My Harem of Dangerous and Crazy Women as a Reincarnated Necromancer

The entrance to the Pit of the Forgotten was exactly as ominous as its name suggested.

It was an enormous hole torn open in the earth, surrounded by black stones covered in runes that glowed with a sickly light, as if the magic itself were diseased.

The air rising from the depths was cold and damp, thick with a stench of death so intense that even Mark, inhabiting the body of a necromancer supposedly accustomed to such things, found it deeply unpleasant.

Around the entrance, the bones of previous adventurers formed a kind of macabre decoration.

’Home sweet home,’ Mark thought, with a sarcasm that barely concealed his nerves. ’Nothing says welcome like a welcome mat made of corpses.’

”Master,” Ely said in an unusually grave tone, ”I can sense multiple presences inside.”

”Are they stronger than you?”

”Not individually... but there are many of them.”

”Then you’ll have to be careful.”

”I always am, Master. You know your safety is my absolute priority.” Ely paused briefly. ”I would die... well, I would die again before I let anything happen to you.”

Mark almost smiled at that.

He had never imagined anyone would say something like that about him.

”Let’s go. The sooner we go in, the sooner we can get out of this place.”

Both of them descended a stone staircase that seemed to go on forever, each step more worn than the last, as if hundreds of feet had passed over them across the years.

After the first few meters, the darkness became absolute. So dense it seemed to have weight.

Even so, Mark’s eyes — adapted to the gloom by his class — could still make out shapes in the shadows.

And there were many shapes.

Too many.

Skeletons lined the walls like soldiers in formation, their empty sockets tracking his progress with an attentiveness that shouldn’t have been possible for lifeless bones.

Ghosts drifted in the corners, whispering words in languages Mark didn’t recognize and yet somehow understood: warnings, curses, pleas.

Nameless creatures — with no name in any human tongue — crawled along the floor, amalgamations of bone and rotting flesh that left trails of something he preferred not to identify.

And yet... none of them attacked.

”Why aren’t they attacking me? They should be trying to tear me apart right now.”

”They can sense it, Master. Your aura. To them, you are... a lord of the undead.”

”That’s... incredibly useful, I suppose.”

They continued descending. With each level, the air grew colder, heavier, as if they were sinking into an ocean of darkness.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they reached a chamber.

It was enormous.

Columns made of bones held up the structure, each one formed from thousands of fused skeletons. And in the center, atop a black stone altar that seemed to absorb the light itself, lay a body.

No... not just any body.

A woman.

Mark approached slowly, his heart hammering against his ribs.

She wore tight black-and-red clothing of the kind a professional assassin would use: practical, silent, designed for movement and stealth.

Her reddish hair, slightly long, spread around her head, and her face...

’She’s beautiful,’ Mark thought, and immediately felt guilty about thinking that about a corpse again.

’What the hell is wrong with me? Why do I keep finding dead women attractive?’

Her features were delicate, her figure slender. Her eyes remained closed beneath long lashes. Her lips, pale but perfectly defined, were slightly parted.

High cheekbones gave her an aristocratic air. And at her neck, barely visible beneath the collar of her outfit, was a mark Mark recognized instantly: the symbol of a kunai.

”Master,” Ely said — and this time her voice was unmistakably jealous — ”what exactly are you staring at so intently?”

”Her. Who is she? What is an assassin doing in a place like this?”

”I don’t know. But I can sense that she died recently. Less than a day ago. Her life energy has barely dissipated.”

Mark examined the body more carefully, looking for the cause of death.

No visible wounds. No blood. No signs of violence.

It was as if she had simply... stopped.

As if someone had flipped a switch.

Mark checked her hands, her pockets, the folds of her clothing.

Nothing.

Then he saw it.

A tiny mark on her neck, almost imperceptible in the dim light.

A minuscule puncture, no bigger than the head of a pin.

”A trap? ...No. Probably an insect bite.”

The irony was almost poetic.

