A chuckle escaped Michael.
"The living train to get strong. Mine will train until they're unbeatable."
And then there was the second notification.
The one that still made Michael heart race.
[You have learned Basic Combat Arts]
Which ant…
He could train alongside them and gain skills himself.
And the more they improved, the better his own feedback would beco.
It was a perfect feedback loop.
Michael looked at his hands, then at the undead. "You're teachers too," he muttered.
Of course, not all of his undead would be like this.
If Lucky could teach him anything, it would be how to eat grass and still not taste it.
Most likely, only his humanoid undead could have specializations and serve as effective training tools.
Michael didn't doubt that a ti would co when his undead could beco as intelligent as any human.
But until he saw one actually learn a special skill—like sothing related to magic—he wouldn't call them perfect.
"You're pretty intelligent, so don't disappoint ," Michael said to the high human undead.
It didn't understand the words, not truly, but still responded with cold seriousness—its expression flat and lifeless like a corpse.
Well, it was a corpse.
"Yes, Master," the high human said.
Michael simply nodded.
If this undead could show that it could learn special skills, Michael would be far more willing to collect and raise more human undead—regardless of how blank or trash their stats or skillsets were.
After all, if they could learn, then their potential was unlimited.
Aurora wouldn't be able to provide him with human corpses without issues, of course—but the Land of Origin?
That place was different.
It was ironic how much more freedom he had there compared to the so-called real world.
Michael didn't dwell on the ethics or consequences.
Right now, he was just eager to grind so experience—together with his undead.
And that was exactly what he did.
"Hey, let's practice so more."
Michael didn't waste ti. He threw a punch at normal human speed, and the high human undead responded in kind.
The newly acquired [Basic Combat Arts] was a passive skill.
It didn't need to be activated.
As long as Michael fought, the skill's effects were in play.
As he moved, he felt sothing—like instinctual guidance flowing through his limbs.
It had to be the new skill.
And that only made him more excited.
Michael began to notice subtle shifts.
His footwork was smoother.
His punches cleaner.
His reactions a fraction faster. It wasn't dramatic—but it was there.
That was all the confirmation he needed.
He upped the tempo.
Duck. Weave. Counterstrike. Low sweep. Backstep.
The high human mirrored him with uncanny precision, its motions still rough, but rapidly refining.
There was no fear, no hesitation, no exhaustion. It was a training partner designed by death itself.
Michael grinned and went for a rapid combo—left jab, right hook, elbow smash—but the undead intercepted with a block and launched its own jab that grazed Michael's ribs.
He staggered back, blinking.
"Damn, you're learning fast."
He rolled his shoulders and charged in again.
Each motion felt more natural.
The undead's response ti tightened.
It was like fighting a mirror that improved with every exchange.
"This… this is what combat practice should be like."
Hours passed in minutes.
[Your skill proficiency with Basic Combat Arts has increased.]
Michael turned to check the skill status.
It was still at basic mastery but...
"20% proficiency?"
Michael's breath caught.
"Already?!"
That was when he realized the loop was even better than he thought.
His undead weren't just helping him grind skills.
They were skill accelerators.
Michael laughed aloud, the kind of laugh that echoed through the night and carried weight.
"Unfair," he muttered, shaking his head. "I'm cheating."
And he loved every second of it.
Michael eyed the high human again.
"Tomorrow, we will try spear forms. Might need to get you a spear though…."
Michael finally sat down, letting the cool rooftop breeze ease his burning muscles.
"I need to na you," he said to the undead. "Can't keep calling you 'high human.'"
He thought for a mont, then smirked.
"Spartan. From now on, you're Spartan."
The undead gave a slow nod. "Yes, Master."
Michael leaned back, hands behind his head, looking up at the stars."It's beautiful…"
Michael whispered, standing high above, letting his senses spread throughout the building below him.
His family…
"It's truly beautiful…"
That morning, for the first ti in what felt like ages, Michael did sothing he hadn't done in the real world for a long ti.
He bathed.
Surprisingly, his body had no odor.
He figured it had sothing to do with his strengthened physique.
With a constitution in the thousands, maybe even in death, one's body would remain in a pri state for dozens of years—if not more.
Before leaving Aurora, Michael used his skill to share senses with his undead—Beginning and Lily—to check on the situation at ho.
He could already see signs of packing.
He had suspected as much, especially since even his own belongings had been boxed up.
"Tomorrow we're moving out, right? I should make ti."
Michael made a ntal note. After finishing his preparations, he returned to the Land of Origin.
Back in the Land of Origin, a pair of green eyes opened—then slowly shut again after a few seconds.
"It's still a few hours before dawn. I'll wait," Michael murmured and settled back down to rest.
When the sky finally began to brighten, he got up and went to wash himself.
Afterward, he gave himself a once-over.
"I need new clothes. If people are going to mistake for a noble—even if I won't admit it—I should at least look the part."
He also thought of the two youths who had tried to rob him days ago.
"They should change their clothes too," he muttered, before shaking his head.
After dismissing the summon that had stayed in the room with him, Michael made his way downstairs.
He had two goals for the day.
The first: acquire a residence.
The second—and far more important.
Evolving.
Michael wanted to evolve himself.
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