Overlord: Welcome the Birth of the King

The three surviving members of Six Arms didn't hesitate for even a second at the question posed to them.

"A—Alive…"

"Alive!"

The feeble voices came in unison.

The strongest of them, Zero, had been slaughtered like a chicken. Davernoch and Malmvist had followed him into the afterlife one after another.

Frankly, they had all thought they'd be next.

Yet somehow… they were still alive.

"P-Please… I don't want to die…"

Succulent—the so-called "Phantom Devil"—lay sprawled in a pool of blood, body trembling violently. Death's cold fingers brushed his spine, and the sensation of blood steadily draining from his body made his limbs convulse involuntarily.

With great effort, he lifted a trembling, bloodied hand toward the hem of Lyle's black cloak.

"Save me… I'll do anything…"

Lyle raised a foot and walked toward the three of them. He stretched out a hand from beneath his robe and gently swept it across their bodies.

In that moment—

The curse lingering in their veins was dispelled.

Succulent and the other two could feel it immediately. The pain that had paralyzed them began to fade, and the endless bleeding finally slowed to a trickle. The fog of death lifted just enough for them to breathe again.

This technique—dispelling the residual curse energy in an enemy's body—was something Lyle had picked up during his sparring sessions with the famed Warlord Go Gin in the Baharuth Empire.

After all, this was his own power.

The ability to both inflict and undo his own curses was just another aspect of mastering his class.

In this world, powers weren't rigid or predefined like in some tacky video game. Professions here weren't bound by stiff mechanics—especially not high-tier ones like Magic Swordsman, which had long since transcended static limitations.

Swish!

Lyle pulled out a vial of regeneration potion and casually sprayed it over the nearly-dead trio.

Just a little healing.

But it was enough.

Succulent, Peshurian, and Edström finally staggered to their feet, still shaky, but no longer on death's door.

The night sky was heavy and moonlit, starlight glinting like silver dust. The colossal skeletal dragon loomed behind Lyle, casting a long shadow over the blood-drenched grass and the three battered survivors.

They looked up at him and instantly dropped their eyes, overcome with fear and reverence.

The arrogance and bravado they once carried as elite enforcers?

Gone.

Completely gone.

"My lord," Succulent said first, his voice trembling and full of servile eagerness, "what would you have us do?"

His pale, gaunt face twisted into a simpering grin, like a bootlicker in front of royalty.

He wasn't stupid. This powerful stranger hadn't spared them out of mercy or sentiment.

Lyle looked at Succulent—the weakest of the Six Arms—and a smile flickered beneath his hood.

"Bring me that head," he said simply.

Succulent blinked, then jolted into motion, gritting his teeth through the pain as he stumbled toward Zero's decapitated corpse. He picked up the lifeless head, still heavy with dread.

The fear hadn't left him. Zero—the terror of the security division—was dead. And not just dead, but easily dead.

"In case anyone asks," Lyle said, turning to Succulent, "Zero didn't die by my hand. He died by yours."

Succulent froze.

His hands began to shake violently as he clutched the severed head. Even he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

He, Succulent, the weakest of the Six Arms?

Nobody would buy that he killed Zero.

But…

Did it even matter?

In Eight Fingers, each division operated independently. And while the other division heads might doubt the official story, one truth would remain:

Zero was dead. And someone stronger had taken his place.

The underworld didn't care about the details. They welcomed necromancers and monsters. They weren't about to turn away someone who could kill one of their top brass.

Even if the story behind it stank to high heaven.

"My lord," Succulent dropped to his knees, forehead pressing into the bloodstained grass. "I, Succulent, pledge myself to your service!"

With Lyle backing him, no one would dare challenge his position. Not without risking their lives.

Lyle glanced at the other two—Peshurian and Edström. Regret flickered in their eyes, but they quickly followed Succulent's lead.

"We'll support Succulent as department head," they said in unison.

Lyle gave a slight nod, then turned and walked over to Malmvist's corpse. He knelt and pulled the slender, rose-hilted rapier from his cold, dead hand.

"This sword will be delivered here tomorrow," he said, holding it up. "Its bearer is the new Thousand Kills."

With that, Lyle leapt onto the skeletal dragon.

WHOOMPH!

