Louhi
Squire of the Enpire
- Joined
- Jul 20, 2020
- Messages
- 97
- Points
- 93
I see u/AliceShiki123 everyday in r/gachagaming and r/umamusume
[CLOSED] Unreliable Biased Feedback v3
- Thread starter greyblob
- Start date
Rosica
Д̙̥̫̰̩̺̼̯̻͙̓͗̽̋̄̅̌̒͗̇р̴̼̫͍̤̜̖̼̠̈̅ͥ̆́̅͌ͩ͝у͋ͭ͛̔͋̈́ͯг
- Joined
- May 9, 2022
- Messages
- 137
- Points
- 103
She is also in the mtg subreddit. I believe Paul played with her often.I see u/AliceShiki123 everyday in r/gachagaming and r/umamusume
greyblob
"Staff Memeber" pleasr
- Joined
- Feb 6, 2021
- Messages
- 2,795
- Points
- 153
she's cookedI see u/AliceShiki123 everyday in r/gachagaming and r/umamusume
HarryGarland
Active member
- Joined
- Aug 13, 2025
- Messages
- 70
- Points
- 33
At the time of writing, I see there is an open slot. So, I'll pitch my novel in.
Be unreliable and biased, please.
www.scribblehub.com
Be unreliable and biased, please.
Heraldry: The Sapphire Among Vines
I Lost My Will to Live—Then This Smelly Catgirl Showed Up and Refused to Let Me Die He went to bed a demigod prince and woke as a brown-haired, brown-eyed child with no magic, no parents, and no kingdom. Herald Angelsigne’s world ended in less than nine hours....
Bimbanana
A Gentleorc
- Joined
- Oct 8, 2025
- Messages
- 357
- Points
- 93
Aight here goes.
So on this novel, i tried to make it less American and aim to appeal greater audience on RR. a litRPG!
So on this novel, i tried to make it less American and aim to appeal greater audience on RR. a litRPG!
THE NECROMANCER WHO CAN’T RAISE THE DEAD
–
SO HE BUILT AN EARTH CIVILIZATION INSTEAD
–
SO HE BUILT AN EARTH CIVILIZATION INSTEAD
In a world of magic and dragons, where kingdoms devour kingdoms, and a Demon King waits patiently to devour everything. Humanity’s greatest hope… is the Summoned Heroes.
The Church of the Goddess, the only institution capable of performing the summoning ritual, did what any reasonable institution would do.
They made a catalogue. Why rely on fate when you can have a price list?
Different tiers. Different classes. Different budgets.
From premium, battle-tested champions, to “affordable” options for struggling kingdoms. Because even the poor deserve their own personal hero.
Unfortunately, one such “budget-conscious” kingdom had a brilliant idea. Why not buy a cheap Necromancer? After all, an army of the undead doesn’t need salary, benefits, or pension. Perfect investment.
Instead… they got Theo.
A professional séance scammer. A man who made a living talking to the dead without ever actually summoning them.
Now living his second life as a hero, he still couldn’t.
A necromancer who couldn’t control the dead, with no summoning skills, and worst of all, he grows at only one quarter the normal rate. A defective product they said. So they did the logical thing.
They threw him away.
But Theo isn’t the type to despair. He’s the type who survives. Because what no one knows is, he can summon the dead, even though his system only allows him to summon souls from Earth.
Now exiled in the most dangerous region of the world, Theo begins his rise. Not with undead monsters, but with the greatest minds and figures in Earth’s history.
From Archimedes
to Nikola Tesla,
Julius Caesar
to George S. Patton,
Leonardo da Vinci
to… Steve Jobs?
Men who shaped civilizations, now answering to a scammer. Together, they will build an entire civilization. A kingdom forged from Earth’s greatest minds to devour other kingdoms in Civara… and perhaps even the Goddess herself.
There is just one problem.
Right next door lies the Demon Kingdom, And it has been waiting to devour Civara–long before Theo ever arrived.
The Church of the Goddess, the only institution capable of performing the summoning ritual, did what any reasonable institution would do.
They made a catalogue. Why rely on fate when you can have a price list?
Different tiers. Different classes. Different budgets.
From premium, battle-tested champions, to “affordable” options for struggling kingdoms. Because even the poor deserve their own personal hero.
Unfortunately, one such “budget-conscious” kingdom had a brilliant idea. Why not buy a cheap Necromancer? After all, an army of the undead doesn’t need salary, benefits, or pension. Perfect investment.
Instead… they got Theo.
A professional séance scammer. A man who made a living talking to the dead without ever actually summoning them.
Now living his second life as a hero, he still couldn’t.
A necromancer who couldn’t control the dead, with no summoning skills, and worst of all, he grows at only one quarter the normal rate. A defective product they said. So they did the logical thing.
They threw him away.
But Theo isn’t the type to despair. He’s the type who survives. Because what no one knows is, he can summon the dead, even though his system only allows him to summon souls from Earth.
Now exiled in the most dangerous region of the world, Theo begins his rise. Not with undead monsters, but with the greatest minds and figures in Earth’s history.
From Archimedes
to Nikola Tesla,
Julius Caesar
to George S. Patton,
Leonardo da Vinci
to… Steve Jobs?
Men who shaped civilizations, now answering to a scammer. Together, they will build an entire civilization. A kingdom forged from Earth’s greatest minds to devour other kingdoms in Civara… and perhaps even the Goddess herself.
There is just one problem.
Right next door lies the Demon Kingdom, And it has been waiting to devour Civara–long before Theo ever arrived.
White… Everything was white and shiny. That was the first thing the man saw as he slowly opened his eyes.
“Where am I?”
The question came naturally as he tried to make sense of the endless brightness surrounding him. It wasn’t just white—it was clean white. Polished. Almost divine.
He turned his head slightly. There was something beside him. A tall object standing upright.
It read: Heaven.
His heart immediately began to pound.
Did he already die?
How?
When?
But more importantly… Heaven?
A slow smile formed on his lips.
“…Oh thank God.”
He squinted, trying to read the sign more clearly. The words then sharpened into focus.
Horse Heaven, Oregon.
The paint on the signpost was slightly faded.
“…Oh, dang it.” His smile vanished.
Still in the US.
“Why can’t I move?” he muttered.
He tried to shift his arms, only to feel resistance. When he looked, he quickly found the answer. Chains. His left hand was bound by a thick metal chain, extending outward to a parked truck. Its headlights were on, blasting directly into him.
He turned his head to the right, another chain, another truck. Same position, same blinding lights.
Then he looked forward. A third truck stood directly in front of him, headlights on, completing the arrangement.
Three trucks. All pointed at him.
For a moment, he simply stared at them. Then the memory came back.
He had been running all day—from trucks. Not one, not two, but multiple trucks that had been trying very hard to kill him. The chase started from his home in Salem and didn’t stop until one of them finally caught up and completely totaled his car somewhere near this wonderfully named place.
Horse Heaven.
“…Right.”
And the reason those trucks had been trying to kill him… was now walking toward him.
The man approached at an unhurried pace, boots pressing against the ground with calm certainty. The headlights behind him stretched his shadow forward, obscuring his face in silhouette.
Only when he stopped right in front of Theo did the details become clear.
A rough-looking Mexican man with cowboy hat, thick mustache, and a goatee. The kind of presence that didn’t need to raise its voice to feel threatening.
“Theo Poliznev,” the man said coldly.
“Uh… hi there,” Theo replied, forcing a smile while sweat began forming along his temples.
“Hmph.” The man spat to the side. “I wonder if that’s even your real name… Master Obsidian Veil.”
Theo blinked, then gave a small, awkward chuckle.
“I’m pretty sure that’s the name my parents gave me, haha,” he said, holding onto the smile that he hoped might somehow fix the situation.
“…Nice to meet you.”
A brief pause.
“Do you think we can, uh… start over?”
“Like I said on the phone this morning,” the Mexican said coldly, “today will be your last day on earth, you fucking scam.”
Then he turned around and walked away toward the truck parked in front.
Scam.
Theo’s mind latched onto that word immediately. It wasn’t wrong. His whole life was practically built on scams.
Not in a bad way—well, not for him. He had been the one doing the scamming, and he had built a pretty decent life out of it.
For his victims, well, that part was less great.
His thoughts drifted as memories began lining up neatly
His first successful scam came back to him—high school days. A neat little Ponzi scheme. Small town, small minds, very enthusiastic investors. He still remembered how easy it was to convince people when everyone wanted to believe they were getting ahead early.
Then came the Nigerian Prince phase. Honestly, that one felt almost insulting in how well it worked. He barely had to try. A few emails, a tragic royal backstory, and suddenly people were wiring money out of sheer optimism.
He had been proud of that one. But things truly escalated when he moved to Salem—the capital of paranormal activity.
Naturally, he pivoted to séance scams. Pretending to channel the spirits of loved ones. Emotional, delicate work. Required timing, empathy, and just the right amount of theatrical pause. It was challenging and it was exciting.
And, more importantly, it paid very well. Competition was fierce, though. Plenty of others were running the same act. So Theo improved the formula.
He hired actors.
Not just himself pretending to be possessed—but others, carefully staged, each performance rehearsed to perfection. The experience became immersive. Convincing. His business exploded, and that was when Master Obsidian Veil was born.
All of it—every success, every client, every dollar—everything he built came from one thing he took very seriously: research. Theo believed in preparation. Deep dives. Background checks. Social media stalking. Family history. Old posts. Archived forums. Anything that could be used.
There was a reason scammer is the only criminal that can be called scam artist.
There’s no burglar artist.
No pickpocket artist.
No blackmail artist.
There was a craft to scam, and Theo was proud of that craft.
Which made this current situation… deeply frustrating. Because this time, he didn’t do enough research.
Mateo “El Abuela” Vargas.
For months, Theo had assumed the nickname “El Abuela”—The Grandma—came from a place of affection. A loving grandson, mourning his deceased grandmother, willing to spend generously just for one more conversation.
And to be fair, that part was true. Just… not the important part. Apparently, Mateo earned that nickname because he had personally sent a significant number of his cartel enemies to meet their grandmothers in the afterlife.
In Theo’s defense, a cartel leader who specialized in trucking and smuggling didn’t exactly list that on social media. So really, how was he supposed to know?
THUD.
Theo’s thoughts snapped back to the present as Mateo had entered his truck and shut the door.
Now Mateo sat behind the wheel, adjusting the position of a framed photo on the dashboard—his grandmother. He gave it a small, respectful smile before placing his hands on the steering wheel.
Then he looked forward at Theo. Still chained in the middle of the road, arms stretched out by the tension of the chains—almost like a cross. Mateo smile turned into a grin.
The engine started. A low, heavy rumble filled the air.
And so, here I am, Theo thought, watching as the truck came to life.
About to be executed by a trucking cartel leader.
By being rammed with a truck.
Mateo’s truck began to move. Theo watched it, mind oddly calm for someone in his current situation.
Wait…
He frowned slightly.
I think there’s a term for a truck that kills people…
The engine growled louder as the vehicle rolled forward.
Truck-kun, was it?
The truck picked up speed.
Yeah, Truck-kun. And then isekai. Theo almost smiled.
He remembered learning those terms while scamming amateur writers—fresh, hopeful, absolutely convinced their ideas were revolutionary. They were some of the easiest victims he’d ever had. He missed them a little.
The truck accelerated.
I wonder if I’ll get isekai’d because of this…
The headlights swallowed his vision as the distance closed rapidly. The world turned into blinding white. Theo let out a small sigh.
“Sigh… I should’ve stuck with online scamming.”
And then—
everything went black.
A 11-ton semi truck, moving at 120 km/h, slammed directly into him.
Truly—
a Truck-kun moment at its finest.
---
Planet Civara
Mirecrest Kingdom
Far away from Oregon, on a planet where energy was powered by magic instead of electricity, where people flew using living organic creatures instead of organic fossil fuels, existed a world that every environmentalist on Earth would passionately approve of.
