Becoming an adventurer by copying monster abilities

"Cough...cough cough!"

Deep within the sewers, in a dark network of pipes abandoned for who knows how many years.

A violent, weak cough came from the shadows.

Along with the coughing, the air was filled with the stench of decaying sludge and years of sewage that was inherent in the sewers.

It added an extremely strong sense of bloodshed and death.

A man wearing a tattered black robe leaned slumped against the cold stone wall.

Around his body lay the corpses of more than a dozen giant rats.

The deaths of these giant rats were bizarre; they had no wounds on their bodies.

Each giant rat's body was as shriveled as parchment tightly wrapped around its bones.

Having lost all their moisture, they became stiff, dried-out corpses.

The man coughed violently again, which could be seen through his tattered black robe.

On his withered chest was a horrific wound, deep enough to expose bone, that almost completely pierced his heart.

Despite the trembling and heaving of his chest, no normal blood flowed from the edges of the wound.

Amidst the churning, decaying flesh and blood, faint, extremely bright and pure, even somewhat sacred, pale light continuously emanated.

In the darkness, it was like a maggot clinging to a bone, spreading and wriggling at the wound.

This faint light was constantly eroding his life force, preventing any healing effects from potions or spells.

The man in the black robe smashed the empty bottle of high-grade healing potion in his hand to the ground.

He slowly raised his head, and in his deep-set eye sockets, two eerie green flames of his soul flickered wildly.

His eyes were filled with a chilling resentment and weakness.

"Damn it!"

The man's voice was like sandpaper rubbing against cardboard, hoarse and with a harsh noise.

It was so close.

His masterpiece was just a hair's breadth away from being published.

Take advantage of the chaos caused by the goblins' attack on those villages to set up the altars in the seven best locations.

That was a necromancy conversion array that he had improved over countless days and nights.

The blood sacrifices that occur repeatedly through village massacres, whether it is the blood shed by foolish humans or the corpses of slain monsters.

Their remaining flesh and blood, and the extreme fear that erupted before their death, can all be transformed into the purest negative energy, continuously amplifying the effects of these altars.

A cataclysmic disaster is just a few days away from taking shape!

"It's all that damn lunatic's fault!"

The "madman" the man in the black robe was referring to was, of course, the one who had left that horrific wound on his chest and driven him into this desperate situation.

He really didn't expect his luck to be so bad.

They happened to run into one of those annoying guys known as the "Sleepbringers".

The "Sleepwalker," also known as the "Ferryman of the End," is a faithful follower of the teachings of the god of death, Cranvo.

He harbors absolute hostility toward all undead creatures and all those who attempt to deceive death.

Without a doubt, he was a necromancer who dedicated himself to studying corpses and manipulating souls.

They are the very enemies that these believers must eliminate as soon as possible.

Once the enemy tracked down their trail, a desperate, all-out battle erupted in the wilderness, leaving no room for compromise.

Although the opponent wasn't particularly strong, their abilities were extremely effective against the undead, especially their weapon that could connect to divine power, making it quite difficult for him to kill them.

The penetrating wound on his chest, deeply eroded by the power of death, would not heal for a while.

That was the heavy price he paid to win this devastating victory.

In retaliation, he also cut off the hand that held the sword and placed it in two different altars along with the corpse, using it as excellent sustenance for the altars.

Unfortunately, due to his serious injuries, his altar was discovered before it was fully completed.

They had only managed to create a few ghouls, and even just one demon, when the scum of the Church of Dawn destroyed them.

Not only did the plan fail and a large amount of spellcasting materials be lost, but they also almost lost their lives.

There were still many spies outside the city searching for his whereabouts, so he could only drag his wounded body and hide in the filthy sewers like a stray dog.

While the man in the black robe was pondering how to escape this damned place and find a cure,

The black altar he set up at the corner of the pipeline served as a warning.

Something has come in.

After a while, he saw a huge blue rat dragging its wounded body slowly crawling in.

His extensive knowledge and insights, along with his perception of magical particles, allowed him to quickly analyze the other party's identity.

A ratman? No, he's a druid.

In the past, he, who always enjoyed studying strange and unusual things, would definitely have chosen to capture this rat-man and dissect and study it thoroughly.

But now, even though the rat is badly injured, the vitality it exudes is exactly what the man craves.

The ratman sensed something was wrong when he approached the pipe and saw the numerous desiccated giant rat corpses along the way.

No wonder the giant rats from before were so resistant to this place.

It seems that all of their companions who had rushed in have died here.

The mummified corpses stared intently into the passageway with their empty eye sockets, as if they had witnessed some indescribable horror before their deaths.

The ratman gritted his teeth and continued deeper into the area until he could see it not far away.

The black-robed figure, bearing severe wounds and seemingly dead, was still slightly heaving in and out of chest.

His animalistic instincts began to frantically send out deafening alarms.

Before he could make a move, the gaunt, emaciated man suddenly turned his head, his black robe fluttering without wind.

A deep green light fell directly on the ratman before he could react.

First-circle spell: Causes fear.

Creatures that are hit by a spell and fail a resistance test will enter a state of fear.

The rat-men, already terrified, naturally couldn't withstand the spell's judgment.

His most terrifying image immediately flashed into his mind.

The image in question was that of the black-haired adventurer wielding a fine steel longsword who had nearly killed him.

The man in black robes looked at the rat-man who was frozen in fear, then slowly stood up and staggered toward him.

Black light swirled in his hands as he immediately activated the necromancy spell "Vampire's Touch," which had been reaping the lives of countless giant rats in recent days.

Although this life-absorbing spell couldn't effectively heal his injuries, it was better than nothing.

Just as he was about to drain the rat-man of his life force.

Two hurried footsteps could be heard again in the usually silent sewers.

Not far away, two figures, a man and a woman, appeared.

It was Luke and Veronica who had caught up.

The black-robed man's already weak face turned even paler.

He sensed the aura he hated and feared most from that male adventurer!