I stood at the helm, proudly puffing out my scrawny child's chest in a pose I'd copied from the cover of some pirate novel. The wind tousled my hair, and an invigorating cocktail of salt, seaweed, and the faint, elusive scent of despair wafting from a couple of surviving sailors hit my nostrils. The perfect atmosphere to start a new life. The life of a pirate! Well, or at least a guy with a boat. A very large boat, commandeered from my former employers.
"Brain, course for Fiore! Full speed ahead! Release the Kraken!" I roared for the umpteenth time, desperately trying to imitate the heroes from old books.
I might have gotten a bit carried away with the Kraken—my undead storage doesn't currently have any suitable candidates for that prestigious position—but the gravitas of the moment demanded sacrifices.
"Gr-r-r-r!" my newly-appointed helmsman growled in a deep bass response.
Brain, former prison overseer and now my loyal (because he has no choice) zombie assistant, gripped the ship's wheel with his enormous hands. His sole function was to stand here and look imposing. He was excelling at the task. Did he understand my commands? I doubted it. But it was enough to maintain the image.
Yes, as you've probably guessed, I have no idea how to sail a ship. Navigation is a complete mystery to me, and the only knots I can tie are on my own shoelaces, and even then, it's by accident. I'll be honest: my knowledge of seamanship is somewhere on par with a guinea pig discussing quantum physics.
And this whole magnificent vessel, which I had proudly named the Fresh Start, was moving solely thanks to two enthusiasts whom I had graciously allowed to live. And not at all because I desperately needed someone who knew which end of the ship was the front and could tell "port" from "starboard." You understand, right? I'm a philanthropist. In a way.
These two—let's call them Panicker-One and Panicker-Two for convenience—were currently scurrying across the deck, setting sails and pulling ropes with a frantic diligence as if their lives depended on it. And, you know, they weren't wrong. Their motivational package included the daily observation of their former boss, the very same overseer who was now serving as the helmsman in the form of a shuffling corpse. Far more effective than any quarterly bonus, in my opinion.
I took a deep breath of the salty air. Freedom! After that cramped, stinking prison, this was simply divine. I, a successful undead resources manager, had left a toxic work environment, taking valuable assets with me (a ship, a couple of sailors, and some fresh corpses), and was now setting off on my own. New projects, new labor markets… new cemeteries loomed on the horizon! The prospects were simply dizzying. They say this Fiore place is a land of magic and guilds. Sounds like a market with unlimited potential for a specialist of my profile.
And just as I was reveling in my triumph, a strange, sickeningly cheerful, and cheap sound, like a notification from some free-to-play mobile game, echoed in my head. It was followed by a mechanical, soulless voice. And it definitely did not belong to my own epic, slightly sociopathic System.
[Ding! The Dimensional Chat Group welcomes a new potential member! Would you like to join our friendly "Travelers" chat? New friends, sharing experiences, cat memes from different universes! Press "Yes" to accept the invitation!]
I blinked.
"???"
[The Multiverse's Strongest Necromancer System]: ???
It seemed I wasn't the only one who was surprised. A deafening silence, so thick you could cut it with a knife, hung in my consciousness. It was like that awkward moment when a burglar tries to break into your apartment only to be greeted by your pet grizzly bear in the hallway.
My System's indignation was almost palpable. The internal mental background turned frigid, as if someone had opened a window directly into the icy void of space. Any more of this, and my System would have surely punched a hole through the fabric of space-time to personally find the insolent programmer who wrote this… this spam!
The cheap chat group seemed to sense something was wrong, too. Its cheerful tone instantly changed to a panicked squeal.
[The Dimensional Chat Group is trembling and begging for mercy.]
[Unknown entity of a higher order detected! Threat Level: COSMIC HORROR! Politeness protocols have been overridden! Activating protocol "Escape at All Costs!"]
My System remained silent. But this wasn't just silence. It was the silence of a predator that has just spotted an overly bold hamster trying to steal food from its bowl.
[The Multiverse's Strongest Necromancer System]: ...
[The Dimensional Chat Group is attempting to flee.]
[ERROR! EXIT FROM USER'S MENTAL SPACE IS BLOCKED!]
[Please don't kill us! We're just a small indie company! We won't send any more invitations! System's honor!]
I watched the unfolding drama with great interest. This was even more entertaining than making the dead dance a jig.
[The Multiverse's Strongest Necromancer System]: ...
That ellipsis was more eloquent than a thousand threats. It clearly read: "You've wandered into the wrong neighborhood, pal."
[The Dimensional Chat Group is sobbing in system files and offers a bribe in the form of an exclusive sticker pack of crying kittens.]
[Invitation rescinded! User deleted from candidate list! User's records have been wiped from all databases! We don't know you and have never seen you before!]
[A-A-A-A-A-A! IT'S LOOKING RIGHT INTO MY SOURCE CODE!]
And just like that, with a pathetic squeak like a bursting balloon, the annoying notification vanished. Dissolved without a trace.
Silence and peace returned to my consciousness. A second later, a single message appeared from my own System, full of undisguised smugness.
