The Adventurers' Guild of Millbrook was exactly what Mark had expected: a stone-and-timber building with a mission board, a bar serving alcohol, and a bunch of muscular guys staring at him like he was something they'd scraped off the bottom of their boot.
"Home sweet home."
Mark approached the counter, where a middle-aged woman with a permanently bored expression greeted him.
"New registration or renewal?"
"New registration."
She sighed, as if that answer personally offended her.
"Name, class, and known skills."
"Mark. Necromancer. One skill: Wake Up."
Silence.
The entire place went silent at that.
The receptionist stared at Mark. So did the adventurers nearby.
Even the guy throwing up in the corner stopped throwing up just to look at him.
"Necromancer?" the woman repeated, her disbelief plain as day.
"Yes."
"Are you aware that necromancy is… frowned upon?"
"So I've been told."
She studied him for a long moment, as if trying to decide whether he was an idiot or a suicidal maniac — or both.
"Listen, kid. I don't care what you do on your own time. But if you cause trouble with your… skills… the guild won't protect you. Understood?"
"Understood."
"Good."
The receptionist pulled out a form and began filling it in with mechanical efficiency.
"Starting rank: F. Available missions: herb gathering, rat extermination, package delivery. Pay: pocket change. Any questions?"
"Are there any dungeons nearby?"
The receptionist raised an eyebrow.
"Dungeons? Kid, you're Rank F. The nearest dungeons are Rank D at minimum. Walking in there right now would be suicide."
"Just curious," said Mark, accepting the adventurer tag she slid across the counter.
It was copper, with an F engraved in the center.
The symbol of his insignificance.
"Welcome to the guild," the receptionist said flatly. "Try not to die."
Mark stepped away from the counter, looking for a quiet spot to sit and figure out his next move.
He found a table in a dark corner — perfect for someone who wanted to go unnoticed.
'Alright. Current situation: I'm a Rank F necromancer in a world that hates necromancers. I have a Rank SSS zombie warrior hidden in my shadow… and I need to level up without drawing too much attention to myself.'
It was a complex problem.
But Mark had spent thousands of hours optimizing builds and strategies in video games.
This wasn't so different.
'First I need information — how the ranking system works, how leveling works, what dungeons are available.'
'Then there's resources… I need money for food, lodging, and gear. Rank F missions are garbage, but it's a start. And nobody can find out about Ely. If they discover I have a Rank SSS undead, I'm dead.'
"Ely," Mark murmured under his breath. "Can you hear me?"
A voice answered directly in his mind, as clear as if she were standing right beside him.
"Of course, Master. I'm always listening."
'That's… slightly unsettling, but useful.'
"I need you to tell me everything you know about the dungeons in this region. Difficulty levels, monster types, and rewards."
'With pleasure, Master. The nearest dungeon is the Shadowwolf Cave, classified as Rank D. It contains mostly lesser beasts and some low-level undead. The next one is…'
Mark listened carefully as Ely recited information she clearly had memorized from her time as an adventurer.
It was like having a walking encyclopedia devoted entirely to him.
'This could work. I can use Ely to clear dungeons while I hang back and collect the experience and loot. Nobody has to know I'm not the one doing the actual work.'
It was a cowardly, dishonest plan with absolutely no personal merit.
Which, for Mark, made it perfect.
"Ely," said Mark. "Tomorrow we're going to the Shadowwolf Cave."
"Tomorrow, Master? Wouldn't you prefer to rest first?"
"No. The sooner we start, the better."
"As you command. I will be ready to protect you with my life… or whatever remains of it."