Reincarnated With The Degenerate System

I leaned my spear on my shoulder and walked closer, boots crunching softly through the mess like I was strolling through fallen leaves instead of corpses.

Every time my foot came down on a skull, I pressed harder than necessary, just to hear the crack—the ugly little reminder of how stupid they had to be to get on my bad side.

Yeah, it was petty.

I didn't care.

If they were dumb enough to push me this far, they could at least give me the courtesy of breaking properly.

The guy scrambled backward until his spine hit broken stone. His eyes flicked from body to body, then back to me, finally understanding what kind of person he was dealing with.

"I'm not with them! I swear!"

"Oh?" I gave him a friendly smile. "Then who are you with?"

He swallowed. Hard. "I—I'm from the Phoenix Guild. I just… I just happened to join their party because of the tower echo. That's all. Temporary. I swear."

Phoenix.

"Ah. The number one guild in the city, huh."

"Yes!" He fumbled for his wallet and held it out, flipping it open to reveal his ID alongside a guild card. It marked him as B Rank, the Phoenix emblem stamped clearly on it.

The card wasn't something that could be faked easily—the material was heavy and official, and a QR code was printed neatly beneath his picture.

I tilted my head, pretending to think, like a philosopher deciding whether life was worth living.

"Phoenix, huh?" I muttered. "Funny. You don't look like a bird."

He laughed, a weak, desperate sound that barely carried.

"Y-Yeah. Yeah, I know, right?" He clearly thought I was joking.

I crouched in front of him and rested my chin on my palm, all friendly-like. "So… not Mythical?"

He shook his head. "N-No! Never! I hate those guys!"

"Wow," I said softly, as if impressed. "You hate them?"

He nodded eagerly. "Yeah! Especially that fan guy. Total bastard, right? He thinks everyone's beneath him just because he wields a celestial weapon."

"Yeah," I agreed. "Total bastard."

Relief flooded his face. He even let out a breath, like he'd just escaped a funeral.

thunk!

His head left his shoulders before he even had a chance to process what was happening.

The body collapsed a second later, twitching in confusion. Blood pooled quietly around the severed neck.

"Phoenix. Mythical. Makes no difference."

I wiped my spear against his ruined clothing

"The moment you stood next to that fan-waving freak… you picked your grave."

I straightened and looked over the sea of bodies, rolling my shoulder once like it actually mattered. A few were still alive. Shaking. Breathing. Hopes doing their last little dance.

So I went through them one by one and asked the same question, calm as a clerk behind a counter.

Who are you affiliated with?

Some answered.

A few didn't. They just dropped to their knees and begged instead, blurting out about wives, kids, sick parents—same story, different faces. The kind of words people throw out when death was already reaching for their collar.

Funny thing?

It worked.

So I gave them what I decided counted as mercy.

Quick, clean decapitation.

I turned and headed toward the corner, boots scraping softly against the broken floor as the mess behind me faded into background noise.

When I reached the scouts, they were already scattered across the floor like broken dolls.

One of them was pinned to the wall by a slab of stone bigger than my ego, another folded sideways in a way spines absolutely should not fold. The rest…

Yeah. They weren't in any better shape either.

I stood there longer than I meant to.

"…Damn it."

I nudged one of their boots with the tip of my spear. No reaction.

"What a waste," I muttered. "You guys finally started growing on me."

And that annoyed me more than it should have—because I spent time knowing them, so I could turn them into my loyal servants.

They were loud. Irritating.

One of them snored like a broken engine in a scrapyard according to his friends.

Another kept flirting with every pretty seeker that walked past, despite having a wife and kids waiting for him somewhere outside this cursed tower.

Then there was the kid. Too young.

His mom was in a coma. His sister still in high school. He used to talk about them like his words were building a bridge back home, one run at a time. Every floor was just another step closer to hospital bills, tuition fees, and a future he pretended wasn't fragile.

And now?

Finished.

Just like that.

'I should send money to their families,' I muttered. 'It's the least I can do.'

On the surface, yeah—I probably looked like your textbook villain.

Ruthless. Unhinged. Someone who'd already made peace with doing awful things.

But that was only for enemies. And for people who annoyed me.

For the ones I didn't plan on killing? The ones who gave me respect instead of excuses?

I was very reasonable.

After giving them my respect, I turned away from the bodies and walked toward the center of the floor.

The celestial weapon was still where it had landed—half-buried in cracked stone.

It was strange, looking at it now.

Such a small, unassuming thing—and yet it has the power to destroy a city block in one swing.

I crouched and wrapped my fingers around the handle.

It vibrated in my hand, the shaft whining like it wanted to tear itself free.

WOOSH!

Wind erupted around my grip, clawing at my fingers, trying to pry me loose.

I was wrapped in shadow armor now. Whatever the fan was trying to pull off, it wasn't happening today.

"So you're really going to reject me?" I muttered, tightening my hold as the gale howled harder.

"That's cold. Especially considering your last owner was an egotistical, trash‑talking piece of shit with a god complex and a mouth to match."

The pressure spiked, and I realized this thing could actually understood my words.