Evolving My Undead Legion In A Game-Like World

Chapter 510: Challenge Start

Michael turned his attention back to the white expanse.

The place felt so real—the way his armor shifted on his body, the solid weight of the spear in his hand, even the faint pressure where the straps pressed into his shoulders.

He couldn’t see his reflection anywhere, but instinctively he knew this avatar wasn’t far off from his real body.

It was far weaker though.

Another difference he noticed when brushing his hand through his hair was that it was shorter here, cropped close as though the system had “rounded up” his appearance.

Michael shifted his stance slightly, letting the new equipment settle into place.

The Bone-etched Spear rested naturally in his grip—its shaft cool and smooth, the faint engravings along its length glowing dimly whenever his mana brushed against them.

The Light Bone Armor was snug but surprisingly mobile. Plates of pale ivory interlocked across his chest and shoulders, leaving enough give at the joints for quick movement.

At his hip, six pouches had appeared—three on the left, three on the right. He tugged one open with his thumb, inside: Lesser Mana Potions, sealed in slim vials. Another pouch held Healing Potions.

Strapped across his lower back, he felt the bulkier weight of two Explosive Flasks.

The Summoner’s Pouch rested across his chest like a bandolier, a dark leather container embossed with skeletal motifs.

Michael had just finished spending his points when the panel pulsed again, lines of text unfurling before his eyes.

[Secondary Equipment Menu ]

[Note: The following items are free of charge. They are provided to ensure minimum combat readiness.]

His brows lifted slightly. Free gear?

Scrolling through, he quickly understood. The system wasn’t giving anyone power boosts here—it was just preventing the awkwardness of participants entering the challenge barefoot and dressed like test subjects.

The options were basic: underlayers, boots, gloves, belts, cloaks. Nothing fancy, but necessary.

Michael wasted no time. The plain white garment clinging to his frame shifted, reforming into a sturdier combat under-tunic—dark fabric woven for flexibility and comfort under armor.

His legs were now covered with fitted combat trousers, a far cry from the uniform he’d spawned with.

Most importantly, he slipped into sturdy black boots, thick-soled and strapped tight to his calves. The difference was immediate. His stance felt firmer, his steps grounded. At least he wouldn’t have to charge into the challenge barefoot.

He added fingerless gloves for no reason other than fashion.

Finally, a belt with attached pouches materialized around his waist. Functional loops and compartments neatly held his consumables—mana and healing potions on one side, with enough space left for the Explosive Flasks.

By the time the menu faded, Michael looked less like a stripped-down avatar and more like someone truly geared. It wasn’t glamorous, but it completed the picture.

With a mental command, Michael pulled the panel back up for one last look.

*

[Name]: Michael Norman

[Class]: Necromancer

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

[Strength]: 340

[Agility]: 320

[Constitution]: 360

[Intelligence]: 380

[Attribute Points Remaining]: 0

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

[Custom Points]: 0 (Spent)

*

Michael scanned the panel one last time, his eyes tracing over the neat rows of numbers.

The section for [Skills] drew his attention again. Three simple entries stared back at him: Summon Undead, Slow Curse, Blind Curse.

It would have been easy to spend some of his [Custom Points] on acquiring extra skills. The list had offered him necromancer spells, and even a handful of general-purpose spells that could have widened his arsenal.

But Michael hadn’t even considered it.

There was no real reason to.

For one, his existing magic was already enough. The virtual construct had confirmed that he could still cast using his own knowledge, not just through the rigid system prompts. That meant he wasn’t truly limited to these three defaults. He had far more options than the menu suggested—acid spells, bone techniques, curses.

Spending points just to relearn something weaker, or risk relying on a system-cast spell he couldn’t fully control, would have been a waste.

Even the necromancer-specific skills didn’t tempt him. Until he had his own undead at his side, buying more necromantic spells was just dressing an empty shell.

Of course, this was a skill issue.

Just because Michael was a powerful necromancer, didn’t make him a good necromancer.

But in a world of magic, what had the most power was right.

Michael doubled down on what mattered.

The panel pulsed once more and a new line scrolled across the interface.

[Configuration Complete. Preparing Transfer.]

Michael’s eyes lingered on the glowing words. He straightened his stance, spear angled down at his side, and exhaled.

The countdown that had been ticking away in the corner flared in size.

[00:05]

The room darkened, the white expanse bleeding away into shadow.

[00:04]

[00:03]

Michael’s grip on the spear tightened.

[00:02]

[Challenge Commencing. Please Stand By.]

[00:01]

Michael’s figure dissolved into motes of light.

And then—he was gone.

Michael’s boots hit solid ground with a muted thud.

He found himself standing in the middle of a vast forest.

Towering trees loomed on all sides, their trunks thick and bark coarse, branches clawing at the pale sky.

A thin mist clung to the ground, rolling between roots and shrubs like a living thing.

At first glance it didn’t obstruct vision—Michael could see the trees stretching on for dozens of meters. But when he extended his senses, it was muffled, as if the mist swallowed everything beyond arm’s reach.

A translucent panel blinked into existence before him.

[Challenge Objective]

Acquire 100 points.

Points are gained by eliminating other challengers.

Each challenger eliminated = 1 point.

Current participants in this space: 10,000.

Current active count: 5,000.

(Updating in real time…)

Michael’s eyes narrowed as he watched the “active” number tick down steadily—4997, 4994, 4992—like a merciless clock.

Already, battles were happening elsewhere in this vast expanse.

It was also increasing too, creating an odd sense of balance.

His grip tightened on the Bone-etched Spear.