The answer was simple.
“For Awakeners, the most direct solution is to level up multiple times and allocate all attribute points to the desired stat. However, this is impossible for me to achieve easily or quickly due to my high level.”
“The other method is to steadily increase the desired stat through meditation practices.”
“Another way, which provides temporary relief but ultimately prolongs the inevitable while potentially causing further problems, is to exert the stat regularly within a controlled range. For mana, this means releasing at least half of the excess, but too much could strain the mana circuits, leading to other complications.”
“The next and most advisable solution is treatment—either through another person’s magic or potions—but this is also the most expensive option.”
“Truly, a difficult problem to solve due to a lack of sufficient wealth.”
Michael considered his options.
He was no longer as contemplative as before.
Just as he had suspected, there were resources in his world that the Land of Origin couldn’t provide. No—this wasn’t entirely accurate. It was better to say that the Lionheart Kingdom couldn’t provide them.
“The treasures that could help me… Even though I have the money, some require ridiculous amounts, and my membership level is too low to access them.”
“According to that forum post, I could submit an appeal to the Supers Association about my condition or have a higher-level member acquire the treasure for me as a middleman. But the latter option obviously comes with its own restrictions.”
Regardless, the fact that a viable solution was within reach meant Mage Lian’s idea was worth considering.
In fact, there was another potential solution—one that was far less troublesome than anything he had found on the Supers forum.
Evolution.
However, this also came with risks.
There had never been a recorded case of a failed mutation, but who was to say it was impossible? Perhaps the conditions simply hadn’t been met yet.
Michael was still learning about his talent. He couldn’t jump to conclusions.
His ability was overpowered in its own right, but nothing in this world was truly perfect.
Perfect evolution… It seemed too good to be true.
Michael exhaled and turned his attention back to the forum. Since appealing to the Supers Association or relying on a middleman were both options, he decided to check the trade section for something he also needed but he wanted to try his luck at something first.
Mediation techniques for mages and knights.
“I wonder if I can use the ones in LionHeart, however, only heavens know their grade.”
With a few taps, Michael navigated to the trade section, filtering the listings by techniques related to meditation techniques.
But as he scrolled, disappointment settled in.
Most of the techniques available were low-quality or wildly overpriced.
The truly valuable ones didn’t seem to be available for direct purchase.
“Tch.” Michael leaned back against the bed, drumming his fingers against his leg. He had expected as much.
That left him with only one option—going through the Supers Association.
“If I submit an appeal, they might approve it, but there’s no guarantee. And even if they do, the process could take time….”
The middleman method was slightly more viable.
High-ranking members could access restricted items on behalf of lower-ranked individuals, but there were caveats.
First, the service wasn’t free.
Michael sighed, rubbing his temples.
“The simplest approach would be to find a middleman willing to make the purchase on my behalf.”
The question was—who?Michael didn’t have many connections in the Supers Association.
His membership level was still too low to interact freely with higher-ranked individuals.
The only people he could count as acquaintances were Miss Grace and Teacher Brian.
He wasn’t sure how much help Miss Grace could offer.
She was just a receptionist—though Michael didn’t underestimate her position, he had no idea how much power she truly held.
And even if she could help, there was no guarantee she would.
Then there was Teacher Brian. Michael was more optimistic about him, but the man always seemed busy—or perhaps he’d already left Woodstone City.
Michael closed the forum tab. His eyes drifted to the undead standing silently beside his bed, then shifted to the closed window.
For a moment, he considered checking out the Association again.
He shook his head.
“I’ll go another time,” he muttered.
“If I see Teacher Brian again, I should try to get his contact. I wonder if he’d actually give it to me.”
Michael let the thought fade and turned to stare at the ceiling.
A few seconds passed in silence. He was growing increasingly bored.
“What should I do?” he murmured. Nothing came to mind—until it did, followed by a small smile.
“It’s been a while since I’ve used a spear. My proficiency isn’t even increasing anymore.”
Since he thought of it, he acted.
As for why he didn’t consider meditation—well, aside from the calming sensation it brought and how it passed the time, it was, honestly, a waste of time in his current situation.
