Neron continued his journey through the eerie, dark rocky corridors, occasionally coming across solitary skeletons. The air here was heavy with dampness, carrying a faint metallic tang, as if the stone itself remembered the blood spilled long ago. His bony feet struck the uneven stone floor with dull thuds that echoed into the distance, each sound swallowed and distorted by the endless passages. The silence between those steps was almost unbearable, filled only by the faint dripping of water somewhere deeper in the cave. Every new skeleton he encountered seemed like nothing more than a fragment of a forgotten tragedy—ordinary human remains, yellowed bones scattered in unnatural postures. Compared to Deodrim, they were frail, brittle, utterly unremarkable.
Wanting to test his theory, Neron decided to swap one of his arms for a new one, this time from a simple human farmer. As he tore the arm away, he couldn't help but wonder what such a person might have been doing in this terrifying place. The bones were thinner, lighter, their fragility almost laughable next to the sturdy orcish remains. Still, curiosity demanded the experiment. Unfortunately, the attempt didn't yield the expected results—no blue windows, no sudden boost to his stats. Just silence. Disappointed, he snapped the human limb away and carefully reattached the thick orc arm he had claimed earlier. The sensation of foreign bones clicking into place was strangely satisfying, like puzzle pieces fitting back into order.
"It would be too good if I could easily boost my stats like that..." he muttered, shaking the heavy limb experimentally. "Now I regret not swapping out my legs too. Damn... And going back is impossible—I've twisted and turned so many times I'd never find the right path again. Well… guess I'll have to keep going."
After what felt like an eternity of wandering through twisting tunnels, Neron stumbled into a peculiar cavern. The transition was sudden—the narrow passage gave way to a vast, perfectly circular chamber. The ceiling soared high above, dotted with jagged stalactites like rows of teeth in some gigantic maw, dripping moisture that glistened faintly in the darkness. But the true horror lay below. The cavern teemed with undead. Countless skeletons shifted and twitched in the half-light, transforming the still cave into a grotesque tableau. Their hollow eyes reflected nothing, their silence heavier than the grave they had once escaped.
Neron felt a surge of excitement pulse through his hollow chest. His empty sockets fixed on a particularly noteworthy figure among the swarm—a gray skeleton, broader than the rest, clad in rusted chain mail. The corroded links clung to its frame like a metallic shroud, reaching all the way down to its bony knees. The armor shimmered faintly under the dripping water, an eerie reminder that this warrior had once stood taller, prouder, alive.
"Just wondering," Neron whispered to himself, gripping his makeshift mace tighter, "if I approach and strike one of them… will the others attack? System, any suggestions?"
[No information available. The user has not experienced such a situation, and none of the defeated monsters had enough intelligence to attack members of their own kind.]
Not the answer he was hoping for. Still, it told him something valuable. The system wasn't omniscient. It was more like a tool, a personal assistant bound to rules and fragments of knowledge—Jarvis for a skeletal Tony Stark. It drew on limited databases, expanding its information through external stimuli: monsters slain, items acquired, fragments of knowledge pieced together. Its voice was impartial, mechanical, yet oddly reassuring.
Even so, fighting a crowd of undead was no trivial matter. Eleven skeletons, converging on him at once, could become overwhelming. A single mistake could mean his bones shattering across the cavern floor. Yet, strangely enough, no fear gnawed at him. Since acquiring the Barbarian class, his movements had become sharper, his body less clumsy. Where once his steps had been hesitant, stiff, now he moved with a predator's rhythm. He knew skeletons were deceptive: their slow, lumbering gait lulled enemies into false security, but they could lash out with alarming speed when close enough. Many had underestimated them—and had paid the price.
"I should probably approach this intelligently," he mused, his bony jaw clicking in thought. "How can I increase my chances?... hmm… okay, I have an idea. Risky as hell. But damn it, it's time to have some fun."
Neron's fingers tightened around the orc bone that served as his mace. He let his gaze sweep over the horde: most were ordinary humans, bare and brittle, their bones stained yellow, scraps of decay still clinging in places. But in the center—the gray one, the orc in rusted chains—stood out like a hidden boss among a rabble of minions. A grin spread across Neron's skull, a grin without flesh.
No more hesitation. He lunged forward. The mace whistled through the stale air and connected with the nearest skeleton's skull. A dull crack reverberated through the chamber, followed by the brittle shattering of bone fragments scattering across the ground. The corpse collapsed instantly, lifeless even in undeath. Without missing a beat, Neron seized the body, hefting it into his hands as if it were nothing more than a grotesque weapon of its own.
As expected, the scene triggered the reaction he had anticipated. The remaining undead stirred, grinding their jaws and clattering their bones in something resembling defiance. Eleven hollow gazes turned to him at once. Their synchronized steps began—a slow, deliberate advance, the rhythm of dry bones clicking together echoing through the cavern. It sounded almost ritualistic, as if death itself were marching to reclaim him.
