Evolving My Undead Legion In A Game-Like World

Chapter 508: Handicap

As the numbers on the glowing timer ticked down, the AI voice spoke again.

“Additionally, due to the nature of this challenge, this is not an elimination round. It is a screening round, designed to assess participants in unfavourable conditions. The objective is to evaluate adaptability.”

Michael’s gaze narrowed slightly. So they were intentionally handicapping everyone.

He didn’t like this one bit.

And he was sure it was the same for a other lot of awakeners.

The voice continued.

“Because of this round, the content of the next round will be revealed in advance. The following stage will be identical in format to this one—however, it will take place in a location where all Awakeners can utilise their true strength: the Land of Origin.”

“This round also serves a secondary purpose,” the AI continued, “to raise public awareness of the supernatural world. Hence, while your performance here can influence your final score, it will not directly affect your qualification outcome.”

So, in other words, it was half a show for the Federation’s PR efforts, half a stress test to see who could thrive without their usual advantages.

However, Michael’s attention was quickly snagged by something else.

The Land of Origin?

The Federation had a way to extend its influence into that place? How?

The Land of Origin was vast—so vast and so mysterious that even with the time he had spent there, Michael couldn’t imagine anyone truly gaining an advantage over it.

Then again, perhaps he was thinking about it the wrong way.

This was a magical world—things that seemed impossible in one moment could become reality in the next. Maybe the Federation didn’t need to control the Land of Origin directly.

Maybe someone powerful enough was working behind the scenes to make the next round happen there.

The thought didn’t ease the knot in his stomach.

His mood soured further. In the blink of an eye, he had gone from being one of the strongest in the room to being dragged down to a much weaker state.

Maybe not the weakest, but there was no denying that he was heavily handicapped.

Still, in the end, he could only accept his fate. This was the exam, and no amount of grumbling would change it.

Fortunately, there was tomorrow.

If today went badly—if this “screening round” stripped him down and made him look like an amateur—then the next stage, in the Land of Origin, would be his chance to redeem himself.

[Time Remaining: 08:02]

He exhaled, steadying his thoughts. First, he had to deal with the task in front of him. The real fight could wait until tomorrow.

Michael skimmed over the virtual panel, taking in the numbers with a mix of detachment and irritation.

*

[Name]: Michael Norman

[Class]: Necromancer

[Level]: 20 (Half of registered level 40)

[Strength]: 300

[Agility]: 300

[Constitution]: 300

[Intelligence]: 300

[Attribute Points]: 200

[Skills]: Summon Undead, Slow Curse, Blind Curse

[Custom Points]: 2000

*

Even without thinking too hard about it, he could tell exactly how the numbers came about.

The AI’s earlier explanation matched perfectly—base stats started at 100, and for each level from the first, every stat increased by 10 points. Since his adjusted level was 20, that meant twenty increases.

The 200 attribute points were also explained. The AI had said ten points per level; at level twenty, that meant:

20 × 10 = 200 free points to assign wherever he wanted.

As for the 2000 custom points, the math was just as straightforward. The AI had stated “your level × 100” as the calculation, so:

20 × 100 = 2000 points

Michael’s mood eased slightly as he studied the numbers.

Yes, he was handicapped—but he wasn’t crippled. If anything, his situation was still far better than what most of the others here would face. His original level was forty; halved to twenty, it still put him ahead of most Awakeners.

From what he’d observed earlier in the waiting room, the majority were between level 20 and level 30. The martial disciple from Bright Academy was level 31 in reality, which meant in this space, he’d be adjusted down to level 15 or 16. The others would fare even worse.

Unless Brightgate’s group was somehow the weakest in the Federation—a possibility Michael doubted—the national average couldn’t be much higher.

Anything above thirty was rare.

Anything above thirty-five was almost too rare at their age.

By that logic, Michael’s level advantage—even cut in half—still made him one of the strongest here. And in a setup like this, raw stats and base capabilities could mean the difference between domination and elimination.

He let out a slow breath, tension bleeding out of his shoulders. As long as he wasn’t matched against some prodigy or an international monster with a terrifying class—he should be fine.

Michael’s gaze drifted lower to the skills list, and a strange expression tugged at his face.

Of the three, two were instantly familiar—Slow Curse and Blind Curse—spells he had already mastered in reality. But the first one, Summon Undead, was subtly different from his own Undead Summoning.

Curiosity piqued, he mentally selected one of the curses.

A translucent icon appeared in front of him, and the skill fired exactly as if it were a button in a game—instant, rigid, and completely detached from his usual casting process. He could neither weave his own mana flow into it nor adjust its intensity.

Michael’s brow furrowed.

That… felt limiting.

But then, a thought sparked.

What if I tried casting it the normal way? Not through the system interface, but using my own mana manipulation knowledge?

Closing his eyes briefly, he pushed aside the hovering skill prompt and instead recalled the familiar structure of Slow Curse. His hands moved almost instinctively in the casting pattern, even in this virtual space.

The system didn’t interfere.

Instead, his magic flared to life, raw and malleable, just like in reality. The curse anchored onto an empty point in the white room, sluggish black ripples distorting the air.