The following day, I decided to see if I could make any progress in learning to control mana.
I had no teacher, no reference, no knowledge beyond what little I had observed from the glowing crystals scattered throughout the cavern. But if mana was tied to magic, and if others could wield it, then there had to be a way for me to do the same. It was just a matter of figuring it out.
I settled in front of one of the larger Mana Crystals, jutting out from the cavern wall. Its soft blue glow pulsed gently, illuminating the cracks and jagged formations surrounding it. The light shimmered faintly, flickering like a dying ember, yet as I focused, I saw something more. There was movement. Faint, near-invisible wisps of something curling and drifting away from the crystal’s surface.
Mana.
It had been there all along, lingering in the air, moving in subtle patterns that I had never noticed before. That was progress, wasn’t it? If I could see it, surely I could learn to control it.
I reached out, pressing my palm flat against the cool surface of the crystal. I expected a reaction, something to surge into me, some shift in sensation that confirmed I was on the right path. For a moment, nothing happened. I focused, trying to will the mana into my body, imagining it as a stream of energy that I could pull in like air filling my lungs. The glow beneath my fingertips flickered slightly, and a faint warmth spread along my fingers. But the moment was fleeting. The warmth faded as quickly as it came, leaving nothing but stillness.
I curled my fingers slightly, gripping the crystal as though that might somehow force a response. Maybe mana didn’t just flow into the body. Maybe it had to be taken.
This time, I concentrated harder, picturing the energy being drawn into me as though I were drinking from a stream. My body tensed, my thoughts sharpened, and for a brief second, something shifted. The glow of the crystal dimmed ever so slightly. The wisps of mana bent toward me, as if acknowledging my attempt. I felt something within me react, a pull deep inside, like an instinct buried beneath layers of unfamiliarity.
Then the connection snapped.
The crystal flared back to its normal glow, the mana dissipating as if nothing had ever happened. I scowled, pulling my hand away. The sensation had been real. I had felt it, however faintly. I had to be close.
I changed my approach. Instead of forcing the mana into my body, I tried a different method. I let my mind settle, matching the slow rhythm of the mana’s movement, trying to align myself with it rather than dominate it. If I could just move in sync with the flow, maybe I wouldn’t have to pull at all.
I focused again, this time with patience instead of force.
The wisps of mana shifted.
Something stirred within me, not just in my mind but in my body itself. There was a reaction, subtle but undeniable, like two currents meeting in a vast ocean. The mana moved toward me on its own.
A deep, foreign sensation bloomed within my chest. Not pain. Not pleasure. Just something new.
Then it went wrong.
The crystal’s glow twisted, warping into a deep, sickly purple. An unnatural cold burned through my fingers, sharp and invasive, like needles burrowing beneath my dead skin. My arm convulsed, and I instinctively jerked away, staggering back as the reaction shattered.
The pain vanished instantly, leaving no lingering ache, but something about the experience unsettled me. I flexed my fingers, expecting damage, but they moved fine. My body did not bruise. It did not suffer in the way the living did.
Then why had it felt like it had been torn apart?
I frowned at the crystal, now returned to its original state, as if mocking me.
Mana had rejected me. Or… had I rejected mana?
A thought settled into my mind, slow and unwelcome. I had assumed that mana was something I could wield if I simply learned how. That with enough attempts and enough stubbornness, I would eventually succeed.
But what if it wasn’t that simple? What if mana was dangerous?
The idea gnawed at me. I had not considered danger before. Pain was dulled in my body, reduced to distant echoes of what I knew it should be. And yet, the sensation I had just experienced had been something more than pain. It had been wrong.
If I had forced the connection further, if I had pulled too much, what would have happened? Would it have burned me away completely? Could mana kill me, even though I was already dead?
I clenched my fists, forcing the thoughts away. Magic would have to wait.
I turned from the Mana Crystal, refocusing on my original goal. I still had other things to figure out.
Like finding an exit.
I had no sense of direction in this place, no clear path that would lead me to the surface. But I had noticed something before—the deeper I went, the more abundant the Mana Crystals became. If that was true, then the opposite should also be true. If I followed the diminishing presence of mana, the thinning of crystals in the walls, I might find a way out.
At the very least, I would understand this place better.
Still, I had no intention of leaving just yet. I needed time. Time to understand my body, my limits, and most importantly, my hunger.
