"Look, the novice dungeon opens in half an hour, and not a single person wants to party up with him."
"Can you blame them? He awakened as a Necromancer. Sure, it's a Unique-tier Hidden Class, but those skeletons he summons crumble like dry leaves. Utterly useless."
"Pathetic. Thought he'd skyrocket to fame, ended up a laughingstock instead."
"Didn't the principal say his class becomes overpowered in late-game? No guilds want to invest?"
"Are you dense? Why would anyone waste resources on an outsider?"
"Tsk, when you put it that way… guess it's just fate."
"..."
The Sovereign States, Ashbourne.
Two thousand students clustered outside the First Novice Dungeon's entrance, restless shadows stretching across the frost-kissed pavement. 8:00 AM glowed crimson on the holographic countdown – thirty minutes until activation.
Yet all eyes lingered on the disgraced prodigy leaning against the obsidian monolith. Whispers coiled through the crowd like serpents.
...
Ethan Graves massaged his throbbing temples, reality crashing over him in jagged waves. One moment, he'd been binge-reading webnovels in his cramped apartment. The next… this.
Transmigration.
The term tasted absurd even as memories solidified – a world where humanity fought monstrous incursions through RPG-like leveling systems. Where eighteen-year-olds Awakened into Classes ranging from F-tier ditch-diggers to SSS-tier Archons.
And he'd drawn the rarest straw of all: [Unique Hidden Class: Necromancer (Lv.1)].
His initial euphoria curdled as mocking voices pierced the morning mist. "…practically useless…" "…glass cannon without the cannon…"
A cold smile tugged his lips. Let them laugh. The system shimmering in his vision told a different story – crimson text blazing where others saw only failure:
[Soulfire Core Unlocked]
[Death's Primacy (Passive): All undead summons evolve through combat. No upper limit.]
Somewhere beneath Ashbourne's ivory spires, dormant catacombs stirred.
...
Name: Ethan Graves
Class: Necromancer (Unique)
Level: 1
Strength: 10
Spirit: 10
Constitution: 10
Agility: 10
...
[Talent • Soul Symbiosis]: Gain visual access to all summoned undead. Passive: Summons share 0.1% of your base stats.
...
[Skill • Summon Skeleton]: Consumes 1 Spirit to summon a skeletal minion.
...
[Summoning Chamber]: 0
...
Every Awakened received one innate Talent and Skill upon their Class manifestation. Without hesitation, Ethan activated his summoning ability.
Summon Skeleton!
A brittle construct materialized in the spectral chamber — its bones chalk-white, joints rattling like dice in a gambler's fist.
...
Minion Data: Skeleton
Level: 1
Strength: 1 (+0.1%)
Spirit: 1 (+0.1%)
Constitution: 1 (+0.1%)
Agility: 1 (+0.1%)
...
"You've got to be kidding me." Ethan's knuckles whitened around his bone staff.
All base stats at *1*? Even Level 1 Corrupted Bunnies had 5-6 across the board! This walking disaster couldn't outmuscle a pastry chef's soufflé, let alone dungeon spawn.
"Where's the cheat codes? The protagonist halo?" He kicked a pebble, watching it skitter across the summoning chamber's ghostly floor. "Am I supposed to bludgeon demonic bunnies to death with my staff? Some necrotic overlord I turned out to be."
The system interface flickered, its crimson glyphs pulsing like a taunt:
Evolution Threshold: 0/100 Combat XP
Current Minion Survival Rate: 0.07%
Ethan slumped against the obsidian monolith. Somewhere in the cosmic bureaucracy, he could almost hear Lady Luck cackling.
[Ding! Host has awakened as a Necromancer. "Divine Skill System" successfully bound!]
[Ding! "Skill: Summon Skeleton" has evolved into "Divine-tier: Skeletal Legion!"]
"Holy shit, a system?"
Ethan's despair vaporized as crimson notifications flooded his vision.
"Divine Skill System? Does this mean..." He swiped through his updated status panel, breath catching.
...
[Divine-tier: Skeletal Legion]
• Cost: 1 Spirit (initial activation)
• Effect: Summons 1 skeleton per second while channeling. No duration limit.
