The moment I climbed out of the pit, I realized I had missed all the fun. A true hellscape unfolded before me, only much messier and more disorganized than what you read about in books. In the short time I had been rummaging through corpses, conducting initial interviews with future employees, the situation on the surface had degraded from "riot" to "bloody chaos with magical special effects."
By some miracle, a portion of the prisoners had managed to break free from their magic-suppressing shackles and were now desperately flinging spells in every direction. The air crackled with lightning bolts, reeked of ozone and burnt flesh, and ugly scorch marks from amateurishly thrown fireballs spread across the walls. The explosion I'd heard earlier was clearly the debut performance of one such newfound mage. He must have been saving up his power for years, just to unleash it all on some poor guard, turning him into a pile of ash. Very effective.
However, despite their newfound power, the ranks of the rioters had thinned considerably. It was a predictable, albeit spectacular, slaughter. The slaves were like children who had gotten their hands on explosives: tons of enthusiasm, zero tactics. They were dying in droves as the guards, recovering from the initial shock, began to work with cruel coordination. Plus, I still hadn't seen the local celebrity. The final boss of this level—an old man named Brain—hadn't deigned to appear on stage yet. Probably waiting for the opening act to finish.
My gaze swept across the battlefield, but I saw not tragedy, but… opportunities. Every fallen guard, every dead slave—they were all pre-qualified candidates. A valuable human resource, just lying around going to waste. I immediately felt my inner HR manager awaken. My future employees would be the most tireless in the world! And I, as a fair and caring employer, would occasionally grant them unpaid leave in my cozy storage dimension. Let them rest, the poor dears. Their benefits package sucks, I'll admit, but it's better than being eaten by worms.
"To work!" I roared, cutting through the din of battle.
And the battlefield responded. It was as if an invisible switch had been flipped across the entire hall. A dead guard with a crossbow bolt sticking out of his eye twitched and, pulling it out, got to his feet. A slave with a caved-in chest set his own ribs with a grating crunch and shuffled forward. The ground stirred, releasing hands, heads, and stumps of bodies. They all rose and, ignoring former allies and enemies alike, silently threw themselves at the nearest living guards. A classic scene from a zombie apocalypse movie, with me in the director's chair.
With every passing second, my loyal subjects grew in number. This intoxicating feeling of control over the chaos was almost physically pleasurable. An army that grows from the enemy's losses—it's genius! I almost wanted to put on some pop music and start dancing, but unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, there was no pop music here.
And in that moment of euphoria, I realized I'd forgotten something... Something small, noisy... Ah, right! The kids!
I turned around. They were still huddled against the wall, a tight little cluster of terrified chicks. Their faces were whiter than chalk. Jellal, being the bravest (or the stupidest), stood at the front, his arms spread to shield the others. He was shaking so hard it looked like his teeth were about to chatter out of his head.
I looked at them, then at my growing army of the dead tearing the guards to pieces, then back at them.
Why are they so afraid of me?
"What are you standing around for? The show's over. We still need to find a ship to get off this hospitable resort. Let's go," I waved my small, ridiculously childish hand impatiently.
"Still haven't hit your growth spurt," my System would have quipped if it weren't sulking. But in my defense, I really am a child. Just a child with an unusual hobby and a very specific social circle.
Leaving the boiling meat grinder in the care of my diligent workers—they were right in the middle of their workday, after all—I took a couple of the sturdiest-looking undead with me as personal bodyguards. One former guard in dented armor and one massive slave with impressive biceps—the perfect entourage. They rose silently and fell in behind me, ready to take any blow meant for their new boss.
Without a backward glance, I started walking towards the sea, to the other side of the island where, from my observations, the ships were docked. The children, after a moment's hesitation and a few exchanged frightened glances, scurried after me. Apparently, the prospect of being left alone with my army of the dead was a better motivator than any words of encouragement.
It wasn't a long walk. The salty smell of the sea quickly replaced the coppery stench of the slaughter. And sure enough, at a decrepit pier, two fairly large cargo ships were bobbing lazily on the waves, waiting.
From here, I could see figures bustling about on their decks. Slumped, slow-moving, they shuffled listlessly across the planks... just like my walking corpses. For a second, I even thought some of my guys had shown initiative and already captured the transport. But no, looking closer, I realized they were just sailors.