Because sooner or later, I would need to feed.
And until I knew what I could endure, until I understood how long I could last without losing control, I was not ready to step into the world beyond this cavern.
For now, I would remain here.
With that thought settled, I turned my focus back to the paths ahead.
Following the diminishing presence of mana seemed logical if I wanted to find an exit—but I wasn’t leaving, not yet. Instead, I chose the opposite route. If mana was the lifeblood of this place, then the areas where it was most concentrated might hold something worth finding. More crystals, perhaps. Or creatures drawn to the energy. Or even—if I was lucky—clues about what I had become.
Caution urged me to reconsider. My first attempt at interacting with mana had nearly gone very wrong. But I pushed the hesitation aside. If mana was dangerous, then I needed to learn why. Avoiding it entirely would do me no good.
So I moved forward, deeper into the cavern, into the places where mana ran thick in the air, and the crystals glowed with an almost hypnotic radiance.
I moved through the twisting tunnels, cautious but efficient, unsure where this direction would lead. The ground sloped slightly downward, the air growing denser with the faint hum of mana.
I wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad sign.
The cavern stretched endlessly before me, a maze of stone and shadow. The deeper I went, the more the air thickened with the hum of mana, faint but ever-present. The ground sloped downward, uneven and jagged, each step sending small echoes through the tunnels.
Was that a good sign? Or was I walking straight into something worse?
I had no way to know.
There were no markers, no paths, no landmarks I could recognize. Only the distant glow of mana crystals embedded in the walls, their soft luminescence pulsing like dying embers. I had noticed before—there were more of them in this direction. That meant something. Maybe a denser mana concentration? A natural source?
Or maybe it was just where more creatures roamed.
A quiet, fleeting thought suggested turning back. I ignored it. If I let hesitation rule me, I’d never get anywhere. The only way was forward.
I passed through a narrow crevice, the jagged edges scraping against my arm as I squeezed through. I barely felt it, but I still checked. No wound. My body had long since abandoned things like pain. It was… strange. The kind of thing I should probably be more concerned about, but I had bigger problems.
Ahead, the cavern opened into a vast chamber, the ceiling stretching high enough that I couldn’t see where it ended. Stalactites jutted downward like jagged teeth. Patches of bioluminescent moss clung to the rocks, casting eerie greenish light. Pools of water collected in dips along the floor, their surfaces still and glassy.
Something about this place felt... wrong.
I halted, waiting. Listening.
There—just barely. A soft shuffle, a scraping sound against the stone floor.
I wasn’t alone.
The realization hit like a cold blade against the back of my mind.
There was barely a soft shuffle, a scraping sound against the stone. The near-silence of the cavern made it more distinct, a whisper of movement where there should have been none.
I remained still, lowering my stance slightly as my senses sharpened, searching for the source. A moment later, I saw them.
[Inspect - Lv. 5] Activated.
[Witherling Zombie - Lv. 7]
[The standard zombie race of the Labyrinthine Tomb. This breed mindlessly travels in groups and targets anything that crosses their path. They do not attack their own race and consume those they have killed.]
Four of them.
I narrowed my eyes, observing the creatures from a distance. Up until now, I hadn’t encountered anything that resembled me. Everything I had fought—imps, doom crawlers, those wretched poison snake things—had been monsters. Different.
But these? These were like me.
Sort of.
Their movements were slow. Not comically so, but definitely sluggish. Slower than me. Actually, slower than the imps I had fought earlier. That was… good to know.
I stepped forward, testing something.
No reaction.
I took another step.
Still nothing.
If Inspect was correct—and it usually was—they wouldn’t attack those of the same species. That meant I should be able to walk right up to them without issue. But I needed to be sure.
I closed the distance, stopping just short of standing directly in their path. The nearest zombie gave me a hollow, vacant stare but didn’t move to attack.
That confirmed it, then. They acknowledged me, but they didn’t view me as a threat.
A strange feeling settled in my gut.
I could walk past them. Ignore them entirely. Move on without unnecessary conflict.
But that wasn’t an option.
The moment I woke up in this abyss, I had decided—every monster here was my enemy. The skeletal walker had tried to kill me on the first day i woke and the imps had group ambushed me. Everything here would kill and devour me if given the chance.
So why should these creatures be any different?
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
Because they looked like me?
