All day, he had walked through the motions of life as though his body was a puppet and something else had taken up residence behind his eyes. Each step back from the dungeon had felt strangely distant, as though he was already living in another reality—a place where the gods’ amusements no longer reached him, where he was more than just a faceless delivery boy trailing behind “real hunters.” The moment he had claimed that legacy, the moment the Monarch System had accepted him as its vessel, something in his soul had begun to harden, like iron cooling in the forge. He was becoming the man he would need to be to survive. To rule.

He drew a long breath and exhaled slowly, willing the system to manifest. A ripple of pressure passed through the air as though the atmosphere itself grew denser. Then the blue panels flickered to life, filling the dim apartment with their spectral glow. The light painted the peeling wallpaper and the crooked kitchen counter in a color that looked almost holy—if holiness could belong to something born of death.

[Monarch System – Core Summary] Level: 2 HP: 135 / 135 Mana: 200 / 200 Strength: 14 Agility: 16 Sense: 15 Endurance: 13 Intelligence: 17 Inventory: Infinite Capacity Active Skills: Ruler of Death – Capture and bind souls into Undead. Their growth depends on soul absorption. Gate of the Monarch – Summon Undead anywhere. Range and volume scale with level. Monarch’s Insight – Observe status windows of any being unless their power vastly exceeds yours. Unique Passive: Soul Devourer – Absorb knowledge and essence from consumed souls.

His gaze lingered on the word Devourer. Even the term felt obscene, like something that shouldn’t exist in the world of mortals. But the truth was unignorable: with every enemy he consumed, he grew stronger. And in that strength lay the freedom he had been denied all his life.

His fingers twitched against his knee. A part of him wondered whether he was still the same Lee Siujin who had delivered crates of mana potions to arrogant C-rank hunters, bowing and scraping to avoid being fired. Did that boy still exist? Or had the moment of betrayal in the dungeon—a moment when the hunters he trusted hurled him to certain death—broken the final tether to any pretense of ordinary humanity?

Perhaps the gods had believed that humans would always stay in their place: a race to be observed, used, discarded. A spectacle. But no one had accounted for the will of the dead god who had left behind this legacy. No one had predicted that Siujin—a nobody—would become the inheritor of something that not even the pantheon dared to confront.

He closed his eyes, summoning the memory of that voice. Even now, he could still hear it in the depths of his consciousness—a resonance that was less like words and more like the sound of existence itself cracking open.

"Child of mortal sorrow," the voice had whispered as he bled onto the cold dungeon stone, "will you claim the power to bury the gods in their own graves?"

At the time, he had been too weak to answer aloud. But in his heart, something ancient and wordless had responded. Now, seated in this place that smelled of damp plaster and instant noodles, he felt that echo settle into a vow. He would never crawl again. He would never beg. If the gods demanded worship, they would find no altar in him.

He opened his eyes, willing the Gate of the Monarch to manifest. A chill passed through the air, so sudden that frost laced the edges of the floor beneath him. A black seam appeared in reality itself, splitting horizontally from one wall to the other like a gash in the world. From its depths, violet light poured out—a light that made his skin prickle as if unseen hands were brushing against him.

Shapes moved within that radiance, silhouettes that did not belong in any human dwelling. Three figures emerged, stepping one by one from the darkness. Their bodies were inhuman composites—skeletal limbs bound by the tattered remnants of armor, blackened bone glistening with new strength, eyes burning with cold cerulean flame. As the last of them stepped into the room, the gate contracted with a shudder and vanished. Silence reclaimed the space.

Siujin studied them carefully. They had changed since he first raised them. Already, the energies he had fed them were coaxing new abilities from their dead flesh. He could sense the budding intelligence in their cores, like embers waiting for kindling.

[Undead Minion Status] Name: Jin-Bok Rank: D Level: 3 HP: 90 / 90 Strength: 14 Agility: 10 Endurance: 15 Skills: Shield Wall, Bone Reinforcement Name: Daesik Rank: E Level: 2 HP: 75 / 75 Strength: 11 Agility: 11 Skills: Thrust, Keen Sight Name: Hwan Rank: E Level: 2 HP: 70 / 70 Strength: 10 Agility: 13 Skills: Quickstep, Ambush

He noted the way Jin-Bok stood slightly straighter, shield resting across his chest like a knight awaiting command. A strange pride stirred in Siujin’s chest. This was no mere corpse. This was the first of what would become an army.