Admittedly, the transportation and energy sources here had a tendency to occasionally eat or kill their users. Minor detail.
Inside the small kingdom of Mirecrest, King Godric paced back and forth in front of his throne.
His round figure and chubby cheeks did little to hide the tension on his face. Each step was heavy, uneven, worn down from repetition. Sweat had begun to form along his temples after nearly thirty minutes of pacing.
“Where is she…” he muttered under his breath.
Nearby, his advisor—Duke Lyrion, a frail and thin noble—watched with equal concern.
“Your Majesty… she will arrive today,” Duke Lyrion said carefully.
“You said the same thing yesterday!” King Godric snapped. “And the day before!”
The burst of anger only drained him further. With a tired exhale, he gave up pacing and sat down on the steps leading to his throne, lacking the energy to even climb back up properly.
He leaned forward, both hands gripping his head, voice weighed down with desperation.
“Is this because we’re poor?” King Godric said weakly. “Should we have given more tribute instead?”
“Your Majesty… we have no other options,” Duke Lyrion replied. “If we gave more… our kingdom would not recover financially. Not for the next forty years…”
“Screw forty years!” King Godric snapped again. “We’d be lucky if our neighbors don’t invade us next year! Or if we can even survive the famine this year!”
Then suddenly the hall doors burst open. A castle guard rushed in and dropped to one knee.
“Our guest from Lumia Church has arrived!” he declared.
King Godric’s entire face lit up. He immediately stood up, straightened his posture, and tried his best to look like a king who had not just been sitting on the stairs questioning his choices.
“Oh finally,” King Godric said, relief practically spilling out of his voice. “She’s here.”
“I still can’t believe it…” Duke Lyrion murmured, his expression equally brightened. “The beautiful Saintess Aurelia… stepping into our kingdom…”
The doors opened wider. And from them, a woman walked in. Graceful, dignified, dressed in pristine white priestess robes.
And very clearly around eighty years old.
A priestess who might have been breathtaking. Several decades ago.
King Godric blinked, Duke Lyrion blinked. They both stared.
“…Uh,” King Godric muttered, “and who are you?”
The woman stopped in front of them, lifting her chin slightly.
“I am Priestess Morwena Bristlewood,” she declared. “I am here to perform the hero summoning ritual as your kingdom has requested.”
King Godric and Duke Lyrion slowly turned to look at each other. Still processing.
“Ah… thank you for coming all this way, Priestess… Rowena,” Duke Lyrion said carefully. “We have been waiting for you for three days.”
“Hmph.” The priestess scoffed. “I didn’t realize this backwater kingdom would be such an inconvenience to reach.”
Duke Lyrion’s smile twitched slightly.
“But if I may ask…” he continued cautiously, “isn’t the summoning ritual usually conducted by… Saintess Aurelia?”
“Tch!”
Priestess Morwena clicked her tongue sharply.
“Your kingdom can only afford the lowest package of hero summoning,” she said bluntly. “And you expect the Church to send you our star saintess?!”
The words landed hard to both men.
“So?” Morwena continued impatiently. “Do you want me to perform the ritual or not? I still have several other kingdoms to visit.”
“Y-Yes! We want to do it!” King Godric said quickly. “Please forgive my advisor.”
Morwena scoffed again. “Then let’s get this over with.”
---
An hour later, the grand hall had been transformed.
A large magic circle covered the floor, glowing faintly as Priestess Morwena stood at its center, chanting steadily. Symbols layered upon symbols, lines weaving into complex patterns as the ritual neared completion.
At last, the circle stabilized, and the glow settled into something consistent. Morwena looked down at it, giving a small, satisfied nod. Then she turned toward King Godric.
“Have you decided which hero class you wish to summon?” she asked.
“Yes!” King Godric answered without hesitation. “I choose the necromancer hero!”
Morwena blinked. While Duke Lyrion did more than blink.
“Y-Your Majesty?!” Duke Lyrion stammered. “A necromancer? Why?!”
“Hmm… Most kingdoms request a strong, conventional class,” Morwena said, frowning slightly. “A swordsman. A mage. If they prefer something less… public, perhaps an assassin.”
She paused.
“But a necromancer?”
Priestess Morwena then narrowed her eyes at King Godric.
“You do realize that necromancy is borderline demonic practice, right?” she said. “An enemy of the Church and the Goddess.”
“D-Don’t worry,” King Godric replied. He hesitated for a moment, “I don’t plan to do any demonic rituals or activities.”
He then forced himself to sound confident
“I have my own plan,” King Godric continued. “I’ve learned that necromancers may be weak at the beginning, but as they grow stronger, they can summon an army of undead.”
He paused, then added with emphasis:
“An army that doesn’t need to be fed, doesn't need to be paid.”
That part clearly meant something to him.
“That’s what our kingdom needs right now.”
He forced a grin. It didn’t fully convince anyone, including himself.
“Well, it’s not really our concern as long as you don’t plan to go against the Church,” Priestess Morwena said dismissively.
She turned back toward the magic circle.
“Very well. I shall begin the summoning.”
She raised her hands and began chanting.
Immediately, the magic circle flared to life, glowing intensely. The light grew brighter and brighter, forcing King Godric, Duke Lyrion, and the nearby guards to shield their eyes.
The chanting continued and the light intensified. For several long seconds, the entire hall was filled with nothing but blinding radiance and echoing prayer.
Then—
the glow began to shrink.
The light pulled inward, collapsing back into the circle before bursting outward into countless tiny particles. And in the center of it all—
A figure appeared. A human, kneeling.
Priestess Morwena let out a small breath, slightly exhausted from the ritual, but she quickly composed herself. The protocol was not finished yet.
She stepped forward and cleared her throat.
“O hero… you have finally arrived,” she declared.
Silence. Duke Lyrion leaned slightly toward the king.
“…Isn’t the welcoming phrase should be longer?” he whispered.
“This is the lowest summoning package, remember,” King Godric whispered back.
In the center of the circle, the summoned man slowly pushed himself up to his feet. He looked down at his hands. Turned them, and flexed his fingers.
“I… I’m alive?” he muttered in disbelief.
“Tell me thy name, O hero from another world,” Priestess Morwena said.
The man looked up, now his face was clearly visible. Short brown hair, a little bit blemish. Just a man, a very normal man.
He hesitated for a moment before speaking.
“My name is Theo.”
“Where am I?”
The question came naturally as he tried to make sense of the endless brightness surrounding him. It wasn’t just white—it was clean white. Polished. Almost divine.
He turned his head slightly. There was something beside him. A tall object standing upright.
It read: Heaven.
His heart immediately began to pound.
Did he already die?
How?
When?
But more importantly… Heaven?
A slow smile formed on his lips.
“…Oh thank God.”
He squinted, trying to read the sign more clearly. The words then sharpened into focus.
Horse Heaven, Oregon.
The paint on the signpost was slightly faded.
“…Oh, dang it.” His smile vanished.
Still in the US.
“Why can’t I move?” he muttered.
He tried to shift his arms, only to feel resistance. When he looked, he quickly found the answer. Chains. His left hand was bound by a thick metal chain, extending outward to a parked truck. Its headlights were on, blasting directly into him.
He turned his head to the right, another chain, another truck. Same position, same blinding lights.
Then he looked forward. A third truck stood directly in front of him, headlights on, completing the arrangement.
Three trucks. All pointed at him.
For a moment, he simply stared at them. Then the memory came back.
He had been running all day—from trucks. Not one, not two, but multiple trucks that had been trying very hard to kill him. The chase started from his home in Salem and didn’t stop until one of them finally caught up and completely totaled his car somewhere near this wonderfully named place.
Horse Heaven.
“…Right.”
And the reason those trucks had been trying to kill him… was now walking toward him.
The man approached at an unhurried pace, boots pressing against the ground with calm certainty. The headlights behind him stretched his shadow forward, obscuring his face in silhouette.
Only when he stopped right in front of Theo did the details become clear.
A rough-looking Mexican man with cowboy hat, thick mustache, and a goatee. The kind of presence that didn’t need to raise its voice to feel threatening.
“Theo Poliznev,” the man said coldly.
“Uh… hi there,” Theo replied, forcing a smile while sweat began forming along his temples.
“Hmph.” The man spat to the side. “I wonder if that’s even your real name… Master Obsidian Veil.”
Theo blinked, then gave a small, awkward chuckle.
“I’m pretty sure that’s the name my parents gave me, haha,” he said, holding onto the smile that he hoped might somehow fix the situation.
“…Nice to meet you.”
A brief pause.
“Do you think we can, uh… start over?”
“Like I said on the phone this morning,” the Mexican said coldly, “today will be your last day on earth, you fucking scam.”
Then he turned around and walked away toward the truck parked in front.
Scam.
Theo’s mind latched onto that word immediately. It wasn’t wrong. His whole life was practically built on scams.
Not in a bad way—well, not for him. He had been the one doing the scamming, and he had built a pretty decent life out of it.
For his victims, well, that part was less great.
His thoughts drifted as memories began lining up neatly
His first successful scam came back to him—high school days. A neat little Ponzi scheme. Small town, small minds, very enthusiastic investors. He still remembered how easy it was to convince people when everyone wanted to believe they were getting ahead early.
Then came the Nigerian Prince phase. Honestly, that one felt almost insulting in how well it worked. He barely had to try. A few emails, a tragic royal backstory, and suddenly people were wiring money out of sheer optimism.
He had been proud of that one. But things truly escalated when he moved to Salem—the capital of paranormal activity.
Naturally, he pivoted to séance scams. Pretending to channel the spirits of loved ones. Emotional, delicate work. Required timing, empathy, and just the right amount of theatrical pause. It was challenging and it was exciting.
And, more importantly, it paid very well. Competition was fierce, though. Plenty of others were running the same act. So Theo improved the formula.
He hired actors.
Not just himself pretending to be possessed—but others, carefully staged, each performance rehearsed to perfection. The experience became immersive. Convincing. His business exploded, and that was when Master Obsidian Veil was born.
All of it—every success, every client, every dollar—everything he built came from one thing he took very seriously: research. Theo believed in preparation. Deep dives. Background checks. Social media stalking. Family history. Old posts. Archived forums. Anything that could be used.
There was a reason scammer is the only criminal that can be called scam artist.
There’s no burglar artist.
No pickpocket artist.
No blackmail artist.
There was a craft to scam, and Theo was proud of that craft.
Which made this current situation… deeply frustrating. Because this time, he didn’t do enough research.
Mateo “El Abuela” Vargas.
For months, Theo had assumed the nickname “El Abuela”—The Grandma—came from a place of affection. A loving grandson, mourning his deceased grandmother, willing to spend generously just for one more conversation.
And to be fair, that part was true. Just… not the important part. Apparently, Mateo earned that nickname because he had personally sent a significant number of his cartel enemies to meet their grandmothers in the afterlife.
In Theo’s defense, a cartel leader who specialized in trucking and smuggling didn’t exactly list that on social media. So really, how was he supposed to know?
THUD.
Theo’s thoughts snapped back to the present as Mateo had entered his truck and shut the door.
Now Mateo sat behind the wheel, adjusting the position of a framed photo on the dashboard—his grandmother. He gave it a small, respectful smile before placing his hands on the steering wheel.
Then he looked forward at Theo. Still chained in the middle of the road, arms stretched out by the tension of the chains—almost like a cross. Mateo smile turned into a grin.
The engine started. A low, heavy rumble filled the air.
And so, here I am, Theo thought, watching as the truck came to life.
About to be executed by a trucking cartel leader.
By being rammed with a truck.
Mateo’s truck began to move. Theo watched it, mind oddly calm for someone in his current situation.
Wait…
He frowned slightly.
I think there’s a term for a truck that kills people…
The engine growled louder as the vehicle rolled forward.
Truck-kun, was it?
