"Please choose your initial faction!"

Option 1: Humans (Receive 10 Tier 1 Infantry) 

Option 2: Elves (Receive 5 Tier 1 Archers) 

Option 3: Orcs (Receive 5 Tier 1 Warriors) 

Option 4: Demons (Receive 1 Tier 1 Horned Demon) 

Option 5: Undead (Receive 100 Tier 1 Skeletons)

Grim frowned, feeling thoroughly conflicted. The sudden array of choices had his decision paralysis kicking in hard. A day ago, the world he knew had been turned upside down as everyone was whisked away in a blinding white light. When they awoke, they had all transformed into what the system referred to as "Lords."

Naturally, being a Lord meant commanding an army, and these five faction options were his first recruitment choices. Judging by the quantity of initial units, it was clear the combat power of these armies was nowhere near equal. 

The Undead was definitely at the bottom but had numbers on its side. Humans were next, though their initial unit quality was clearly inferior to the Orcs and Elves. Orcs and Elves were evenly matched in strength, with one being melee and the other ranged. And then...there was the Demon faction. 

Grim's eyes widened at the sight of the Demon faction only offering one recruit. "What is this? Just one unit? Does that mean this single Horned Demon is as strong as a hundred skeletons?"

He'd thought the Orcs and Elves were strong, each able to take on two human infantry, or a whole score of skeletons! Was this one Demon lieutenant somehow on another level entirely?

Grim's eyes darted between the options, twitching with indecision, before ultimately discarding the Demon faction. Why? Simple—if he summoned this elite Demon and couldn't keep it under control, he'd be toast! A scrawny Lord with just one overly powerful underling...not a smart setup if that underling decided to turn against him.

Infantry felt too ordinary, Orcs were way too savage, and Elves...well, at least they were easy on the eyes…ahem!

"I choose the Undead!"

After his endless deliberation, Grim finally settled on his decision. Despite his desire to summon five elven beauties to…discuss life and dreams with, reality was relentless. Grim had to admit that, in this situation, there was strength in numbers. 

So what if skeletons were weak? A hundred was still a hundred! Even a hundred pigs, or chickens, would take anyone quite a while to kill. Power wasn't the point—they could at least cover his retreat! And if it came to running from a predator, it's not the fastest that survives, just the one that can outrun the others.

And these hundred skeletons? They'd be his horde of backup, the perfect escape enablers!

Once Grim confirmed his choice, the white light that enveloped him began to spin violently. When his vision finally cleared, he found himself surrounded by…wait, a graveyard?

Yes, an actual graveyard, complete with tilting tombstones as far as the eye could see. And as Grim was still taking in the scene, skeletal hands began pushing up from the ground, breaking through the earth around the gravestones. 

The sight jolted him to his senses in terror, but soon enough he realized these must be his new subordinates, and he managed to let out a shaky breath of relief.

Then…

"Huh?"

He patted his chest to calm himself, only to find something felt…off. His eyes lowered, and he was greeted by a horrific sight: his once reasonably healthy, if not exactly buff, body had vanished. In its place were gleaming, bone-white ribs and a full skeleton frame!

As he looked further down, he saw the equally white pelvis and, beneath that, legs that could put any runway model to shame with their elegantly bony curves…

"My—my body's gone!!!"

Seeing his bony pelvis at last snapped Grim out of his stupor. Grabbing his own skull in shock, he let out a shriek. He reached up and tentatively touched it, realizing this was no illusion. He had genuinely become a skeleton—a skeleton soldier with a dented helmet on its head. 

He looked up in disbelief at his new minions, dense clusters of other skeletons, and at last it dawned on him why the initial Undead army was so vast: it had come at the cost of his flesh-and-blood body! His entire remaining lifespan had been traded for a few hundred pounds of bones!

They hadn't even warned him! No one told him that his choice of faction would also change his own form. If he'd known, he would've picked the Elves! At the very least, even the Orcs would've been better than this. Who in their right mind would choose to become a sack of bones?

Realizing he had been thoroughly duped, Grim—the entire skeleton that he now was—almost fell apart. And when he glanced at his stats, his breakdown only got worse.

---

**[Name: Grim]** 

**[Race: Undead]** 

**[Lord's Talent: The Harbinger of Death]** 

**[Rank: Tier 1]** 

**[Attack: Minimal]** 

**[Defense: Minimal]** 

**[Speed: Minimal]** 

**[Equipment: None]** 

**[Description: Welcome to the Skeleton Family! Remember Rule #1: Avoid dogs at all costs!]**

---

Every attribute was as low as possible, and there wasn't a scrap of flesh on him. He was a textbook example of what it meant to be utterly useless. And not only were his stats abysmal, but so were those of the hundred skeleton warriors around him—they all had the same miserable attributes. It seemed minimal stats were standard for skeleton soldiers.

Grim found a rock and sank onto it in despair. After reviewing his stats, he realized his earlier assumptions were completely off the mark. That initial Horned Demon might not have been as powerful as he imagined, but it was almost certain that a hundred skeleton soldiers couldn't take it down alone.

The reason they'd only given one recruit to Demon Lords was because, in choosing that faction, they themselves would become demons! They'd gain the equivalent power of a Horned Demon themselves, giving them two powerful units from the start. 

For the Undead Lords, it was the opposite: they gave up their own power in exchange for a horde of minions. Choosing the Demon faction, however, sacrificed early followers in favor of personal strength. 

Grim wasn't sure which opening was stronger, but one thing was certain: as a man, he had made a costly mistake. Now that he was a skeleton, he had…nothing down there.