Tch, my mistake. Though, to be honest, the difference wasn't that significant. And soon, these sailors would be reporting to a new boss and working for me, so now there was no difference at all.
Our short journey to the coast turned out to be surprisingly eventful. A couple of particularly stupid guards, or perhaps just ones desperately seeking a promotion, decided that attacking a group of children accompanied by two walking corpses was an excellent plan. They leaped out from around a corner but were immediately met by my loyal bodyguards. A brief, one-sided scuffle ensued, resulting in my loyal subjects aggressively recruiting the opponents in a two-on-one "interview," offering them an indefinite contract and immediate assumption of duties. Welcome to the team, brothers.
After repeating this simple initiation rite a few more times, I expanded my staff by five valuable employees. It's amazing how easy it is to fill vacancies when you have such persuasive HR managers. My former employers were blatantly lying when they said I'd have to work another two weeks while they found a replacement! Nonsense. The whole process takes less than a minute.
Near the pier, we were met by several dozen pairs of curious eyes. Sailors. They were on the other side of the island, far from the main epicenter of the fun, and naturally didn't know all the details. But the rumble of explosions and the ominous glow in the sky had apparently hinted that it was time to find a new home port. Judging by the panicked speed with which they were hauling barrels and crates onto the ships, I could guess they were preparing to flee at the first opportunity.
What a pity they wouldn't make it. I got here first.
I glanced over my small but constantly growing team.
"Conduct a corporate training seminar for our esteemed sailors on the topic of management transition," I ordered lazily.
My "guards" immediately shot forward like rabid dogs, charging the unsuspecting dockworkers. Chaos erupted. Of course, there were more sailors, but I had an undeniable advantage: instant staff reinforcement. The moment one of them fell dead, I would throw out a short:
"To work!"
And the freshly baked corpse would immediately rise, turn with empty eyes, and sink its teeth into the neck of its nearest, still-living comrade. A chain reaction. Viral marketing in action.
"Beautiful!" I breathed out after five minutes.
An idyllic scene unfolded before my eyes: both ships were under my complete control, and my new subjects were lined up on the decks and the pier. Quiet, obedient, and about a hundred stronger. Perfect resource optimization.
I was about to turn to the children to politely but firmly point them in the direction of "get the hell out of here," when a small but surprisingly firm voice sounded from behind me.
"Are you… are you going to help them?" asked the brave little Erza, pointing a trembling finger toward the tower, where the battle still raged.
"Help them?" I froze for a second, genuinely confused by the question. Help? Them? Why? But I quickly composed myself, remembering to speak gently to children. "Of course not, my dear little Erza. Why would I help them? But I am going to go over there and kill the main bastard. That counts as helping, right?" I tried to say it as sweetly as possible, as if explaining why the sky is blue.
The mixture of hope and fear on her face was replaced by bitter disappointment and complete bewilderment. It looked like she wanted to object, to shout something about friendship, comrades, and fighting together, but the sight of my silent bodyguards seemed to discourage any desire to argue.
And frankly, I couldn't care less what she had to offer. I had my own plan, one that was far more effective and spectacular. I was going to show these stupid slave drivers what truly effective management and a motivated army look like! Oh, right. And I still had to get revenge for those humiliating whip strikes. A small thing, but satisfying.
I turned and, with a wide smile, skipped back towards the fun, towards the epicenter of the glow and the screams. My army of undead immediately followed, their shuffling steps and the quiet creaking of bones creating the perfect accompaniment to my good mood. From a bird's-eye view, it probably looked disturbingly cute: a cheerful child leading his sullen, decaying pets for a walk. But I had no time to think about such things.
The first thing that caught my eye when I returned to the battlefield was old man Rob. He was fighting three guards at once, breathing heavily. With his bare hands. An old lion surrounded by hyenas, he took blow after blow but stubbornly remained on his feet, protecting a group of slaves behind him.
Why didn't he pick up one of the dozens of swords lying around? Unfortunately, I never managed to understand the logic of the local heroes. I could only assume it was some internal code of honor. Or, more likely, as a member of Fairy Tail, he simply couldn't kill, according to this world's canon. Noble, stupid, and completely inefficient. Well, it looked like I'd have to show the old man how to solve problems. At the root.