Ten of them were ordinary skeletons, stumbling with stiff, yet determined movements. But the gray orc skeleton lingered in their midst, heavier, stronger, moving with just enough awareness to distinguish itself. It strained against the slowness of its kind, but the press of bodies slowed its advance.
"I need to keep my distance," Neron thought sharply, retreating with the corpse in hand. "If they surround me, I'm finished. But their slowness… their slowness is my weapon. Time to make this fight truly sinister."
His skeletal feet struck the stone with speed, each step faster, smoother than those of his pursuers. The Barbarian class pulsed within him, granting a raw, unnatural agility. He widened the gap between himself and the undead, leading them deeper into the cavern. Their clumsy pursuit, though relentless, was laughably slow compared to his newfound vigor.
And so the hunter became the baiter. The pack of skeletons clumped together, their slow march turning them into one mass of bone and rust. Neron glanced back once, sockets gleaming with amusement. The absurdity of the sight—the mindless horde, the rusted orc commander, and himself, a skeleton wielding another skeleton as a weapon—struck him with unexpected hilarity.
For the first time in a long while, Neron was having fun.
Neron didn't want to play this game forever. As the crowd of undead closed in to form a tight, circular formation, the sound of their bones clattering together echoed off the cavern walls like a grotesque drumbeat. Dust fell from the stalactites above as if the cave itself was shivering at the macabre spectacle. Neron decided it was time to go on the offensive. His eye sockets narrowed with grim determination. Using all his strength, he hurled the headless skeleton's body towards the group. The corpse spun clumsily through the air before crashing into the front line of enemies with a sickening impact. The brittle collision sent fragments of bone skittering across the rocky floor, and seven of the eleven skeletons, including the imposing gray orcish one, toppled to the ground with a loud, thunderous crash that reverberated in the cavern like the fall of a stone colossus.
The remaining four skeletons staggered but kept their footing. Their empty sockets seemed to glare at Neron with silent malice, and they resumed their march toward him with unsettling determination. Their bony fingers reached forward, claw-like, scraping the air as if eager to tear the very marrow from his soul. The skeletal Barbarian, however, only adjusted his stance. He knew time was on his side, and that with careful planning and patience, he could grind this skirmish into victory.
Eliminating the four standing enemies was almost effortless compared to the chaos that had just erupted. None of them even carried a crude weapon, not even a splintered bone club. They advanced clumsily, and Neron, gripping the heavy orc's bony mace, closed the distance with ruthless efficiency. Each swing of the weapon whistled through the damp, stagnant air before connecting with bone. The sound was like splitting dry wood — sharp, decisive, final. After every blow, Neron would take a measured step back, letting the enemies stumble into his range again, only to meet the same crushing fate. One by one, skulls cracked apart, fragments bouncing across the stone floor like shards of porcelain.
When the last of the four collapsed into a heap of scattered remains, Neron turned back toward the seven still struggling to rise. They had been knocked down but not destroyed, their bones clattering against the stone floor as they tried to regain balance. The sight made him smirk, a cold grin stretching across his skeletal jaw.
"Hehe… Are skeletons really this weak?" he muttered under his breath, his hollow voice echoing strangely. "Though the situation might be different if they had short swords. Damn, one of them might have hurt me then… But there's no point in dwelling on that. It won't get any easier."
Without wasting time, Neron grabbed another headless corpse by the spine, its ribcage rattling as he lifted it. With the same brutal pragmatism, he hurled the remains straight into the group of rising undead. The impact was devastating — bones clashed against bones, and the fragile equilibrium of the enemies shattered. The group fell like dominoes, some of their skulls colliding with the stone floor so hard that they split apart. The cracking of craniums echoed like distant thunder, and dust once again stirred in the cavern. Neron's hollow sockets narrowed in satisfaction as he saw that several of the skeletons' skulls had broken outright upon impact.
This new perspective unsettled him in a strange way. The undead, who had seemed like an eternal threat, suddenly revealed their fragility. They weren't indestructible nightmares — they were brittle husks, echoes of life waiting to be shattered. It wasn't reassuring, but it was useful knowledge. Taking advantage of their helplessness, Neron moved with predatory speed. His mace rose and fell in a grisly rhythm, bone dust scattering like powdery snow. One by one, the remaining human skeletons were dispatched until only the gray orcish one remained.
When it came time to face the gray skeleton, Neron paused. This opponent radiated a strange presence, even in its ruined state. It wasn't just another mindless husk — something about the rusted chainmail and the broad bones gave it weight, a lingering memory of strength. Neron's instincts told him this was different, and he decided to consult the system.
"System, is 'Quick Slash' a passive skill that makes it easy to crush their skulls, or do I need to activate it somehow?"
The answer wasn't immediate, but Neron already felt his curiosity burning. It was time to experiment. He wanted to feel the rush of his skills at work, to test the system's potential.
"I really enjoyed smashing those skulls," he thought grimly. "Theoretically, using skills should speed up class advancement. Alright, let's test it. 'Battle Cry,' 'Quick Slash.'"
