Raven settled herself on a nearby boulder, fixing her gaze upon Markus with a curious intensity. “What do you call yourself, Dark Knight?” she asked with genuine interest.

“Markus,” he replied simply. “Call me Markus. Now, tell me about this curse.”

Raven held his gaze for a moment longer, as if searching for something in his expression. Finally, she gave a small sigh and looked away. Her features softened. “I don’t know,” she admitted with quiet frustration.

Markus was surprised by her response, since he remembered her back in the game with no such penalty. “You don’t know? How long have you been cursed?”

“A long time,” she said with a distant expression. “Long enough that I’ve lost track of the years. This curse… it’s like a fog in my mind. I remember fragments of my old life, glimpses of who I was, but nothing more.”

Markus frowned, absorbing her words. A quest without a clear goal was a rare thing.

“Can you help me, shadowless one?” asked the Death Knight.

Markus tilted his head, studying Raven with a thoughtful frown. “How did you know it was a curse and not just your undead soul degrading?” he asked the obvious.

Raven shook her head firmly. “I know it’s a curse,” she insisted, her tone brooking no argument. “I can feel it—like a shackle around my very existence, pulling me away from what I should be.”

Inwardly, Markus sighed. There was a saying in this world: Only a dead could be more stubborn than a dwarf. He could see now why the saying rang true.

“Alright, alright,” he muttered, relenting. “If you’re that certain, then let’s treat it as a curse.” His eyes made of soul gem flickered with a hint of annoyance. “But we’ll need to find more than just a feeling if we’re going to break it.”

Markus decided if he was going to build connections, he might as well start with her.

If he was going to go in an adventure, he’d need companions.

This was indeed a quest. Markus recalled various NPC companion quests in the game: the kind that rewarded players who took the time to understand the game’s lore. It wasn’t his specialty by any means, but he had power in his side.

“How are you going to lift your curse if you don’t even know what it’s called?” Markus asked, folding his arms as he studied her.

Raven looked at him with a calm, unwavering gaze. “Take me as a tagalong,” she replied simply.

“There is a way for me to escape the confines of this place…” Raven began, her voice low, almost as if she were revealing a long-guarded secret. “I am soul-bound to this forest. Like most undead, I have a phylactery—an object that anchors me in the mortal world.” She gestured to a patch of empty, disturbed dirt. “Dig around this part.”

Markus nodded, summoning his [End Shovel] with a swift motion. The tool appeared in his hand, gleaming faintly in the dark. He stepped toward the spot Raven indicated, plunging the shovel into the earth and digging steadily.

Every time he swung the shovel, clumps of soil flew aside.

Thump~!

Finally, his shovel struck something solid. Brushing the remaining dirt away, he uncovered a set of dried-up bones encased within rusted armor, remnants of an ancient figure long forgotten. Raven stepped closer, her gaze fixed on the bones with a solemn intensity.

“Cut a lock of hair,” she instructed with a solemn cry.

Markus didn’t question her, transforming [End] into a knife with a fluid motion. Leaning down, he carefully cut a lock of hair from the dead remains of what had been once a formidable warrior.

For some reason, Markus could tell…

The strand of hair shimmered faintly in the dim light, and he held it up Raven her, wondering what purpose it served in freeing her from her binding. Raven’s eyes remained focused as if the hair held a piece of her essence necessary for breaking her soul-bound chains.

“What now?” Markus asked, watching Raven closely.

Raven raised one hand, and a putrid purple light emerged from her fingertips, swirling ominously before it homed in on what Markus assumed had once been her carcass. The light bathed the decayed bones in an eerie glow, illuminating the rusted armor and the remnants of a lifelong lost.

They all turned to ash, except the lock of hair that Markus now held in his hands. It was the [Drain Life] magic skill, Markus shortly realized.

Raven reached out and touched the lock of hair in Markus’s hand. As her essence flowed into it, the hair shimmered, transforming before his eyes. It twisted and solidified, weaving itself into a thin, golden wreath that wrapped around Markus’s wrist, fitting snugly like a wristband.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

“This binds a part of my essence to you,” Raven murmured, her voice filled with relief and anticipation. “It allows me to leave this place… so long as you wear it.”

Just like that, Markus had gained a new companion. The golden wreath glowed faintly around his wrist, a reminder of the strange bond that now connected him to Raven. She turned to him, her helm fading back over her face in a spectral shimmer. “Where to now, Markus?” she asked.

Markus found it odd—just moments ago, he’d been wandering this forest alone, and now he had a companion bound to him by a magical wreath. He glanced at her, considering. “It’d be better to get a feel for each other’s abilities first, if that’s fine with you,” he suggested.

Raven nodded, stepping back as a pair of curved swords materialized in her hands, their blades catching the faint moonlight filtering through the trees. She held them in a relaxed stance with a steady gaze. “I am ready when you are.”

Markus summoned [End] in response, feeling a surge of anticipation. This was his chance to see what the legendary Death Knight could do, and he intended to make the most of it.

As a seasoned PvP player and self-proclaimed battle junkie, there was no way Markus wouldn’t feel a rush of excitement at the prospect of sparring with the legendary Death Knight. Rumor had it she was even stronger than Lianaresel, and that thought alone made his blood—or whatever drove him now—run hot.