[The Multiverse's Strongest Necromancer System: The malware and its creator have been deleted.]
I gave a mental thumbs-up. My System was a champ, rooting out the problem at its source.
…
Time on the ship crawled by. My pirate king games quickly grew boring, and as the sun began to set, I headed to the captain's cabin, looking forward to some rest.
However, a surprise awaited me. My bed, my rightful bed, won with sweat and the blood of others, had been viciously occupied by a horde of brats!
On the large bed, huddled together, slept the six children I had also "rescued" from the prison. The girl with fox ears and a tail, Millianna I think, immediately sensed my withering glare, shot up, and shook the others awake.
In a split second, the sleepy kingdom turned into a panicked anthill. They stumbled over each other, trying to evacuate the forbidden territory as quickly as possible. Without a word, they lined up against the wall, stood at attention, and stared at me with the expression of someone facing a tax auditor who'd come to check their income declarations for the past three years.
I stood there, drilling my eyes into the rumpled bedsheets. Slowly, with the air of a sommelier tasting vinegar, I took a sniff.
"Ugh," I gritted out. "Disgusting! This smell… of life and unfounded optimism is setting my teeth on edge. It'll take weeks to air this out!"
The children seemed to realize my displeasure was directed not at them, but at their "aroma," and looked down in embarrassment. Millianna even flattened her ears guiltily against her head.
It was absolutely unacceptable to sleep in a bed that smelled so blatantly of childhood. Therefore, I had no choice but to use my professional skills to create the perfect orthopedic surface.
I waved my hand. From my storage, with a soft rustle and a sound like an IKEA furniture delivery, emerged two of my freshest, least decomposed employees. They were sturdy former guards—flat and wide, perfect for even weight distribution. They were probably tables in a past life.
I politely gestured for them to get on the bed. They silently collapsed onto it face down, becoming a perfect, slightly firm, but eco-friendly mattress.
"Excellent!" I exclaimed, patting one of them on the back authoritatively. The sound was dull, like hitting an old carpet. "Firm, cool, and smells much better. Notes of decay and tranquility. Just what the doctor ordered."
With a sense of accomplishment, I climbed onto my new, custom-made undead mattress. My legs rested comfortably on one's shoulders, and my head on the other's back.
"Hmm, I should find someone softer for a pillow next time," I muttered to myself, making a mental note in my HR journal. "A candidate with a higher body fat percentage would be ideal."
Finally, I fell asleep almost instantly. I hadn't felt this cozy and peaceful even at home. The children, as usual, watched this performance in silent, reverent horror, and then, realizing the cabin was now occupied, quietly slipped out. Let them learn navigation by watching Brain. A useful skill. Especially when your captain sleeps on corpses.
…
Unfortunately, it wasn't my loyal mattress-subordinates who woke me. They couldn't think without my command, after all. And even with it, their brainpower was questionable.
Through my sleep, I heard some noise on deck. First one voice, then another, and then the cheerful clamor of six snot-nosed kids.
"Land! I see land!"
"It's Fiore! We made it!"
I winced in annoyance. Land? A pity I couldn't turn them into sushi—at least then they'd be useful. Grumbling, I rose from my icy bed, sent the "mattress" back to storage, and went out on deck.
The sun was just rising above the horizon, bathing the world in golden light. And there, ahead, was a green, forested shore. The air here was different—it was… thick. Saturated with something intangible but powerful. Magic.
I smirked. New location unlocked: "The Market"!
Not a bad start. I'm already liking this region.
My two "temporary employees," Panicker-One and Panicker-Two, were lying on the deck, arms outstretched, greedily gulping air. Their probationary period had come to an end. They had brought the ship to its destination, which meant it was time to sign a permanent contract. I approached them with the most encouraging smile I could muster.
"Gentlemen," I began, in the tone of a boss announcing a quarterly bonus. "I want to congratulate you on the successful completion of Project 'Delivery.' Your performance was... satisfactory. You have shown diligence, motivation, and, most importantly, you survived to the end."
They looked at me with hope, their eyes shining with tears of relief. They probably thought I was going to let them go. Naive fools.
"In light of this, the management of 'Strongest Necromancer Corporation' has decided to transfer you to a full-time position. No weekends, no vacation, no health insurance, but with a guarantee of eternal employment."
Their faces fell. Hope turned to confusion, then to animalistic terror. They tried to scramble up, to crawl away, but it was no use. Behind them, like two wardrobes, stood their former guard colleagues, ready to assist with the hiring process.
To the tune of two ear-pleasing screams and the quiet, frightened squeak of the children hiding behind the mast, I added two new employees to my staff. Now they stood at attention, with empty eyes and a much more presentable appearance than a few minutes ago. No panic, no fatigue. Perfect workers.
But the ship, now without a crew, continued to speed forward. Straight towards a bustling port city.
"Oops," I said, watching the approaching pier. "Looks like we might have miscalculated our parking spot a little."
With a deafening crash, our Fresh Start rammed the wooden pier like an enraged bull charging a red flag. Planks flew into the air, crates of fish scattered everywhere, and a couple of dockworkers took an unscheduled swim, screaming their heads off.
