The Unwanted Undead Adventurer: Volume 1

Prologue

This... This is bad.

That was the first thought that flashed across my mind as the monster before me opened its crimson red lips, rushing at me with its mouth wide open.

In a particularly rural corner of the lands was the Kingdom of Yaaran, and on the fringes of the kingdom was a small town by the name of Maalt. I, Rentt Faina, an adventurer of the lower-Bronze-class, found myself hunting weak monsters in the Water Moon Dungeon—a dungeon close to the township of Maalt. On this day, much like any other, I continued my relentless hunt for skeletons and goblins, assembling what little materials and magical ores I could along the way.

That was my daily routine after all. I basically did the same thing every day, returning to town in the evenings and off-loading my gathered materials at the adventurer’s guild for a humble sum of coin. That was what I had intended to do today, too, as I always had before.

However, this disruption to my well-established routine was sudden and abrupt—a quick wrench in the cogs, if you will.

Perhaps I should elaborate a little on the subject of dungeons. Since I had walked the chambers and paths of the Water Moon Dungeon every day, there was little to no possibility of me getting lost. Ironically, it was this familiarity that was my undoing, for I discovered what appeared to be a new path along my old and familiar routes.

I suppose one could call it bad luck. Yes, let’s go with that.

Under normal circumstances, I would have probably overlooked such a thing. Adventurers, after all, were supposed to be individuals who adventure, but the definition of adventure didn’t exactly include rushing into situations without any prior surveillance or planning. In reality, however, there were far more adventurers who simply charged headfirst into any situation—and as ashamed as I am to be counted among their number, I, too, have made such mistakes.

It would probably do me well to raise a single point in my defense here. To begin with, the Water Moon Dungeon was discovered ages ago. To find new paths and chambers in such a well-explored dungeon was virtually unheard of. In other words, it was a big discovery. One would summarily deduce that some sort of magical grimoire or weapon with a wildly ridiculous price tag lay at the end of this mysterious path. In addition, one could attain a certain degree of fame and fortune by charting a previously unexplored area of a dungeon.

And so it came to be that I entered this strange path, thoughts of potential riches clouding both my mind and my judgment. My short-lived exploration trip, however, did not end well. I soon found myself in a large chamber toe-to-toe with a monster of gigantic proportions. And when it rains, it pours—or so they say.

Of all things, the monster had to be a dragon. You know. Dragons. Monsters that stood at the top of the monster hierarchy. Normally, one would have to be a Platinum- or Mithril-class adventurer to even stand a chance against them, as they were the monster of monsters.

At a glance, it looked a little different from one’s usual vision of a dragon. While most dragons looked a certain way, this one was markedly different—like a large snake, or perhaps a frog. However, there was no mistaking that the monster in question was a dragon of some sort. That’s what I thought anyway.

Unfortunate adventurers who cross paths with dragons usually do not make it out alive to tell the tale. As dragons do not appear before people very often, eyewitness accounts are rare, perhaps historically so. In fact, you could count the existing recorded instances on one hand. Legend has it that there were no more than four of such dragons in the world, and their strength was said to even rival that of the demon king. Some would say that they were not monsters but instead divine beings, while others would say that they were beyond even that.

In other words, someone like me, who had been stuck in Bronze-class for eons despite their best efforts, would be utterly crushed and defeated if the dragon so much as lifted its little finger—for a while, I wondered if dragons actually had fingers.

So with a dragon appearing before me, I had no choice but to be surprised—I did not have any illusions or thoughts of fighting it at all. This, specifically, was why I decided to run. If I didn’t run, I would surely die. And so my feet began to move.

But then—

I guess the dragon really was the monster of monsters, because it quickly noticed my intention to escape. Perhaps it couldn’t help but notice, just like how my feet couldn’t help but freeze on the spot. Just like that, I found myself unable to move. Or maybe it was more accurate to say that my body itself refused to move. It didn’t even twitch. A normal individual would question why this was the case—if they were, say, a normal person who had never come face-to-face with a monster before.

However, because of my long tenure as an adventurer, it wasn’t difficult for me to understand this current phenomenon. Adventurers eventually learn to read their opponents regardless of their nature, be they human or monster. The pressure and aura released by a being of high strength was often enough to oppress and intimidate the weak; they say it is like being crushed by a heavy, invisible weight. At least, that was how the rumors went.