With a flick of his fingers, Michael dismissed the undead to the Netherworld.
He walked over to the window, pushed it open, and with the ease of experience, leapt out like a thief in the night.
Michael landed softly on the roof of his apartment building.
He pulled out his spear from his storage space and gave it a few testing twirls.
The weight felt familiar in his hands, but the movement felt the opposite.
Michael narrowed his eyes.
“Have the undead been doing too much of the fighting?”
Well as a Necromancer he is as fighting as he could…
Michael then paused.
A thought crossed his mind—an idle curiosity he hadn’t bothered to explore until now.
“I wonder… can I teach them?”
With a mental command, he opened his storage space and brought out the high human undead.
The tall, silent figure materialized on the rooftop beside him
Michael stepped back and assumed a neutral spear stance.
“Let’s see if you can learn.”
He started demonstrating the martial forms he had learned from the martial arts group had brought from the Association trade section in the forum.
“Step back. Thrust. Anchor. Sweep.”
The undead watched, unmoving at first.
Michael repeated the moves again—slowly, then faster. After the fourth repetition, he stepped aside and gestured toward the iron pipe lying beside the undead.
“Pick it up. Try it.”
The undead complied. Its movements were rough, unrefined, but it tried.
Michael nodded, observing carefully.
He corrected its stance with a push to the foot.
Adjusted the grip on the spear.
Repeated the steps again and again.
The undead followed.
A minute passed. Then five. Then ten.
Michael was about to call it when something flickered in the corner of his vision.
[Your undead companion has learned Spearmanship]
Michael’s eyes widened.
“It actually worked.”
A grin spread across his face.
“If they can generate skills this way…”
He didn’t finish the sentence. His mind was already spinning with possibilities.
Michael turned back toward the undead. “Again,” he said, stepping into the stance. “This time, with more force behind your thrust.”
And on that quiet rooftop, under the watchful eye of the moon, the high human undead practiced spear forms, one after another—like a student under a determined teacher.
Michael had found something new.
A way to train.
Michael didn’t stop there.
The moment he confirmed the skill generation, a fire lit behind his eyes.
“Spearmanship is only the beginning,” Michael muttered as he paced around the rooftop. “What about hand-to-hand? Swordsmanship? Shield defense?”
His pulse quickened. Not from exertion, but anticipation.
He glanced back at the high human undead, who now stood in a more natural stance—spear pointed forward, posture corrected. There was no expression, no pride in its progress.
But that didn’t matter.
Michael put the spear away. “We’re done with that.”
Michael raised his fists.
“Let’s see how far this goes.”
The undead didn’t hesitate. It tossed the makeshift spear aside and raised its own hands in imitation of Michael’s stance.
Michael went easy.
He had no choice.
The undead human was far stronger than him in everything.
The only thing he had to his advantage was that he was alive but in a real fight, it could very well be the opposite..
He stepped in with a swift jab, aimed at the chest—not with the intent to damage, but to test.
The undead blocked.
“Good.”
Michael followed up with a sweeping kick.
Basic strikes. Defensive stances. Evasive steps.
Sweat beaded on Michael’s forehead despite the cold night air. His fists ached slightly from hitting hardened undead limbs.
And then it came again.
[Your undead companion has learned Basic Combat Arts]
And that wasn’t all.
[You have learned Basic Combat Arts]
Michael stumbled back, staring.
“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”
The implications were terrifying. In the best possible way.
“Grinders,” he whispered, stunned. “Skill proficiency grinders.”
It was absurd. Beautifully absurd.
If undead could learn new skills through repeated practice, then it meant…
He could create specialized units.
One undead for spears. One for brawling. One for defense. Another for dual-wielding. He could rotate them. Run them through drills day and night. They never got tired. Never needed sleep. Never complained.
They could become better than humans—because they would never stop training.
And if he layered enhancements, weapon upgrades, and even evolution into the mix…
Michael stared at the undead, still mirroring his stance.
“I’m building an army,” he whispered.
No, not an army.
A legion.
This wasn’t just ordinary necromancy anymore.