I slowly raised my hand, curling my fingers into a claw.
No.
That wasn’t a reason.
[Wither’s Claw]
I struck. My fingers raked through the nearest zombie’s neck, cutting deep into the rotting flesh. The blow was precise, severing muscle and bone in one swift motion. The creature didn’t even have time to react before its head toppled from its shoulders, rolling to a stop at my feet.
[Target Defeated.]
[Experience Gained.]
…That was easy.
A level 7, just like me, and yet—barely any resistance. Were all monsters this weak when they didn’t fight back?
I turned my gaze to the remaining three.
They stared at me.
Blankly.
No anger. No hostility. Just… observation.
I had half-expected them to attack after I killed one of their own. Even mindless beasts had survival instincts, didn’t they? But there wasn’t so much as a twitch of aggression from them.
They were utterly indifferent.
Fascinating.
But it's also disappointing.
I had already killed one. I might as well finish the rest. The free experience was a free-to experience. There was no reason to leave them alive.
I moved through them swiftly, tearing through flesh, bone, and whatever semblance of life remained in their rotting bodies. It wasn’t even a fight—more like butchering livestock.
[Target Defeated.]
[Experience Gained.]
[Target Defeated.]
[Experience Gained.]
[Target Defeated.]
[Experience Gained.]
[Skill: Unarmed Combat Lv. 3 → Lv. 4]
[Species: Witherling Zombie Lv. 7 → Witherling Zombie Lv. 8]
[You Have 3 Stat Points.]
I flexed my fingers, watching the dark ichor drip from my claws.
No pain. No struggle. No effort.
I had been expecting something.
Instead, I had learned nothing new about myself, only that the creatures I resembled were even more useless than I thought.
I glanced down at their corpses before shaking my head.
If this was the average strength of a Witherling Zombie, then I wasn’t like them at all.
Not even close.
The only similarity was in the description. According to Inspect, Witherling Zombies ate what they killed. And now that the fight was over, I realized something. A dull, gnawing emptiness settled in my stomach—not unbearable, but noticeable.
I was getting hungry.
It had been around eighteen hours since my last meal, those imps from before, and based on how my hunger had progressed, I estimated I could last another six, maybe eight hours, before it became a real problem.
That was useful information.
The first time I had fed, I hadn’t been able to gauge my hunger at all, only realizing it was a problem once it was urgent. But now? Now I could feel it creeping up on me, a quiet signal in the back of my mind. A clear indicator of how long I could last before my body demanded more.
A small relief.
Predicting my hunger was something I’d need to understand completely before I even considered leaving this place. For now, I had a rough estimate, and that was progress.
And progress was all that mattered.
I looked down at the bodies of the fallen Witherling Zombies.
…
My brain recoiled at the idea before I had even finished the thought. Eating them? The very idea made something deep inside me scream in revulsion.
But my stomach didn’t seem to agree.
I stood there for a moment, arms crossed, studying the corpses as though staring at them long enough would make the answer obvious. My instincts were clear—I was hungry, and food was in front of me. Yet my mind, the part of me that still clung to human reasoning, refused to acknowledge them as a meal.
But why?
The imps had been easy. Killing them had felt natural, almost instinctive. They were weak, mindless creatures that had attacked on sight, and I had responded in kind.
But these… these were different.
They looked like me. Moved like me. Had the same empty, sunken features. And yet, I had killed them just as easily.
I expected something to change. Some feeling of unease, a moment of hesitation. Instead, I felt nothing at all.
Would it have made a difference if I had waited? If they had decayed further if the resemblance had faded? Was there any logic behind this moment of pause, or was it just a remnant of something that no longer applied to me?
The answer didn’t matter.
I glanced around. The cavern was silent, empty except for the dead. If anything in this abyss could judge me, let it.
Hunger still gnawed at me. Not yet unbearable, but enough to be noticed. Enough to push aside unnecessary thoughts.
In the end, the choice was obvious.
I glanced around to confirm I was alone, then crouched beside the closest corpse. If anyone were here to judge me, let them. If any god watched from above, let them look away. I was dead, I was hungry, and I had no intention of starving to death over something as fragile as morality.
I dug in.
The first bite confirmed my suspicions—Witherling Zombies were far less appetizing than imps. The flesh was dry, barely holding together, with a texture like old leather. What little moisture it had came from the thick, tar-like blood still clinging to the meat. It had a bitterness to it, one that lingered unpleasantly on my tongue.
