[Class Selection]

A wave of pressure pressed down on Leon's chest, thick and suffocating. 

It felt as though the very air had changed, twisting with an unseen force that burrowed into his bones. 

His vision blurred for a moment before a translucent screen flickered before his eyes.

[You have awakened the System.]

His fingers twitched. 

He had seen this before. 

This was the moment when fate locked in a person's path — when the gods decided who would live and who would be nothing more than a stepping stone.

A second notification followed.

[Class Selection Initiated.]

[Available Classes Generated Based on User's Potential.]

Leon inhaled slowly. This was where everything had gone wrong in his past life. 

The class selection had been entirely randomized — determined by some cosmic dice roll that had no care for who lived or died.

Back then, he had been assigned the Rogue class. It wasn't a bad choice on paper. 

Stealth, agility, critical strikes — it had potential. But it wasn't enough. 

Not when survival demanded overwhelming strength. 

The Rogue class was good for those who were lucky, those who found the right weapons, the right skills, the right opportunities.

But he couldn't afford to rely on luck anymore.

This time, something was different. His eyes scanned the text that appeared next.

[Choose Your Class.]

And beneath it, a list of options.

That wasn't supposed to happen.

Leon's breath hitched. In his past life, he had never been given a choice. 

Yet now, options were laid before him, as if the system itself had acknowledged that something had changed.

His gaze darted across the choices:

– Warrior

– Mage

– Ranger

– Rogue

– Berserker

– Necromancer

His heart pounded in his chest. 

Necromancer? That class had never been available before. 

He had only ever seen one person wield it —

The strongest player of the apocalypse.

Leon clenched his jaw. 

He remembered that man well. 

In his past life, that player had stood at the peak of the new world, wielding an army of the dead, commanding legions of monsters that had once been humanity's executioners. 

He had carved his way through the apocalypse, unstoppable, untouchable.

And now, that very class was within Leon's reach.

His fingers trembled as he hovered over the selection. 

He needed to be sure. Needed to know exactly what this class entailed.

With a deep breath, he tapped on the Necromancer option, bringing up the detailed information.

[Class: Necromancer]

– A forbidden class that wields the power of the dead.

– The user can raise, control, and strengthen undead minions.

– Converts slain enemies into summoned creatures.

– Strength scales with the number and quality of undead.

– Unique Skill: [Death Lord's Domain] – The more you kill, the stronger you become.

Leon's breath came slow and measured. This was it. 

The class that had once belonged to the most powerful figure in the apocalypse.

But why was it available to him now? What had changed?

He forced himself to push the question aside. It didn't matter. 

He wasn't going to waste this opportunity. He had already decided — he wouldn't struggle through this life like before. 

His hand moved with purpose.

[You have chosen the Necromancer class.]

A chill spread through his veins, sinking into his very soul. 

It wasn't painful — not exactly. But it was… wrong. 

As if something deep within him was shifting, as if the very essence of his being was rewriting itself.

His breath shuddered as new notifications appeared.

[You have gained the Unique Skill: Death Lord's Domain.]

[You have awakened a Hidden Potential.]

His eyes widened. Hidden Potential? That hadn't been mentioned in the class description. 

His pulse pounded as another screen emerged.

[Trait Unlocked: Deathborne]

– You are bound to the cycle of death and rebirth.

– Killing strengthens you beyond normal limits.

– The more you embrace death, the less it can claim you.

Leon exhaled slowly, his hands tightening into fists.

This… this was different. This was beyond what he had seen in his past life.

He could feel it, thrumming in his core. 

A laugh nearly escaped him. For the first time since his reincarnation, he felt it —

Hope.

#####

The system vanished, more like dismissed itself — of course, it had more uses, but it was on cooldown currently. Leon knew he couldn't rely on it just yet.

He exhaled slowly, the weight of his backpack pressing against his shoulders as he took one last glance at the dimly lit room.

This place, once his home, was now just another shelter he had to abandon. There was no safety here, no comfort — only the cold embrace of a world already teetering on the edge of ruin.

Stepping toward the window, he parted the blinds just enough to peer outside. The world was eerily still.

Not the peaceful kind of silence, but the terrifying kind — the kind where the absence of sound was louder than any scream.

The streets lay in ruin, cars abandoned haphazardly, doors left open in frantic escape.

Streetlights flickered, some dead entirely. And scattered along the pavement were bodies — motionless, twisted in unnatural ways. But not all of them would stay that way.

Leon knew better.

His grip tightened around the handle of the knife in his hand.

The first wave of transformations had already begun. He knew from his past life that not everyone turned immediately.

The weak-willed — those who despaired, those who couldn't handle the sheer terror of what was happening — had been the first to fall.

Their minds had broken under the weight of reality, and in doing so, they had become something else. Something inhuman.

He took a careful step outside. His boots barely made a sound against the pavement, but he still winced at every little noise, hyperaware of how exposed he was.

A growl.

His breath hitched.

Slowly, he turned toward the noise.

A massive figure stumbled forward from the house next door, half-shuffling, half-lumbering onto the street. Leon recognized him instantly.

Mr. Galloway.

His neighbor had been a burly man, a former construction worker who spent most of his days drinking on his porch.

Now, his once ruddy complexion had turned a sickly shade of green, veins dark and bulging beneath thin, sagging skin.

His eyes — what was left of them — were clouded over, milky and lifeless. And yet, the hunger in them was unmistakable.

Leon didn't move. Didn't breathe.

Mr. Galloway let out another guttural growl before taking a slow, staggering step forward. His movements were sluggish, but Leon knew better than to assume he was harmless.

Then, as if some unseen force had flipped a switch, the man's body tensed —

— and he charged.

Leon's instincts screamed at him to move, and he did, throwing himself backward just as the infected man lunged. Mr. Galloway's thick arms swung wildly, missing him by inches.

Leon hit the pavement hard, pain flaring up his elbows, but he rolled with it, springing back to his feet. His knife was still clutched in his grip.

The infected man twisted toward him with an unnatural speed, his bloated face contorting as he snarled.

Leon didn't hesitate.

A memory surfaced. He had fought these things before — had barely survived them.

And if there was one thing he knew, it was that hesitation got you killed.

As Mr. Galloway lunged again, Leon ducked low, sidestepping the attack. He pivoted sharply, his knife flashing in the dim light as he drove it into the side of the man's thick neck.

The infected jerked, a gurgling sound escaping from his ruined throat. But he didn't fall.

Leon cursed. The knife was too small. It was too weak.

He tore it free, dark blood spurting onto his hand, and leapt backward as Mr. Galloway swung again, slower this time. The wound was affecting him, but not enough.

Leon's mind raced. A knife to the throat wasn't enough. But the head —

He adjusted his grip. He needed to go for the skull.

Mr. Galloway stumbled toward him again, weaker this time, but still moving.

Leon surged forward, ducking beneath a lazy swipe.

His foot planted firmly against the ground, he used his momentum to launch himself upward, driving the knife directly into the side of Mr. Galloway's temple.

The infected man stiffened. His body twitched once —

Then he crumpled.