Evolving My Undead Legion In A Game-Like World

"Here you go, sir," the receptionist said as she handed Michael the printed paper before continuing.

"When you get to the person in charge, please hand them this document.

An email will also be sent to you with a list of things to look out for in the crack, ensuring you don't miss any opportunities.

If you find items you don't need and wish to sell to the Association, the email will include a list of items we're interested in, along with their prices.

The exact location of the crack is written on the paper, so please refer to it when needed.

Lastly, please remember that the inner workings of the Association and most supernatural-related matters shouldn't be shared with the public, as stated in the email you received on the day you registered."

"There was something like that?" Michael muttered to himself in confusion.

"Sir?" The receptionist called out, her smile suddenly feeling sharp and unsettling.

"H-Haha, I was joking! Of course, I know this. It doesn't even need to be written down for me. Anyway, thank you for your time!" Michael stammered as he quickly brushed it off and walked away.

He could still feel the receptionist's suspicious gaze on his back.

Only when it faded did he wipe the cold sweat from his forehead.

As for what she mentioned being attached to his awakening email? Michael had no clue.

It couldn't have been the one with the link to the Supers Association forum as that was the only content contained, so it must have been part of the email containing the breathing and meditation techniques—something Michael admitted he hadn't been too interested in.

No wonder he missed it.

Then again, it wasn't like he even had the time to share what he'd learned over the past few days.

With the way he had been darting between the Land of Origin and the real world, even a bee would be impressed.

As Michael made his way out of the Association building, he glanced at the paper in his hands.

He skipped over the irrelevant details after quickly scanning them and focused on the section containing the crack's location.

The receptionist had mentioned Sun Park, and Michael was familiar with the area, having visited it several times as a child.

However, discovering that a corrupted crack existed there was something he never would have expected.

Sun Park wasn't just a park; it was a landmark in Woodstone City. Its fame also wasn't due to the park itself but rather the establishments dominating the area.

Known as the "Clinic Market," seven out of every ten buildings in the vicinity were medical facilities.

While unsettling, most residents of Woodstone City had grown used to the peculiar nickname.

However, knowing there was a corrupted crack in the area made Michael pause.

Corrupted cracks relied on negative energy to sustain themselves.

Where better to absorb such energy than clinics or hospitals, where despair, pain, and grief often lingered?

"The Federation must have done this on purpose."

Michael doubted the Federation would risk the public's safety without reason.

After all, leaving a crack unattended for too long risked a monster outbreak, reminiscent of the chaos during the Dark Age, when cracks even gave no warning.

'The more negative energy the crack absorbs, the faster it can regenerate monsters. Maybe the park balances things out, as positive energy can neutralize negative. Still, too much positivity would defeat the purpose of maximizing the crack's value.'

If his assumptions were correct, Michael couldn't help but admire the strategic brilliance behind the decision.

Yet, a sense of conflict stirred within him.

The Federation wasn't the heroic entity he had envisioned growing up.

Their actions were pragmatic, even calculated.

While he could understand the necessity of such measures, it didn't sit well with him.

Even so, Michael didn't hate the Federation. It was clear their efforts ultimately benefited the public, and that deserved respect.

Still, he was shocked that a crack had existed unnoticed beneath so many people's noses for years.

Or perhaps it wasn't entirely unnoticed. Some older residents might have figured it out, but likely not many.

What surprised Michael more, though, was the crack's exact location—inside a pharmacy.

According to the receptionist, all he had to do was hand the paper directly to the person in charge.

"More and more, it feels like I belong to some secret organization… which isn't too far from the truth," Michael muttered.

To be honest, the thought was a little exciting to him.

As he walked out of the Association, anticipation and anxiety swirled within him despite the power he held and his strong lineup of Lucky and Prince. But then, he abruptly stopped in his tracks.

For a moment, he stood still before his expression darkened.

"Damn it! I'm an idiot!"

Michael wanted to scream at himself as a sudden realization hit him.

Why was he heading to a corrupted crack in the first place? Wasn't it because of the monsters it held?

And why was he interested in the monsters? It was because he wanted to turn them into his undead army.

Anf why did he feel so pressed to contract more undead right now?

It was because his daily evolution points would soon refresh. If he didn't increase the number of his undead within the next three hours, he'd miss out on a potential number of 11 evolution points and have to settle with 4.

Contracting undead took time and mana, and failed attempts were always a possibility. If he rested between summons, three hours should be enough—but if he still had to hunt the monsters first, that would eat up precious time.

Greedy?n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

Michael knew he was.

Every human was.

Michael couldn't stand the idea of losing a good 24 hours of progress.

Then it hit him.

Didn't the Association sell goblin corpses?

Instead of wasting time hunting in the crack, he could simply buy what he could afford. Once he reached the crack, he could start using {Undead Revival} immediately.

After all, leveling up could wait.

His main concern was maximizing his evolution points.

This was working smarter, not harder.