Chapter One: The Last Breath of Earth
Khan never believed he would die in a parking lot under flickering fluorescent lights, rainwater pooling around the cracked asphalt like a shallow grave. He was nineteen, halfway through a gap year he never meant to take, working late shifts unloading delivery trucks behind a half-abandoned mall while trying to figure out what exactly he wanted from life. He had plans in a vague, drifting sense—maybe trade school, maybe the military, maybe something that didn't leave him smelling like engine grease and wet cardboard—but none of them were urgent enough to chase. Death, however, proved very urgent. The truck driver hadn't seen him. The brakes hadn't caught in time. There was the scream of metal, the violent shove of force against bone, and then the surreal quiet of rain tapping against his cooling skin. His last coherent thought wasn't about family or dreams. It was annoyance. I didn't even get started.
Darkness swallowed him whole, but it was not the nothing he expected. It was structured. Ordered. He felt suspended, not falling but held in a space that hummed with a low mechanical resonance, like distant servers processing infinite data. Then the darkness split with a vertical line of light, sharp as a blade, and text appeared before him in luminous glyphs that translated themselves in his mind.
[Reincarnation Protocol Initiated.]
[Soul Integrity: Stable.]
[Memory Retention: Partial – Approved.]
[Welcome, Candidate.]
Khan would have panicked if he had lungs to breathe with. Instead he watched, disembodied and steady, as more lines unfolded.
[You have qualified for Transmigration to World: Eryndor.]
[System Integration Required.]
[Select Class.]
The void dissolved into a vast circular chamber suspended in nothingness. Floating before him were pillars of light, each bearing a title. He drifted closer, drawn by curiosity rather than fear. Knight. Elementalist. Beast Tamer. Artificer. Chronomancer. Each pillar pulsed with faint imagery—armored warriors bathed in sunfire, mages bending storms, inventors forging arcane rifles powered by crystalline cores. It wasn't medieval fantasy in the pure sense. The visions showed cities of stone towers threaded with glowing cables, carriages gliding without horses, and streetlamps humming with condensed mana batteries. Eryndor was a world that had married sorcery and technology into something sleek and efficient.
He studied the pillars with a calculating gaze. Knight promised power and prestige, but also chains—oaths, allegiances, expectations. Elementalist burned bright but seemed common. Artificer intrigued him; the ability to craft and profit appealed to his practical side. But then he saw the last pillar, darker than the rest, the light within it a deep violet edged in sickly green.
Necromancer.
The air around it felt colder, heavier. Images flickered—skeletal figures rising from battlefield mud, spirits bound in chains of light, constructs stitched from bone and steel. But there was more. He saw laboratories lit by electric-blue glyphs, necromancers fusing corpses with mechanical augmentations, dead soldiers wired into mana grids to power entire districts. It wasn't just raising mindless skeletons. It was dominion over death itself, over the one certainty that had ended his first life.
A line of text pulsed.
[Warning: Necromancer Class Possesses High Risk.]
[Social Penalty: Significant.]
[Initial Power Level: Low.]
[Growth Potential: Exceptional.]
Khan almost laughed. Low initial power. Social penalty. High growth ceiling. It sounded like starting from the bottom of a ladder most people were too afraid to climb. He didn't want to be shackled to a king's banner or waste decades building gadgets someone else would profit from. He wanted leverage. Death was universal. Everyone feared it. If he could command it, even in a small way, he would never be completely powerless again.
"I choose Necromancer," he said, though he had no mouth. The chamber trembled as if in acknowledgment.
[Class Confirmed: Necromancer.]
[Core Abilities Unlocked: Soul Sight (Lv.1), Raise Lesser Undead (Lv.1), Mana Thread (Lv.1).]
[Passive Trait: Grave Affinity – Minor.]
[Transmigration Commencing.]
The void imploded.
He woke choking on damp earth.
The sky above him was not the dull gray of his old world but a deep violet twilight streaked with unfamiliar constellations. Cold soil pressed against his back. He lay in a shallow pit at the edge of what appeared to be a forest cemetery. Stone markers rose in uneven rows, some cracked and leaning, others embedded with faintly glowing sigils that hummed with residual energy. Beyond the tree line he could see the distant silhouette of a city—towers of dark stone laced with thin veins of turquoise light, hovering platforms drifting lazily between spires like silent elevators.
