at least that advanced. It meant bacteria that died instantly on contact with air. So there was no chance some pathogen had just infected me and was about to spread across the world.

No — wait. That wasn't something to be relieved about.

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If it was obligate anaerobic, that meant everything in that dish was already dead...

I'd accidentally killed off the bacteria the lab had been researching?

"Ah, goddammit... I'm screwed. What do I do?"

I stared at the shattered dish for a good five minutes. What was I supposed to do? It's not like I could bring dead bacteria back to life—

That was the exact instant when a system message I'd thought I'd never see again floated up before my eyes.