“You can go first,” Markus said. But even as he spoke, he was already beginning to cast [Dark Empowerment] upon himself, shadows coiling around his form and bolstering his strength.

Raven, however, was no novice and wasn’t easily fooled by his ruse. She moved before he even completed the spell, her figure disappearing and reappearing in a blur. In the blink of an eye, she was upon him, her twin swords flashing through the air with a speed and precision that tested his reflexes to their limit.

Markus quickly canceled [Dark Empowerment] and unleashed a skill of his own—[Black Flash]. Though it looked like an offensive skill, it was actually a movement skill, allowing him to close the gap in an instant. Even with Raven having the initiative, Markus’s sword was the first to reach its target… or so he thought.

His blade sliced through the air, but instead of connecting with her, it simply passed through as if Raven were intangible. He realized that the skillset of the Raven before him was vastly different from what he’d known as a player.

Before he could fully recover from the surprise, Raven retaliated with a relentless flurry of slashes. Her curved swords struck his armor in rapid succession, each blow sending a shower of sparks into the air. Markus staggered back, feeling the force of each strike reverberate through him. She was testing his defenses, pushing him to the limit, and he had to admit—she was every bit as formidable as the rumors claimed.

"About Level 90," Markus muttered, more slashes battering his armor with precision and force. He knew Raven probably didn’t understand the level reference—this world had no concept of the player system he was familiar with, where levels, stats, and numbers defined combat prowess.

Every time he parried a strike, two or three more slipped past his guard, grazing his armor and sending sparks flying. Yet, with his golem body, pain had become an afterthought. It was more a vague signal than the sharp sting of flesh and bone.

Despite receiving more attacks, Markus wasn’t budging at all.

It was because of his [Dark Armor] skill of stacking his defenses over time.

Markus, however, couldn’t ignore a growing realization: his “basic swordsmanship” was woefully inadequate here. If not for his enhanced stats—or perhaps the lingering muscle memory from his game avatar—he would’ve already lost the exchange in a clash of raw skill.

This new world’s combat system was different, and it demanded much more from him. The mindless clicks of a mouse were gone; now, every swing required conscious effort—an awareness of trajectory, weight, form, and follow-through. He could feel how each miscalculated swing disrupted his balance, how every missed parry left him open.

“Your swordsmanship is crude,” Raven observed, her voice cool as she broke from her flurry of strikes, “yet… strangely functional.”

Markus took the comment as both a challenge and a warning. He’d have to improve his technique, or he wouldn’t last long here.

As their swords clashed, Markus felt something odd—a surprising calm that was entirely uncharacteristic of him. Normally, he’d be seething with irritation by now, as mad as any neighbor whose kid had been kicked to the curb. But instead, he felt an eerie sense of balance.

Curious, he asked, “Normally, I’d be a pissed-off neighbor who just couldn’t stop swearing at anyone who he felt like looked wrong at my way… but I’m strangely calm as of this moment. Any ideas?”

Raven paused, keeping her guard up as she answered, “I have a powerful martial ability called [Fair Duel]. When activated, both I and a hostile are forced into a state of mental equilibrium. It makes us immune to charms, curses, diseases, poisons, and other debilitating effects. The influence of magical items is similarly restricted. Worse was... magic and certain skills would become weaker the longer it was used in this setting.” She eyed his sword. “But it appears your sword remains sharp and unaffected despite all of its magic.”

Lore-wise, Markus's sword wasn't even made by magic.

[Fair Duel]. Markus absorbed the revelation, understanding the skill’s implications. It was his first time encountering such an ability, and by his estimation, it had to be A-tier—perhaps even a godly S-tier, for what it offered. The fact that it couldn’t overcome legendary, soul-bound weapons hinted at its upper limits, but even so, it was powerful enough that he wanted it… for himself.

If it happened to be S-tier, he wouldn’t be able to learn it though.

Markus sighed. “Maybe I just found my shrink today after all, huh?”

Markus hadn’t even noticed his equipment was restricted until Raven mentioned it. Most artifacts in the game were stacked with special effects to boost utility, but Markus had always preferred raw stat multipliers. As he checked himself, he felt a slight dip in his strength—his stats had indeed been reduced, but not enough for him to notice immediately. He hadn’t tested the upper bounds of his stats here, so he couldn’t be sure how much was missing.

“Let’s finish this,” he suggested.

Raven gave a faint, weary smile. “It seems I’m unable to match your might.”

Markus raised his sword, invoking his S-tier skill: “[Mourning Star].” Simultaneously, Raven lifted her dual blades and called forth her own powerful ability: “[Angel of Death].”

Markus’s blade turned pitch black, radiating a dark aura that shimmered like the night sky. As he swung, the sword ignited with a blue flame, streaking through the air like a blazing comet. Raven responded with a flurry of slashes, her blades surrounded by a dark haze that conjured mirage-like wings, shadowy feathers scattering around them in deadly arcs.

In the end, Markus stood victorious.

Raven lay embedded in the earth, her gaze drifting to the moonlit sky. She looked up at Markus, her eyes reflecting both admiration and resignation. “Such a marvelous sword,” she murmured.