No! I don't want to be a Super Necromancer!

The lunch table was heavy with food.

More specifically, it was heavy with pork buns.

Steam rose from the bamboo baskets in neat little columns, filling the air with the mouthwatering scent of perfectly seasoned pork, soft bao dough, and just a hint of fear.

Damien sat in the middle.

Eating.

In peace.

Or rather, trying to.

Because standing around the table, encircling him like nervous guards at a dragon's tea party, were the old generals.

General Hong Fei leaned forward, squinting. "He chews like a normal person."

"His jaw alignment is very human," General Maru agreed, nodding solemnly.

General Riki, who had his arms crossed and a mana sensor aimed directly at Damien's forehead, whispered, "No spikes in holy energy. No light flares. His aura is stable. This might actually be real."

Damien took another bite, slowly. Chewed. Swallowed. Reached for the next bao.

And they all leaned closer.

"Look at that."

"He even uses both hands. Just like a well-trained boy."

"I told you he was human."

"But are we sure?" General Maru muttered. "I mean, any angel, or high ranked demon for that matter, can look human."

"Okay, hear me out," General Hong Fei said in a low voice. "We wait until he goes to the bathroom. Then we check."

General Riki blinked. "Check what?"

"The smell."

"What smell?"

"The smell of his poop," General Hong Fei whispered. "If it smells like shit, he's human."

Damien stopped mid-bite.

He slowly looked up.

His expression was unreadable. His chewing, deliberate. His patience, visibly dying.

"I am not…" Damien said slowly, "...doing a poop test to check for my humanity."

"Just a little sniff," General Maru said. "Real quick. I'm willing to do it myself, for the nation."

"No," Damien said. Flat. Final.

"But if it doesn't smell—"

"I said no."

"I'm just saying if it smells like jasmine—"

Damien stood up.

"I'm going home to get some sleep." He said and quickly walked away.

"Wait!" General Hong Fei called. "At least let us see if you bleed red!"

"Maybe if we let him sleep, he'll look more mortal tomorrow." General Maru offered.

"We'll come and wake you up in the morning!" General Riki shouted after him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Damien rubbed his temples as he stepped out from the main arena compound, the midday sun barely warming the top of his mech-swept hair. He'd survived waves of simulated awakened beasts, burned through his mental focus, and crushed an entire stadium's worth of expectations… only to spend lunch being stared at like an exhibit in a magical zoo by three dangerously curious, ancient war freaks who were trying to sniff his poop for scientific verification.

"I need new adults in my life," he muttered.

"Boss!" a loud voice called out.

He turned just in time to see Fatty barreling toward him with arms wide and an expression that screamed equal parts joy and deep concern.

"There you are!" Fatty panted, pulling up beside him. "Two days, man. Two whole days! I thought you died or ascended or got adopted by a phoenix clan or something. Jiang Xiao Yu even went home after waiting for you all morning."

Damien sighed. Deeply. The kind of sigh that carried two lifetimes of fatigue, social trauma, and soul-level confusion. "I've had… a week."

Fatty, unfazed, grinned and clapped him on the back. "Well guess what. I know exactly how to cheer you up."

Damien turned to him, one eyebrow rising.

Fatty leaned in with a dramatic whisper. "Guess who I met this morning?"

Damien gave him a flat look.

"Sheila Shadowbane!" Fatty beamed. "And she actually asked about you!"

Damien blinked once. "Sheila… as in the dagger-crazy, death-staring, supermodel assassin prodigy from the southern barracks?"

"That's the one!" Fatty nodded furiously. "Boss, I think we have another candidate for your eventual harem—uh, I mean destined partner!"

Damien smacked him.

"Ow! Stop hitting me when I'm right!" Fatty rubbed his head, but didn't stop smiling. "Besides, I've got more good news. She says she has a set of daggers for sale. Like really rare ones."

"Daggers?" Damien tilted his head.

"She's at the Auction House," Fatty said. "I saw her there, trying to offload some gear. Thought it might interest you."

Damien paused. The Auction House. That… actually sounded interesting.

"Let's go," he said.

Fatty practically skipped.

The Auction House towered above the commercial district like a palace built by ancient dragons. Its main gates were framed by archways of shifting crystal, and carved above the doors was a swirling symbol resembling an ouroboros devouring a mountain. Mana pulsed faintly in the stone beneath their feet as they passed through the entrance—half ward, half detection spell.

"This place looks expensive," Damien muttered.

"It is," Fatty replied cheerfully. "Which is why we're not buying anything."

The first floor was already packed. Rows of glass display cases held magical items, weapons, scrolls, and relics ranging from common battlefield gear to glowing trinkets that buzzed with quiet danger.

At every turn, auctioneers barked out appraisals while sharp-eyed buyers in military robes, academy uniforms, or merchant silks examined goods with appraisal crystals.

"Everything here is ranked by the Drakonia System," Fatty whispered. "You know about that, right?"

Damien nodded faintly. The system used throughout the world to classify magical items by power and rarity.

Just ahead, a sign listed the tiers:

F-Rank (Common) – Basic mana-infused equipment. Training gear. Bulk-manufactured potions. Cheap, functional, and easily broken.

E-Rank (Standard) – Better balance, moderate durability, minor enchantments. Good for soldier-level combatants.

D-Rank (Enhanced) – Begins to carry unique attributes. Items that bond lightly to the user. Often created by skilled crafters.

C-Rank (Rare) – Personalized enchantments. High mana conductivity. Often used by junior officers and rising adventurers.

B-Rank (Elite) – Forged by master smiths or rare-class artificers. Carries limited intelligence or reactive enchantments. Reserved for squad leaders and aces.

A-Rank (Legendary) – One-of-a-kind pieces. Strong elemental affinity. May contain spirits or be forged from mythic beasts.

S-Rank (Mythic) – Weapons of destiny. Often alive. Usually tracked by national governments and locked in vaults.

SS-Rank and above (Forbidden) – Only theoretical. Artifacts with world-altering power. Most are sealed. Some are cursed. All are dangerous.

"This whole first floor is up to C-Rank," Fatty said. "General-purpose stuff. Let's head upstairs."