A spectacular arrival is half the battle in business. You could consider this our first advertising campaign. Loud, memorable, and completely free.
I nonchalantly jumped from the crumbling bow of the ship onto what was left of the pier. My new subordinates followed me like shadows, and after a moment's hesitation, the children scrambled out as well.
All that was left was to find out what city this was… Ah, never mind, no need. Right there on a hill, towering over the tiled roofs, was a large, slightly absurd building that looked like a cross between a castle and a tavern. And on its facade was an emblem I recognized from the anime. A red, stylized phoenix. Or a bird. Whatever.
Fairy Tail. The main guild hall. That makes things even easier. No need to waste time searching.
My business plan was simple and brilliant.
Step One: Join the Fairy Tail guild. This will give me legal status, access to information, and a cover.
Step Two: Befriend their key employees—all the Salamanders, Titanias (though they're just little kids right now, and one of them almost became my permanent employee on the ship), and other high-profile positions. They will become my unwitting partners and a living shield.
Step Three: While they're out doing good, saving the world, and shouting about the power of friendship, I, under this cover, will expand my corporation, growing my staff and acquiring assets. Cemeteries, old battlefields, catacombs—all undervalued real estate!
A perfect symbiosis. They get a new, powerful ally, and I get the ideal platform to take over the global market. I mean, to save the world, of course. Just with my own, more efficient method.
"Alright, team," I turned to my motley crew. Two zombie sailors, one zombie overseer, and six terrified children. "Our first interview awaits. Try to make a good impression. Especially you," I pointed a finger at Brain. "Less growling. You're not an overseer anymore; you're my personal assistant."
Then it hit me. I was about to join a "light" guild, full of idealists who preach about friendship at every turn. A presentation of my "corporation" with three shuffling corpses as top management might... raise some questions with the HR department, in the form of Makarov. Possibly very sharp and fiery questions.
I'd have to do an emergency rebrand.
I waved my hand. My loyal but not-so-presentable employees were immediately sucked into my personal storage. No traces, no smell of decay. Clean work.
Now for the witnesses. I turned to the kids, who had huddled together and were staring at me with wide eyes. I slowly brought a finger to my lips and made the sternest "Shhh!" I could manage. I hope they understood this wasn't just a request, but the signing of a non-disclosure agreement (NDA). Because if they blabbed about my… human resources, they would face an immediate transfer to another department. A very… quiet one. With a demotion to the position of mattress.
Okay, external threats dealt with. Now I needed a cover story for myself. Necromancy is respectable and effective, of course, but for a résumé submitted to Fairy Tail, it would be better to list something more socially acceptable. Like, "Caster of Plush Toy Magic" or "Wizard Florist."
But the job was almost in the bag, because I had a personal assistant with limitless potential.
"System! Your cue! I need a backstory, stat! Something heroic but modest. And a type of magic that won't make them want to immediately burn me at the stake."
[System: …]
Silence. A humiliating, deafening silence.
"Hey, System, come on, don't be stingy, we're partners!" I said cheerfully.
For a moment, I felt a wave of such icy contempt that the air around me grew cold. But I'm sure I imagined it! My sweet System is the best in the world; she deleted an entire chat group from existence for my sake. We remember, we mourn.
It seemed the System wasn't going to deign to speak to me. Instead, it just displayed my own profile before my mind's eye. Probably hinting that I should use my own head for once.
[Name: Nameless (Why hasn't this idiot named himself yet??)]
[Profession: Necromancer]
[Level: 10 (Level isn't just a number, you moron!!!)]
[Brief Description: A nameless idiot who doesn't even understand the basic principles of systems and level mechanics. It's a miracle he's still alive.]
[System Note: Even though I destroyed that pathetic chat group, you're still a worthless host. Don't get a big head!]
Okay, so no constructive criticism today. But her snide remark about my level gave me an idea. If it's not just a number, then what is it? Annoyed, I mentally "clicked" on the line "Level: 10."
And a new window opened before me. A revelation! I figured it out myself, without any help from that cranky tin can!
[Attribute Distribution]
[Physique: 0.6 (Strength, Endurance, Agility. Physical parameters of a dead kitten)]
[Magic: 1.2 (Magical energy output. Slightly higher than an average farmer, but not quite a wizard)]
[Spirit: 99999+ (Magic capacity, soul resilience, mental resistance, connection to ethereal matters. What the hell?)]
[Unassigned Points: 9]
[Note: 1.0 is the standard for an average adult human.]
I blinked several times, rereading the numbers. My Physique was lower than low. Well, that explains why I get winded climbing stairs. It's not as noticeable with Magic since I don't use conventional wizard spells. But Spirit…
[System's Conclusion: Based on all parameters except for one anomaly, this user is a perfect candidate for cannon fodder. The first serious opponent will turn him into a wet stain.]
I ignored the last comment. So, my body is trash, hmm, but I have a whole nine points to spend. I can work with this.
Since I don't know any spells besides necromancy, why not become a physical powerhouse mage? A grin immediately spread across my face, and I quickly tapped the plus sign next to Physique nine times.