His body felt wrong and right at the same time. Stronger than before, leaner, but not by much. He pushed himself upright, hands trembling. A translucent panel blinked into existence before his eyes.
Name: Khan
Class: Necromancer (Lv.1)
Mana: 12/12
Strength: 6
Agility: 7
Vitality: 6
Intelligence: 9
Free Points: 0
Below it, a smaller notification flickered.
[You have been reborn at the outskirts of Virellia, Capital of the Ashen Province.]
He stands at an imposing 6'1", with a lean, athletic build that hints at strength without being bulky. His tan skin catches the light in a way that suggests long days under the sun, and his features are well-defined—strong jawline, high cheekbones, and expressive eyes that draw attention without effort. There's an easy confidence in the way he carries himself, the kind that makes people take notice without him saying a word.
Khan stood slowly, brushing dirt from his worn tunic and trousers. They were simple, coarse fabric. No armor. No weapon. No supplies. He scanned the cemetery with Soul Sight, instinctively activating the ability. The world shifted subtly. Faint wisps hovered over certain graves, pale threads of energy clinging to the earth like mist reluctant to disperse. Most were weak, barely perceptible. The system whispered knowledge into his mind: residual souls, too fragmented to bind.
He felt a flicker of disappointment. He had imagined immediate power, skeletal warriors clawing their way from graves at his command. Instead he sensed only fragments, echoes too faint to grasp.
"Of course," he muttered. "Low initial power."
A rustling sound broke the silence. From between the tombstones, a small creature emerged—something like a fox but hairless, its skin stretched taut over visible ribs, and eyes glowing faintly green. Carrion beast, the system read aloud. Level 2. It sniffed the air, gaze locked onto him.
Khan had no weapon. No armor. Just twelve mana and a class that specialized in the dead, not the living. The beast lunged.
He barely managed to roll aside, claws slicing through the fabric of his sleeve and grazing skin. Pain flared sharp and immediate. The beast wheeled around, snarling. Panic surged, but beneath it was calculation. He could not raise what was not dead. So he would have to make it dead.
He grabbed a broken grave marker, jagged at one end, and braced himself. The creature leapt again. This time he didn't dodge. He stepped forward and drove the stone shard into its throat. It thrashed, claws raking across his chest, but he held on, forcing the shard deeper until hot blood spilled over his hands and the light faded from its eyes.
They fell together onto the damp grass.
For a long moment he lay there, breathing hard, staring at the corpse beside him. He had killed before—once, when a stray dog attacked his younger cousin—but this felt different. There was no guilt, only a grim understanding. In this world, survival demanded it.
A notification chimed.
[Carrion Beast slain.]
[Experience gained: +12.]
[Level Up!]
Necromancer Lv.2
Mana Increased: +5]
Free Points: 3
His heart pounded. He had grown stronger, but only slightly. The increase felt incremental, not transformative. He was still vulnerable, still bleeding from shallow cuts. He wiped his hands on the grass and looked at the corpse.
"Raise Lesser Undead," he whispered, focusing on the body.
Mana drained from him in a thin, icy stream. Threads of violet light extended from his fingertips, burrowing into the beast's flesh. The air grew colder. The corpse twitched. For a terrifying second he thought it had failed, that he had wasted precious energy. Then the creature's eyes snapped open, now hollow pits burning with dim green fire. It rose unsteadily, movements stiff but obedient.
[Undead Thrall Created: Carrion Husk (Lv.1).]
[Maintenance Cost: 1 Mana/hour.]
Khan stared at the thing that had tried to kill him moments ago. It stood silently, awaiting command. It was weaker than before, movements slower, but it was his. Bound by Mana Thread, tethered to his will.
A slow smile curved his lips. Not a hero's grin, not the shining expression of someone destined to save kingdoms. It was the smile of a young man who had just acquired leverage.
He turned toward the distant lights of Virellia. He was weak. Poor. Alone. But he was no longer powerless. And in a world where magic powered cities and death fueled engines, a necromancer—if he survived long enough—could carve out a place that belonged to no one but himself.
"Let's see what this world is worth," he said, and with his first undead underling shambling at his side, Khan walked toward the city that would either shape him or break him.
Author'sNote: I will try to get better at my writing progressively; this is my first novel. Let me know what I can do to improve my writing.