• Note: Each skeleton inherits 0.1% of host's stats (stacking multiplicative per 100 summons).
...
"Divine-tier my ass. This looks exactly like—wait." His finger froze mid-air.
The change wasn't in the description, but the mechanics. Instead of spending 1 Spirit per skeleton, the skill now functioned like a broken faucet—1 Spirit to open the floodgates, unleashing an endless tide.
One skeleton per second.
3,600 per hour.
86,400 per day.
Ethan's calculator-brain short-circuited. Even if each skeleton had the combat prowess of a geriatric sloth, exponential swarm tactics would grind mountains to dust. As if on cue, his Summoning Chamber flickered—13 bony figures now clattered within the spectral space.
"Universe, I take back every complaint." His manic laughter drew stares. "This isn't just broken—it's game-breaking insanity!"
A derisive snort cut through his euphoria. "Laughing at your own failure now, Graves?"
Three guild recruits approached, their leader flicking a dagger adorned with frost runes. "Heard you're planning to solo the dungeon? Want us to record your heroic last stand?" His cronies guffawed.
Ethan studied them like a mathematician eyeing faulty equations. "Actually, I need test subjects. You'll do."
"Ethan Graves? Didn't I tell you to abandon the novice dungeon?"
The voice dripped with practiced disdain. He turned to find Lena Hart standing behind him, her pleated skirt swaying like a metronome set to scorn. Memories cascaded – childhood summers chasing fireflies, winters sharing tattered spellbooks. All twisted now into something jagged.
Lena's saccharine smile never reached her glacier-blue eyes. "Those pathetic bone puppets of yours can't even scratch a Level 1 critter. Seeking an early grave?"
The neural download hit Ethan like bad tequila – her parents' debt paid in his own parents' blood during the Demon Tide Uprising. A decade of him playing loyal hound to her ice queen. Tutoring her through arcane theorems. Sparring until dawn to hone her combat scores. Two and a half years carrying her to dual leaderboard dominance at Ashbourne Academy.
All for this.
She flicked imaginary dust off her Radiant Hierophant robes, the SS-Class Healer sigil glowing with stolen glory. "Since you're here…" Her nails dug into his forearm, stage-whispering loud enough for half the plaza to hear, "My boyfriend might *charity-carry* you."
Blaze Carter materialized like cheap theatrics – ash-blond hair styled to look carelessly perfect, fingers crackling with SS3-Class Pyroclasm energy. The crowd parted for Ashbourne's golden boy whose firestorms could glass city blocks.
"Graves." Blaze's grin showed too many teeth. "Heard your skeletons make great kindling."
"Just position your skeletons as meat shields for Blaze," Lena said, inspecting her manicure. "Hand over the Unique Skill Scroll when we down the final boss. That's your entire role."
Her audacity would've been impressive if not for the neural ghosts screaming in Ethan's skull – memories of this silver-spoon princess leveraging his dead parents' heroism as eternal guilt collateral.
Blaze slung an arm around Ethan's shoulders, sulfur breath hot against his ear. "Relax, buddy. I'll carry you through the dungeon. Lena says you've earned this... charity run."
Crack.
Ethan's open palm smashed the fire mage's forearm away with bone-on-flesh finality. "Take your condescension and shove it up a magma elemental."
Lena's porcelain mask slipped. "Have you lost your mind? Do you know how many applicants beg for Blaze's carry?" Her shrill tone drew spectators. "That scroll guarantees admission to the Trinity Academies – Nova Citadel, Oceanus Spire, Zenith Athenaeum! We're offering you a mercy!"
Ethan's chuckle held zero mirth. The system's crimson text pulsed behind his eyelids:
[Current Skeletal Legion: 47 (Auto-summoning)]
[Projected 24-hour Output: 82,368]
"Mercy?" He stepped into Lena's personal space, noting how her Saintess aura recoiled from his necrotic mana. "You're still thinking in terms of teams. I'm playing a different game."
Blaze's fire gauntlets ignited. "Big words for a glorified puppeteer."
"Wait." Lena's eyes narrowed. This wasn't the broken boy who'd groveled at her heels. The Ethan she knew would've wept gratitude for table scraps. "What's wrong with you today?"