The truck picked up speed.
Yeah, Truck-kun. And then isekai. Theo almost smiled.
He remembered learning those terms while scamming amateur writers—fresh, hopeful, absolutely convinced their ideas were revolutionary. They were some of the easiest victims he’d ever had. He missed them a little.
The truck accelerated.
I wonder if I’ll get isekai’d because of this…
The headlights swallowed his vision as the distance closed rapidly. The world turned into blinding white. Theo let out a small sigh.
“Sigh… I should’ve stuck with online scamming.”
And then—
everything went black.
A 11-ton semi truck, moving at 120 km/h, slammed directly into him.
Truly—
a Truck-kun moment at its finest.
---
Planet Civara
Mirecrest Kingdom
Far away from Oregon, on a planet where energy was powered by magic instead of electricity, where people flew using living organic creatures instead of organic fossil fuels, existed a world that every environmentalist on Earth would passionately approve of.
Admittedly, the transportation and energy sources here had a tendency to occasionally eat or kill their users. Minor detail.
Inside the small kingdom of Mirecrest, King Godric paced back and forth in front of his throne.
His round figure and chubby cheeks did little to hide the tension on his face. Each step was heavy, uneven, worn down from repetition. Sweat had begun to form along his temples after nearly thirty minutes of pacing.
“Where is she…” he muttered under his breath.
Nearby, his advisor—Duke Lyrion, a frail and thin noble—watched with equal concern.
“Your Majesty… she will arrive today,” Duke Lyrion said carefully.
“You said the same thing yesterday!” King Godric snapped. “And the day before!”
The burst of anger only drained him further. With a tired exhale, he gave up pacing and sat down on the steps leading to his throne, lacking the energy to even climb back up properly.
He leaned forward, both hands gripping his head, voice weighed down with desperation.
“Is this because we’re poor?” King Godric said weakly. “Should we have given more tribute instead?”
“Your Majesty… we have no other options,” Duke Lyrion replied. “If we gave more… our kingdom would not recover financially. Not for the next forty years…”
“Screw forty years!” King Godric snapped again. “We’d be lucky if our neighbors don’t invade us next year! Or if we can even survive the famine this year!”
Then suddenly the hall doors burst open. A castle guard rushed in and dropped to one knee.
“Our guest from Lumia Church has arrived!” he declared.
King Godric’s entire face lit up. He immediately stood up, straightened his posture, and tried his best to look like a king who had not just been sitting on the stairs questioning his choices.
“Oh finally,” King Godric said, relief practically spilling out of his voice. “She’s here.”
“I still can’t believe it…” Duke Lyrion murmured, his expression equally brightened. “The beautiful Saintess Aurelia… stepping into our kingdom…”
The doors opened wider. And from them, a woman walked in. Graceful, dignified, dressed in pristine white priestess robes.
And very clearly around eighty years old.
A priestess who might have been breathtaking. Several decades ago.
King Godric blinked, Duke Lyrion blinked. They both stared.
“…Uh,” King Godric muttered, “and who are you?”
The woman stopped in front of them, lifting her chin slightly.
“I am Priestess Morwena Bristlewood,” she declared. “I am here to perform the hero summoning ritual as your kingdom has requested.”
King Godric and Duke Lyrion slowly turned to look at each other. Still processing.
“Ah… thank you for coming all this way, Priestess… Rowena,” Duke Lyrion said carefully. “We have been waiting for you for three days.”
“Hmph.” The priestess scoffed. “I didn’t realize this backwater kingdom would be such an inconvenience to reach.”
Duke Lyrion’s smile twitched slightly.
“But if I may ask…” he continued cautiously, “isn’t the summoning ritual usually conducted by… Saintess Aurelia?”
“Tch!”
Priestess Morwena clicked her tongue sharply.
“Your kingdom can only afford the lowest package of hero summoning,” she said bluntly. “And you expect the Church to send you our star saintess?!”
The words landed hard to both men.
“So?” Morwena continued impatiently. “Do you want me to perform the ritual or not? I still have several other kingdoms to visit.”
“Y-Yes! We want to do it!” King Godric said quickly. “Please forgive my advisor.”
Morwena scoffed again. “Then let’s get this over with.”
---
An hour later, the grand hall had been transformed.
A large magic circle covered the floor, glowing faintly as Priestess Morwena stood at its center, chanting steadily. Symbols layered upon symbols, lines weaving into complex patterns as the ritual neared completion.
At last, the circle stabilized, and the glow settled into something consistent. Morwena looked down at it, giving a small, satisfied nod. Then she turned toward King Godric.
“Have you decided which hero class you wish to summon?” she asked.
“Yes!” King Godric answered without hesitation. “I choose the necromancer hero!”
Morwena blinked. While Duke Lyrion did more than blink.
“Y-Your Majesty?!” Duke Lyrion stammered. “A necromancer? Why?!”
“Hmm… Most kingdoms request a strong, conventional class,” Morwena said, frowning slightly. “A swordsman. A mage. If they prefer something less… public, perhaps an assassin.”
She paused.
“But a necromancer?”
Priestess Morwena then narrowed her eyes at King Godric.
“You do realize that necromancy is borderline demonic practice, right?” she said. “An enemy of the Church and the Goddess.”
“D-Don’t worry,” King Godric replied. He hesitated for a moment, “I don’t plan to do any demonic rituals or activities.”
He then forced himself to sound confident
“I have my own plan,” King Godric continued. “I’ve learned that necromancers may be weak at the beginning, but as they grow stronger, they can summon an army of undead.”
He paused, then added with emphasis:
“An army that doesn’t need to be fed, doesn't need to be paid.”
That part clearly meant something to him.
“That’s what our kingdom needs right now.”
He forced a grin. It didn’t fully convince anyone, including himself.
“Well, it’s not really our concern as long as you don’t plan to go against the Church,” Priestess Morwena said dismissively.
She turned back toward the magic circle.
“Very well. I shall begin the summoning.”
She raised her hands and began chanting.
Immediately, the magic circle flared to life, glowing intensely. The light grew brighter and brighter, forcing King Godric, Duke Lyrion, and the nearby guards to shield their eyes.
The chanting continued and the light intensified. For several long seconds, the entire hall was filled with nothing but blinding radiance and echoing prayer.
Then—
the glow began to shrink.
The light pulled inward, collapsing back into the circle before bursting outward into countless tiny particles. And in the center of it all—
A figure appeared. A human, kneeling.
Priestess Morwena let out a small breath, slightly exhausted from the ritual, but she quickly composed herself. The protocol was not finished yet.
She stepped forward and cleared her throat.
“O hero… you have finally arrived,” she declared.
Silence. Duke Lyrion leaned slightly toward the king.
“…Isn’t the welcoming phrase should be longer?” he whispered.
“This is the lowest summoning package, remember,” King Godric whispered back.
In the center of the circle, the summoned man slowly pushed himself up to his feet. He looked down at his hands. Turned them, and flexed his fingers.
“I… I’m alive?” he muttered in disbelief.
“Tell me thy name, O hero from another world,” Priestess Morwena said.
The man looked up, now his face was clearly visible. Short brown hair, a little bit blemish. Just a man, a very normal man.
He hesitated for a moment before speaking.
“My name is Theo.”
Theo tried to calmly analyze the situation he was currently in.
He was dead before. That part, he was absolutely certain of. And yet, here he was.
Standing inside what looked like a stone castle hall. A throne at the far end. Guards in full medieval armor lining the sides. A chubby man wearing a crown—very obviously the king—and right beside him, a thin, almost fragile-looking noble who was probably the advisor.
All of that, Theo could process. What he couldn’t make sense of… was the grandmother in priestess robes standing in front of him, who had been delivering what felt like an endless sermon for the past thirty minutes.
He remembered parts of it. He was apparently in a new world called Civara. The goddess ruling it was named Lumia. This place was the Mirecrest Kingdom—which, for some reason, the priestess had taken great care to emphasize was small, poor, and generally miserable.
There was magic. Monsters. The usual.
Unfortunately, about seventy percent of the sermon had been dedicated to praising how graceful Goddess Lumia was, how magnificent her Church was, and how Theo—as a summoned hero—owed them deeply for granting him a second life.
Theo swore he saw the king yawning at one point with his mouth closed. Impressive.
As for Theo himself… he didn’t like the idea. Owing something massive to someone who couldn’t even be bothered to show up in person? That didn’t sit right with him.
He knew what this was. He’d seen this before—over and over again while scamming amateur writers. Isekai.
New world. Summoned hero. Goddess. The template was obvious. But then where was the beautiful goddess? Where was the cute saintess? Where was even a single moment of basic fanservice?
Nothing.
At this point, he was getting tired of listening.
“Excuse me.”
Theo raised his hand, cutting straight through the priestess’s ongoing sermon.
“Do you think you have something that I can wear?” he asked, glancing down at himself. “You know, since my clothes are…”
He didn’t need to finish that sentence. His outfit was in terrible shape—torn in multiple places, clearly reflecting the less-than-graceful way he had died back on Earth.
On the bright side, it was still covering everything important. Also, no bloodstains. Family-friendly isekai, maybe.
“Ah, yes!” King Godric quickly stepped forward. “We have prepared suitable clothing for you, O summoned hero.”
---
Castle Courtyard
Moments later, Theo found himself dressed in a set of dark robes, complete with a cape flowing behind him. It looked like something a priest might wear if that priest happened to worship a demon god. Still, it was warm. That alone made it a significant upgrade.
Now he stood in the castle courtyard alongside Priestess Rowena, King Godric, and Duke Lyrion. In front of Theo was a pedestal, and on top of it—a crystal ball. A short distance away, the three of them stood behind another identical setup, clearly keeping some space between themselves and him.
“You said I had power,” Theo said. “What is my power?”
He asked partly out of curiosity. Mostly so the priestess wouldn’t start lecturing again.
“Hmph. That is what we would like to know as well,” Rowena replied. “Try saying ‘status window.’”
“Status window.” Theo repeated it casually.
Tring!
“Whoa—!”
A screen suddenly appeared in front of him, floating in midair. It had a very… familiar look. Clean layout. Organized sections. Surprisingly intuitive. Very game-like.
“Now, since we can only view your status window through this crystal,” Rowena said, “place your hand on it so we can—”
“Hold on. I need to do something first.” Theo raised a hand, stopping her.
He stared at the screen for a moment. Thinking. Then, he started tapping fast. Menus opened. Closed. Scrolled. Adjusted. Swiped.
The priestess, the king, and the advisor could only exchange confused glances as the summoned hero spent several minutes aggressively interacting with what looked like empty air.
“…Is he casting something?” Duke Lyrion whispered.
“…I don’t think so,” King Godric whispered back.
Finally—
“And done,” Theo declared, sounding quietly satisfied.
Now, Theo’s magical screen had changed dramatically. It was no longer positioned directly in front of his face like before—blocking everything behind it. That alone was unacceptable. What if there was an enemy standing right there?
Now, the screen sat slightly off to the side of his vision. Accessible, but never intrusive. Much better.
The color scheme had also changed—from a bright, almost aggressive blue into a much more comfortable dark mode. The words stood out clearly without burning his eyes.
Opacity reduced. Just enough to make it semi-transparent, but still perfectly readable. Font size adjusted, magnification tuned, spacing optimized. Everything—refined.
Truly, he was the type of man who would spend thirty minutes adjusting settings before ever pressing “Start Game.” It was probably a good thing this world didn’t let him customize his own appearance.
“Now… what were you asking again?” Theo said, his expression faintly satisfied.
“Place your hand on the crystal,” Rowena repeated, her irritation no longer subtle.
Theo finally opened his Status Window main page.