By the way, during my absence, the situation on the front had become critical. My army had suffered, shall we say, unforeseen personnel losses. Without a competent necromancer's leadership, my guys were clearly not working as effectively. Well, time for another recruitment drive to help out my worn-out troops.
"To work!" I shouted loud enough for every living soul on that battlefield to fix their eyes on me. On the little boy who had somehow ended up in the middle of this meat grinder.
And that was their fatal mistake. A second of hesitation was all it took. New undead soldiers, rising right at their feet, sank their teeth into unprotected backs and unguarded throats.
Thanks to my timely intervention, the situation quickly stabilized. The slaves, receiving powerful, if foul-smelling, support, began to push the guards back. Though, occasionally, a stray fireball would hit one of my guys, turning a valuable employee into a pile of ash. And these were the people the little girl wanted me to help? Ungrateful bastards.
But since this party was essentially in my honor, I decided not to spoil the mood. Ignoring the friendly fire, I simply helped deal with all the soldiers, leisurely making my way through the chaos toward old man Rob.
"Is this… your… magic?" he asked, breathing heavily and choosing his words carefully. There was genuine apprehension in his voice. "Are you… a dark mage?"
I flinched as if I'd been zapped by electricity.
"What? No! Please don't insult my professional pride! Some pathetic dark mages are not even fit to lick my boots! I am a multiversal-class necromancer! That's a hundred levels higher, clear?" I blurted out, offended by such a primitive comparison.
"It doesn't matter, anyway," the old man waved his hand wearily, cutting off my tirade. "I don't have much time left. As long as you're on the children's side, I don't care if you're a good mage or the most miserable villain. How are they?" Rob's voice began to fade. He leaned against the wall and slowly slid to the ground, his strength finally gone.
"In perfect health. Though they might need a therapist after tonight. But! I didn't scare them, they did it themselves!" I spread my hands cartoonishly. "I put them on a ship. And then, after we defeat the main villain, we'll travel the world, defeating bad guys and helping good people!"
I held a dramatic pause and added with a smirk: "Just kidding. I'm just going to drop them off on the nearest piece of land. What happens after that is not my problem."
Listening to me, Rob winced as if he'd just eaten the sourest lemon in the world. He could clearly hear the cynicism and cruel irony in my words.
"Please…" he rasped. "If it's on your way… take them to Fairy Tail. And… leave my body alone. I don't want to become… one of those."
"I'm not going to make you one of my employees!" I waved him off playfully, though the joke felt a bit forced. "If you don't want to work for me, just say so, don't make a whole scene! If it's on my way, I'll take them. Thank you."
For some reason, at those last words, all my cheerfulness evaporated. Watching the old man die, the one who had stood up for me without hesitation, was… unpleasant. A strange, heavy feeling settled in my chest.
As if he didn't want to talk to me anymore, the old man gave a weak wave, shooing me away. Towards the tower. Towards the main boss.
I obeyed and, turning, headed for the citadel of evil. Just at the entrance, I glanced back for one last look at the old man. He was already lying on the ground. And he wasn't breathing.
I slowly closed my eyes for a moment and turned away. In this world, I am a manager of the dead, not the master of death. Not yet. Rest in peace, Rob. You were a good old man.
Now for the main event: why hasn't the enemy team's boss come out yet? Where's his professional ethics? We were supposed to have an epic battle of the bosses, and he just chickened out and decided to hide in his office on the top floor? Unprofessional.
I smirked and gave a mental command. My undead, like a swarm of diligent construction workers, rushed up the tower, replenishing their ranks as they went. Turns out, storming a fortress is also profitable. Many slacker guards were still hiding in the dark corridors, so my army grew exponentially as I leisurely ascended towards the final boss.
And… somewhere halfway up, I realized I was tired. These little kid legs were not made for marathon stair-climbing. I found a cozy corner, sat on a pile of construction debris, and took a little break while my army cleared the floors above on their own. My tireless subordinates even thoughtfully brought me fresh corpses so I could conduct express interviews and expand our staff. Now that's service.
Soon, we reached the highest currently constructed floor. Unfinished walls and construction debris were all around. The wind howled, carrying dust into the night sky. I took a deep, hissing breath of cold air through my teeth.
