The first attempt barely caused a reaction.
The dark orb trembled, just a little, as if something inside it had stirred and then fallen back into sleep. The air grew cold for a heartbeat, then everything went still again. No change. No response.
Aiden frowned. "That's it?"
He took a slow breath and tried again.
This time, the reaction was immediate.
The orb shuddered violently, swelling and shrinking as black mist poured out of it like smoke from a cracked seal. The ground around the tombstone vibrated, pebbles rattling as if something was about to claw its way out.
Aiden's eyes widened. "Yes—!"
Then, without warning, the orb back to its calm state.
The pressure in the air disappeared.
Silence returned.
Aiden froze.
"…What?" His voice came out tight. "Damn it, what was that? A prank?"
His heart sank. That reaction had been real. Something had almost answered his call, almost.
Gritting his teeth, Aiden clenched his fists. One chance left.
"This is my last try," he whispered, more to himself than anything else. "Please… just give me this one."
The cemetery seemed to hold its breath as Aiden activated Lord of the Dead one final time.
This time, the world answered him.
The dark orb didn't resist or collapse. Instead, it burst apart like shattered glass, releasing a flood of black mist that poured downward and seeped into the earth. The ground trembled, then cracked.
Something began to rise.
Aiden stepped back as a hand broke through the soil, flesh still clinging to bone, fingers digging into the dirt with deliberate strength. A body followed, pulling itself free from the grave, standing upright as if it had never forgotten how.
It wasn't a full skeleton.
Muscle still clung to its frame, dried and dark, preserved unnaturally by death. Half of its face was intact, frozen in a stern expression, while the other half was bare bone, an empty eye socket glowing faintly with cold blue light. Its jaw was skeletal, teeth exposed in a permanent, silent snarl.
The undead wore tattered leather armor, old but well-maintained in its time. The straps were frayed, the chestpiece cracked, yet it still carried the weight of experience. There was no weapon in its hands, but the way it stood, feet planted firmly in the soil, told Aiden everything.
This one didn't need one.
Aiden swallowed. "Now this guy looks strong."
The undead turned its head slightly toward him, acknowledging its master without a word. Its presence alone felt heavier, denser, like the air around it had thickened.
A transparent screen flickered into view.
Bronze-Grade Summon: 1
Aiden stared at it for a moment, then let out a short, disbelieving laugh.
"Yes," he muttered, clenching his fist. "I hit the jackpot."
He quickly skimmed the rest of the screen.
[Name: Aiden (Level: 3)]
Class: Necromancer (Death God — Locked)
Basic-Grade Summon: 2
Bronze-Grade Summon: 1
Iron-Grade Summon: 0
Silver-Grade Summon: 0
Gold-Grade Summon: 0
Legendary-Grade Summon: 0
Mythical-Grade Summon: 0
Summon Slot Available: 3/3
Skills: Lord of the Dead, Bone Shield, Bone Spear]
Aiden exhaled slowly, forcing his excitement down. He didn't know exactly how much stronger a bronze-grade summon was compared to a basic one, but he didn't need numbers to feel the difference.
This undead wasn't just animated bones.
It was a warrior.
Aiden let out a slow breath. "And with my new Bone Spear skill… I finally feel a bit safer."
He swept his gaze around the cemetery. Aside from the rows of tombstones and the whisper of wind through the trees, there was no one in sight. Good. This was the perfect place to test things without drawing attention.
With a thought, Aiden summoned his other undead, the skeleton that knew basic sword martial arts.
Bones rose from the ground and locked into place, forming the familiar figure. The skeleton gripped its rusty sword, settling into the stance of the Three-Point Sword Form, blade angled forward, posture stiff but disciplined.
Aiden stepped back and raised a hand slightly. "Go. Fight him."
The bronze-grade undead turned.
It didn't draw a weapon. It didn't even lower its stance.
It simply walked forward.
The sword-wielding skeleton reacted instantly, feet shifting as it launched into a clean thrust, simple, direct, exactly as its martial art dictated. The blade whistled through the air, aimed straight for the chest.
The bronze undead tilted its head and moved.
Not fast, efficient.
Its body twisted just enough for the sword to skim past its ribs. At the same time, its right fist shot out, knuckles cracking into the skeleton's wrist. There was a sharp snap.
The sword flew from the skeleton's grip and clattered across the ground.
Before the sword skeleton could recover, the bronze undead stepped in. One short punch slammed into its ribcage. Bones fractured instantly. A second strike followed, an elbow this time, crushing the spine.
The final blow was almost casual.
A straight punch to the skull.