The gray skeleton, still half-kneeling, froze as Neron unleashed his first active ability. From deep within his hollow ribcage erupted a terrible, inhuman scream. It wasn't the voice of a warrior but of something far older, a sound stitched together from despair and endless suffering. The chilling cry rolled through the cavern, rebounding off the walls until the air itself seemed to tremble. The stalactites above quivered, loose pebbles tumbled from the ceiling, and even the remaining undead paused for a heartbeat, as if struck by the echo of that cursed sound.
Neron felt the surge immediately. His skeletal body thrummed with newfound vigor, every bone humming as though filled with molten strength. He didn't hesitate — his mace cut the air in a swift arc, enhanced by the 'Quick Slash' skill. The swing was so violent it resembled a baseball bat striking a stone.
The gray skeleton's skull didn't merely crack — it exploded. The impact tore it free from the body, sending it flying into the wall where it shattered into dozens of fragments. Splinters of bone ricocheted in every direction, some embedding themselves into the cavern's stone. The body collapsed in a clumsy heap, its once-imposing form reduced to a crumpled mass of armor and bones.
"Damn, that was… awesome," Neron thought, unable to resist admiring his handiwork. "If I'd thought of this earlier, I could have taken down the first skeleton like that. The fragments would have surely knocked down others, maybe even taken a few out. Although… I might have damaged the gray skeleton's bones, which I need very much."
His sockets lingered on the fallen orcish body. The chainmail still glistened faintly with rust, and the broad frame radiated potential. Neron's thoughts raced. He questioned the system again, voice cold and deliberate:
"System, if I separate my head, will I instantly lose control of my body? How do I replace the torso? And who was that gray skeleton?"
The system's voice filled his mind, calm and precise:
[Host has 10 seconds after separating the skull from the torso to replace the entire skeletal body. This time is sufficient for swapping out even the entire skeletal body. If the user fails to do so in time, they will lose control of the skeletal body. In this case, the only chance will be to use the jaw as a means to attract the skull to the nearest skeleton body.]
[The undead orc skeleton, Brightora the Corrupted, had the classes of Barbarian and Slave. He died from a heart piercing caused by a sharp object by his mistress, who killed him after he left genetic material in her womb without her consent.]
Neron froze for a moment, silent. The echoes of battle still reverberated faintly in the cavern, but his mind latched onto the words.
"Firstly," he thought grimly, "there are slaves in this world. Worth remembering. Secondly, the perfect body for me, since this orc slave also had the Barbarian class… And… what a death. Faced his end and left at the same moment. It's a pity the circumstances were a bit sad for him."
Time was ticking, and the bodies around him were already twitching faintly, trying to rise again. Neron knew hesitation would cost him. With swift movements, he dragged Brightora's body against the wall, propping it up into a sitting position. The chainmail rattled faintly against the stone, echoing like a funeral bell.
Then came the moment of truth. Neron crouched, clenched his bony fingers around his own skull, and tore it free from his torso. For a second, vertigo washed over him — a swirling emptiness, like falling into a void. He wasted no time. With practiced precision, he pressed his skull onto the orc's torso, feeling the new body accept him with an almost magnetic pull.
The connection snapped into place. His hollow sockets flared faintly as strength coursed through him, raw and invigorating. His new frame felt denser, heavier, more powerful. The chainmail creaked as his form shifted under it.
"That was… messed up," he admitted, testing his new limbs, flexing the larger arms. "But this feeling of strength is amazing. Status."
The numbers that appeared before him told the story of his transformation — more strength, more agility, an undeniable leap forward. Yet also, sobering truths about his new vessel.
The system explained in its cold monotone, and Neron pieced the details together — Brightora had died young, his potential cut short, but even so, the orc's raw power provided Neron with a substantial boost. Equipment bonuses made the difference even more pronounced.
"Well, a boost is a boost," Neron muttered, half to himself. "At least I now have a raw physical strength average for a human. My DEX has increased quite a bit, which is at least minimal defense for a typical orc. But what does the asterisk next to the '+4' mean?"
The answer came immediately:
[The "*" designation indicates a stat added based on bonuses provided by equipment. The user currently has +2 STR from using the orc femur as an improvised weapon and +4 DEX from equipping the rusty chainmail.]
Neron chuckled, the sound hollow but satisfied. "Clear enough. I can separate what's truly mine and what's just borrowed strength."
Confidence welled inside him, dark and unyielding. He rose to his full orcish height, towering over the shattered remains of his enemies, and surveyed the cave's looming shadows. The air was thick with bone dust and the faint, metallic tang of rust.
"Alright, time to move on," he said, his voice echoing like a verdict through the cavern. "I hope I don't run into goblins. I'm not sure I'd be able to take them on."
And with that, Neron, strengthened and reborn in a new vessel, strode deeper into the cave. His steps were heavier now, more commanding. The darkness ahead seemed to part for him, though he knew well — it was not retreating. It was waiting.