Chapter 1: The E-Rank Outcast & The Cornered Rat
The biting winter wind of Seoul found no resistance on Rudraunsh Kurozan. It whipped through the threadbare collar of his school uniform, a uniform that looked perpetually gray from being tossed, kicked, and soaked in too many back-alley scuffles.
Officially, he was a student at the prestigious Yeonhwa Academy, an institution dedicated to forging the next generation of dungeon Hunters. Unofficially, he was E-Rank scum, a permanent stain on the school's reputation, and the primary target of its most notorious bullies.
"Look at him, Jisoo. The grand Rudraunsh Kurozan," sneered Minho Park, his voice thick with malicious amusement. Minho, a solid C-Rank Brawler, was easily three times the size of Rudraunsh and perpetually radiated the smug confidence of someone who had never faced a real consequence. "Still wearing that cheap, off-brand mana stone pendant. Trying to look important, little freak?"
Rudraunsh kept his gaze locked on the cracked pavement of the abandoned alleyway. They had cornered him, as usual, on the route home—a route that conveniently passed by the skeletal frame of the old, condemned city Gate, currently sealed off by a few flimsy construction barriers.
"I have no money, Minho," Rudraunsh replied, his voice a low, raspy monotone. He had learned long ago that emotion only fueled their fire.
Jisoo Lee, a skinny E-Rank utility schemer who compensated for his lack of combat skill with endless cruelty, kicked the rubble near Rudraunsh's worn shoes. "We don't want money today, Ruda. We want a performance. Show us your magnificent E-Rank Necromancy. Summon a dust bunny! Maybe it can clean your reputation."
The jeers, the insults, the physical shoves—they were a dull, familiar ache. But today, the location felt different. The air near the sealed Gate was unnaturally cold, carrying a faint, mineral odor—the smell of raw mana and decay. As Minho grabbed Rudraunsh's shoulder and spun him around, the sudden, sharp pain triggered something deep and dark within him.
He remembered.
He remembered the first time he had died. It wasn't here, not in this body, but in a world of endless war and chaos. He remembered the cold earth against his cheek and the meaningless finality of it all. He had been a nameless soldier, and his death had achieved nothing.
No. Not again. Not for a stupid bully in a back alley.
A tremor, subtle at first, ran through the ground. It wasn't the city's traffic; it was something inside Rudraunsh. The primal, terrifying power of the Immortal Dao, the forbidden energy that had crossed dimensions and settled in his spirit, violently recoiled from the prospect of another powerless end.
"You like to hit things, Minho?" Rudraunsh finally raised his head, and his dull eyes were suddenly flecked with a terrifying, unnatural blue. His voice dropped even lower, carrying a new, chilling resonance that seemed to vibrate the loose stone at their feet. "Then hit this."
Before Minho could land the expected punch, Rudraunsh slammed his palm against the ground. The earth under the condemned Gate screamed.
It wasn't a spell, or a chant, or a flash of light. It was an involuntary, catastrophic pull. Rudraunsh drew on the forgotten, decaying essence of the ground, ripping up ancient, rusted iron filings, fragments of shattered concrete, and—most disturbingly—two handfuls of brittle, moss-covered bone fragments that had been buried beneath the alley decades ago.
The dust swirled, the bones snapped together with sickening clicks, and two grotesque figures rose: Rusted Bone Skeletons. They were barely three feet tall, hunched and crude, but they pulsed with a dark, suffocating energy that had nothing to do with Seoul, and everything to do with Undying Authority.
Minho's confident grin dissolved into pure shock. "W-what is that? Filthy Black Magic!"
Rudraunsh felt the foreign power flood his new body. He was still weak, still an E-Rank student, but the Catastrophe was awake. His lips curled into a faint, grim smile—the first genuine expression of power this body had ever known.
"They are not for show," he whispered. "They are immortal."