Transmigrated As The Perverted Young Master



Damien knew that dealing with undead animals would be an entirely different challenge. They moved with unnatural agility and ferocity, making them unpredictable foes. Damien couldn't afford to underestimate their abilities, even in their lifeless state.

He wasn't certain if they retained their abilities - smelling, hearing, or even using their eyes. They didn't appear to be intelligent creatures.

However, Damien knew better than to underestimate them; after all, even a zombie could still bite and scratch you to death.

With the pressure mounting and the undead lurking dangerously close, Damien felt the weight of urgency pressing down on him. He knew he needed a plan, and he needed it fast.

The cloak of night offered him some solace, shrouding him in darkness, but even Aviora, his loyal and majestic companion, was nowhere to be found.

If only she were here, her formidable presence could have provided a much-needed distraction, a chance for him to slip past the undead's watchful eyes and enter the church.

But now, he was on his own, surrounded by the eerie silence of the abandoned streets, with only the groans and shuffles of the undead breaking the stillness.

The stakes were high, and he could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins as he tried to come up with a plan that would give him the best chance of survival.

His heartbeat intensified. This was no near damage the necromancer from the had unleashed. He was not at this level, and he was sure his sister was behind this.

The once familiar plot of the no longer held any sway over Damien. He had learned through bitter experience that the events unfolding before him deviated drastically from the scripted tale. While some characters and elements remained recognizable, the details were now a chaotic tapestry of unpredictability. The damage inflicted by the necromancer far exceeded anything described in the pages of the book, and the strategies and tactics were entirely foreign to him.

In this new reality, Damien was forced to abandon the safety of the familiar plotline and face the uncertainty head-on. The carefully laid plans he had made as a reader were now worthless, and he had to think on his feet and adapt to this ever-changing situation. The stakes were high, and the consequences of failure were unfathomable.

He couldn't afford to dwell on the disparities between the and the reality he faced. Instead, he had to focus on the present, finding ways to outwit the necromancer and protect those he cared about. The outcome was uncertain, and he had no guarantee of success, but he refused to be bound by the limitations of a scripted narrative. He was determined to forge his own path, even if it meant leaving the comfort of the known behind.

It was like playing against the boss monster at level one.

He breathed out and slowly picked a stone from the ground. Round and jagged. Clutching the rough stone in his hand, Damien felt a surge of resolve. It may not have been a powerful weapon, but it was all he had at the moment.I think you should take a look at

"This better work!" Damien whispered to himself, a mixture of determination and anxiety evident in his voice. He cautiously peeked out from his hiding spot once more, carefully calculating the distance to the cemetery. It was roughly eighty meters away, and every step counted. He needed to make a swift diagonal dash to reach the cemetery without drawing attention.

As his eyes darted towards the imposing gates, guarded by armored soldiers and skilled archers, his heart pounded louder in his ears. The flames in their eyes burned with a fierce intensity, a reflection of their unwavering loyalty to the necromancer.

He knew he couldn't afford to be spotted. Any alarm raised would be disastrous for him and the survivors within the church. His every move had to be precise, swift, and silent.

The distance between Damien and the church was around fifty meters - just a straight run. It seemed like a straightforward plan: run straight and swiftly climb over the wall to reach the safety of the church grounds. Once he was inside the walls, he knew that no undead could reach him, at least for now.

But reaching there is the problem.

Damien's mind raced as he assessed his options. He knew he needed to distract the undead near the church's wall, but throwing the rock near the cemetery was out of the question – there was no space, not even a pin-sized area, that was free from the relentless undead.

His only viable choice was to throw the rock to the other side – his right side. But that presented another challenge. He needed to throw the rock more than eighty meters to the side for the undead near the church's wall to be lured away. Any closer, and he risked drawing more of them towards him.

He examined the small rock in his hand, realizing it wouldn't produce enough sound to be audible from such a distance. He needed something larger, but doing so required him to exert his mana, and he was already exhausted from the intense battle with his sister and the emotional toll of the deaths he witnessed.

His heart pounded in his chest as he considered his next move. Time was of the essence, and he couldn't afford any missteps. He knew he had to act quickly and decisively to create the diversion he needed to reach the church's safety.

"What a shitty day to wake up!" He cursed himself and his luck.

With a deep breath, he made his decision. He scanned his surroundings, searching for a larger object that could serve his purpose. He spotted a discarded wooden plank nearby – not too heavy to hinder his throw, but large enough to produce the necessary sound.

Gritting his teeth, he summoned his remaining strength and gathered his mana. He focused his energy on the wooden plank, wrapping it in a thin layer of magic. With a flick of his wrist, he hurled the plank towards the distant area, beyond the reach of the undead.