Limitless The Strongest Revenant

Any endeavor was called a job if it provided compensation and had a task to be performed. Most took jobs either for wages or to learn a specific skill or trade. There is a very small group who were able to do their jobs for their dreams or purpose in life.

I had never been part of such a group, but when I heard what the mercenaries were supposed to do, my blood began to boil. If I had no dreams or aspirations as a human, it was strange that I found them after being beaten to death.

"Phillip, can you tell me more about the mercenaries?" I asked with a smile.

The butler took off his monocle and gently wiped it with his handkerchief. His face was so expressionless that it seemed robotic. Then he gave a crooked smile as he replied.

"Before I do, Mr. Smith, would you mind telling me why you bothered to ask about the other professions?"

Huh? Wasn't it normal to want to know about your options before making a decision? I wondered why the man in front of me even took the time to understand my actions. Was he somehow pissed off that I was wasting his time or something? After I told him the reason, he grinned even wider as he let out a chilling laugh.

"Haha. Indeed, a tiger cannot change its stripes. I apologize if my question seemed petty. I was merely fascinated by the Nightmare's foresight. You behaved exactly as he expected."

Confused by his statement, I asked in annoyance. "What are you talking about? How did he predict my behavior?"

Seeing my scowl, the butler coughed and returned to his professional smile. He then placed his palm over his heart as he made a small bow.

"I meant no offense, Mr. Smith. Please allow me to explain as an apology. In Hellsgate, every reaper is responsible for his own life. This is our ultimate rule and one upon which our entire society is built. Every rule is nothing more than a guideline.

"We forbid murder because it is inefficient, but if a reaper kills another, it is not his fault. However, all the consequences of his actions are his to bear. In short, our society is built on the rules of "fuck with whoever you can take on."

When I heard all this, I understood it, but I could not find any connection to my current question. How was this helpful in my current predicament? Phillip pulled a metal book from his desk and continued. He probably did this after noticing my impatience.

"The same principle applies to the professions of a Wraith. You are not obligated to sign up for one as long as you have the means to pay the tribute at the end of the month. By the same token, Revenants cannot force anyone to choose a particular profession."

"Phillip, I am getting tired of your tangents, get to the point," I urged.

"Yes, the mercenaries are known by another name, they are better known as Death Seekers."

"Death Seekers?"

"Indeed. As I mentioned, mercenaries are primarily tasked with combat support and zone reclamation. That means they are the ones sent to reinforce an overrun zone.

"Combat support involves being the first responders to any incident where the undead rampage. Such incidents ensure that the mercenaries are always outnumbered, underequipped, and surrounded. This gives them a death rate of over 75%. The highest of any profession."

75%? That meant that only one in four mercenaries lived to see the next day. This made sense from what I had learned about the Reaper ranks. If the Phantoms were concerned with defense, they would normally have people assigned to defense. Mercenaries would be the ones called in when everyone else was either dead or out of commission.

If a zone falls and becomes a beachhead for undead attacks, it would essentially become an enemy stronghold. And as the ones responsible for reclaiming these abandoned zones, the mercenaries would always be in the most dangerous areas.

'Death Seeker. One who sought death. How fitting.'

As if to give me time to digest his words, Phillip paused for a few seconds before continuing.

"The reason I said Nightmare predicted your actions, Mr. Smith, was because of the savage grin you have on your face. Due to the nature of mercenaries, hardly anyone applies for the Death Seekers.

However, over the years we have been able to predict who would find their wings under this group. They would be the mad, the blood drunk, and those who yearn for battle. Which of the three are you, Mr. Smith?"

I moved my hands to check my cheeks and found myself smiling very broadly. When did I start grinning? Honestly, compared to the Death Seekers, all other professions seem pretty boring.

'Building walls? Yeah, no thanks. Making potions or armor? Why would I want to? I can pull them out of my ass. Study undead?

I already know all about them. Putting lead in their brains kills them. Adventurers might be an alternative but come on! Corpse recovery? Cartography? Hunting is all about tracking and waiting.

That is definitely boring as fuck.'

Mercenaries, on the other hand, was as simple as it got. It could even be summed up in one sentence.

"Fuck up everything that moves," I whispered in a low voice.

Hearing my quiet statement, Phillip clapped his hands in glee as he nodded in agreement.

