The dungeon's exit turned out to be anticlimactic.
A simple rising tunnel that opened into a forest clearing, lit by the pale glow of two moons hanging in the night sky.
Two moons.
Definitely not on Earth.
Mark drew a deep breath, filling his lungs with fresh air for the first time since waking up in that damp, blood-smelling cave. The contrast with the dungeon's stale stink was almost enough to make him dizzy.
"Master, are you all right?"
Elyndra stood at his side, close enough that he could feel the unnatural cold radiating off her body. Not unpleasant—just different. Like standing next to a marble statue that had decided, at some point, to start walking around.
"I'm fine," Mark said, aiming for confident and landing somewhere around functional. "Just… appreciating the scenery."
"The scenery is beautiful," she agreed—but her eyes never left him. Not once. "Though not as beautiful as you, Master."
Okay. That was intense.
Mark cleared his throat.
"Ely… can I call you Ely?"
"You may call me anything you wish, Master. Any name from your lips will be music to my ears."
Yeah. I definitely overdid the personality modification.
"Ely," he continued, pressing forward before the conversation got weirder, "I need you to explain some things about this world. I've been… isolated. For a long time. My knowledge might be outdated."
An obvious lie.
Elyndra accepted it without question.
Of course she did.
I should feel guiltier about that. Why don't I feel guiltier about that?
"Of course, Master. What would you like to know?"
Over the next hour, walking through the forest in search of any sign of civilization, Elyndra covered the basics.
It was, as he'd suspected, a generic fantasy world. Adventurers had ranks running from F all the way up to SSS. Dungeons appeared naturally and spawned monsters. Magic existed, though it was relatively rare. And the Adventurers' Guild regulated more or less everything worth regulating.
"Necromancers," Ely added, her tone carrying something carefully restrained—disapproval, maybe, or the ghost of it, "are… looked down upon. Manipulating the dead is considered an affront to the gods. Most are hunted. Executed."
Great. I'm a social outcast in an unfamiliar world. Some things never change.
"And you?" Mark asked. "What do you think of necromancers?"
Elyndra looked at him with those impossible blue eyes, expression softening in a way that made something uncomfortable shift in his chest.
"I think my master is the most wonderful person in the world," she said simply. "If he is a necromancer, then necromancy must be the noblest art in existence."
"That doesn't actually answer the question."
"No," she agreed, unbothered. "But it is the truest answer I have."
I'm going to have to think very carefully about what I say around her.
Eventually, they found a road. The road led them to a city—or something close enough to one. Stone walls. Wooden-and-thatch houses. A central square with a fountain. The whole medieval starter-town package.
"Master," Ely said, stopping just before the gates.
"What?"
"My presence may cause… complications."
Mark frowned. "Why?"
"I am—was—known. Elyndra Ashford, the Knight of Dawn." She said it without pride, just fact. "My disappearance three weeks ago likely caused quite a stir. If someone recognizes me…"
Shit. I didn't think of that.
"Can you hide somehow?"
She tilted her head, considering.
"I have a skill. Shadow Merge. It allows me to conceal myself within any nearby shadow." A small pause. "It only functions if a shadow is available."
"Then stay in mine. Only come out if I call you, or if I'm in danger."
"As you command, Master."
And with that, Elyndra dissolved.
Her body went translucent, then transparent, then simply gone—melting into the shadow Mark cast beneath the moonlight like she'd never existed at all.
That was disturbing. Mark stared at the empty space where she'd been standing. And also incredibly useful.
He approached the city gates, trying his best to look normal—which was difficult, given that his appearance screamed edgy videogame character from roughly a mile away.
The gate guard looked him up and down.
"Name and purpose?"
"Mark," he said, going with his real name because nothing else came to mind. "Adventurer. Looking to register with the guild."
The guard's eyes moved to his equipment. Then to his lack of equipment.
"Rank?"
"F."
A smile crossed the guard's face. Not a kind one.
"Another newbie. Guild's in the central plaza. Don't cause trouble."
Mark nodded and walked through, feeling the man's stare burning into his back the entire way.
Rank F, he thought. Bottom of the barrel. Everyone's punchline.
