They excelled in narrow terrain and agile movement, navigating sewers better than Hellhounds ever could. Their four-fingered hands let them grip tools. Fethan planned to arm them one day—forming a formidable Death Rat army. For now, they were no match for Hellhounds one-on-one.
Hunting and harvesting Death Rats went smoothly. With gloved hands, he dug into corpses, severed heart cores, and tossed them into a sack already full of similar remains. The stench ruined his appetite. He longed for a hot black pepper chicken steak burger from a convenience store. But here, all he had was mineral water and a single protein biscuit. Anything else would come right back up.
Fethan discarded the gloves after finishing. He had to avoid cuts—Death Rat blood was infectious. A single mistake could mean death without antibiotics.
"No wonder nobody wants to hunt these things. This place is pure filth. Even rookies avoid it." Fethan muttered, staring at his still-stuck Level 30. He’d killed over a hundred Death Rats—no EXP gained. He unfolded a brown map detailing the sewer’s layout. A purple symbol marked a site not far from his current position. His heterochromatic eyes narrowed.
The layout was a labyrinth. A strange symbol near the mark added to the unease. Despite the map, he wasn’t confident he could get out alive. The eerie sound in his ears grew louder as he moved deeper. It drowned out even the water’s flow.
‘This sound… it’s unbearable. Even earplugs don’t help. Makes me nauseous.’
“Woof!” A Hellhound alerted him. Fethan drank a vile green-purple potion. Gagging at the taste, he forced it down. His Soul Power restored slightly.
Glowing eyes drew near. Fethan readied his wand and greeted them with a storm of Arcane Bullets.
Confusion spread among the Death Rats. Their own kin stabbed them with makeshift spears—sharp metal tied to wooden sticks with rags—sending comrades to the afterlife. Misunderstanding, they raged, thinking they’d been betrayed.
‘No EXP gain, but their skills keep improving. Real combat accelerates growth better than any barracks training.’
“Hang in there. Top performer gets an incredible prize—better than any dog toy! And you rookies! It sucks killing your own, but Everland’s a great place. Clean, spacious, lots of room to play, and no more starving.”
“Is it really better to leave your families hiding in these sewers? Where humans can slaughter them anytime? Eating garbage and living in filth? No! Grab your spears and show mercy. Free them from this wretched life and bring them to Everland!”
Fethan’s speech froze the spirit rats. Their tiny minds processed his words.
The sewers were home—but miserable. No light. No good food. Always hiding. Always hunted. Everland had given them their first taste of peace, fresh air, warmth, and freedom from hunger.
It was paradise.
“Chee! (Forgive me, brothers!)” Rat A smashed a kin’s skull with a hammer.
“Chee chee! (Everland is paradise! Way better than here!)” Rat B shouted.
“Chee chee! (To free our kind, we must commit sin!)” Rat C readied its weapon.
“Chee chee chee! (If not me, then who? Come, friends! Let’s liberate them!)”
They charged. Red-green eyes filled with purpose. No hesitation. No regret. Even Fethan blinked.
"Wow. I am good at brainwashing."
"Woof! (Master’s speech was amazing!)" "Awoo! (So inspiring!)"
Their sewer exploration advanced rapidly. Death Rat vs Death Rat proved cost-effective. They knew each other's strengths and weaknesses.
But the deeper they went, the more Fethan sensed something was wrong.
“Cheee!!” a rat shrieked, its bulging red-green eyes leaking blood. The horde attacked in a frenzy.
Fethan fired dozens of Arcane Bullets. But his Soul Power couldn’t keep up. His undead army couldn’t match their rage-fueled numbers.
‘They’re not thinking. They’re overwhelmed. Something’s controlling them.’
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“Chee chee!” A rat spirit pointed at its ear, then at the berserk horde.
“Hearing? They’re going mad from a sound?”
Another rat mimed playing a flute.
“A flute…?” Fethan’s eyes widened. He heard noise—but not like a flute. Maybe it was outside the human auditory range. He checked the map.
The purple marker was now exactly where he stood.
‘It came to me! Not the other way around!’
‘Where is it? Where’s the source?’ He scanned. No system alerts. No visible threats.
“Awoo!” a Hellhound howled—then was devoured.
“By Eternal Dominion—I summon my army!”
He cycled undead reinforcements. But even that wasn’t enough.
‘They’re being controlled. But how? From where?’
He instinctively leapt.
Thunk! A green object barely missed his arm.
A direct hit might’ve killed him.
“Chee,” a mocking sound taunted him.
The final Hellhound fell.
Soul Power—nearly gone.
“Damn it…” he cursed.
Then smirked.
“Open the gate to Everland.”
He dove into the filthy drainage trench. A move that might kill a normal man.
But Fethan vanished in white light.
Everland.
Fethan tumbled onto grass.
Lumi, the Reaper, and the Werewolf ran to him.
“Don’t move!” Lumi shouted. She strapped his arm tight and examined the wound. Small, shallow—missed a major artery.
“Lucky shot,” he gasped.
“I didn’t know Death Rats were that savage. This was a mistake. If I didn’t need soul farming so badly, I’d never have picked them.”