----------------------------------------
[ GENERAL INFORMATION ]
Name : Theo Poliznev
Title : None
Class : Necromancer
Level : 1
EXP : 0 / 1000
----------------------------------------
[ CORE STATS ]
HP : 100 / 100
MP : 70 / 70
Stamina : 40 / 40
----------------------------------------
[ ATTRIBUTES ]
Strength : 1
Agility : 2
Intelligence: 5
Charisma : 4
Luck : 2
----------------------------------------
[ SKILL AND SPELLS ]
(See detailed page)
----------------------------------------
[ UNIQUE SKILL ]
N/A
----------------------------------------
[ PASSIVE TRAITS ]
→ Fragmented Growth
Effect :
- EXP gained from kills reduced to 25%
----------------------------------------
[ CONTRACTS STATUS ]
Souls : 0 / 13
----------------------------------------
“Damn…” Theo muttered. “This really is like a game…”
He stared at it, genuinely impressed. Then immediately got absorbed into it. Reading, scanning, processing. Completely ignoring everything else.
Meanwhile on the other side, no one shared his enthusiasm.
“W-W-Why is it so low?!” King Godric stammered, staring at the crystal in disbelief.
“Oh no…” Duke Lyrion’s face fell just as quickly. “His stats are even lower than a novice mage…”
“Well, what exactly did you expect from the lowest summoning package?” Priestess Rowena scoffed. “As you can see, he doesn’t even have a Unique Skill.”
Duke Lyrion leaned closer to the crystal, squinting.
“And this Fragmented Growth…” he said slowly. “Does this mean he can only gain twenty-five percent of normal experience?”
“It means exactly what it says,” Rowena replied flatly. “And as you can see, his summoning capacity is limited to thirteen. I can hardly call that an army.”
“N-No… not yet,” King Godric said quickly, clinging to what little hope remained. “We haven’t seen his skills and spells yet.”
He turned toward Theo who was still very much busy studying his own screen.
“Hero!” King Godric called out. “Open your Skill and Spells! And touch the crystal again!”
“Hm? This one?” Theo muttered, tapping the menu.
A new page opened.
----------------------------------------
[ SKILL AND SPELLS ]
----------------------------------------
[ MAGIC AFFINITY ]
Fire : 2
Ice : 2
Wind : 2
Earth : 2
Dark : 10
Light : 0
----------------------------------------
[ SKILL LIST ]
N/A
----------------------------------------
[ SPELL LIST ]
→ Fireball Lv 1
Cost : 10 MP
Effect : Launches a small sphere of fire
→ Mana Pulse Lv 1
Cost : 5 MP
Effect : Releases a short-range burst of force
----------------------------------------
The moment King Godric saw the second page, whatever remained of his hope collapsed.
“W-W-Where’s his summoning spell?!” he shouted. “Where is his reanimation spell?! What kind of necromancer is this?!”
Beside him, Priestess Rowena visibly struggled—then failed—to hide her amusement. A small burp escaped her as she covered her mouth, shoulders shaking slightly.
“Oooh… and he doesn’t even have a single skill,” she said, chuckling. “This man is basically trash.”
She turned her smirk toward the king.
“And I blame your stinginess for this.”
King Godric dropped to his knees. Just like that, all of his hope evaporated.
But suddenly Theo shouted.
“Heeey, can I try using these spells??” he called out cheerfully.
There was genuine excitement in his face and voice. Because its magic. Actual magic. The kind he had only ever seen in movies.
“Yeees,” Rowena shouted back—equally cheerful, for entirely different reasons. “You can use that straw target over there.”
She pointed toward a row of straw dummies lined up neatly across the courtyard, clearly meant for soldier training. Theo didn’t hesitate. He walked over, raised his hand, and aimed.
“Fireball!”
He thrust his open palm forward.
Fwoooosh—
A small fireball popped into existence and shot forward. It hit the target.
…And did absolutely nothing. No burn, no smoke, not even a satisfying crackle.
Just a sad little impact.
“Did you see that?!” Theo shouted, turning back toward them, eyes wide. “I really cast magic?! HAHAHAHA!”
Despite the result, he looked genuinely thrilled. Which, to be fair, made sense. Any modern person from Earth would probably react the same way.
Meanwhile King Godric had reached a very different conclusion. He stood there, staring at the crystal, his expression hollow.
Then slowly... he sagged.
“P-Priestess…” he muttered, his voice trembling slightly. “What should I do…? How can my kingdom survive now…?”
And for the first time since they had met her—Priestess Rowena smiled.
Not her usual smug smile, not her mocking smile. A warm, gentle, grandmotherly smile.
“Oh, don’t worry, Your Majesty,” she said kindly—using honorifics for the first time. “The Church is always prepared to help those in need.”
She reached into her robes and pulled out a scroll.
“That’s why I already prepared this.”
She unfurled it in front of King Godric and Duke Lyrion. It displayed multiple categories of summoned heroes. Each neatly organized, each labeled, each priced. Basically a catalogue.
“Our selected premium package heroes,” Rowena continued smoothly. “Available with installment plans. For only a modest interest.”
Her smile grew softer. Kinder. Radiant.
“…I really have no choice, don’t I?” King Godric muttered weakly.
“Well, you can always give up your throne and hand your kingdom to a neighboring nation,” Rowena replied sweetly.
King Godric’s hand trembled slightly. But in the end, he still reached out and took the scroll.
“I… I will choose a new hero from here…” he said quietly. Defeated.
“Please don’t hesitate to ask if there’s anything you need to know,” Rowena added, her smile unwavering.
“Uh… Priestess,” Duke Lyrion spoke up carefully, “I do have a question.”
Rowena glanced at him.
“If we summon a new hero… does that mean we should let go of this one?”
All three of them turned. Their eyes landed on Theo who was still busy and completely absorbed in his new abilities.
“Mana Pulse!” he shouted confidently.
A small burst of energy shot out from his palm. It traveled forward—and fizzled into what looked more like a weak gust of wind than anything else.
“HAAHAHAHAHA!” Theo laughed anyway. Fully satisfied.
“No,” Rowena said firmly.
Her smile was gone completely now.
“No, you cannot simply let him roam free like that.” Her tone had turned cold. “Regardless of how weak he is… he is still a necromancer.”
She let out a quiet sigh.
“When he loses his hero status, he will become nothing more than a normal necromancer,” she continued. “And the Church’s doctrine is very clear—practitioners of unholy magic are not allowed to wander freely.”
“T-That means…” Duke Lyrion said slowly.
Rowena looked at him with steady expression.
“That’s right.”
A brief pause.
“Either you send him to prison labor camps, or…”
Another pause.
“…you execute him.”
He was dead before. That part, he was absolutely certain of. And yet, here he was.
Standing inside what looked like a stone castle hall. A throne at the far end. Guards in full medieval armor lining the sides. A chubby man wearing a crown—very obviously the king—and right beside him, a thin, almost fragile-looking noble who was probably the advisor.
All of that, Theo could process. What he couldn’t make sense of… was the grandmother in priestess robes standing in front of him, who had been delivering what felt like an endless sermon for the past thirty minutes.
He remembered parts of it. He was apparently in a new world called Civara. The goddess ruling it was named Lumia. This place was the Mirecrest Kingdom—which, for some reason, the priestess had taken great care to emphasize was small, poor, and generally miserable.
There was magic. Monsters. The usual.
Unfortunately, about seventy percent of the sermon had been dedicated to praising how graceful Goddess Lumia was, how magnificent her Church was, and how Theo—as a summoned hero—owed them deeply for granting him a second life.
Theo swore he saw the king yawning at one point with his mouth closed. Impressive.
As for Theo himself… he didn’t like the idea. Owing something massive to someone who couldn’t even be bothered to show up in person? That didn’t sit right with him.
He knew what this was. He’d seen this before—over and over again while scamming amateur writers. Isekai.
New world. Summoned hero. Goddess. The template was obvious. But then where was the beautiful goddess? Where was the cute saintess? Where was even a single moment of basic fanservice?
Nothing.
At this point, he was getting tired of listening.
“Excuse me.”
Theo raised his hand, cutting straight through the priestess’s ongoing sermon.
“Do you think you have something that I can wear?” he asked, glancing down at himself. “You know, since my clothes are…”
He didn’t need to finish that sentence. His outfit was in terrible shape—torn in multiple places, clearly reflecting the less-than-graceful way he had died back on Earth.
On the bright side, it was still covering everything important. Also, no bloodstains. Family-friendly isekai, maybe.
“Ah, yes!” King Godric quickly stepped forward. “We have prepared suitable clothing for you, O summoned hero.”
---
Castle Courtyard
Moments later, Theo found himself dressed in a set of dark robes, complete with a cape flowing behind him. It looked like something a priest might wear if that priest happened to worship a demon god. Still, it was warm. That alone made it a significant upgrade.
Now he stood in the castle courtyard alongside Priestess Rowena, King Godric, and Duke Lyrion. In front of Theo was a pedestal, and on top of it—a crystal ball. A short distance away, the three of them stood behind another identical setup, clearly keeping some space between themselves and him.
“You said I had power,” Theo said. “What is my power?”
He asked partly out of curiosity. Mostly so the priestess wouldn’t start lecturing again.
“Hmph. That is what we would like to know as well,” Rowena replied. “Try saying ‘status window.’”
“Status window.” Theo repeated it casually.
Tring!
“Whoa—!”
A screen suddenly appeared in front of him, floating in midair. It had a very… familiar look. Clean layout. Organized sections. Surprisingly intuitive. Very game-like.
“Now, since we can only view your status window through this crystal,” Rowena said, “place your hand on it so we can—”
“Hold on. I need to do something first.” Theo raised a hand, stopping her.
He stared at the screen for a moment. Thinking. Then, he started tapping fast. Menus opened. Closed. Scrolled. Adjusted. Swiped.
The priestess, the king, and the advisor could only exchange confused glances as the summoned hero spent several minutes aggressively interacting with what looked like empty air.
“…Is he casting something?” Duke Lyrion whispered.
“…I don’t think so,” King Godric whispered back.
Finally—
“And done,” Theo declared, sounding quietly satisfied.
Now, Theo’s magical screen had changed dramatically. It was no longer positioned directly in front of his face like before—blocking everything behind it. That alone was unacceptable. What if there was an enemy standing right there?
Now, the screen sat slightly off to the side of his vision. Accessible, but never intrusive. Much better.
The color scheme had also changed—from a bright, almost aggressive blue into a much more comfortable dark mode. The words stood out clearly without burning his eyes.
Opacity reduced. Just enough to make it semi-transparent, but still perfectly readable. Font size adjusted, magnification tuned, spacing optimized. Everything—refined.
Truly, he was the type of man who would spend thirty minutes adjusting settings before ever pressing “Start Game.” It was probably a good thing this world didn’t let him customize his own appearance.
“Now… what were you asking again?” Theo said, his expression faintly satisfied.
“Place your hand on the crystal,” Rowena repeated, her irritation no longer subtle.
Theo finally opened his Status Window main page.
----------------------------------------
[ GENERAL INFORMATION ]
Name : Theo Poliznev
Title : None
Class : Necromancer
Level : 1
EXP : 0 / 1000
----------------------------------------
[ CORE STATS ]
HP : 100 / 100
MP : 70 / 70
Stamina : 40 / 40
----------------------------------------
[ ATTRIBUTES ]
Strength : 1
Agility : 2
Intelligence: 5
Charisma : 4
Luck : 2
----------------------------------------
[ SKILL AND SPELLS ]
(See detailed page)
----------------------------------------
[ UNIQUE SKILL ]
N/A
----------------------------------------
[ PASSIVE TRAITS ]
→ Fragmented Growth
Effect :
- EXP gained from kills reduced to 25%
----------------------------------------
[ CONTRACTS STATUS ]
Souls : 0 / 13
----------------------------------------
“Damn…” Theo muttered. “This really is like a game…”
He stared at it, genuinely impressed. Then immediately got absorbed into it. Reading, scanning, processing. Completely ignoring everything else.
Meanwhile on the other side, no one shared his enthusiasm.