What I experienced was exactly that. Incapable of withstanding the pressure emanating from the dragon, I was unable to move, completely rooted to the ground. Realizing my situation, I wished from the bottom of my heart for the dragon to spare me. It probably wouldn’t. This, I knew for sure.

At that point, all I could do was stand and watch as the dragon advanced closer—all the while praying that it would change its mind about eating me. Reality, however, was not quite so forgiving.

After it caught sight of me, the dragon swiftly opened its mouth and charged in my general direction. Of course it was going to eat me—as expected. That was the conclusion I arrived at as I pondered, somewhat leisurely, in the face of death. At the same time, a little voice in my head reminded me of how dire the situation was, reminded me that I’d soon be dead. There wasn’t much I could do about it, however—my body simply wouldn’t move.

It had been about ten years since I first became an adventurer at the age of 15. Back then, I believed that I’d one day exceed Platinum-class rank and become one of the few legendary Mithril-class adventurers—that was my dream when I first started out. So, I took on simple quests, earning my daily keep as I continued dreaming of such a future. When I was done with my daily quests, I would continue my daily training regimen. Although I did all that, it seemed like my dream would end here.

It was pathetic; unfortunate, yes, but mostly pathetic.

With feelings of utmost regret, and a strange sense of release knowing that my relatively pointless life would end here and now, my body was engulfed by the mouth of the dragon—and that was that.

◆◇◆◇◆

What I was not expecting, however, was the strange sensation of waking up after an indeterminate period of time. It would seem that I had woken up, regardless of how sure I was that I’d been eaten by a dragon, and how I’d confirmed my death with these very eyes. Yet here I was, awake.

And then I noticed—

Wait. No, no no no. That’s impossible.

That’s what I thought as I woke up, confirming the situation around me.

This all seemed unfeasible, particularly the matter of what had happened to my body. I couldn’t process what was happening. Even so, first, a look at my hands was warranted.

It was then that the realization struck me. There was no flesh on my hands—though there should have been—and there was no skin, either. In fact, all that remained of what was once my hand were a series of thin, white bones.

—And that was all there was.

This strange ailment didn’t stop at my hands, however; it had apparently afflicted every inch of my body. My feet, too, were plain bone—no flesh or skin anywhere. Same went for my thighs, as well as both my arms.

As for my face, well... It wasn’t common practice for adventurers to carry compact mirrors. Needless to say, I didn’t have one. With an educated guess, I would assume that I probably had a skull for a face. In other words...

I, Rentt Faina, adventurer of the lower-Bronze-class, had apparently conducted a class change from adventurer to skeleton at some point in time.

Impossible...

Chapter 1: A Grasp of the Situation and Existential Evolution

I found myself at a complete loss. My first thought—What should I be doing?

For starters, it would be fair to say that I had definitely been eaten by the dragon. I supposed I should be grateful, even if I were alive in a somewhat non-human form.

Well, no. I could not be sure of that... Was I even alive in the first place? Skeletons were a type of undead monster, creatures that have already died once. As such, it would be easy for bishops and priests of the church to exorcise them with simple cleansing magic. If anything, they were exceptionally weak monsters.

The explanation behind cleansing skeletons was simple. Being a sack of walking bones, they were creatures brought forth against the divine logic of the gods. Other explanations included the more simple they are dead and, as such, cannot exist on this world. Succinct, but true. This continued defiance of the divine rules of life and death was apparently the prime reason for their weakness to said magic.

Personally, I had no idea if any of this held water. In the first place, I wasn’t a bishop or priest. However, the general argument for it seemed sound, and for myself at this point in time, it was a critically important piece of information. Plainly put, if I were to expand upon that logic, I was definitely very, very dead. More accurately, I was existing in the world as a dead pile of bones. This was a very bad thing indeed.

As I mentioned before, the fact that a dead being continued to exist apparently flaunted some severe laws of the divine nature. If I were to simply saunter back into town and enter a tavern as if nothing had happened, it would not end well. No matter how much I would claim that I was Rentt Faina, some no-good priest who spent all his time in the tavern from morning to night would chance upon me and then promptly get rid of me with his stave. If this were to come to pass, my existence would simply be erased. This was something I definitely wanted to avoid.