The undead beast flapped its massive wings, stirring up a windstorm, and vanished into the night sky.

Only after the ominous shadow disappeared did the three finally relax.

Succulent rose to his feet, eyes glittering with ambition as he turned toward the other two.

"Well then… I'll be counting on you."

He didn't bother hiding the smugness in his voice.

Sure, he'd been worried at first—but now? The new Thousand Kills was clearly Lyle's person. And anyone associated with Lyle was a valuable ally.

No downside at all.

Meanwhile, at a shabby little inn…

Imina stood by the window, amber eyes full of worry as she peeked into the dark night.

"Your master's gone, and you don't look the least bit concerned," she muttered to the barghest sprawled on the wooden floor.

The creature lazily opened one eye and turned its head away, pointedly ignoring her.

Imina's eyebrow twitched.

"I hear the horns and bone-chains on a barghest's head are worth a small fortune in magical crafting," she said, gritting her teeth.

"Woof."

The barghest froze, then cautiously sat up, staring at her with nervous eyes.

"Thought so," Imina smirked.

Knock, knock!

A knock came from the door.

Before Imina could react, the barghest sprang to its feet and wrapped its bone-chain around the doorknob, giving it a hard tug.

Click.

The door swung open.

Imina straightened up, masking her concern with a frosty expression.

"I thought you weren't coming back till morning," she said coolly, arms crossed. "Judging by the time, things didn't go smoothly."

Lyle walked in, patting the barghest on the head. He pulled down his hood, revealing a warm smile.

"Actually," he said, "things went better than expected."

He tossed the rose-rapier toward her.

"Gift for you."

Imina blinked, catching the elegant blade by reflex.

It was a silver-finished rapier, the hilt shaped like a blooming rose. Subtle magical energy pulsed through it.

Just holding it gave her the chills.

She wasn't an amateur—she could tell this was the kind of enchanted weapon that cost more than she could ever afford.

Lyle casually explained its properties: made of pure mithril, imbued with two enchantments—"Grinding Flesh" and "Master Assassin."

A deadly thrust weapon, perfect for a nimble duelist like her.

To Lyle, though, it wasn't much. Against curse magic, these effects were like throwing rocks at a fortress.

"You sure this is a gift, not payment?" she asked, voice quieter than she intended.

"From tomorrow, you're the new 'Thousand Kills' in the Six Arms," Lyle replied casually. "That's your actual payment."

He shrugged. "I'll be leaving town soon, and I need someone I trust to help Succulent run the security division."

Imina gawked at him.

"…Are you serious?"

Lyle didn't even blink.

Eventually, she swallowed.

"Heh," she chuckled softly, looking at the rose-bladed weapon in her hand. Her amber eyes shimmered in the candlelight.

"Knew there had to be a catch."

She paused.

"…Why me?" she asked suddenly.

"Because you're a half-elf," Lyle said plainly.

"…Fair enough."

Imina nodded, then turned to walk out the door, her twin violet ponytails swaying.

"Just hope you don't regret it," she said as the door shut behind her.

Lyle stretched and yawned.

"With this, the early-stage setup in the Re-Estize Kingdom is complete. Time to focus on myself for a change."

He wasn't worried about Imina or Succulent.

Everything they had—their positions, their power—it all came from him.

And at the root of it all…

Was strength.

Understanding that made everything simpler.

Opening his status panel, Lyle's eyes lit up as a soft hum resonated in his mind.

[New Class Skill: Totem Possession]

[Requirement: Intermediate Class "Shamanic Adept" – Unmet. Requires 3 Skill Points.]

[No prerequisite class—Cost: 6 Skill Points.]

[Talent "Genius" triggered—converted "Genius → Shaman." Requirements met. Spend 3 Skill Points to learn?]

"Learn." Lyle confirmed mentally.

[Class: Shamanic Adept]

[Tier: Intermediate]

[Abilities:

Passive – Soul Guide: You can see the souls of the dead, especially those you've fixated on. These souls linger longer than usual.

Active Skill – Totem Possession: For each level gained, you gain +10 HP, Physical Attack, and Physical Defense.

Description: You are attuned to the flow of natural energy, the inner world of living beings, and the strength of their souls. You believe the totems will grant you their blessing—and their power.]