“W-W-Why is it so low?!” King Godric stammered, staring at the crystal in disbelief.
“Oh no…” Duke Lyrion’s face fell just as quickly. “His stats are even lower than a novice mage…”
“Well, what exactly did you expect from the lowest summoning package?” Priestess Rowena scoffed. “As you can see, he doesn’t even have a Unique Skill.”
Duke Lyrion leaned closer to the crystal, squinting.
“And this Fragmented Growth…” he said slowly. “Does this mean he can only gain twenty-five percent of normal experience?”
“It means exactly what it says,” Rowena replied flatly. “And as you can see, his summoning capacity is limited to thirteen. I can hardly call that an army.”
“N-No… not yet,” King Godric said quickly, clinging to what little hope remained. “We haven’t seen his skills and spells yet.”
He turned toward Theo who was still very much busy studying his own screen.
“Hero!” King Godric called out. “Open your Skill and Spells! And touch the crystal again!”
“Hm? This one?” Theo muttered, tapping the menu.
A new page opened.
----------------------------------------
[ SKILL AND SPELLS ]
----------------------------------------
[ MAGIC AFFINITY ]
Fire : 2
Ice : 2
Wind : 2
Earth : 2
Dark : 10
Light : 0
----------------------------------------
[ SKILL LIST ]
N/A
----------------------------------------
[ SPELL LIST ]
→ Fireball Lv 1
Cost : 10 MP
Effect : Launches a small sphere of fire
→ Mana Pulse Lv 1
Cost : 5 MP
Effect : Releases a short-range burst of force
----------------------------------------
The moment King Godric saw the second page, whatever remained of his hope collapsed.
“W-W-Where’s his summoning spell?!” he shouted. “Where is his reanimation spell?! What kind of necromancer is this?!”
Beside him, Priestess Rowena visibly struggled—then failed—to hide her amusement. A small burp escaped her as she covered her mouth, shoulders shaking slightly.
“Oooh… and he doesn’t even have a single skill,” she said, chuckling. “This man is basically trash.”
She turned her smirk toward the king.
“And I blame your stinginess for this.”
King Godric dropped to his knees. Just like that, all of his hope evaporated.
But suddenly Theo shouted.
“Heeey, can I try using these spells??” he called out cheerfully.
There was genuine excitement in his face and voice. Because its magic. Actual magic. The kind he had only ever seen in movies.
“Yeees,” Rowena shouted back—equally cheerful, for entirely different reasons. “You can use that straw target over there.”
She pointed toward a row of straw dummies lined up neatly across the courtyard, clearly meant for soldier training. Theo didn’t hesitate. He walked over, raised his hand, and aimed.
“Fireball!”
He thrust his open palm forward.
Fwoooosh—
A small fireball popped into existence and shot forward. It hit the target.
…And did absolutely nothing. No burn, no smoke, not even a satisfying crackle.
Just a sad little impact.
“Did you see that?!” Theo shouted, turning back toward them, eyes wide. “I really cast magic?! HAHAHAHA!”
Despite the result, he looked genuinely thrilled. Which, to be fair, made sense. Any modern person from Earth would probably react the same way.
Meanwhile King Godric had reached a very different conclusion. He stood there, staring at the crystal, his expression hollow.
Then slowly... he sagged.
“P-Priestess…” he muttered, his voice trembling slightly. “What should I do…? How can my kingdom survive now…?”
And for the first time since they had met her—Priestess Rowena smiled.
Not her usual smug smile, not her mocking smile. A warm, gentle, grandmotherly smile.
“Oh, don’t worry, Your Majesty,” she said kindly—using honorifics for the first time. “The Church is always prepared to help those in need.”
She reached into her robes and pulled out a scroll.
“That’s why I already prepared this.”
She unfurled it in front of King Godric and Duke Lyrion. It displayed multiple categories of summoned heroes. Each neatly organized, each labeled, each priced. Basically a catalogue.
“Our selected premium package heroes,” Rowena continued smoothly. “Available with installment plans. For only a modest interest.”
Her smile grew softer. Kinder. Radiant.
“…I really have no choice, don’t I?” King Godric muttered weakly.
“Well, you can always give up your throne and hand your kingdom to a neighboring nation,” Rowena replied sweetly.
King Godric’s hand trembled slightly. But in the end, he still reached out and took the scroll.
“I… I will choose a new hero from here…” he said quietly. Defeated.
“Please don’t hesitate to ask if there’s anything you need to know,” Rowena added, her smile unwavering.
“Uh… Priestess,” Duke Lyrion spoke up carefully, “I do have a question.”
Rowena glanced at him.
“If we summon a new hero… does that mean we should let go of this one?”
All three of them turned. Their eyes landed on Theo who was still busy and completely absorbed in his new abilities.
“Mana Pulse!” he shouted confidently.
A small burst of energy shot out from his palm. It traveled forward—and fizzled into what looked more like a weak gust of wind than anything else.
“HAAHAHAHAHA!” Theo laughed anyway. Fully satisfied.
“No,” Rowena said firmly.
Her smile was gone completely now.
“No, you cannot simply let him roam free like that.” Her tone had turned cold. “Regardless of how weak he is… he is still a necromancer.”
She let out a quiet sigh.
“When he loses his hero status, he will become nothing more than a normal necromancer,” she continued. “And the Church’s doctrine is very clear—practitioners of unholy magic are not allowed to wander freely.”
“T-That means…” Duke Lyrion said slowly.
Rowena looked at him with steady expression.
“That’s right.”
A brief pause.
“Either you send him to prison labor camps, or…”
Another pause.
“…you execute him.”
A Sea Somewhere
It was a peaceful, beautiful day out at sea. The sun was bright. The wind moved gently across the water. Seagulls circled overhead, their cries echoing across the open sky.
A perfect day.
Which made the sight of a large, 17th-century three-masted cargo ship cutting steadily through the waves look almost picturesque.
Almost. Because ahead of that ship was something that did not belong in any peaceful scenery. A massive magical barrier, blood-red in color.
Stretching from the ground all the way into the clouds, like a wall splitting the world in half. Occasional bursts of static energy crackled across its surface, flickering like lightning trapped in place.
On one side, clear blue sky. On the other, something that looked far closer to hell.
And the ship was heading straight toward it.
---
As the vessel approached the shoreline, activity broke out across the deck.
Sailors moved quickly, folding sails and dropping anchor. The heavy chains rattled as the ship came to a slow stop, settling roughly five hundred meters from the beach.
Then, movement from below deck. Rows of people were brought up, chained one to another. Prisoners.
They shuffled forward under the watch of armed sailors, spear tips pointed firmly at their backs, ensuring no one got any ideas.
Among them—was Theo.
“Ooh… sunlight,” he muttered, tilting his head slightly upward.
He let the warmth settle on his skin, eyes half-lidded in quiet appreciation. He had missed this. Not metaphorically, but literally. His body needed it.
After nearly ten weeks locked below deck, the lack of sunlight had done its work. The signs were obvious—fatigue, pale skin, a general look of someone who had not seen a healthy amount of Vitamin D in a very long time.
That wasn’t the only change. His hair had grown longer. So had his beard and mustache. Everything about him looked rougher now—messy, unkempt, dirty, and carrying the distinct smell of someone who had not been given the luxury of proper hygiene.
The only thing that made him stand out, was what he was wearing. His necromancer robes.
Even in their current state, they were enough to draw attention. Prisoners glanced at him. Sailors glanced at him.
Everyone, at some point, seemed to wonder what is that man doing here?
To be fair, the man was also wondering the exact same thing. Three months ago, he had been dead on Earth.
Then he woke up in a magical world called Civara.
Then he became a summoned hero.
Then he got fired from being a hero.
Then he got chained and forced to march for two weeks.
Then he was packed into an overcrowded ship.
Then he spent another ten weeks at sea.
And now, here he was. Standing on a ship, looking at a completely different continent.
Now Theo truly understood why people always said slavery was bad. It wasn’t just the whipping scenes from movies, that was… a very small part of it. Reality had a lot more variation and most of it worse.
Fortunately, he had something that kept him going.
“Mirecrest… Godric… Rowena… Lyrion… Church… Lumia… Mirecrest… Godric…”
He repeated the words quietly under his breath, over and over. A mantra.
Technically, yes—it was more of a blacklist for future revenge. But it worked. It kept his mind focused. Unlike many of the other prisoners chained beside him who had long since stopped trying.
“GOOD MORNING, MAGGOTS!”
A booming voice cut through the air. Every prisoner looked up.
Standing on the upper deck near the helm, was the captain.
“Welcome to your new home,” he continued. “The Border Prisons.”
Ah, yes. That name. Theo had heard it many times during the journey. He also remembered how some prisoners had reacted to it. Totally not well.
Several people, given the same sentence as him, had chosen not to make it this far. One jumped off a cliff during the march. Another simply refused to drink water until he died.
And one—Theo still wasn’t sure how to categorize that one. The man had willingly thrown himself in front of a wild griffin.
Not just that, he had spent several long embarassing minutes wriggling on the ground convincingly. Like a giant worm trying to attract its attention. It had worked eventually.
Both prisoners and guards had actually clapped when the griffin finally pecked him apart like a chicken. Honestly Theo still couldn’t decide what was more impressive. Seeing a griffin for the first time, or watching a man commit to a bit that hard.
“And now… you are free,” the captain said.
One by one, the sailors began unlocking the prisoners’ cuffs. Chains dropped and metal clinked against wood.
“Free to go back to your new home,” the captain added, grinning.
A pause. Then confusion.
“But… where’s the boat?” one prisoner asked, looking around. There was no dinghy. No rope ladder. Nothing.
“What boat?” the captain chuckled. “You’ve all been complaining about needing to move and stretch your muscles for weeks, right?”
He spread his arms slightly.
“Well then—go. Move. Stretch. All the way to the shore.”
The sailors stepped forward with spears raised and points aimed.
The prisoners instinctively stepped back closer to the edge.
“It’s too far!” one of them pleaded, glancing at the distant shoreline.
“I—I can’t swim!” another shouted.
“Then it’s time to learn,” the captain replied, clearly enjoying himself.
The spears moved forward again.
Closer.
Closer.
The prisoners were now packed tightly together, heels brushing against the very edge of the ship. Panic spread quickly, voices overlapped. Fear became loud, everyone was terrified.
Everyone—except Theo.
Without rushing, he began taking off his robe and shoes. He folded them carefully, bundling them together before tying them securely to his back. Then came the cape, he tied it in a somewhat unusual way.
“Now go, my ducklings,” the captain declared cheerfully. “Go forth—and be free! HAHAHAHAHA!”
This time, the spears didn’t stop. They pushed. Those in the back stumbled forward, forcing the ones in front closer to the edge. And then, one by one they fell.
Splash.
Splash.
Splash.
Theo didn’t wait for his turn. He simply stepped forward and jumped.
---
Moments later, the deck was empty. All the prisoners were in the water.
Some immediately began swimming toward the shore in a panic, arms thrashing as they tried to cover the five hundred meters as quickly as possible. Others clung desperately to the hull of the ship.
That didn’t last long.
The sailors switched weapons. Spears were lowered, bows were raised. The message was clear. Let go—or get shot.
Theo swam steadily toward the shore. Unlike the others, he wasn’t panicking. He moved with controlled strokes, conserving energy.
The cape he had tied earlier now functioned as a crude flotation device, trapping air and helping keep him afloat. Simple and effective.
Most of the other prisoners were still wearing their full clothing—robes, shoes, everything—now soaked and dragging them down with every movement.
Theo had already solved that problem. It was something he had picked up from watching survival videos and practicing it back on Earth.
At the time, he thought it might come in handy if he ever needed to disappear into the wilderness while running from the police.
He hadn’t expected to use it after dying.
---
After a long, exhausting swim, Theo finally reached the shore. He dragged himself onto the rocky ground alongside several other prisoners who had managed to make it.
