Life Rebooted with Copy and Paste

Shura’s sword flashed, slicing through the grotesque, decayed flesh. A chunk of meat went flying.

“Urgh!”

The battle took place just outside a cave some distance away from the village. Shura and a small group of warriors held their ground at the cave’s entrance, fighting off a horde of undead.

These were no ordinary foes. Among them were abominations like the one-horned beasts, with patches of exposed bone, skeletal soldiers moving unnaturally, and bizarre, headless knights. Worse still, some of the attackers bore antlers-like deer, just like Shura.

“What the hell are you doing! Why are you attacking us all of the sudden?” Shura shouted.

Her question went unanswered. The antlered warriors struck their sword with unwavering focus, their lifeless eyes staring past her. Their movements were skilled, befitting seasoned warriors of the Mahal Tribe.

However, instead of the sacred energy their people were born with, their power reeked of decay and despair—a damp and oppressive aura that clung like a shadow.

Even someone as young as Shura could tell something was horribly amiss.

“This smell...” Shura muttered, wrinkling her nose. An instinctive revulsion washed over her. Her memory raced back to a week earlier.

The villagers had greeted Shura and her group warmly upon their return. Since Kim Do-Joon had earned the village’s admiration, anyone who aided him was bound to be celebrated.

Shura, however, had paid little attention when Fuad excused himself to meet a visitor. She had been too busy regaling the younger kids with exaggerated tales of her adventures.

“And then, this huge lizard showed up! It had horns and wings and everything!” she boasted, waving her arms for emphasis.

“Yeah, right,” one of the kids scoffed. “There’s no way a monster that big exists.”

“It’s true! When have I ever lied to you?” Shura countered.

“Oh, plenty!”

“Hmm, let’s see... Remember that time you told the adults you were going swimming but snuck off to hunt instead?”

“T-that was different!” Shura stammered, her cheeks flushing.

The group burst into laughter, but despite the teasing, the younger kids looked up to her with awe. She was the oldest among them, having only recently been the leader of their group before undergoing her coming-of-age ceremony. To the littlest ones, she was practically a hero.

“Really? Did it really happen?” one child asked, eyes wide.

“Are you serious?”

“Of course I’m serious! It did happen!” Shura grinned, her confidence returning.

She launched back into her story, her voice animated and her gestures growing more dramatic.

As she spoke, her eyes drifted toward Fuad, who had emerged from a tent with a guest in tow. Shura paused mid-sentence, her curiosity piqued. The visitors were unfamiliar—likely from another tribe, judging by their attire.

—I’ll leave the village in your care then.

—Alright. Be careful.

Fuad said something to Jamel, the village’s head blacksmith, and Jamel nodded in response.

Huh? What’s going on?

The sight of Fuad gathering weapons and preparing the warriors caught Shura’s attention. She quickly ran over to Jamel, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“Those folks came from beyond the mountain,” Jamel explained. “A dangerous beast has taken up residence there, and they can’t handle it on their own, so Fuad and the others are going to help.”

Shura’s ears perked up. “Oh! Can I—”

“No,” Jamel interrupted, his tone firm. “You’re staying here to guard the village. You only got to tag along last time because you pestered Fuad into letting you. But not this time.”

“Ugh, fine,” Shura grumbled, kicking at a pebble in frustration.

The preparations soon finished, and Fuad, the warriors, and their guests from beyond the mountain marched off. Shura watched them go with a pout, crossing her arms.

However, as they passed, she noticed something odd—a strange, sticky scent in the air. It was damp and unpleasant, making her feel uneasy.

Huh?

Shura blinked and glanced at Jamel and Fuad, but neither seemed to notice anything unusual. The warriors following them appeared equally unaffected.

Must be my imagination.

Shura shook her head. Surely, if something were wrong, the adults would have sensed it too. They were far more experienced than she was, after all.

Now, facing the corrupted Mahal warriors, that same foul smell was back. It wasn’t a faint whiff this time, but an overwhelming stench of rot and malice that turned her stomach.

Then, a blade swung toward her head. She ducked just in time, the eerie weapon slicing through the air above her. It was thick with the same oppressive aura as its wielder.

“Hyah!” Shura shouted, pushing through the dread that threatened to paralyze her.

