As I crept through the dim halls of the mansion, the air shifted.
You know that feeling when your skin starts crawling like it knows something your brain hasn't caught up to yet? Yeah. That.
Then I saw him.
[Mini-Boss Detected: Grand Butler – Lv 35]
Tall. Hunched. Like someone had shoved a Victorian butler into a blender with a zombie and a dash of Lovecraft. And yet—somehow—the suit was still immaculate. Dry-cleaned to doom.
His face was a waxy nightmare, jaw slightly unhinged. But then he croaked out:
"W-we... wel... come..."
I froze mid-step.
"Yikes," I muttered. "He can talk?"
System Notification:
Translation enabled. Speech comprehensible through System filter.
"Great," I said. "Now I get to understand the polite undead horror trying to murder me."
In one hand, he balanced a tarnished silver tray holding teacups, a cracked porcelain pot, and what might've been biscuits, now sporting enough mold to be classified as intelligent life. His other arm? Long, spindly, and tipped with claws that looked freshly manicured by a chainsaw.
"H-have... some... bis... biscuits?"
I stared at the tray, then at him.
"Uh, tempting. But I'm on a no-death, low-mold diet. Carbs are fine. Rotting carbs? Not so much."
The butler's eye twitched. One of the cups clinked against the tray like it was ready to throw hands.
I cracked my neck, rolled my shoulders, and gripped my saber. A fireball formed at my fingertips.
"Sorry, Jeeves," I said. "Gotta run. Urgent bathroom emergency. May involve explosions."
Before I could launch my fireball, the butler raised his tray like he was about to serve afternoon tea with a side of murder.
He croaked, "S-serve... the... guest..."
Suddenly, the doors behind him slammed open with a bang that made me jump half a foot off the floor.
A small army of zombie waiters shuffled in, all wearing shredded tuxedos and name tags like "Hello! I'm Fred (Probably)." Each one carried some kind of improvised weapon—cracked plates, bent frying pans, sharpened forks. One guy even dual-wielded steak knives like a Gordon Ramsay-themed horror movie.
They hissed and clattered toward me like a nightmarish dinner rush.
"Oh, come on," I groaned. "Does this dungeon have room service too?"
The Grand Butler gave a slow, stiff bow. "B-bon... a-ppétit..."
Fireball primed in one hand, saber in the other, I squared my stance. "Okay then. Let's see how many stars this restaurant loses after I torch the entire staff."
And with that, the undead waitstaff charged.
The first zombie waiter lunged with a dinner plate like it was a ninja star. I ducked, barely avoiding a ceramic beheading, and countered with a mana arrow straight through his chest. He crumpled with a puff of ash and the distinct smell of burnt… shrimp?
"Was that seafood?" I gagged.
The next waiter came at me swinging a soup ladle like it owed him money. I sidestepped, activated [Combat Instinct], and let my body move before I could even think. My saber flashed, carving a clean arc across his torso. He went down in a heap of tuxedo and expired buffet specials.
Another one tried to brain me with a frying pan. I caught it with my Necrofang Saber—and yeah, sparks flew. Pretty sure that's not OSHA-approved either.
They were relentless. The waitstaff swarmed like angry ants in formalwear, but with my new cloak boosting my speed and [Combat Instinct Lv 2] keeping my brain three steps ahead, I danced through them like a caffeinated ninja.
One waiter got a little too close and growling.
I responded by launching an [Inferno Burst].
Half the dining hall lit up like someone deep-fried a ghost.
"Hope you guys like your meat extra well done."
When the smoke cleared, only the Grand Butler remained, still holding his moldy tray, somehow unbothered.
He clacked his claws together like a sommelier snapping his fingers.
"E-excellent... main... course..."
He stepped forward.
And I realized...
That was just the warm-up.
The Grand Butler now double the size and triple the rage, let out a guttural snarl that shook the chandeliers.
His eyes glowed faint red. Not cool anime glow. Murder glow.
He charged.
No more claw swipes. This was a freight train of undead etiquette barreling toward me with a side of murder.
I rolled left, barely dodging the claws that ripped through a marble column like it was a paper towel roll.
"New plan: don't get hit."
He slammed the ground with both fists. The floor cracked. Dust exploded. I lost sight of him for a second and just long enough for him to grab me by the leg and thrown me into the nearest wall.
Ow.
HP: -270 Critical hit !
I groaned, half-buried in rubble.
"Okay. That hurt in places I didn't know I had."
[Combat Instinct] flared again. I twisted just in time to avoid another claw, barely scraping my shoulder instead of skewering my entire torso.
I raised my hand and fired a [Mana Arrow] straight at his face.
He barely flinched.
Rude.
So I cast Inferno Burst at his feet.
Boom.
He launched into the air like a zombie piñata, then slammed to the ground with a noise like a sofa full of bricks hitting concrete.
That's when I saw it, his core. Faint red glow under his ribs.
Bingo.
I sprinted forward. He rose to his knees, fast but not fast enough.
I slashed down with my saber.
CLANG.
He caught the blade with his claw.
"You... impolite… guest…"
"Yeah? Well, your biscuits sucked!"
I drove my axe into the glowing core, it hit but my axe stuck there. I pumped three [Fireballs] into the gap.
The explosion sent us both flying.
Smoke rose from my armor. He hit the floor with a final growl and collapsed burnt cravat and all into a heap of steaming zombie fluff.
