Evolving My Undead Legion In A Game-Like World

Chapter 524: More Chicken Soup

“A cultivator might train a decade to reach perfection in a martial art, or years to stabilize a spell. But an awakener?” His smile sharpened. “Their system may grant them mastery in an instant. That… is why they are valued so highly.”

The camera cut back briefly to Michael descending the cliffs.

“Also, supernaturals—whether awakeners or cultivators—earn a lot of money.”

That single line perked not just the reporters, but half the audience across Aurora.

Darius leaned forward eagerly. “Money?”

“Yes,” Veylin confirmed. “Tell me, have either of you ever seen a goblin?”

Selene’s brow furrowed, but she shook her head. Darius chuckled nervously. “Only in old storybooks.”

Veylin’s faint smile widened. “Then let me tell you this—goblins are real. And like in the stories, they are among the weakest of monsters. Ordinary people—if not too unlucky—could handle one themselves. But…” He raised a finger. “…weak does not mean harmless. If they were not dangerous, they would not deserve the title of ’monster.’”

He let the words settle, then continued.

“A single goblin corpse can sell for five hundred dollars. At first glance, that may not sound like much. But consider the reality—goblins come in hordes. Where there is one, there are ten. And ten goblins means five thousand dollars.”

Selene’s lips parted slightly, her shock genuine. “Five thousand…”

Veylin nodded. “And if you are powerful enough to cull a hundred? A thousand? The wealth stacks instantly. That is why awakening, or cultivating, is not merely about survival or strength. It is opportunity. It is livelihood. To those with power, the very existence of monsters becomes… currency.”

Across Aurora, living rooms buzzed with chatter. Fathers muttered about how much five thousand could change their debts. Mothers thought of tuition, medicine, futures.

If only they knew even millions could be spent in the blink of an eye on the supernatural world.

Professor Veylin’s tone softened, his words starting to take on that comforting cadence again. “And this, dear viewers, is why the Federation encourages—”

A sharp alert flashed across the studio monitors. The assistant producer’s voice cut through the earpieces of Selene and Darius.

Selene straightened instantly, her hand pressing to her headset. “Professor—I apologise. We’ve just been notified… Michael Norman, the youth who stunned us earlier, is now within striking distance of three Hunters.”

The camera feed zoomed, the foggy terrain shifting until Michael’s lone figure appeared—descending the cliffside with spear in hand, oblivious to just how close danger lurked.

Darius leaned in, eyebrows climbing. “Three at once?”

Professor Veylin, however, didn’t look surprised. He adjusted his glasses and spoke with calm assurance. “That is normal.”

“The maps given to Hunters are not limited to showing the Hunted alone. They also reveal the presence of other Hunters pursuing the same target. Anyone with even a bit of sense would understand what this means.”

He let the thought linger for a breath, then continued. “If two—or three—Hunters see they are after the same prey, they know that working together creates greater effect. Three blades against one quarry. Unless…” His glasses glimmered as he tilted his head. “…unless one has such confidence in their strength that they see no need for allies. Or unless they are too wary of betrayal to share the hunt.”

“Also, can you check the class of this Michael? Seeing as he uses a spear, I wonder if his class is related to one.”

Evidently, this professor was indeed a knowledgeable man.

Selene’s fingers danced across her console, her eyes narrowing as the system pulled up the requested detail. A heartbeat later, the feed highlighted Michael’s status for the studio—and for the world.

“Michael Norman’s class… is Necromancer.”

Darius blinked, his brows climbing almost to his hairline. “Necromancer? Then what’s he doing with a spear?”

Even Professor Veylin froze for the briefest moment, his eyes narrowing behind the glint of his glasses. But he recovered swiftly, his voice steady as he leaned into the explanation.

“A necromancer…” he repeated softly, as though tasting the word. “Now that… is interesting.”

His gaze flicked to the frozen image of Michael, spear in hand, descending into the fog. “On the surface, this seems contradictory. Necromancers are not known for close combat. At least in the cultivators system. Their power lies in commanding the dead.”

Selene tilted her head, curiosity evident. “So why does he use a spear?”

“Because,” Veylin replied smoothly, “this must be an awakener who understands the advantage of his gift.” His tone deepened, carrying weight. “Awakeners can learn skills at a pace normal cultivators cannot hope to match. Where an ordinary necromancer would remain weak in close quarters, relying on others to protect them until their undead army grows… this one probably chose to supplement his weakness immediately.”

Darius gave a low whistle. “So what we’re seeing is… a Necromancer who doesn’t fight like a Necromancer?”

“I don’t think so.” Veylin’s voice sharpened, almost reverent. “His spear is not his true weapon. His main power should be his command over the dead.”

The professor paused. “I do not know how awakeners who are necromancers will differ but I do about the cultivators who practice necromancy. They fight through undead puppets.”

What the professor just never expected was to be slapped in the face again.

A few seconds later, Darius asked the professor.

“Do necromancers also use spells?”

*

Michael’s boots scraped against loose stone as he descended the cliffside, the spear shaft steady in his grip. The mist curled thick around him, muffling sound and swallowing light, and for a fleeting moment it felt as though he was walking into the throat of some great beast.

Michael flexed his fingers around the spear, his body low as he picked his path between jagged stones.

If I were a Hunter… where would I be waiting?

It was then he noticed the ripple of movement.

Michael stilled, crouching low against the cliffside, his breathing slow and measured.

Three in one place… it can only mean Hunters.

It made sense the moment he thought it through.

A Freeman, like him, had no reason to know where anyone was—let alone link up.

Michael’s lips pressed thin, eyes narrowing on the gray below.