The battlefield was still.
The smell of blood clung to the shattered trees and scorched soil, yet not a single breath disturbed the air. Bodies lay twisted in unnatural silence. The crows hadn't yet come, as if even death feared to linger here.
But something did remain.
Yamino.
His soul, translucent and flickering like a candle in the wind, hovered above the corpse he once called home. His eyes scanned the emptiness—not with despair now, but with a cold, unreadable calm.
Then came the sound.
[System Message Received.]
"Unique Condition Met: Soul state with Unique Skill. Commencing automatic conversion to 'Servant' class."
Yamino blinked.
"…Servant?"
His voice echoed in the silence, thin and wavering. But before he could process it—
[System Error: Conflict Detected.]
[Skill: Solo King – Master Class. Error. Cannot become subordinate entity.]
A violent jolt surged through his spectral form. Red symbols flickered in the air like cracking thunder.
Yamino gritted his teeth as the strange force tried to rewrite him, bending his very essence into something lesser. But something inside him resisted—something far older than the system expected.
Then, with a low hum, the chaos stilled.
[System Override Initiated…]
[Mutation Detected: Solo King has awakened hidden protocol.]
[New Title Acquired: Master-Servant.]
Yamino stood still, stunned.
"What… does that mean?"
Another message appeared, slow and deliberate.
[As the only known entity with both master and servant authority, you cannot be bound by a pact, nor form one. You exist outside the rules.]
Yamino let the words wash over him.
He was now something else—not alive, not dead. Not a master bound to followers. Not a servant chained to a cause.
He was both.
And then the final message arrived, with a sharp tone:
[New Skill Unlocked: Dungeon King]
[A forgotten skill of ancient origin. Allows ruler-level control over domains of death and trials. Locked for now. Conditions not met.]
"Dungeon King…" Yamino repeated under his breath.
It sounded like a throne carved from bones and battlefields. Like a destiny not written by prophecy, but forged in betrayal.
The wind howled for the first time since the massacre. A crow landed on a nearby branch, watching his ghostly form. It tilted its head, as if recognizing something unnatural.
Yamino looked down at his own corpse one last time.
Then he turned away.
He had no home to return to. No family. No lover. Nothing to bind him.
But now, he had a path.
A king, even without a body.
A servant, loyal to no one.
The world had killed him once.
It wouldn't get another chance.
.
.
Yamino had questions—too many questions.
What was a Master-Servant? Why had Solo King mutated? What was this "Dungeon King" skill? Why did he still exist, soul intact, when death had already claimed him?
But he couldn't ask. He couldn't speak.
The air around him began to tremble. A low, grating rumble echoed beneath his feet. He looked down—only to see cracks splitting the earth. Black veins stretched like claws, and the soil crumbled underneath him. His ghostly form—and even the corpse he had once inhabited—began to sink.
No. Fall.
The world was swallowing him.
The light above faded. An invisible pressure wrapped around him, pressing his soul tighter and tighter as if the void itself wanted to crush him into nothingness. His mind throbbed, his senses blurred. Darkness devoured everything.
And then—
Nothing.
No sound. No breath. Just cold.
Until he woke up.
Yamino's eyes snapped open.
He was lying on something solid—cold, polished, and unnaturally smooth. As he pushed himself up slowly, he realized it was a throne. No, not just any throne. This was carved from dark, blood-streaked stone, yet shimmered like a gemstone under torchless light. The edges gleamed with sharp obsidian lines, and the seat was stained with dried crimson.
A bloody throne, resting atop a dais of cracked bones.
He looked around.
This wasn't any battlefield. This was a domain built on suffering.
Pillars of black iron rose high into the distance, covered in vines of veins pulsing faintly. The ceiling was hidden in shadow, but something up there watched him. Distant groans echoed like whispers in a cathedral of torment. Pools of coagulated blood formed strange runes on the stone floor. Weapons—swords, spears, claws—were buried half-melted in the walls, like offerings or warnings.
His body—his original corpse—was gone.
Not moved. Erased.
And just as panic threatened to rise—
[Skill: Dungeon King – Activation Sequence Complete.]
[Do you wish to become the King of this Dungeon?]
The words floated in the air, glowing in an eerie crimson. It wasn't just a system message—it was a contract, and something ancient watched for his answer.
Yamino swallowed.
"Dungeon King…" he muttered, his voice echoing in the vast, lifeless chamber.
He didn't know what this place was. He didn't know what becoming its king would mean.
But he had already died.
He had already lost everything.
And now… this throne, this power—this curse—was all that remained.
His eyes narrowed. Slowly, deliberately, he rose to his feet, standing tall on the altar of death.
"…Yes," he whispered.
The throne pulsed beneath him.
[Acknowledged.]
[Crown Granted: Dungeon Sovereign – Unbound Form.]
[You are now the King of the Nameless Dungeon.]
[New Objectives Generated.]
And from the walls, the blood stirred.
.
.
The throne dimmed, and Yamino stood motionless in the suffocating silence of the dungeon.
Then—
[Objective: Awaken the Dungeon Core.]
[Requirement: Collect 100 Normal Souls.]
The message burned itself into his mind like a brand.
Yamino blinked slowly. One hundred souls? Was this the cost of dominion? The price for survival?
He turned his gaze around the dimly lit space. The walls, the floor, the air—everything felt dead yet… hungry. Like the entire place was starved, waiting for blood and breath to return it to life. The weight of it pressed down on him. This wasn't a throne room. It was a tomb waiting to wake up.
His thoughts spiraled.
"A hundred souls… but how? I'm not even alive."
Was he supposed to devour wandering spirits? Would he be sent outside somehow to reap the living? No answers came.
He leaned back on the throne, staring at the void ceiling overhead, brows furrowed with frustration.
Then, like lightning cutting through the fog—
A memory returned.
"Sovereign of Beasts."
His heart stirred. That power—wasn't it one of his pact abilities? A legendary one, hinted to be a link to primal life and wild dominion.
He quickly willed the system to respond.
[Checking skill: Sovereign of Beasts...]
[Skill Found: Sovereign of Beasts (Status: Locked)]
[Requirements to unlock: Unknown.]
"Damn it," he muttered.
He clenched his fists. Even when surrounded by thrones and powers, the path forward still felt impossible. Everything he had—everything—was either stolen, locked, or dead.
Yamino let out a low breath, voice hoarse as he spoke to the shadows, "Even this... even this power is a prison."
A low growl echoed across the hall—no source, no direction. Just the dungeon… responding. It seemed to agree.
He walked down the steps of the throne, each footfall heavy in the silence. His eyes scanned the halls, hoping for any sign of life. Nothing.
"I need souls," he whispered, "but I'm alone. I don't even have a body. How am I supposed to—"
He stopped himself.
No answers.
Not yet.
He looked back at the throne, glowing faintly red. It was waiting. Just like him.
But waiting wouldn't be enough. Something had to give. A door had to open.
He turned to the dark corridor that led deeper into the dungeon. His feet moved on instinct now. If souls wouldn't come to him… he would find a way to reach them.
Even if he had to tear open the walls of the world to do it.