Without wasting time, he untied his bundle, wrung the water out of his clothes, and began putting them back on. Then he looked around. Counting and estimating the survivors. Roughly thirty out of forty. Not great, not terrible.
---
Then he turned and looked at the land he had arrived on. He had seen it from the ship before.
From a distance, it looked barren and harsh, almost hellish. Up close, it was exactly that. The ground was dry and lifeless. No lush fantasy grasslands, no vibrant scenery. Just dirt, scattered bushes. and emptiness.
To the right, the massive red barrier stretched endlessly across the horizon, crackling faintly with energy. And ahead, if he narrowed his eyes, there was something far in the distance. A small stretch of forest.
Theo stared at it for a moment, then made his decision. That was where he was going.
“WHAT DID YOU SAY AGAIN?!”
The sudden shout cut through the air. Theo glanced over. A commotion had broken out among the survivors. Two large men were already in each other’s faces, shoving, posturing—one wrong move away from a full fight.
It didn’t take much to figure out what was happening. With the chains gone, someone had to establish who was on top.
That was how these things always went. Put a group of desperate people together, remove the restraints, and sooner or later they’d start sorting themselves into a hierarchy.
Theo let out a quiet sigh.
Predictable. And more importantly, not his problem. That was his cue to leave.
Without drawing attention, he stepped away from the group and began walking toward the distant forest he had spotted earlier.
Another survival rule he had picked up back on Earth: Don’t stay out in the open longer than you have to.
---
Forested Area
By the time Theo reached the forest, several hours had passed.
His legs ached. His stomach felt painfully empty. At this point, even the miserable food from the ship was starting to feel nostalgic.
He moved deeper into the trees, scanning his surroundings carefully—for anything edible, and anything that might want to eat him first.
“Those isekai stories and RPG games…” he muttered under his breath, wiping sweat from his forehead.
“They’re such a scam…”
He exhaled heavily, trying to steady his breathing.
“There’s nothing exciting about walking for hours in a forest,” he continued. “No one ever mentions the tired legs… the hunger… ugh…”
Then he stopped. Something caught his eye. Fruits. Small, red, round, hanging from a nearby tree.
“…Oh. Oh.”
Theo walked over quickly, almost in disbelief. He reached up and picked one, holding it in his hand.
“Cherries?” he murmured.
He turned it slightly, examining it.
“There’s no poisonous cherry on Earth… right?”
A pause.
“…Hopefully that applies here too.”
Carefully, he placed one into his mouth. Sweet and slightly sour, exactly like a cherry.
Theo didn’t celebrate yet. Instead, he sat down and waited. Another survival rule: when you’re not sure about food, eat a little first. Then wait.
So he did.
Fifteen minutes passed and nothing happened. No dizziness. No pain. No bowel movement.
“…Hell yeah.” Relief hit immediately.
Theo got back up and started eating properly this time, picking more cherries and finally giving in to his hunger. He was halfway through his meal when—
“KYAAAAAA!”
A scream echoed through the forest. A female voice.
Theo froze, then turned toward the sound. It came from a clearing not too far away. He moved closer, just enough to see.
A figure burst into view—running. A woman dressed in medieval clothing. And—
Pointed ears! An elf! A beautiful elf!
Theo blinked. For a brief moment, something clicked in his mind.
Finally.
After everything—
Finally… A proper fantasy moment.
Then he stopped himself.
Right. Survival first.
He crouched behind a bush, watching carefully. What was chasing her? How big was it? Could he handle it?
A few seconds later he got his answer. A wolf. Not massive. Not monstrous. Just… a wolf.
“KYAAAAAA!!” The elf screamed again, still running.
Theo narrowed his eyes, thinking quickly.
Not too big. Probably manageable.
Decision made. He grabbed a rock and a stick that looked sturdy enough to be useful, and stepped out.
“STOP, YOU DAMN WOLF!” Theo shouted, jumping between them.
The elf stumbled and fell to the ground behind him. Theo planted his feet, raising the stick toward the wolf.
“BEGONE!” he declared. “DON’T YOU DARE HURT THIS LADY!”
For a brief moment everything aligned. The setup, the positioning, the timing. Behind him, the elf looked up at him with wide, shining eyes. Exactly like a damsel in distress. Exactly like the stories.
Theo felt it. This was it, this was the moment. Then—he noticed something.
“…Huh?”
The wolf wasn’t growling. It wasn’t baring its fangs, it wasn’t even moving aggressively. It just sat there. with its tail wagging. Like a dog.
Theo blinked. And in that exact moment, a sharp sting hit the back of his neck.
“—!”
He flinched, immediately reaching back. A small needle stuck in his skin. Slowly, he turned his head. The elf was no longer on the ground. She was standing and holding a blowpipe.
The wide, helpless expression was gone. Replaced by a small, satisfied grin.
“Got one,” she said.
Theo stared at her.
Then at the wolf.
"Woof!" The wold bark cheerfully.
Then back at her.
“…Ah.”
The realization came just in time his vision started to blur and his legs weakened.
“Ah, crap…”
He dropped to his knees.
“What a fucking scam…” he muttered.
The world darkened. And then everything went pitch black. In the end, the first fantasy trope he experienced—
was also the first scam he suffered in this world.
A perfect day.
Which made the sight of a large, 17th-century three-masted cargo ship cutting steadily through the waves look almost picturesque.
Almost. Because ahead of that ship was something that did not belong in any peaceful scenery. A massive magical barrier, blood-red in color.
Stretching from the ground all the way into the clouds, like a wall splitting the world in half. Occasional bursts of static energy crackled across its surface, flickering like lightning trapped in place.
On one side, clear blue sky. On the other, something that looked far closer to hell.
And the ship was heading straight toward it.
---
As the vessel approached the shoreline, activity broke out across the deck.
Sailors moved quickly, folding sails and dropping anchor. The heavy chains rattled as the ship came to a slow stop, settling roughly five hundred meters from the beach.
Then, movement from below deck. Rows of people were brought up, chained one to another. Prisoners.
They shuffled forward under the watch of armed sailors, spear tips pointed firmly at their backs, ensuring no one got any ideas.
Among them—was Theo.
“Ooh… sunlight,” he muttered, tilting his head slightly upward.
He let the warmth settle on his skin, eyes half-lidded in quiet appreciation. He had missed this. Not metaphorically, but literally. His body needed it.
After nearly ten weeks locked below deck, the lack of sunlight had done its work. The signs were obvious—fatigue, pale skin, a general look of someone who had not seen a healthy amount of Vitamin D in a very long time.
That wasn’t the only change. His hair had grown longer. So had his beard and mustache. Everything about him looked rougher now—messy, unkempt, dirty, and carrying the distinct smell of someone who had not been given the luxury of proper hygiene.
The only thing that made him stand out, was what he was wearing. His necromancer robes.
Even in their current state, they were enough to draw attention. Prisoners glanced at him. Sailors glanced at him.
Everyone, at some point, seemed to wonder what is that man doing here?
To be fair, the man was also wondering the exact same thing. Three months ago, he had been dead on Earth.
Then he woke up in a magical world called Civara.
Then he became a summoned hero.
Then he got fired from being a hero.
Then he got chained and forced to march for two weeks.
Then he was packed into an overcrowded ship.
Then he spent another ten weeks at sea.
And now, here he was. Standing on a ship, looking at a completely different continent.
Now Theo truly understood why people always said slavery was bad. It wasn’t just the whipping scenes from movies, that was… a very small part of it. Reality had a lot more variation and most of it worse.
Fortunately, he had something that kept him going.
“Mirecrest… Godric… Rowena… Lyrion… Church… Lumia… Mirecrest… Godric…”
He repeated the words quietly under his breath, over and over. A mantra.
Technically, yes—it was more of a blacklist for future revenge. But it worked. It kept his mind focused. Unlike many of the other prisoners chained beside him who had long since stopped trying.
“GOOD MORNING, MAGGOTS!”
A booming voice cut through the air. Every prisoner looked up.
Standing on the upper deck near the helm, was the captain.
“Welcome to your new home,” he continued. “The Border Prisons.”
Ah, yes. That name. Theo had heard it many times during the journey. He also remembered how some prisoners had reacted to it. Totally not well.
Several people, given the same sentence as him, had chosen not to make it this far. One jumped off a cliff during the march. Another simply refused to drink water until he died.
And one—Theo still wasn’t sure how to categorize that one. The man had willingly thrown himself in front of a wild griffin.
Not just that, he had spent several long embarassing minutes wriggling on the ground convincingly. Like a giant worm trying to attract its attention. It had worked eventually.
Both prisoners and guards had actually clapped when the griffin finally pecked him apart like a chicken. Honestly Theo still couldn’t decide what was more impressive. Seeing a griffin for the first time, or watching a man commit to a bit that hard.
“And now… you are free,” the captain said.
One by one, the sailors began unlocking the prisoners’ cuffs. Chains dropped and metal clinked against wood.
“Free to go back to your new home,” the captain added, grinning.
A pause. Then confusion.
“But… where’s the boat?” one prisoner asked, looking around. There was no dinghy. No rope ladder. Nothing.
“What boat?” the captain chuckled. “You’ve all been complaining about needing to move and stretch your muscles for weeks, right?”
He spread his arms slightly.
“Well then—go. Move. Stretch. All the way to the shore.”
The sailors stepped forward with spears raised and points aimed.
The prisoners instinctively stepped back closer to the edge.
“It’s too far!” one of them pleaded, glancing at the distant shoreline.
“I—I can’t swim!” another shouted.
“Then it’s time to learn,” the captain replied, clearly enjoying himself.
The spears moved forward again.
Closer.
Closer.
The prisoners were now packed tightly together, heels brushing against the very edge of the ship. Panic spread quickly, voices overlapped. Fear became loud, everyone was terrified.
Everyone—except Theo.
Without rushing, he began taking off his robe and shoes. He folded them carefully, bundling them together before tying them securely to his back. Then came the cape, he tied it in a somewhat unusual way.
“Now go, my ducklings,” the captain declared cheerfully. “Go forth—and be free! HAHAHAHAHA!”
This time, the spears didn’t stop. They pushed. Those in the back stumbled forward, forcing the ones in front closer to the edge. And then, one by one they fell.
Splash.
Splash.
Splash.
Theo didn’t wait for his turn. He simply stepped forward and jumped.
---
Moments later, the deck was empty. All the prisoners were in the water.
Some immediately began swimming toward the shore in a panic, arms thrashing as they tried to cover the five hundred meters as quickly as possible. Others clung desperately to the hull of the ship.
That didn’t last long.
The sailors switched weapons. Spears were lowered, bows were raised. The message was clear. Let go—or get shot.
Theo swam steadily toward the shore. Unlike the others, he wasn’t panicking. He moved with controlled strokes, conserving energy.
The cape he had tied earlier now functioned as a crude flotation device, trapping air and helping keep him afloat. Simple and effective.
Most of the other prisoners were still wearing their full clothing—robes, shoes, everything—now soaked and dragging them down with every movement.
Theo had already solved that problem. It was something he had picked up from watching survival videos and practicing it back on Earth.
At the time, he thought it might come in handy if he ever needed to disappear into the wilderness while running from the police.
He hadn’t expected to use it after dying.
---
After a long, exhausting swim, Theo finally reached the shore. He dragged himself onto the rocky ground alongside several other prisoners who had managed to make it.
Without wasting time, he untied his bundle, wrung the water out of his clothes, and began putting them back on. Then he looked around. Counting and estimating the survivors. Roughly thirty out of forty. Not great, not terrible.
---
Then he turned and looked at the land he had arrived on. He had seen it from the ship before.
From a distance, it looked barren and harsh, almost hellish. Up close, it was exactly that. The ground was dry and lifeless. No lush fantasy grasslands, no vibrant scenery. Just dirt, scattered bushes. and emptiness.