Such were the bones of the situation. On the bright side, I was still alive. Even if I were to exist as a skeleton and defy the laws of life and death, as far as I was concerned, my consciousness was intact; I was still very much alive. This was precisely why I could not simply skip back to town and carelessly get myself killed.

Well, then, what should I do? That was the burning question.

This was the Water Moon Dungeon; adventurers would certainly make their way to the dungeon as they always had, merrily killing what monsters they found along the way. Even for a relatively beginner-oriented dungeon populated by weaker monsters, adventurers stronger than myself often made their way here. If I appeared before such individuals, I would certainly be killed—for good this time.

Whatever, then, should I do...?

As I continued to think, a few strings of thought connected in my mind. It was perhaps safe to assume that I was now a monster of some sort. There’s a certain mysterious aspect to monsters: older and more experienced monsters tended to evolve into more powerful versions of themselves. This phenomenon was commonly referred to as Existential Evolution. Although I was not absolutely sure if I was a monster to begin with, I seemed to be some sort of walking skeleton at a glance. If that really were the case, then wouldn’t this concept apply to me, as well?

—The whole Existential Evolution thing, I mean. After all, having knowledge of monsters was sort of an occupational requirement for adventurers. If memory served, skeletons could apparently evolve into flesh-eating ghouls—at least, that’s what I remembered reading in a book about monsters some time ago.

Although ghouls were also a type of undead monster, and hence also went against the divine laws governing life and death, they at the very least had a more humanoid appearance than a skeleton did. Rotted and dried out though it may be, a ghoul even had flesh. With a robe and mask, I could perhaps pass for a human—those were my thoughts on the matter.

If I did this, I would be able to sneak into town rather uneventfully, and I would finally get the chance to explain the nature of this situation to my friends and compatriots. I was, of course, very much aware of the absurd nature of my plan. If anything, it was not very well thought-out. However, this was all I had to work with at this point.

I made a decision—

I would aim to somehow trigger this Existential Evolution. I, Rentt Faina, would evolve into a ghoul in the Water Moon Dungeon.

◆◇◆◇◆

The Existential Evolution from skeleton to ghoul was the first thing I had to address. Although I had already decided on that course of action, I was unsure of the extent of my combat abilities. I was only a low-ranked Bronze-class adventurer, near the bottom rungs of the guild. I did, however, fare better than Iron-class adventurers, who were the newest of the new. If I were to objectively state my combat prowess, I would say that taking down one or two goblins and skeletons was doable and well within safe limits. I could do at least that much—

Although I probably would not come out of it unscathed.

If there were three enemies, it would perhaps be a little more difficult, but I would still be able to win, somehow. If there were four enemies, I would definitely run; if there were five, I would be done for. That was how it looked at this point in time.

It would not be fair, however, to call me weak. I didn’t have much say in the matter to begin with, having begun my journey as an adventurer only a decade ago, but I had been training hard for almost 20 years. In fact, I would actually like some empathy here—I had trained for that long, but I could only do this much.

If one were to ask why I had spent that much time and effort training only to have nothing much to show for it, the answer was very simple: I didn’t have enough reserves of mana, spirit, or divinity. In addition, I didn’t have many of the abilities required to adequately control my already meager reserves of power. It could be said that this was a more-than-fatal issue for any budding adventurer.

Frankly speaking, I would actually appreciate some praise for having made it thus far.

I suppose I haven’t explained what magic, spirit, and divinity are. Let us talk about the nature of mana, to start. Mana is a required prerequisite for the casting of magical spells—the font of mysterious magical energy that some rare individuals are born with. If one were to put it simply, those blessed with mana at birth are able to conjure flames and wind without the use of any tools, to cause water to flow freely from nowhere, and to persuade the earth itself to move beneath their feet. In more ways than one, magic is a very convenient skill.

