In the grand Tower of Greatness, where legendary heroes rise and mighty beasts fall, I… was neither. I was just another mindless zombie, shuffling aimlessly, groaning, and occasionally snapping my jaws at anything that moved.
Nothing special. Nothing powerful. Just one of the weakest monsters in the tower, barely ranking above slimes and goblins.
Then came the so-called heroes.
A group of noob adventurers—fresh-faced, nervous, and barely holding their weapons right—descended upon me. I wasn't even trying to fight them, but that didn't stop them from treating me like their grand moment of glory.
"It's a zombie! We can take this one!"
"Just stick to the plan! Surround it!"
"Wait, who has the healing potion? I think I cut myself on my own sword—"
I groaned, stretching out my arms. Fresh meat. My instincts screamed at me to attack, to bite, to feast.
So, I lunged… or at least, I tried.
My stiff, decayed legs refused to cooperate. Instead of a terrifying attack, I stumbled forward at the speed of a lazy snail, arms outstretched, mouth open.
The adventurers blinked at me.
"Uh… is it… broken?"
"Maybe it's a tutorial monster?"
Then, before I could even get within biting distance, cold steel sliced through my rotting flesh. A sword to the chest, a clumsy fireball to the face, and a spear that completely missed me but still managed to trip me…
Just like that, I was dead. Again.
Darkness swallowed me whole.
And then… light.
I gasped—a real, actual breath. My body felt different. Softer. Warmer. Alive. No more rotting flesh, no more mindless hunger. Instead, I was wrapped in silk sheets, lying in a grand, gold-trimmed bed in a room that screamed luxury.
The reflection in the polished mirror across the room showed someone entirely new. A noble.
I had no idea how or why, but one thing was clear: I was no longer a weak, brain-dead zombie.
I was someone important.
And I had a second chance at life.