To the right, the massive red barrier stretched endlessly across the horizon, crackling faintly with energy. And ahead, if he narrowed his eyes, there was something far in the distance. A small stretch of forest.
Theo stared at it for a moment, then made his decision. That was where he was going.
“WHAT DID YOU SAY AGAIN?!”
The sudden shout cut through the air. Theo glanced over. A commotion had broken out among the survivors. Two large men were already in each other’s faces, shoving, posturing—one wrong move away from a full fight.
It didn’t take much to figure out what was happening. With the chains gone, someone had to establish who was on top.
That was how these things always went. Put a group of desperate people together, remove the restraints, and sooner or later they’d start sorting themselves into a hierarchy.
Theo let out a quiet sigh.
Predictable. And more importantly, not his problem. That was his cue to leave.
Without drawing attention, he stepped away from the group and began walking toward the distant forest he had spotted earlier.
Another survival rule he had picked up back on Earth: Don’t stay out in the open longer than you have to.
---
Forested Area
By the time Theo reached the forest, several hours had passed.
His legs ached. His stomach felt painfully empty. At this point, even the miserable food from the ship was starting to feel nostalgic.
He moved deeper into the trees, scanning his surroundings carefully—for anything edible, and anything that might want to eat him first.
“Those isekai stories and RPG games…” he muttered under his breath, wiping sweat from his forehead.
“They’re such a scam…”
He exhaled heavily, trying to steady his breathing.
“There’s nothing exciting about walking for hours in a forest,” he continued. “No one ever mentions the tired legs… the hunger… ugh…”
Then he stopped. Something caught his eye. Fruits. Small, red, round, hanging from a nearby tree.
“…Oh. Oh.”
Theo walked over quickly, almost in disbelief. He reached up and picked one, holding it in his hand.
“Cherries?” he murmured.
He turned it slightly, examining it.
“There’s no poisonous cherry on Earth… right?”
A pause.
“…Hopefully that applies here too.”
Carefully, he placed one into his mouth. Sweet and slightly sour, exactly like a cherry.
Theo didn’t celebrate yet. Instead, he sat down and waited. Another survival rule: when you’re not sure about food, eat a little first. Then wait.
So he did.
Fifteen minutes passed and nothing happened. No dizziness. No pain. No bowel movement.
“…Hell yeah.” Relief hit immediately.
Theo got back up and started eating properly this time, picking more cherries and finally giving in to his hunger. He was halfway through his meal when—
“KYAAAAAA!”
A scream echoed through the forest. A female voice.
Theo froze, then turned toward the sound. It came from a clearing not too far away. He moved closer, just enough to see.
A figure burst into view—running. A woman dressed in medieval clothing. And—
Pointed ears! An elf! A beautiful elf!
Theo blinked. For a brief moment, something clicked in his mind.
Finally.
After everything—
Finally… A proper fantasy moment.
Then he stopped himself.
Right. Survival first.
He crouched behind a bush, watching carefully. What was chasing her? How big was it? Could he handle it?
A few seconds later he got his answer. A wolf. Not massive. Not monstrous. Just… a wolf.
“KYAAAAAA!!” The elf screamed again, still running.
Theo narrowed his eyes, thinking quickly.
Not too big. Probably manageable.
Decision made. He grabbed a rock and a stick that looked sturdy enough to be useful, and stepped out.
“STOP, YOU DAMN WOLF!” Theo shouted, jumping between them.
The elf stumbled and fell to the ground behind him. Theo planted his feet, raising the stick toward the wolf.
“BEGONE!” he declared. “DON’T YOU DARE HURT THIS LADY!”
For a brief moment everything aligned. The setup, the positioning, the timing. Behind him, the elf looked up at him with wide, shining eyes. Exactly like a damsel in distress. Exactly like the stories.
Theo felt it. This was it, this was the moment. Then—he noticed something.
“…Huh?”
The wolf wasn’t growling. It wasn’t baring its fangs, it wasn’t even moving aggressively. It just sat there. with its tail wagging. Like a dog.
Theo blinked. And in that exact moment, a sharp sting hit the back of his neck.
“—!”
He flinched, immediately reaching back. A small needle stuck in his skin. Slowly, he turned his head. The elf was no longer on the ground. She was standing and holding a blowpipe.
The wide, helpless expression was gone. Replaced by a small, satisfied grin.
“Got one,” she said.
Theo stared at her.
Then at the wolf.
"Woof!" The wold bark cheerfully.
Then back at her.
“…Ah.”
The realization came just in time his vision started to blur and his legs weakened.
“Ah, crap…”
He dropped to his knees.
“What a fucking scam…” he muttered.
The world darkened. And then everything went pitch black. In the end, the first fantasy trope he experienced—
was also the first scam he suffered in this world.
Forest Area
By nighttime, Theo found himself chained again. He let out a quiet sigh. It hadn’t even been a full day since he was last unchained.
His gaze drifted toward the small campfire in front of him, the flames flickering gently in the dark. Then he glanced to the side, the wolf from before was still there sitting beside him. Watching him with its tail wagging.
At first glance, it looked intimidating—large enough to pass as a wolf. But after spending some time with it, Theo had come to a simple conclusion. It was just an oversized dog. A very well-trained one.
Theo decided to test that again.
“Pant… pant… pant…”
The dog sat calmly, tongue out, panting lightly. Its tail continued wagging in a steady rhythm. Honestly, it looked… kind of cute.
Then Theo shifted his body, lifting himself slightly off the ground.
“GRRRRRRR!!!”
The reaction was instant. The dog bared its fangs, its entire posture changing in a split second. Muscles tensed. Eyes locked. Ready to pounce.
Theo slowly sat back down.
“Pant… pant… pant…”
Just like that, the dog returned to normal. Tail wagging again. Expression relaxed.
Theo stared at it for a moment.
“…Yeah. Very well trained.”
He exhaled and leaned back slightly.
“Sigh…”
There wasn’t much he could do for now. So, like he had been doing for the past three months—he went back to briefing himself.
“Status Window,” he muttered.
The familiar screen appeared.
----------------------------------------
[ GENERAL INFORMATION ]
Name : Theo Poliznev
Title : Prisoner
Class : Necromancer
Level : 1
EXP : 27 / 1000
----------------------------------------
[ CORE STATS ]
HP : 64 / 100
MP : 70 / 70
Stamina : 20 / 40
----------------------------------------
[ ATTRIBUTES ]
Strength : 1
Agility : 2
Intelligence: 5
Charisma : 4
Luck : 2
----------------------------------------
[ SKILL AND SPELLS ]
(See detailed page)
----------------------------------------
[ UNIQUE SKILL ]
N/A
----------------------------------------
[ PASSIVE TRAITS ]
→ Fragmented Growth
Effect :
- EXP gained from kills reduced to 25%
----------------------------------------
[ CONTRACTS STATUS ]
Souls : 0 / 13
----------------------------------------
Aside from his core stats—which went up and down depending on how exhausted or injured he was—nothing had really changed in the past three months.
Theo scoffed quietly. He always did whenever he saw the word Necromancer. Was it because of the séance gig back on Earth? If that was the case, the system had a sense of humor. A bad one.
But the real joke, was that he didn’t even have a single summoning or reanimation spell.
“…Sigh.” This time, the sigh lingered a bit longer.
Everything about his situation in this world looked bleak. Still, he wasn’t the type to sit still and accept it. Over the past three months, he had gathered as much information as he could. From fellow prisoners. From guards. From overheard conversations. Anything useful.
He closed his eyes and began reviewing it all.
Rule #1: Only summoned heroes possess a “Status Window”—or what some people call a “System.” Only they can see it directly. Others require special Church crystals to view their own status.
Rule #2: Everyone in this world can improve skills and abilities over time. But increasing core stats—HP, MP, stamina—that is exclusive to summoned heroes. Not everyone gets to become something.
Rule #3: Experience points are gained through killing monsters, killing intelligent beings, or performing certain feats. Even forced labor, like long-distance marching, grants small amounts—hence his current title and the miserable amount of EXP he had.
Rule #4: The worst one. Passive traits are something you are born with. They cannot be changed, they cannot be removed.
Which meant—he was permanently stuck growing at one-quarter the normal rate.
Theo opened his eyes again and sighed.
Other than that, the rest of the information he gathered was about this place.
The Border Prison.
It was located right next to the Demon Realm. Fortunately, the realm itself had been sealed for millennia by some ancient mage. But that didn’t make this place any better. If anything, it made it worse.
This was the place every parents across Civara used to scare their children into behaving. The infamous open prison where kingdoms had been dumping unwanted individuals for centuries.
Theo’s expression darkened slightly as the thought settled in. Then suddenly the veins on his forehead tensed.
“How could you decide I’m an unwanted individual,” he snapped under his breath, anger rising, “when you’re the ones who wanted me! Into this world in the first place?!”
His voice rose.
“Goddamn stupid fat king and that old hag—”
“Shut up!”
The sharp voice cut him off.
Theo turned toward the bushes where the sound came from. Its the elf girl. She had just returned to the camp from hunting others like Theo.
“Woof!”
The oversized dog immediately trotted toward her, tail wagging enthusiastically. She bent down and patted its head.
“Good boy. You guarded the loot well.”
Loot. Theo had heard that word far too many times today. Its always refer to him.
Without hesitation, the elf girl began removing her outer clothes right there in front of him.
Theo didn’t react, not even a little. This wasn’t new. He had already seen what was underneath.
The simple, modest peasant outfit came off and revealing something entirely different.
A fitted black outfit, resembling a medieval version of special forces gear. Some parts were leather, others cloth, all designed for movement and combat rather than appearance.
The transformation was immediate. Gone was the harmless-looking village girl, enter the S&M elf princess.
Theo watched quietly. She was undeniably beautiful. The kind of beauty that matched exactly what people imagined when they thought of elves.
In the stories his former victims used to write, this would be the “waifu” type. The classic setup—enemy at first, slowly realizing the hero is different, eventually falling for him.
Theo scoffed hard. Those writers had no idea how things actually worked.
Rustle Rustle Rustle
“Miss Erika!”
A man emerged from the bushes behind Theo, grinning widely.
“I got one!”
He dragged a captured prisoner along with him.
Another rustle.
“Miss Erika!”
A second man appeared from the left.
“I got one too!”
Same situation. Another prisoner.
Then from the right—
“Miss Erika! I got two! HAHAHAHA!”
This one had two prisoners chained and stumbling behind him.
“Aah… you’ve all been working so hard,” Erika said with a sweeter and higher pitch, placing a hand near her face as if holding back tears. Completely fake. Theo knew that expression.
Even back on Earth—where life was far easier—beautiful women understood exactly what they had: Beauty. And they used it.
Here? In a place like this? Where survival decided everything? Of course it would be the same, if not worse.
And just like that, Theo was no longer the sole prisoner. Tonight, his situation was almost identical to the night before.
Chained. Surrounded by other prisoners. Sleeping in a cramped, uncomfortable position with bodies pressed too close on all sides.
The only difference—Last night, it was at sea. Tonight, it was in a forest.
---
12 Days Later
Theo walked in a chain gang alongside dozens of other “recaptured” prisoners.
The elf girl—Erika—and her group had grown in number. Along the way, more people dressed like them had joined, each bringing their own batch of captured prisoners.
Theo had learned what they were called. The Scavenger Tribe.
A mix of races—elves, beastmen, humans, dwarves. No single origin, no shared background.
Only two things connected them. Their way of dressing, and how frighteningly well they knew the territory.
More than once, Theo noticed how they avoided the obvious paths. Instead, they guided the group through routes that looked far less safe at first glance.
But there was always a reason. One time, he spotted monsters lingering along the main path they chose not to take. Another time, he caught a glimpse of a distant settlement—likely belonging to a different tribe.
Because of those choices, the journey remained relatively safe. At least, safe in terms of not getting eaten. Whether being captured by the Scavenger Tribe counted as “safe” was… debatable.