The Werewolf carried him to the castle. Medical kits had been prepped.
Fethan grimaced, mixing saline and antibiotics. None of his subordinates were qualified. The Reaper had no medical knowledge, the Werewolf was dense, and Lumi looked away when he pulled out a needle.
He had to inject himself.
“Why couldn’t I see it? Cursed Spirits shouldn’t be like monsters, right?”
The Reaper scribbled:
{Correct. Cursed Spirits have distinct auras. Reaper Eyes will show their data—but only when seen directly.}
“So it was there. I just missed it.”
{Not missed—some Cursed Spirits evolve to hide even from Reapers.}
“Then how do I fight it?” he groaned. Lumi rested her hand on his shoulder.
“Easy. Ask someone who knows.”
The Werewolf burst out the door.
Ten minutes later, after another antibiotic drip, he returned—with two Death Rats in tow.
Fethan didn’t recognize them—but they were the same ones who had warned him about the flute sound.
The Reaper interrogated them. Fethan heard squeals from the next room. The Reaper returned, satisfied.
{These sweet little things say the flute makes them lose control. It triggers bad memories and amplifies hatred. They don’t know where the sound comes from—but they can sense its direction. Their minds are too simple to pinpoint it.}
Three pages of messy writing later, the Reaper handed over the intel.
Fethan’s eyes gleamed.
“Reaper—I have a job. Big reward if you succeed.”
“???” The Reaper tilted its skull. Clearly, it had just been promoted to errand boy #1.
Cursed Spirit: Sewer Rat King
[Purple-Rank Cursed Spirit, Tier 2, Level 35]
In life, it was an ordinary Death Rat. But over the years, it absorbed the hatred of thousands of slain kin. This resentment birthed its cursed form.
Now ruler of the sewers, it evaded all pursuit. Killing any human that dared intrude. It had no peace—and blamed humans for it.
It had nearly killed Fethan. Nearly.
But then the human vanished. A trick. Some kind of escape art. The Sewer Rat King knew the boy wasn’t dead. He would return.
The Death Rat horde lingered, unwilling to forget their fallen.
Twelve hours later—a white portal opened.
A giant blue-aura Death Rat landed. On its back: Fethan, holding the Map of the Dead.
“Cheeee!!” The rats screamed.
The flute began again.
But Fethan didn’t flinch. His eyes scanned.
“You hear it?” he asked.
“Chee,” Rat B nodded.
“Good.”
Gray aura spilled from Fethan. A death god’s pressure filled the sewer.
He stood alone—but he was not weak. He was not warm. He was death incarnate.
“In the name of the Eternal Dominion—I command my loyal servant, the Nameless Werewolf!”
The massive, sculpted werewolf burst forth, howling.
“Track it—like you once hunted me.”
“Awooooo!”
Predator instincts fully awakened.
The Rat King panicked.
The werewolf approached—nose to nose.
The Rat King fled.
[Name: Sewer Rat King] [Type: Cursed Spirit, Purple-Rank, Tier 2] [Level: 35] [Strength: 12] [Endurance: 10] [Speed: 21] [Intelligence: 15] [Perception: 19]
Skills:
- Stealth (A+) Max
- Cursed Melody (A) Lv.4
- Growth (A) Lv.1
- Venom Creation (B+) Lv.7
- Disease Resistance (B+) Max
- Narrow Movement (C) Lv.8
- Gnaw (C) Lv.5
- Swarm Call (C) Max
- Snipe (D) Lv.7
- Basic Weapon Crafting (E) Lv.4
Fethan sneered.
“Cornered, little coward?”
The Werewolf intercepted the Rat King and kicked it back.
“Luminus Sterling—Soul Fusion!” Fethan shouted. Ninetails ignited in blue flame. He leapt from Rat B’s back and slashed.
The Rat King shrank to mouse-size, dodged—
But found a wand pointed at its face.
A Soul Bullet blasted its chest.
“Chee!” it wailed, growing to werewolf-size.
“Now you fight?” Fethan snarled. “Too bad. You never learned how.”
A white flash—Fethan summoned more Death Rats.
They turned on their former king.
“Chee! (Mercy!)” “Chee! (Freedom!)”
The Rat King couldn’t believe it. His kin… turned?
The traitors stabbed him.
The Werewolf kicked him back to Fethan—again.
Blue flame turned red.
A fox’s cry split the air.
“Eastern Guardian Sword Style: Secret Technique One—Red Fox Blaze.”
Fethan cleaved through its soul.
[You have acquired Cursed Spirit: Sewer Rat King – Grade: Purple] [Quest Complete: The Filthy Sewers. Rewards: 10 Soul Coins, General Structure Blueprint – Rat Sewer Village] [You have slain a Cursed Parent. Area purified. Everland Territory +6,623 sqm]
The Rat King’s soul was absorbed into Everland.
Its level—unchanged.
Unlike Lumi or the Werewolf, its stats didn’t reset.
Fethan didn’t know it yet—but this feeble spirit would save him again and again…
And one day… it would also lead ruin right to his doorstep.
Somewhere in Onnacaster City…
A young man jolted awake.
"Who… dares tamper with what is mine?"