"Indeed, that is one way to interpret the motto of the Death Seekers. As commander of the North American mercenaries, Nightmare knew that you would undoubtedly choose his group in spite of everything you heard."

I resented being read like a book. Phillip was right. Zach had no idea what I would choose, he did know I would ask and told me to just apply directly to the mercenaries from what he thought.

Was I that obvious? I earned souls by killing undead. For someone with over 26,000 souls in debt, how the hell was I supposed to pay off that amount, besides killing every zombie I could find?

And if I wanted to become a Revenant, the first thing I needed to do was to develop {Rewind} as quickly as possible. Even my safety on Earth depended on it. Currently, I even had assassins from three different continents hunting for me.

"Right. There was no other option for myself," I said with a sigh.

"Yes, you are right. Circumstances are to blame, you are not joining the mercenaries because you want to," Phillip monologued smugly like a con man.

"Yeah, yeah, shut up Alfred. Just sign me up already."

Phillip opened the metallic book he had pulled out earlier and flipped through the plate-like pages. He stopped on a certain page and turned the book over to me. I saw a symbol that looked like the top half of a skull pierced by a sword. The symbol was etched into the metal page with sanguine ink. It made the thing look like it was drawn in blood that was drying up.

"Please use the GRI-392 and scan this symbol like a QR code."

"This thing is a qr code?" I couldn't help but ask.

"Mr. Smith, you are in hell fighting the undead and what you cannot believe is a qr code?" Phillip asked incredulously.

He... had a point. Not wanting to be called stupid, I took out the GRI disguised as my old crappy phone. I sent souls into my eyes and saw the screen change from a human phone to the Reaper's. I scanned the symbol and heard a robot voice resonate with my soul.

{Do you desire to join the mercenaries?}

The question was asked with souls! How should I answer? Souls were what separated reaper matters from human ones. I then tried to send souls to my lips as I spoke.

{Yes.}

{Confirmed. Reaper NA20230799-FRM has joined the mercenaries. Welcome to the Death Seekers!}

At that moment, I felt my soulgem become hot. The heat was searing, as if someone had placed a hot coal on my neck. Due to my increased pain tolerance from all the shit I had done, it hurt, but I barely blinked.

After a few seconds, the burning sensation dissipated and the GRI suddenly started beeping like crazy. I looked at it and saw dozens of alerts, just like a regular smartphone.

[Alert Priority 4: Zone 1207-6 has issued a dirge warning, all available mercenaries please respond].

[Alert Priority 2: Zone 1335-2 has issued a dirge warning, all available mercenaries please respond].

[Alert: Reclamation of lost zone 1226-4 has been approved. Party: 20 Phantoms, CMS and above get 40% more loot!]

[Alert Priority 1: Zone 1491-1 has fallen; all assault teams please evacuate floor 49 immediately!]

[Alert Priority....]

It was like losing Internet access on the subway. When you reconnected to a Wi-Fi network, you were bombarded with everything your phone was unable to receive for the time you missed. This was all well and good, but most of the notifications I received represented a failed defense. Each message told the story of reapers who would not be able to see the sun rise tomorrow.

Even after two minutes, the messages didn't stop. How many reapers died every day? Do we even have enough to make it through the next night? As I became increasingly overwhelmed by the gravity of the situation, Phillip tapped me on the shoulder to get my attention.

"Mr. Smith, please do not let the news sway you. I can assure you that Hellsgate has been in worse situations, and today is not one of them. Do you need an explanation of the alert priority system?"

I shook my head at Phillip's words. Similar to the downloads initiated by {Fates}, the heat from earlier had downloaded everything I needed to do my job as a mercenary, so I already understood them perfectly.

"I guess the mercenaries have no time for holding hands, its not just sink or swim. It's fight or die," I chuckled.

I scrolled to the very first priority 5 alert I found and opened it.

{Reaper NA20230799-FRM, John Smith reporting for combat.}

The moment I said those words with soul, a bright light enveloped my feet. Phillip, who recognized the light, shook his head with a wry smile and bowed slightly.

"Please at least wait until the introduction is over next time, Mr. Smith. Find me when you return. Good hunting. May your fate end the darkness."

{Welcome John Smith, initiating summoning. Entering zone 1063-2 in 3...2...1...}

After hearing the robotic, soul-enshrouded voice, I felt my body being whisked away as I headed into my first battle.