This is the perfect place for a battle between two foremen!
It would be a fair one-on-one fight! Brain versus me and my army of the undead! What, you think that's unfair? Nonsense. My undead are just an extension of my will, my tools. So it's all by the rules.
"You have ruined my grand plan, do you realize that?!" Brain's voice reached me from the other side of the platform. The idiot didn't even realize I could barely hear him from here. The wind carried away half of his grandstanding. "But I can give you a chance!... Join me!... Help me build the tower… resurrect the great Zeref!... Together, we will rule the world!..."
"Blah, blah, blah," I interrupted, not hiding my boredom. "Do all villains take the same public speaking course before they die? You're the most generic antagonist I've ever met, seriously! If you want to fight, let's just get it over with!"
I raised my hand.
"Legion, kill him!"
My command was met with a dead silence, followed by the shuffle of hundreds of running feet. The army of the dead, which had filled the entire rooftop, surged towards Brain like a single, rotting organism. It wasn't an attack; it was a living battering ram, a wave of decaying flesh and bone.
Brain was no weakling. He raised his staff, a dark green light dancing at its tip.
"Insects! Know true darkness! Archives of Darkness!"
Dozens of dark tendrils erupted from the ground at his feet, easily tearing apart and incinerating the first wave of my workers. An entire section of my army simply vanished, leaving behind only piles of ash. Impressive. Useless, but impressive.
Because new ones immediately took the place of the fallen. The gap in my ranks was instantly filled by the bodies of those behind them. My guys knew no fear, felt no pain, and needed no morale. They were the perfect workforce—they only had the task.
"Fools!" Brain roared, seeing the second wave crash against him with the same relentlessness. He held his staff out, creating a dark shield that scattered the nearest undead. He threw spell after spell, turning my subordinates to dust, ripping them to shreds, but they just kept coming.
It was simple math. He had a limited supply of magic. I had a massive supply of corpses.
Soon, he began to tire. His spells grew weaker, his shield thinner. One of my guys, a former guard with a caved-in helmet, managed to break through and clamp onto his leg. With a furious scream, Brain incinerated him, but in that second, three more managed to reach him and grab his cloak. He threw them off, but then five more piled on.
He was like a swimmer trying to fight the tide. He could push back one wave, a second, a third, but the ocean was endless. Eventually, it simply washed over him. He stumbled, and that was enough. Dozens of bodies fell upon him, burying him underneath. There was a muffled scream, the crunch of bones, and then silence. Where the powerful dark mage had stood just a moment ago, there was now a writhing dogpile of my loyal workers.
I slowly approached the gruesome, still-twitching mound.
"Project closed," I stated, looking at the result with satisfaction. "Excellent work, team. For those who distinguished themselves, the bonus is one day of leave in the storage."
With a lazy wave of my hand, I recalled my subordinates. The writhing pile of corpses obediently dispersed, the bodies instantly vanishing into my storage. Lying on the cold stone was what had, until recently, been the great dark mage, Brain.
The sight was, frankly, not for the faint of heart. His mangled body resembled a rag doll that had been enthusiastically chewed by a very large dog. His expensive robes were in tatters, a mask of terror was frozen on his face, and his empty, vacant eyes held not a shred of intelligence.
I sauntered over to him, savoring the moment. Clearing my throat, I struck what I believed to be the most epic and dramatic pose possible.
"I'll repeat your own words back to you," I proclaimed, carefully mimicking his imperious tone. "'Join me, and together, we will rule the world!'"
To give my words more weight, I gave his broken ribs a light kick. A corporate gesture of welcome, you know.
"Do you agree? Silence implies consent, right? In that case…" I paused dramatically and smiled my most predatory smile. "To work!"
Brain's lifeless, gnawed body twitched. There was a nauseating, wet crunch as his bones snapped back into place. A dull, lifeless spark ignited in his dead eyes, and with an unnatural contortion, he began to rise to his feet.
"Gr-r-r-a-a-a!" a mindless, guttural roar escaped his throat.
I clapped him friendly on the shoulder, nearly knocking him over.
"I'm glad you're joining our friendly company too, Brain! Welcome to the team. Your probationary period starts now."