So perfect it hurt.

An assassin, probably trained from childhood to detect and avoid traps, brought down by a simple insect.

Maybe she was distracted.

Maybe she was tired.

Or maybe she just had bad luck.

The universe had a very twisted sense of humor.

Mark looked at the body.

Then at Ely’s shadow, where she waited with barely contained impatience.

Then back at the body.

’I could revive her,’ Mark thought. ’The same way I did with Ely... and I’d have another powerful warrior under my control.’

The idea was tempting.

Very tempting.

An elite assassin, completely loyal, capable of eliminating threats before they even knew they existed.

But it was also risky.

Hiding Ely was already hard enough.

Two would double the problems... and the odds of being discovered.

”Master,” Ely said, cutting into his thoughts, ”are you considering what I think you’re considering?”

”Maybe... do you have any objections?”

”I don’t object. If you believe it’s necessary, I trust your judgment. But...”

”But?”

”Nothing. Just... nothing. Do whatever you think is best, Master.”

Mark frowned.

There was something in Ely’s tone he couldn’t quite identify.

Jealousy?

Worry?

Fear of being replaced?

Or maybe a mix of all three?

”Ely, are you alright?”

”I’m perfectly fine, Master. I’m always perfectly fine when I’m by your side. So please, do whatever you think is best.”

She didn’t sound fine at all.

But Mark decided to let it go for now.

Mark focused on the woman’s body and activated Wake Up.

The energy flowed from his hand like ice water, sinking into the corpse with a gentleness that surprised him.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then the woman’s eyes opened.

They were black.

Completely black.

No iris. No pupil.

And they were fixed directly on him with an intensity that made him hold his breath.

[Summon Successful]

Name: ???

Status: Undead (Partial)

Loyalty: Absolute

Class: Assassin

Stats: [VIEW DETAILS]

Mark opened the details with a thought.

And what he saw left him speechless.

Agility: 9,999

Endurance: 5,000

Stealth: 9,999

High-level statistics.

Specialized in agility and stealth.

[Congratulations! You have reached Level 18]

[New Skill Unlocked: Mind Link (Lv. 1)]

The woman sat up in one fluid motion, so silent Mark barely heard it.

Her black eyes studied him without expression.

Assessing.

Analyzing.

As if deciding whether he was worth her attention.

”Master,” she said at last.

Her voice was soft, barely a whisper that seemed to blend into the shadows.

”I am at your service.”

Mark swallowed and activated Consciousness Modification, focusing on the changes he wanted to make.

Memories: She knows me. She has always known me. I am her master — the man who saved her from death. The only one who matters in her existence.

Personality: Silent. Loyal. Obedient. And...

Mark hesitated.

With Ely he had gone too far.

He had made her obsessively in love with him.

And now he was dealing with the consequences of that impulsive decision.

’This time I’ll be more subtle...’

The energy flowed and the changes were carved into what remained of the woman’s mind.

When it was done, she blinked.

And for the first time her expression changed.

Not a smile.

Not a declaration of love.

Something more subtle.

A slight softening of her features.

A faint warmth in her black eyes that had been completely empty before.

”Master,” she repeated.

And this time the word sounded different.

More intimate.

”What’s your name?” Mark asked, his voice rougher than he intended.

She tilted her head, considering the question with an almost misplaced seriousness.

”My previous name... no longer matters. It belonged to someone who died. But if my Master wishes to give me a new one...”

Mark thought for a moment — he needed something that fit her.

”Yuki,” Mark said at last. ”Your name is Yuki.”

”Yuki,” she repeated, savoring the name as if it were something precious. ”I like it... thank you, Master.”

”Master,” Ely’s voice resonated in his mind.

And this time there was no doubt.

She was jealous.

Deeply jealous.

”Can we leave now? This place makes me feel... uncomfortable.”

”Yes,” Mark answered. ”We should go. We can come back later to finish exploring the dungeon.”