She swung her sword with all her strength.

Swoosh.

Her blade cut clean through the enemy’s arm, sending it tumbling to the ground. For a moment, her face lit up with triumph.

Briefly, the severed arm writhed on the ground, still holding a sword. Then, the undead warrior stooped to pick it up. To Shura’s horror, it began swinging the entire arm like a weapon.

“W-what is that...?” she stammered, her voice trembling.

Despite having undergone her coming-of-age ceremony, she was still just a fifteen-year-old girl. She had never encountered anything so grotesque. She froze, unable to process the horrifying scene.

The undead warrior lunged, its makeshift weapon slicing through the air toward her.

“Shura!”

Thud!

Jamel appeared just in time, his blade severing the creature’s remaining arm. He didn’t stop there, unleashing a flurry of strikes that hacked the monster’s body into a bloody mess. It wasn’t overkill, but necessary. These abominations wouldn’t stay down unless they were utterly destroyed.

Shura gagged, clapping a hand over her mouth as the dismembered pieces twitched and writhed on the ground.

“Get yourself together!” Jamel barked, placing a hand on her shoulder. Sacred energy surged from his palm, chasing away the oppressive aura around her. “If we falter, the entire tribe is next!”

“A-alright!” Shura clenched her fists and nodded, forcing herself to stand.

Her thoughts swirled.

What happened to Chief Fuad? What about the other warriors?

The enemies reeked of the same stench as the guests Fuad had left with, and their attack had been too perfectly timed to be coincidence. This was a trap, no doubt about it.

Shura’s worry deepened as she deflected the snapping jaws of a skeletal unicorn. However, there was no time to dwell on it. First, they had to survive this nightmare.

***

Not long ago, the village had been a peaceful place. Though they lacked the technological advancements of modern civilizations, the Mahal Tribe had their own vibrant culture and way of life.

Now, that life was reduced to smoldering ruins.

Undead?

The village was engulfed in flames, and the streets crawled with undead.

Could it be that guy’s underlings coming back for revenge?

Kim Do-Joon's thoughts instantly flashed back to the past. The Five-Horned Beast he had defeated back then was definitely an undead creature.

Kim Do-Joon sprinted into the chaos, his mind racing. He had fought alongside the Mahal Tribe before, so he knew they weren’t the type to fall easily, even against a sudden ambush. Surely, they would have evacuated or regrouped somewhere.

“Kiiieeeek!”

A skeletal unicorn charged at him, its bony hooves gouging the ground.

Thud.

Kim Do-Joon caught the creature’s skull with one hand, halting its momentum entirely. It thrashed and struggled, its legs scraped futilely at the ground, but to no avail.

“Let’s see what you’re made of,” Kim Do-Joon muttered, stretching his shadows.

“Kiiieek?” The One-Horned Beast froze as dark tendrils enveloped it. Its lifeless sockets flared with brief panic before the shadows consumed it entirely.

Crunch.

Mercy wasn’t on the menu. When the shadows receded, the skeletal unicorn was no more. In its place stood a black-armored soldier, eerily similar to the shadow soldiers.

“Looks like this new power works just fine,” Kim Do-Joon muttered, his voice steady despite the chaos around him.

There was no time for caution or experimentation. Kim Do-Joon cut down every undead monster in his path, absorbing their corpses into his shadow army. Each fallen enemy rose again, transformed into a loyal soldier.

Clink. Clank.

The newly-made soldiers fell into step behind him, their armor glinting ominously in the firelight. Kim Do-Joon pressed onward, his forces growing with every step.

So they’re not much different from the ones Mel Sior used to deploy...

Kim Do-Joon mused as he assessed their abilities with a quick glance.

Kim Do-Joon continued his relentless charge, his shadow soldiers spreading out like a tide, wiping out the undead in the village. Every fallen monster was absorbed into the shadow army, swelling its numbers.

If someone had been watching from above, they would have been stunned by the sight. A village once swarming with undead now overrun by an expanding black tide.

What had started as a single dark speck had engulfed the entire village.

“Is that all of them?” Kim Do-Joon muttered, scanning the surroundings.

Despite his victory, his expression remained grim. There were no signs of the Mahal Tribe among the wreckage—neither bodies, nor survivors. The village was empty save for the smoldering buildings and the lingering stench of decay.