Still, it wasn’t inedible.
The bones, at least, had some merit—crunchy, brittle, a satisfying contrast to the rest of the meal. I tore through them without much thought, hollowing out ribcages, cracking femurs between my teeth.
By the time I had finished, I felt… fine.
Not full, exactly. Just sated.
My gaze shifted to the other corpses. A part of me hesitated—had I really just eaten all of that? Was my stomach that empty? Or was it something else?
An unpleasant thought started to surface, but before I could dwell on the implications, the familiar sensation of a system notification formed in my mind.
----------------------------------------
[The conditions have been met. Title [Cannibal] acquired.]
[Skill [Fear] acquired.]
[Trait [Blood Nourishment] acquired.]
----------------------------------------
I had received a title, a skill, and a trait.
That was a good thing.
Objectively, there was no downside to getting stronger, and from what I could tell, titles held some significance beyond just being labels. This was my first, so I had no reference for what they actually did, but it seemed unlikely that the system would grant me something outright harmful.
The only negative… was the name.
Cannibal.
I stared at it for a moment, unblinking.
Of course, that’s what it was called.
I wasn’t sure what I had been expecting, but seeing the word spelled out so plainly gave me the distinct feeling that I had just made a decision I could never take back. The imps had been one thing. That had felt normal. But this?
I had eaten something that looked like me.
And now the system itself had acknowledged it.
A vague, lingering sense of shame settled in my mind. Not overwhelming, not debilitating, just… there. Like I had been caught in an embarrassing situation, and now everyone knew.
Not that there was anyone around to judge me.
Still, I pushed that thought aside and focused on the more important part.
What did this title actually do?
----------------------------------------
[Cannibal]
[You have consumed your own kind, embracing the primal truth that flesh is flesh. Others may recoil, but to you, hunger is merely a problem with a solution. Eating the remains of intelligent or humanoid creatures restores more stamina, health, and slightly accelerates natural regeneration. While starving, physical stats slightly increase rather than weaken, but at the cost of rising aggression. +5 Vitality]
----------------------------------------
I exhaled slowly.
Not bad.
The first half was simple—more recovery from eating things that resembled me. That aligned with what I had already figured out about my body’s feeding mechanism. The second half, though…
My strength increased when starving?
That was the opposite of how living creatures worked. Normally, hunger meant weakness. Deterioration. A countdown to collapse.
But for me, it was a boost.
A dangerous one.
I wasn’t sure how much my aggression would rise, but that part worried me more than anything else. Did that mean my control would slip? That I’d attack whatever was closest without thinking? That I’d stop caring about what I ate?
…
I didn’t know.
And that bothered me.
I may have just undone the progress I made in understanding my hunger.
Still, worrying about it wouldn’t change anything. I filed that concern away for later and moved on. There were two skills I had yet to check.
I opened my status screen and examined the first.
----------------------------------------
[Skill: Fear]
[Details: You impose your will upon the lesser, forcing them to acknowledge you as a predator. When activated, instills unnatural dread in those who perceive you. Weaker minds may freeze, flee, or submit. Stronger minds resist, but even they will feel the weight of your presence.
Effectiveness scales with level, hunger, and target intelligence.]
----------------------------------------
An active skill.
That was good. It meant control.
If this worked as described, it would make hunting significantly easier. I wouldn’t have to rely on brute force alone—if I could make a creature hesitate, just for a second, that was all the time I needed.
I could picture the possibilities already. Weaker creatures might collapse into instinctual panic. The smarter ones? They’d have to rationalize their fear, convincing themselves they weren’t in danger—wasting precious moments second-guessing their own survival instincts.
If nothing else, it would force enemies to react to me, not the other way around.
A useful tool.
I moved on to the trait.
----------------------------------------
[Trait: Blood Nourishment]
[Details: Blood is fuel, and you have learned to burn it well. Consuming blood restores stamina, accelerates natural healing, and enhances regeneration. Higher-quality blood yields greater effects.]
----------------------------------------
I paused.
This slightly explained a few things.
Ever since I first consumed the imps, I had noticed that eating seemed to do more than just stave off hunger. It restored me in a way, easing the dull stiffness in my limbs, sharpening my senses, made me feel more rejuvenated. I had assumed it was just part of being undead, and in a way, I guess I was right.