[ Mini-Boss Defeated: Grand Butler – Lv 35 ]
Loot Acquired:
Silver Tray (Throwable – 10% chance to stun)
Moldering Tea Set (No, seriously, don't use this)
Butler's Key (Opens Ballroom)
D-rank Potions x5 ( 2 x HP , 1 x MP , 2 x SP )
Z Virus Vaccine x 3
Butler's Claws (Rare crafting material)
Ancient Coins, Cash, and Soul Shards
I wiped the blood from my chin and hauled myself up.
"One down," I muttered. "If the next one's the Zombie Sommelier, I swear I'm uninstalling this dungeon."
.....
The ballroom door creaked open with the kind of drama only haunted mansions and horror movies know how to pull off.
I stepped inside the next room—then stopped dead in my tracks.
Red velvet curtains.
Rows of ghostly, crumbling seats.
A grand piano glinting under a cracked chandelier like it was waiting for me to regret all my life choices.
And then came the music.
A violin sang out, slow, mournful, and absolutely cursed. It echoed off the walls, curling around my brain like a fog made of sorrow and bad omens.
That's when she appeared.
[Mini-Boss Detected: Undead Opera Hostess – Lv 36]
Status: Hauntingly melodic. Aggressively dramatic.
System Remark: "Caution: Her high notes can shatter more than glass."
She stood center stage, pale as moonlight, in a tattered ball gown that shimmered like it was woven from cobwebs and regret. Her violin hovered midair, playing itself.
She tilted her head, eyes glowing like candle flames.
"Shall I ... play… you a..... lullaby, trespasser?"
When she spoke, her voice rang out over the theater like someone had auto-tuned a banshee.
I took one step back. "Okay, so… not the Sommelier. But somehow worse."
System Warning: Auditory attacks detected. Equip sound protection if available.
"Now you tell me?!"
The Opera Hostess lifted her violin. The bow moved and agony bloomed behind my eyes.
Status Effect: Disoriented. -10% Accuracy. Mild HP Drain.
I gritted my teeth.
"Yep. Definitely worse."
The fight was on.
The moment she opened her mouth, the violin behind her screamed like a banshee with a grudge.
I didn't even get a chance to be cool about it.
I screamed. Loudly. Shrilly. The kind of scream that would get you mocked in action movies for the next decade.
[Status: Confused – Duration: 5 seconds]
[HP: -120]
My legs buckled. I hit one knee and clutched my head like I was trying to keep my brain from leaking out through my ears.
"Why didn't I bring earplugs?" I gasped. "Who brings earplugs to a zombie dungeon?!"
Up on the stage, the Opera Hostess hovered like a ghost with a flair for the dramatic. Her tattered gown rippled with invisible wind, her eyes locked on me with a soprano's smugness. Behind her, the violin moved on its own sawing away like it had unresolved trauma and a personal vendetta.
The notes weren't music. They were murder.
[Aria of Agony active – HP Drain: -1/sec]
[Confused – Duration: 5 seconds]
"Okay, new plan," I muttered, staggering behind a row of ruined seats. My ears were ringing. My vision blurred like someone had turned my HUD into a bad VHS tape.
I popped a potion. It helped, barely. [Combat Instinct] flared a half-second before another Sonic Wail hit. The seat beside me exploded into splinters. Pain lanced through my shoulder.
[HP: -40]
[Status: Right Arm Numb – Accuracy -50% (1 min)]
I gritted my teeth. Fine. This was no longer a fight, it was a concert from hell. But if she was playing the violin, that meant vibrations. Resonance. Weak points.
If I couldn't out-sing her, I'd outsmart her.
The violin shrieked again, like a murderous metronome and I barely rolled aside in time.
Thanks, [Combat Instinct]. MVP as always.
I kept my distance, spamming [Fireball], [Mana Arrow], and [Inferno Burst] like an overcaffeinated mage in a PvP arena. Seven seconds cooldown? Please. I made those seconds work overtime.
Her HP ticked down slowly.
Too slowly.
And mine? Mine was playing limbo with the floor.
I ducked behind a collapsed balcony and yanked open the Craft Menu, HUD flickering translucent over my vision. Handy, since I had to keep dodging death-symphony while trying to cobble together my first homemade item.
But of course, the system wanted a recipe.
No recipe? Then it was Test Crafting, which basically meant "good luck, idiot."
I muttered curses under my breath and started throwing things together in the interface. Zombie teeth, ash dust, broken teacup bits, I was MacGyvering on the fly.
Then came another violin screech.
The results of MacGyvering ?
I got hit directly.
[HP: -150]
I screamed. Again.
This one was less fear, more agony-and-regret flavored.
I collapsed for a second behind a stone pillar, gasping.
And then...ding.
[Skill Unlocked: Mental Fortitude ...Passive Lv 1]
Effect: Reduces mind-affecting damage. Enables focus under status effect.
System Remark: "Congratulations! Your brain grew calluses!"
I blinked.
"I… what?"
Then I grinned, panting. "You know what? I'll take it. My brain just tanked trauma into a skill. That's peak gamer evolution."
And now, I could think again, barely.
Confused and disoriented effect disappeard. My ears still rang, but the confusion effect didn't scramble me. I could see the rhythm. The cooldown. The pattern.
Now I had a shot.