Entering the Dungeon Test

Ahead of them loomed the dungeon entrance's enormous stone archway, its tall structure broken with age. Deep within the stone, bright blue symbols shined brightly, their magic vibrating softly in the cold air. The dungeon's mouth, a huge tunnel leading into the darkness, opened beneath the arch.

A chill wind blew from the depths of the underground passage, carrying with it the faint stench of damp earth and decay. The scent of something old. Something forgotten.

Leon stood near the back of the gathered crowd, his hood pulled up, watching as hundreds of newly awakened adventurers murmured among themselves. Some were tense, shifting uneasily. Others were brimming with excitement, their hands tightening around weapons they had barely learned to use.

The Dungeon Combat Test.

It was a mandatory trial—one that determined if an awakened individual was worthy of becoming an adventurer.

Succeed, and they would be granted official status, access to guilds, quests, and resources.

Fail, and they would be dismissed from the profession entirely.

No exceptions.

Leon knew exactly how today would go.

He could feel their stares, the quiet whispers from those around him.

"That's the Zombie Lord guy, right?"

"Yeah… the weakest necromancer class. What's he even doing here?"

"Does he seriously think he can pass this test?"

Leon clenched his fists. His nails dug into his palms.

He already knew.

The recruiters watching from above, hidden behind their magic screens, had already dismissed him.

Somewhere in the observation booths, guild representatives were recording their notes.

A-Rank Warrior – Promising potential.

B-Rank Elementalist – Good mana control.

F-Rank Zombie Lord – Not worth the effort.

He could almost see the words appearing beside his name.

He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to breathe.

It doesn't matter.

He wasn't here to prove anything to them.

He was here for one reason.

To see for himself what his new power could do.

To confirm whether or not this Zombie Lord System was truly as weak as everyone thought.

At the front of the crowd, several black suited instructors stood on an elevated stage, holding charmed scrolls that glowed with light.

One of them, a tall man with a scar over his left eye, raised his voice.

"Listen up!" he barked, silencing the murmurs instantly.

"This test will determine your eligibility to become an adventurer. You will enter the dungeon in groups of three to five and proceed to clear a designated area filled with monsters."

A faint murmur spread through the crowd again.

"You are free to form your own teams," the instructor continued, glancing at the enchanted scroll in his hands. "However, be warned—the dungeon does not adjust its difficulty. If you go in underprepared, we will not be responsible for what happens."

Leon exhaled slowly, his grip tightening.

Here we go.

The crowd immediately erupted into movement.

Leon saw groups forming instantly—the stronger classes gravitating toward each other, securing the best possible allies for their survival.

Damian was already surrounded by eager recruits. Warriors and archers flocked to him, desperate to join an A-Rank Warblade's party.

Leon stepped forward.

"Hey, Damian!"

His best friend turned, meeting his gaze.

For a brief moment, Leon thought Damian might let him in. They had trained together for years. They had promised to take the Awakening Test together.

Then, Damian's confident grin faltered. His eyes flickered with hesitation.

"...I think it'd be best if we went separate ways," he said, voice quiet.

Leon felt the words like a blow to the chest.

Damian turned away, re-joining his party without another word.

The sting barely had time to settle before a voice scoffed from nearby.

"Tch. Did you really think an A-Rank was gonna team up with a Zombie Lord?"

Leon turned. A tall spear-wielding adventurer sneered at him, shaking his head.

"We're not picking up a liability. Necromancers are trash. But you? You're an even worse version of a trash class."

Laughter followed.

Leon's jaw tightened.

Everywhere he turned, groups had already been formed—and no one wanted a deadweight necromancer on their team.

Minutes passed. The instructors called out final group assignments.

Leon had been completely ignored.

Just as he was about to accept going in alone, a voice called out hesitantly.

"Hey… uh, we still need a third."

Leon turned to see a girl with short silver hair and a healer's robe standing with a nervous-looking swordsman.

Her name tag read Elise – F-Rank Healer.

Beside her, the swordsman—Garet – E-Rank Swordsman—looked like he had just been dragged into a death sentence.

"Ugh," Garet groaned. "Do we really need a necromancer? I mean, zombies are way too slow—"

"Just take him," Elise said impatiently. "We don't have time to be picky."

Leon exhaled through his nose and stepped forward.

Entering the Dungeon-

The moment they crossed the dungeon entrance, the air changed.

The warmth of the outside world was quickly replaced by the cold, damp blackness of the underground ruins. The dungeon was alive, releasing darkness into the passageways ahead. 

The stone walls, slick with moisture, were covered in twisting vines, their roots breaking through the cracks in the aged brickwork. Torches flickered dimly in their rusted sconces, their flames weak and unreliable, barely pushing back the suffocating blackness.

A faint dripping sound echoed in the distance.

Water, or… something else?

Leon moved cautiously, his boots barely making a sound against the uneven stone floor. His Zombie Mage trailed behind him, its glowing blue eyes cutting through the shadows like distant lanterns.

Ahead, his teammates—Elise and Garet—walked slightly faster, their body language tense but determined.

Garet gripped his sword tightly, his eyes scanning the darkness.

Other teams had already entered before them—some advancing confidently, others more cautious, their footsteps and quiet murmurs disappearing down the branching pathways of the dungeon.

Even from a distance, Leon could hear the occasional clash of weapons, a sudden burst of flame from a Fire Mage, or the sharp hiss of an arrow striking stone.

The test had begun.

Garet let out a slow breath, his fingers tightening around the leather grip of his blade.

"Alright," he muttered under his breath, his voice barely above a whisper. "The test starts the moment we encounter our first monster."

Elise, walking beside him, glanced back at Leon.

She sighed.

"Just don't get in the way," she said flatly.

Leon didn't react. Didn't argue.

He simply walked forward, keeping pace with them, his Zombie Mage drifting soundlessly at his side.

There was no point in convincing them now.

He would let his zombie speak for him.

And soon, it would.