Chapter 563: Backlash

What did it feel like to lose a piece of your own soul?

Surprisingly, despite everything Michael had faced since his awakening, he had never truly known that sensation.

Not until now—here, in the most unexpected place—did he experience it for the first time.

The examination’s protections extended only to the students themselves. Anything else, even their summons or contracted beasts, was left vulnerable.

And the students, too, were often dragged to the brink before the system pulled them out. Even Instant death wasn’t uncommon.

This was the supernatural world. Nothing was absolute. That was why the academy’s trials were held in the Land of Origin, a place where true death could be ignored.

Of course, for what candidates lost, the academy would

try

to compensate—if they passed. But anyone stepping into this path who still expected safety or fairness had only themselves to blame.

The supernatural world was, at its core, cold.

To contract an undead, a necromancer carved away a sliver of their own soul and merged it with the creature.

Because it was only a fragment, not a true loss, there were rarely lasting side effects.

In fact, there were benefits—since their souls overlapped, necromancers often grew stronger through their minions.

But it was this same bond that made losing one so dangerous. One would receive a backlash if it was to happen.

At best, it could weaken them for moments. At worst, it could cripple them entirely.

Much depended on the strength of the undead in question. The death of a frail servant barely caused a ripple. But the stronger the undead—the sharper the wound left behind. Losing too many, even weak ones, could grind a necromancer down piece by piece.

The connection between a necromancer and their undead worked much like a rope.

If the rope carried many light objects—in this case, weaker undead—the strain was minimal. They tugged faintly at the soul, but the pressure was negligible.

But heavier objects—stronger undead—were different. The more weight they bore, the more the rope strained, frayed, and dug into itself to hold. The soul was no different.

This was why necromancers were cautioned never to bind an undead two full ranks above their own level. Not only was such an opportunity rare to begin with, but even if it appeared, the risk was immense. The soul was the foundation of every supernatural being, and anything that endangered it was a danger to life itself.

Even someone like Michael, whose soul was abnormally strong, wouldn’t dare attempt to bind a Rank 4 undead at his current stage. The stronger the undead compared to its master, the weaker the bond—and the harsher the sting when forcing obedience through it.

The rope analogy applied perfectly: a rope carrying too much weight would either snap, or twist tighter, biting into itself in a desperate attempt to keep holding on. That was what happened to necromancers who overreached.

Some necromancers could only command a huge number of undead equal to their own rank. To bind something stronger, they often had to free up large portions of their contract space to bear the added burden. The reverse was also true—some deliberately sacrificed quantity, focusing instead on fewer but stronger undead.

This dynamic was also linked to the three broad archetypes of necromancers.

The Horde Type, the Commander Type, and the Specialist Type.

Commander Necromancers focused on a smaller group of high-tier undead, valuing the strength and potential of each individual. For them, quality always outweighed quantity. As they advanced in rank, their legions grew stronger in a strict cycle of controlled progression. This type was meticulous about the rank and race of their undead, rarely straying from carefully chosen standards.

Horde Necromancers, by contrast, relied on sheer numbers—overwhelming their enemies like a tidal wave of corpses. They crammed their contract slots full at the earliest opportunity, their strategy built on endless swarms rather than elite fighters. The quality of their undead improved naturally as they rose in rank, but their true strength always lay in numbers.

Finally, there were the Specialist Necromancers. These were focused not on rank or numbers, but on types. They chose particular categories of undead—beasts, assassins, mages, or others—and refined their mastery around those alone.

In a sense, they could be seen as a looser variation of the Commander Type, but their requirements were far less rigid, allowing greater flexibility in how they developed their legions.

Contract slots weren’t a measure of how many undead one

wanted

to control, but rather the capacity of their soul—the upper limit of weight it could bear by contracting undead in the same rank and below. Even a Rank 2 necromancer with 200 contract slots couldn’t hope to manage 200 Rank 3 undead.

Only someone like Michael, thanks to his unique talent that allowed him to grow stronger as his undead evolved, could bend these rules. For him, the growth of his legion only reinforced the rope, rather than fraying it.

Though the world resembled a game to Awakeners, it was only in appearance—it was not truly a game. Game logic could not be applied to real life.

In games, contract slots could ignore the level of the undead.

Reality was far less forgiving.

The backlash Michael received came like a hammer behind the eyes—a sharp, splitting headache that made the world sway. His body trembled, his breath turning shallow. Before he could recover, the second blow struck. Another undead had fallen.

The second backlash slammed into him, doubling the dizziness until dark spots danced at the edge of his vision.

Though it had never happened to him before, Michael understood instinctively. Two of his undead had died.

In a daze, he turned his focus to his panel. His contract slots had dropped by two.. Fortunately, it wasn’t permanent. The void in his soul would heal with time.

Of course, given the right condition, it was possible for the lost to be permanent.

If the backlash had been stronger, he could have lost those slots forever.

...

A/N: Family came to visit, so unfortunately the mass release will have to be pushed back a little. I’m sorry about the delay, everyone.

On the brighter side—Lucky’s image from the artist arrived today, and let’s just say she made a beautiful mistake, haha. I’ll paste a screenshot of the sketch she sent over. Thankfully, she’s already agreed to remake it.

Also, progress on the webtoon-style Chapter is going well, so that should be ready soon!