But in his shadow, invisible to everyone except him, traveled a Rank SSS warrior who thought he was the most wonderful person in the world.
Maybe Rank F isn't so bad after all.
...
...
...
The Adventurers' Guild of Millbrook—so the city was called, according to a sign by the gate—was exactly what Mark had expected.
Stone-and-wood building. Quest board on the wall. A bar in the corner serving something that smelled aggressively alcoholic. And a collection of muscular men in varying states of irritation, all of whom stopped what they were doing to stare at him the moment he walked in.
"Home, sweet home."
He approached the counter. A middle-aged woman with the expression of someone who had been bored since birth looked up at him.
"New registration or renewal?"
"New registration."
She sighed—the long, specific sigh of a person who found the answer personally offensive.
"Name, class, known skills."
"Mark. Necromancer. One skill: Wake Up."
The silence that followed could've been cut with a knife.
The receptionist stared at him. The nearby adventurers stared at him. Even the man in the corner who had, up until that moment, been quietly vomiting, stopped vomiting to stare.
"Necromancer," the woman repeated.
"Yes."
"Are you aware that necromancy is… frowned upon?"
"So I've been told."
She studied him for a long moment, visibly deciding whether he was stupid, suicidal, or some combination of the two.
"Listen, kid. I don't care what you do in your free time. But if you cause trouble with your—" she paused, mouth twisting faintly, "—skills, the guild won't protect you. Understood?"
"Understood."
"Good."
She pulled out a form and began filling it in with the mechanical efficiency of someone who had done it several thousand times.
"Starting rank: F. Available quests: herb gathering, rat extermination, package delivery. Pay: pocket change. Questions?"
"Any dungeons nearby?"
The receptionist raised one eyebrow.
"Dungeons. Kid, you're Rank F. The closest ones are Rank D minimum. Going in would be suicide."
If only you knew.
"Just curious," Mark said, accepting the adventurer plate she slid across the counter.
Copper.
An "F" engraved dead in the center.
The symbol of his insignificance, made physical.
"Welcome to the guild," the receptionist said, already looking past him. "Try not to die."
Mark found a table in a dark corner—far from the staring adventurers, close to the wall—and sat down to think.
Okay. Current situation.
I'm a Rank F necromancer in a world that hates necromancers. I have a Rank SSS undead warrior hidden in my shadow. And I need to level up without anyone finding out about either of those last two things.
Complex problem.
But Mark had spent thousands of hours optimizing builds and strategies in videogames. This wasn't actually that different. Just higher stakes. And real consequences. And no save file.
…Okay, it was a little different.
First: information. How the rank system works. How leveling works. Which dungeons are accessible.
Second: resources. Food, lodging, gear. Rank F quests are garbage, but they're a start.
Third: discretion. No one can know about Ely. If anyone finds out I'm walking around with an undead Rank SSS, I'll be dead before I can finish explaining it was a misunderstanding.
"Ely," he murmured, quietly enough that no one nearby could hear. "Can you hear me?"
A voice answered directly in his mind—clear and calm, like she was sitting right beside him.
Of course, Master. I am always listening.
That's mildly disturbing. He filed it away. But useful.
"Tell me everything you know about the dungeons in this region. Difficulty levels, monster types, rewards."
With pleasure, Master. The nearest is the Shadow Wolf Cave, classified as Rank D. Mainly lesser beasts and some low-level undead. Beyond that—
Mark listened while she talked, absorbing every detail. She'd spent years as an adventurer before whatever had brought her to that dungeon. The information she carried was precise, organized, and endless.
This is like having a walking encyclopedia that's devoted exclusively to me.
I can use her to clear dungeons while I stay back and collect experience and loot. No one has to know I'm not doing the real work.
It was a coward's plan. Dishonest. Completely lacking in personal merit.
It was perfect.
"Ely. Tomorrow we're going to the Shadow Wolf Cave."
Tomorrow, Master? Would you not prefer to rest first?
"No. Sooner we start, the better."
As you command. A pause—brief, almost imperceptible. I will be ready to protect you with my life. Or what remains of it.
Mark smiled. Small. Almost imperceptible.
But genuine.
Yeah. This might actually work.