---
Agriculture Tribe
Eventually, they arrived at a settlement built around the ruins of an old fortress. But what stood out the most wasn’t the stone walls. It was the land.
There were actual farmlands—wide enough to sustain a population. Crops. Livestock. Signs of stability.
This settlement is very clearly not the home of the Scavenger Tribe. Because the moment they arrived, Theo understood what this place was. A marketplace.
Theo and the other prisoners were lined up in front of a familiar object. A crystal ball, just like the one used by the church old hag priestess.
One by one, prisoners stepped forward, placing their hands on it. Behind a desk, an officer observed the results, occasionally scribbling notes. Evaluating, pricing, assigning value.
Slaves.
Then it was Theo’s turn. He stepped forward and placed his hand on the crystal. The officer leaned in slightly. Squinted.
Then he scoffed.
“Pfft! Rejected. Next.”
Just like that.
Two guards immediately pulled Theo away from the line and dragged him back toward Erika, who was waiting off to the side. Theo blinked once then frowned slightly.
That… hurts more than he expected.
“Sigh… I was expecting more from this loot,” Erika muttered to one of her men, glancing at Theo.
“Yeah, miss. Me too,” the man replied. “His clothes were pretty convincing.”
“So what should we do with him?”
They both looked at Theo.
“Should we release him?”
Theo’s expression immediately changed. His face lit up and a smile started forming. Will this be his freedom?
---
Moments later, Theo was sitting by the roadside. Theo stared forward, speechless and expression empty.
He's still tied, but this time a wooden board hung from his neck.
It read: Discounted
He had gone from the cheapest summoned hero to the cheapest slave.
His gaze drifted toward the small campfire in front of him, the flames flickering gently in the dark. Then he glanced to the side, the wolf from before was still there sitting beside him. Watching him with its tail wagging.
At first glance, it looked intimidating—large enough to pass as a wolf. But after spending some time with it, Theo had come to a simple conclusion. It was just an oversized dog. A very well-trained one.
Theo decided to test that again.
“Pant… pant… pant…”
The dog sat calmly, tongue out, panting lightly. Its tail continued wagging in a steady rhythm. Honestly, it looked… kind of cute.
Then Theo shifted his body, lifting himself slightly off the ground.
“GRRRRRRR!!!”
The reaction was instant. The dog bared its fangs, its entire posture changing in a split second. Muscles tensed. Eyes locked. Ready to pounce.
Theo slowly sat back down.
“Pant… pant… pant…”
Just like that, the dog returned to normal. Tail wagging again. Expression relaxed.
Theo stared at it for a moment.
“…Yeah. Very well trained.”
He exhaled and leaned back slightly.
“Sigh…”
There wasn’t much he could do for now. So, like he had been doing for the past three months—he went back to briefing himself.
“Status Window,” he muttered.
The familiar screen appeared.
----------------------------------------
[ GENERAL INFORMATION ]
Name : Theo Poliznev
Title : Prisoner
Class : Necromancer
Level : 1
EXP : 27 / 1000
----------------------------------------
[ CORE STATS ]
HP : 64 / 100
MP : 70 / 70
Stamina : 20 / 40
----------------------------------------
[ ATTRIBUTES ]
Strength : 1
Agility : 2
Intelligence: 5
Charisma : 4
Luck : 2
----------------------------------------
[ SKILL AND SPELLS ]
(See detailed page)
----------------------------------------
[ UNIQUE SKILL ]
N/A
----------------------------------------
[ PASSIVE TRAITS ]
→ Fragmented Growth
Effect :
- EXP gained from kills reduced to 25%
----------------------------------------
[ CONTRACTS STATUS ]
Souls : 0 / 13
----------------------------------------
Aside from his core stats—which went up and down depending on how exhausted or injured he was—nothing had really changed in the past three months.
Theo scoffed quietly. He always did whenever he saw the word Necromancer. Was it because of the séance gig back on Earth? If that was the case, the system had a sense of humor. A bad one.
But the real joke, was that he didn’t even have a single summoning or reanimation spell.
“…Sigh.” This time, the sigh lingered a bit longer.
Everything about his situation in this world looked bleak. Still, he wasn’t the type to sit still and accept it. Over the past three months, he had gathered as much information as he could. From fellow prisoners. From guards. From overheard conversations. Anything useful.
He closed his eyes and began reviewing it all.
Rule #1: Only summoned heroes possess a “Status Window”—or what some people call a “System.” Only they can see it directly. Others require special Church crystals to view their own status.
Rule #2: Everyone in this world can improve skills and abilities over time. But increasing core stats—HP, MP, stamina—that is exclusive to summoned heroes. Not everyone gets to become something.
Rule #3: Experience points are gained through killing monsters, killing intelligent beings, or performing certain feats. Even forced labor, like long-distance marching, grants small amounts—hence his current title and the miserable amount of EXP he had.
Rule #4: The worst one. Passive traits are something you are born with. They cannot be changed, they cannot be removed.
Which meant—he was permanently stuck growing at one-quarter the normal rate.
Theo opened his eyes again and sighed.
Other than that, the rest of the information he gathered was about this place.
The Border Prison.
It was located right next to the Demon Realm. Fortunately, the realm itself had been sealed for millennia by some ancient mage. But that didn’t make this place any better. If anything, it made it worse.
This was the place every parents across Civara used to scare their children into behaving. The infamous open prison where kingdoms had been dumping unwanted individuals for centuries.
Theo’s expression darkened slightly as the thought settled in. Then suddenly the veins on his forehead tensed.
“How could you decide I’m an unwanted individual,” he snapped under his breath, anger rising, “when you’re the ones who wanted me! Into this world in the first place?!”
His voice rose.
“Goddamn stupid fat king and that old hag—”
“Shut up!”
The sharp voice cut him off.
Theo turned toward the bushes where the sound came from. Its the elf girl. She had just returned to the camp from hunting others like Theo.
“Woof!”
The oversized dog immediately trotted toward her, tail wagging enthusiastically. She bent down and patted its head.
“Good boy. You guarded the loot well.”
Loot. Theo had heard that word far too many times today. Its always refer to him.
Without hesitation, the elf girl began removing her outer clothes right there in front of him.
Theo didn’t react, not even a little. This wasn’t new. He had already seen what was underneath.
The simple, modest peasant outfit came off and revealing something entirely different.
A fitted black outfit, resembling a medieval version of special forces gear. Some parts were leather, others cloth, all designed for movement and combat rather than appearance.
The transformation was immediate. Gone was the harmless-looking village girl, enter the S&M elf princess.
Theo watched quietly. She was undeniably beautiful. The kind of beauty that matched exactly what people imagined when they thought of elves.
In the stories his former victims used to write, this would be the “waifu” type. The classic setup—enemy at first, slowly realizing the hero is different, eventually falling for him.
Theo scoffed hard. Those writers had no idea how things actually worked.
Rustle Rustle Rustle
“Miss Erika!”
A man emerged from the bushes behind Theo, grinning widely.
“I got one!”
He dragged a captured prisoner along with him.
Another rustle.
“Miss Erika!”
A second man appeared from the left.
“I got one too!”
Same situation. Another prisoner.
Then from the right—
“Miss Erika! I got two! HAHAHAHA!”
This one had two prisoners chained and stumbling behind him.
“Aah… you’ve all been working so hard,” Erika said with a sweeter and higher pitch, placing a hand near her face as if holding back tears. Completely fake. Theo knew that expression.
Even back on Earth—where life was far easier—beautiful women understood exactly what they had: Beauty. And they used it.
Here? In a place like this? Where survival decided everything? Of course it would be the same, if not worse.
And just like that, Theo was no longer the sole prisoner. Tonight, his situation was almost identical to the night before.
Chained. Surrounded by other prisoners. Sleeping in a cramped, uncomfortable position with bodies pressed too close on all sides.
The only difference—Last night, it was at sea. Tonight, it was in a forest.
---
12 Days Later
Theo walked in a chain gang alongside dozens of other “recaptured” prisoners.
The elf girl—Erika—and her group had grown in number. Along the way, more people dressed like them had joined, each bringing their own batch of captured prisoners.
Theo had learned what they were called. The Scavenger Tribe.
A mix of races—elves, beastmen, humans, dwarves. No single origin, no shared background.
Only two things connected them. Their way of dressing, and how frighteningly well they knew the territory.
More than once, Theo noticed how they avoided the obvious paths. Instead, they guided the group through routes that looked far less safe at first glance.
But there was always a reason. One time, he spotted monsters lingering along the main path they chose not to take. Another time, he caught a glimpse of a distant settlement—likely belonging to a different tribe.
Because of those choices, the journey remained relatively safe. At least, safe in terms of not getting eaten. Whether being captured by the Scavenger Tribe counted as “safe” was… debatable.
---
Agriculture Tribe
Eventually, they arrived at a settlement built around the ruins of an old fortress. But what stood out the most wasn’t the stone walls. It was the land.
There were actual farmlands—wide enough to sustain a population. Crops. Livestock. Signs of stability.
This settlement is very clearly not the home of the Scavenger Tribe. Because the moment they arrived, Theo understood what this place was. A marketplace.
Theo and the other prisoners were lined up in front of a familiar object. A crystal ball, just like the one used by the church old hag priestess.
One by one, prisoners stepped forward, placing their hands on it. Behind a desk, an officer observed the results, occasionally scribbling notes. Evaluating, pricing, assigning value.
Slaves.
Then it was Theo’s turn. He stepped forward and placed his hand on the crystal. The officer leaned in slightly. Squinted.
Then he scoffed.
“Pfft! Rejected. Next.”
Just like that.
Two guards immediately pulled Theo away from the line and dragged him back toward Erika, who was waiting off to the side. Theo blinked once then frowned slightly.
That… hurts more than he expected.
“Sigh… I was expecting more from this loot,” Erika muttered to one of her men, glancing at Theo.
“Yeah, miss. Me too,” the man replied. “His clothes were pretty convincing.”
“So what should we do with him?”
They both looked at Theo.
“Should we release him?”
Theo’s expression immediately changed. His face lit up and a smile started forming. Will this be his freedom?
---
Moments later, Theo was sitting by the roadside. Theo stared forward, speechless and expression empty.
He's still tied, but this time a wooden board hung from his neck.
It read: Discounted
He had gone from the cheapest summoned hero to the cheapest slave.
Rosica
Д̙̥̫̰̩̺̼̯̻͙̓͗̽̋̄̅̌̒͗̇р̴̼̫͍̤̜̖̼̠̈̅ͥ̆́̅͌ͩ͝у͋ͭ͛̔͋̈́ͯг
- Joined
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Israeli audience.
litRPG is just porn for people with tables and numbers going up fetish.
Not the worse fetish to have. The site used to have problem with monetized CP.
Bimbanana
A Gentleorc
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Rosica
Д̙̥̫̰̩̺̼̯̻͙̓͗̽̋̄̅̌̒͗̇р̴̼̫͍̤̜̖̼̠̈̅ͥ̆́̅͌ͩ͝у͋ͭ͛̔͋̈́ͯг
- Joined
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At least you're not that desperate enough to join the Epstein Club.
Bimbanana
A Gentleorc
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I put that on the list, right after selling-one-kidney plan
Rosica
Д̙̥̫̰̩̺̼̯̻͙̓͗̽̋̄̅̌̒͗̇р̴̼̫͍̤̜̖̼̠̈̅ͥ̆́̅͌ͩ͝у͋ͭ͛̔͋̈́ͯг
- Joined
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Can orcs regenerate kidneys? Infinite money glitch.
Bimbanana
A Gentleorc
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Kazehiro
New member
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I mean ... no not yet, the most dangerous enemy the mc will face is the "Horros" outsiders of the world. And I don't think I'm planning to make them humans ...
Or should I? Thinking it again, maybe after some long run it will be a good plot.