They wouldn’t go down so easily. They couldn’t have all been wiped out...

Kim Do-Joon shook his head.

The Mahal warriors were formidable, and this attack, while brutal, was not enough to wipe them out entirely. Although they could have been overwhelmed by sheer numbers, they would not leave no trace at all.

There has to be more.

That was when Kim Do-Joon’s heightened senses picked up a faint trace of undead energy lingering nearby. A trail of skeletal soldiers and grotesque creatures stretched deep into the forest, forming a barricade.

That must be it.

Kim Do-Joon’s eyes gleamed with determination. If the Mahal Tribe had escaped, they would have taken refuge in that direction. Without wasting another second, he set off toward the pass. The shadow soldiers clanked in unison as they followed, their numbers swelling to form an imposing army.

***

Inside a pitch-black chamber devoid of light. Seated upon a dark throne was a figure cloaked in a tattered, antique robe, gripping a decayed staff. His hand had no trace of flesh, only gleaming white bone.

“Strange...”

The figure, Archlich Keldian, tilted his head, his empty eye sockets glowing faintly. His minions, the undead he had painstakingly raised, were dying off en masse.

The concept of undead "dying" was itself absurd. However, what puzzled him even more was the lack of any apparent force capable of such a large-scale massacre.

He had already lured away the only individuals in the area who could pose a threat, such as the chief and the tribe’s most skilled warriors.

Archlich Keldian’s gaze shifted to a corner of his laboratory. There, in a row of glass coffins, lay Fuad and the other warriors, unconscious and submerged in a strange liquid. The blessings within their blood and flesh was slowly being extracted, replaced by a greater power—the power of his master.

These warriors were clearly the enemy’s main force. They had fought valiantly, but Archlich Keldian’s strategy had worked perfectly, and the remaining resistance was on the brink of collapse. It was only a matter of time before he captured the rest.

But now, inexplicably, the connection to his undead army was severed at an alarming rate.

“Hmph.”

Archlich Keldian tapped his bony fingers on the throne's armrest. He needed to see for himself.

With a deliberate motion, he inserted a skeletal finger into his empty eye socket. Then, ghostly blue flames flickered and swirled as he manipulated the energy within. After a few moments, a new image formed in his vision—the battlefield outside the cave, where the Mahal Tribe had taken refuge.

Still holding out, are they?

Archlich Keldian watched as the tribe’s remaining warriors fought off his undead army. Had he underestimated their strength? Or was this village particularly well-defended? Either way, it didn’t matter. The undead had no need for rest or food, and prolonged battles only played to their advantage.

The cave defense was not the issue. If anything, it was proceeding as expected.

Then, what’s happening in the village?

Archlich Keldian sent a signal to one of his familiars, a winged creature perched nearby. It took flight, gliding silently toward the village ruins.

Moments later, his vision shifted to what the familiar saw and his empty sockets widened in shock.

What... is that?

A tide of shadow soldiers poured through the village, ascending the mountainside. They weren’t undead, but neither were they living. Their origin was a mystery, but Archlich Keldian’s focus was on the man leading them.

At the vanguard, a lone figure strode forward, clad in a calm yet commanding presence that seemed to crush the very air around him.

Archlich Keldian froze. For the first time in centuries, fear clutched at his very soul. The feeling was unmistakable, a suffocating dread that reminded him of the one who granted him his power. It was as if his master was standing before him.

The man narrowed his eyes and looked directly at Archlich Keldian’s familiar.

—Huh?

It’s dangerous...

Archlich Keldian’s instincts screamed at him. His familiar was in danger, so he immediately commanded his familiar to retreat.

The creature flapped its wings and tried to flee, but it was too late. Somehow, without Archlich Keldian even realizing it, shadowy tendrils had already ensnared the familiar. It was dragged helplessly toward the man, who held it firmly.

—So you’re the one behind this.

The man’s voice was calm yet cold as his eyes locked on the familiar. Archlich Keldian could feel the weight of that gaze, as if it had pierced through the magical link.

He can see me?

Kim Do-Joon wasn’t just addressing the familiar, but also Archlich Keldian himself. For the first time in centuries, Archlich Keldian trembled.