Blood wasn’t just food—it was a resource.
And one that I could use.
Now that it was a trait, would the effects be more pronounced?
More than that, the description hinted at something interesting. Higher-quality blood yields greater effects. Just how much could I gain from consuming stronger creatures? What was the upper limit of this ability?
For a moment, I almost forgot the act that had earned me this trait in the first place. Almost.
I finished off the remaining bodies without hesitation.
The act barely registered—just another task to complete before moving forward. Their flesh, dry and leathery, was hardly appealing, but hunger was not a matter of taste. It was a necessity. My body required sustenance, and these corpses provided it. That was all that mattered. The occasional crunch of brittle bones between my teeth broke the stillness of the cavern, but even that sound felt distant, irrelevant. When the last fragment of bone snapped, I wiped my hands against my tattered clothes, brushing away the remnants of my meal.
Then, without pause, I moved on.
The cavern stretched ahead in silent vastness, its jagged walls enclosing a path that twisted and wound into the unknown. The air was thick with the scent of damp stone, the only sound the faint scrape of my steps against the uneven ground. My sight cut through the dark with ease, yet the space beyond remained oppressive, the shadows pressing in at every turn.
Time became meaningless.
I didn't feel exhaustion. My body did not weaken, did not falter, and the majority of the time barely felt pain. The hunger that had stirred earlier had dulled but remained—a quiet gnawing that never truly faded. Perhaps it never would. My existence had been reduced to this endless cycle: consume, continue, endure.
Still, I did not stop.
The path narrowed, then widened again. The rocky walls twisted into irregular formations, the ceiling stretching higher, opening the cavern into something far grander than the cramped corridors I had grown used to. The air changed—subtle at first, then unmistakable. It was cooler here, heavier. The damp, stale scent of stone gave way to something else, something different.
Then, the space ahead opened into a vast chamber.
And at its center lay a lake.
The water sat still, undisturbed, a dark mirror reflecting the cavern’s ceiling. Crystals lined the far walls, their faint glow shimmering across the surface like scattered embers. The air here was cooler, the moisture heavier against my skin. A hush filled the space, a silence even deeper than before.
I slowed.
I had seen water before—small puddles, slick rock damp with condensation—but never anything like this. This was something more, something almost unnatural in its stillness. I stepped forward, drawing closer to the edge, my movements careful and deliberate.
For the first time, I saw myself clearly.
Not a blurred glimpse in the glow of a mana crystal. Not a distorted reflection in the blood of something I had killed.
This was me.
My pale, corpse-like skin, the veins faintly visible beneath its surface. My white, lifeless hair, hanging in uneven strands. My eyes—red, deep, unnatural.
Dead.
That was the word that came to mind. If I lay down, if I closed my eyes, I would be indistinguishable from a corpse.
I stared at the reflection, waiting for something.
Revulsion. Grief. Recognition.
None came.
I knew I had once been human. That was a certainty in my mind. But without memories, I had nothing to compare this face to. No past self to mourn. No identity to reclaim.
There was only this.
This body. This existence.
I did not know if I had once been kind or cruel, weak or strong, loved or feared. All of that had been stripped away, leaving only the being that remained. And that being…
That being was alive.
Or something close to it.
A slow realization settled in my mind, not sudden, not dramatic, but quiet and firm.
This undead life was mine.
A gift, perhaps. A curse, possibly. But whatever it was, it belonged to me. And I would protect it.
I turned from the water.
There was nothing more to see.
And I carried on deeper in the cavern.
Chapter End...
----------------------------------------
Akashic Record
----------------------------------------
Name: [][][][][][]
Race: Demonic Beast
Species: Witherling Zombie
Rank: Spawn
Class: None
Level: 8
Titles: Cannibal
----------------------------------------
Strength: 20
Intelligence: 15
Endurance: 16
Vitality: 14(+5)
Agility: 19
Stat Points Available: 3
----------------------------------------
Skills:
Night Vision - Lv. 6
Wither’s Claw - Lv. 7
Inspect - Lv. 5
Unarmed Combat - Lv. 4
Mana Perception - Lv. 5
Fear - Lv. 1
######### of ###### - Lv. Locked (Remnant - Unusable)
----------------------------------------
Traits:
Undead Body - Lv. 6
Blood Nourishment - Lv. 1