"Jin-Bok," he said softly, testing the name aloud. The undead shifted, fixing him with that eerie blue gaze, and gave the smallest, deliberate nod.

Naming them did more than label. It anchored their existence. The system’s knowledge whispered that as Undead evolved, they would inherit a will, a sense of self, and—eventually—the capacity for speech and complex thought. When that day came, he would have not just minions but lieutenants, an order of the dead who could execute his vision without needing every command spelled out.

He reached into his Inventory, conjuring a soul marble—an orb the size of a plum, violet at its heart. It pulsed like a heartbeat in his palm, warm and cold at once. The soul of a C-rank monster, distilled into pure potential.

"Consume this," he commanded. The moment Jin-Bok’s bony hands closed over the marble, it dissolved into motes of light. A windless draft rustled the air as the power sank into the undead’s bones. For an instant, the flame in his sockets flared brighter, and his frame grew subtly thicker. Siujin felt the bond between them strengthen, as if a thread had been woven tighter.

The thought came unbidden: One day, he will lead armies in my name.

The realization didn’t frighten him. It thrilled him.

He flicked his gaze to Daesik and Hwan. The others would follow in time. Every soul he harvested would forge the next link in a chain that would eventually strangle the gods themselves.

The chill of the gate lingered on his skin. He dismissed it with a thought. The violet radiance folded inward and vanished, leaving behind only the ghosts of frost creeping across the floor.

For a moment, Siujin just sat there, breathing in the hush. No god was watching him through a system window. No hierarchy could claim ownership over this power. The feeling was intoxicating. Dangerous.

His stomach growled, low and plaintive, reminding him that even wielders of death needed to eat. He stood and moved to the kitchenette. He reached for a packet of ramyeon, the cheapest brand he could afford. As he poured water into the battered kettle, his eyes tracked the line of cracked tiles above the sink, every flaw familiar. The mundane details were grounding. They reminded him of what he had come from, what he never intended to return to.

While the kettle began to hiss, he let his thoughts drift. He called up a panel the system had only recently unlocked, curious to see what else had changed.

[Undead Evolution Ranks] E – Mindless but obedient. Equivalent to E-rank hunters in strength. D – Retains memories and skills. Basic tactical awareness. C – Gains speech and independent decision-making. B – Mastery of retained skills and limited magic. A – High intelligence, strategic command abilities. S – Near-mythic. Only the strongest souls can create these.

The thought that his creatures might eventually surpass the very hunters who had thrown him to die was a satisfaction almost too large to contain.

He stirred the noodles slowly. The broth frothed, filling the kitchen with the smell of salt and cheap seasoning. It felt almost absurd to stand here, cooking a meal while an undead legion waited in another dimension. But maybe absurdity was the point. This was his life now: one foot in the world of mortals, the other in a kingdom of the dead.

As he ate, he reflected on what had happened in the dungeon. On the ox beast whose soul had slipped through his grasp. The notification still burned in his memory:

[Notification: Soul Fragment Too Damaged to Convert.]

If he was going to build the army he envisioned, he would need more than just human prey. He would need intact, powerful souls. Monsters whose essence had not been shattered in death. Gods help the first S-rank beast he encountered. Its strength would be his, piece by piece.

His mind turned to the system’s newest notification:

[Quest: Establish a Monarch’s Base]

Claim three dungeon chambers.

Raise ten Undead Minions to Rank D.

Acquire five soul marbles of C-rank or higher. Reward: Title – Dungeon Lord, 1 Random Skill.

Dungeon Lord. He liked how it sounded.

Tomorrow, he would begin in earnest. He would venture back into the depths of the dungeon he had claimed. He would shape it into a fortress no god could breach. One day, he would stride into the world not as a hunted man but as the first and last of his kind. The Monarch.

He finished the last of his broth and set the bowl aside. When he lay down, the chill of the Gate still clung to him like a promise. Sleep claimed him slowly, and as his mind drifted away, he thought of the vast army that waited in the darkness—silent, patient, loyal beyond death itself.