For a brief second, Michael simply stared.

The dust from the collapse was still spreading through the street below, rolling outward in slow grey waves that swallowed the base of the surrounding buildings. Chunks of broken stone and shattered concrete had scattered across the road in every direction.

The two staff members were still frozen in shock.

Neither spoke or moved immediately.

Then one of them exhaled.

"...That was close," he finally said.

The other man said nothing. He just kept staring.

Michael watched from above, the city spread out beneath him in the pale grey light of early dawn, and felt something settle quietly in his chest.

Michael’s eyes narrowed slightly. "...So this is fate."

His voice was quiet. Then his gaze shifted to the flesh resting in his hand.

"Jester."

"Yes, Master."

"What’s the cost?" Michael didn’t hesitate to ask. There was no excitement in his tone now. Having seen the effect of Jester’s Law and skill, Michael did not believe for even a moment that something capable of interfering with fate itself came without a price.

"It consumes vital essence," Jester answered.

"But you’re undead."

Michael’s gaze flickered faintly. "You have essence, yes, but it doesn’t function like a living being’s."

Undead didn’t rely on vitality in the same way. Their existence was sustained differently. Their essence was closer to a fixed core than a flowing resource. So how...

"How does it consume yours?" Michael asked.

"The heavens are fair, Master. To touch their secrets or gain something from them, one must give something in return. Status does not matter. Whether one is living or dead, rich or poor, the requirement remains the same."

Jester’s tone remained unchanged. "Though I am undead, my essence is still being consumed. In any case, vital energy is recoverable if one ignores the slow speed of recovery."

Michael clicked his tongue softly.

"There are faster methods," Jester continued.

Michael already had a guess. "Say it."

"...Consumption."

Michael’s expression darkened slightly. "Of others?"

"Yes, Master. Absorbing the essence of other beings can accelerate recovery."

Michael’s grip on Jester tightened slightly. For a brief moment the air around him seemed to grow colder. "That includes humans?"

"Yes."

The answer came without emotion.

"...I see."

There was no immediate response after that.

"However," Jester added, "it is not limited to intelligent races."

Michael’s eyes shifted slightly. "Explain."

"Monsters can also be used. The efficiency is lower, but they are viable."

Michael’s expression eased. He didn’t bother asking about the exact rate. As long as enough resources were available, what was lost would be recovered. That was simply how things like this worked.

His gaze shifted back to the city below. The two men were already leaving the area, still shaken but alive.

Michael’s lips curved faintly. He found himself wondering whether he could use a skill like that himself at some point. But something of this nature wouldn’t be simple to grasp. Better to watch what Jester did with it over the coming days, build enough understanding through observation, and then try it himself when the time was right and Jester had enough experience to guide him through it.

Of course Michael could also use his law. It was just that for something as mysterious as this he’d rather have relevant knowledge of how it worked than blindly push forward.

It would be bad if he touched something he shouldn’t have.

The space around Michael distorted slightly. "...Let’s go back."

He disappeared immediately.

With Jester’s evolution settled, Michael no longer lingered on the matter. It was time to move forward.

Among his more than two thousand undead, not a single one remained below Rank 3. This had always been his pattern. Before every advancement, he had always possessed power beyond his current stage, and his undead would stand one step ahead of him, forming a foundation he could rely on. Even after breaking through himself, that advantage remained.

But now, after entering Rank 3, the road ahead was no longer as straightforward. Rank 4 was different. The gap wasn’t just strength. It was a qualitative change. Even for Michael, the path forward had become complicated.

But that didn’t change what needed to be done.

After returning home, Michael reappeared within the Damaged Coffin of the Forgotten. Before him a figure lay motionless. The body remained intact, but it was hollow. Jester had devoured the consciousness completely. What remained was nothing more than a shell.

A Rank 4 shell.

Michael stopped a few steps away, his gaze calm as he observed the body. This was one of the two Rank 4 corpses he currently possessed. The demonic supernatural elder. The other was the Drake.

Between the two, his eyes settled on the old man first. "I’ll start with you."

There was no particular reason beyond the fact that the old man’s size made the process look more manageable.

After all, even for reviving an undead, the size was also something that mattered. It would be naive to think a rank 3 giant would cost the same as reviving a rank 3 butterfly.

Though the old man was nothing more than a shell now, he was still technically alive. To turn him into an undead properly, Michael had to kill him first.

For a brief moment Michael stood there in silence, staring at the motionless body with a faintly strange expression on his face. It wasn’t fear, and it wasn’t hesitation born from pity. It was just discomfort. The kind that came from doing something unpleasant even when it was clearly necessary. He likened it privately to killing a chicken before eating it. There was no real moral struggle in it, but that didn’t make the process itself feel pleasant.

Michael exhaled softly.

The old man had tried to kill him. More than that, he had been part of the group that wanted to use Aunt Mia and Lily as leverage against him. Just thinking of that made whatever discomfort remained fade considerably.

He decided to give the man a clean death. In his current state the old man wouldn’t feel anything regardless, but Michael had no particular fondness for the sight of blood.

Michael raised his right hand slowly. Mana gathered at his fingertips, condensing into a thin, almost invisible point. Then his hand shot forward, fingers pushing into the old man’s chest.

He was met with resistance.

Even in this state, the body of a Rank 4 existence was far from fragile. Flesh, muscle, and bone had all been tempered to a level far beyond ordinary beings. Under normal circumstances, even a reinforced blade would struggle to penetrate it cleanly. But with no will behind the resistance, it was hollow. It gave way after sustained effort.

Michael’s fingers pierced through flesh and bone, sliding forward until they reached the heart. Warmth brushed against his skin. With a slight twist of his wrist, the condensed mana at his fingertips expanded inward, silently crushing what remained of the organ.

The old man’s body trembled faintly. What genuinely surprised Michael was that even with the heart destroyed, the man’s life force clung on stubbornly, a testament to what Rank 4 tempering truly meant. Michael exhaled faintly in quiet awe of those in the rank above him.

Unfortunately for the old man, with his heart destroyed, death came regardless.

The faint lingering trace of life vanished.

Michael slowly withdrew his hand. A small opening remained in the chest. He glanced at it briefly, then looked away.

With the old man now truly dead, the requirement for undead creation had been fulfilled.

There were two methods to create an undead. The first was through the undead revival skill, a direct instinctive method granted by his class since the very beginning of his awakening. Simple and efficient in its own way. No preparation or materials required. Just a corpse and his will. Even if it failed, he could attempt it again, up to three times total. After the third attempt, success or failure, the opportunity to convert that particular target would be lost permanently.

But more importantly, success was not guaranteed. The stronger the target compared to Michael, the lower the chance, and each failure reduced it further.

This was a Rank 4 corpse. An existence beyond his current level. Even if the old man was nothing but a shell, the quality of the body itself had not changed.

Which meant relying on the skill alone made failure a very real possibility.

Michael didn’t like that.

His thoughts shifted naturally to the second method. The ritual. Unlike the skill, this was not something freely granted. It required knowledge, preparation, and materials. But in exchange, it offered something far more stable. A significantly higher success rate across the same number of attempts.

From the moment he gained access to the academy’s deeper resources, Michael had already acquired knowledge of the ritual. This concerned his foundation after all. And more importantly, he didn’t lack the necessary materials either.

Michael’s lips curved faintly. "...There’s no reason to gamble."

This was not a situation where he needed to take risks.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​