Although the ratios differed between the various races of sentient beings that populated these lands, one in approximately every 50 humans was born with mana in their being. This was no small number. However, only one in a thousand had enough mana and aptitude to actually become successful mages—such was the rarity of this blessing. As long as the user possessed a certain amount of mana, however, simple spells like the venerable Foteia Borivaas fireball, or the Gie Vieros earthen arrow, could be cast without too much trouble. Though, to proceed beyond rudimentary attack spells, one would require the aforementioned combination of mana and aptitude, which was available only to one in a thousand humans on average.

It’s perhaps worth mentioning that, while I did have some mana reserves at birth, they were pathetically low—hardly a fraction of what one would need to become a powerful mage. After all, I hadn’t been able to cast any low-level attack spells despite my long periods of training. My lack of talent in this field was painfully apparent.

I could, however, conjure water for drinking and embers to light campfires with. For that, I was grateful, even if said blessings were small ones. Yet it was extremely regrettable that I couldn’t use magic in combat.

Next, an explanation of spirit would perhaps be in order. Often referred to by a plethora of other names, such as Chakra or Prana, spirit is the life force of all living things.

Unlike magic, spirit is the root of all life, and as such is available to any and all living persons. If one were to use it well, one could strengthen their own body, augment their attacks, and even obtain stamina way above that of an average human. However, as most individuals subconsciously used spirit as a means of staying alive, few come to realize its true potential. On the other hand, even if one were to become aware of one’s own spirit, a significant amount of training was required to use it adequately, in addition to requiring a natural aptitude for channeling one’s life force.

In my case, I didn’t have enough command over my spirit reserves to actually utilize it effectively, even though I’d become aware of its existence. But even so, I did come up with the ability to amplify the force of a single attack by 1.5 times once in a single day—personally, I considered that ability my trump card. But although the augmented attack did carry a significant amount of force, it would certainly be seen as child’s play to an actual practitioner of the spirit arts.

Last but not least would be an explanation of divinity. I suppose you could say it is even rarer than the blessing of mana as most people have no affinity for it whatsoever. It is said that divinity is bestowed upon humans by divine beings, such as gods or faeries. Having any pool of divinity in oneself is considered a rare thing indeed, and most people blessed with it find themselves working for the church.

Depending on how one uses it, divinity is known for enabling the use of healing and cleansing spells which, on a rudimentary level, could be used to heal illnesses or purify the undead. Wielders of greater fonts of divinity are even able to purify vast tracts of corrupted land. In addition, due to its nature as an ability bestowed by divine beings, the lucky few with divinity in them find themselves able to communicate with faeries and gods. In some cases, they even rise to prominent social positions.

In this case, if we were just talking about a run-of-the-mill individual, they probably would not have a single trace of divinity in them at all. But I, for one reason or another, did have a sliver of divinity in me. That said, a sliver is a sliver, so greater tasks were beyond me.

If memory serves, this snippet of divinity originated from an event in my younger days, where I decided, for some reason, to fix a local run-down shrine of sorts. The spirits that inhabited that shrine probably saw fit to bless me, and that was that.

Although I had been able to use the divine arts a little since then, all I had managed to do was purify dirty water so it was safe for drinking, or to clear a wound of its infections. Things like closing wounds instantly or purifying corrupted land was, and still is, unfortunately beyond me. It is, however, still a very handy life skill to have. More often than not, I find myself thanking that faerie or spirit from the bottom of my heart.

And that concludes my explanation as to why it was difficult for me to continue in my capacity as an adventurer with only this much aptitude and ability. After all, the fonts of mana and divinity within me were small, and even I knew that I was not exactly cut out for adventuring.

It is perhaps worth noting that individuals with the ability to command and utilize all three abilities were very rare. In fact, I do not recall encountering another quite like myself. Unfortunately, with the important factor not being quantity but the degree of aptitude and power one has, one could also say that I was extremely unlucky.

Most individuals who aspire to be adventurers usually have a strong innate disposition to one of the three abilities—about, say, half of them were that way. Someone like me, who was neither here nor there, was very much a rare oddity. In fact, people like me would have probably just chosen a normal, non-combative job, and would live their entire lives out that way in relative peace. I, too, should have done that; at least, that’s what I would say in hindsight.

One thing prevented me from doing as I should have, though: the fact that I had a great dream.

From a young age, I had chased it, and have continued to do so—to become a Mithril-class adventurer. There was no way I could give up after all this time.

But as