Necromancer Academy and the Genius Summoner-Chapter 392: Episode

Silage opened his eyes. An endless, desolate desert stretched before him, a world of nothing but sand and sky.

"This is... I see."

A smile touched Silage’s lips.

"A dungeon created by a unique ability."

A short distance away, Simon stood waiting. He shrugged.

"Judging by your expression, you haven’t heard about this technique."

"A professor cannot know everything about every student, after all."

[Aaaah! What do I do! What do I do!]

Both men glanced up. In the azure sky, a colossal pair of eyes stared down at the ground.

[I used the Third Authority again! What am I going to do! When the barrier collapses, my Life Vessel is really going to shatter this time!]

"Calm down, Herseva," Simon soothed, his voice gentle. "I’ll figure something out."

He spoke with a confidence he didn’t feel, a knot of worry tightening in his stomach. His opponent was a Kizen professor. Chatel, the first person he had trapped in this dungeon, had been strong, but Silage was an adversary of an entirely different magnitude.

’Can I win before Herseva’s dungeon collapses?’

"To liven things up, allow me to share an interesting fact."

Despite being trapped in enemy territory, Silage seemed utterly relaxed.

"My ‘Bloodstone Fortress’ spell was completed just before you dragged me in here. I’m certain of it, as the jet-black I expended has not returned to me. In other words, when this dungeon shatters and we return to the outside..."

His lips twisted into a predatory smirk.

"You will die, Simon Polentia."

"Irrelevant information."

Simon raised both arms.

Across the vast expanse of sand, a magnificent golden city began to rise from the dunes.

"Because I’ll eliminate you long before that happens."

"How bold. I don’t dislike the reckless spirit of youth."

Temples, obelisks, gardens, plazas, and theaters erupted from the sand. As the countless doors of the structures swung open, the city’s inhabitants poured out, their guttural shrieks echoing across the desert.

Thousands of bandaged mummies staggered into view.

"Ancient Undead? I see."

Silage stroked his chin, beginning to prepare his own black magic. Droplets of blood left his body, weaving themselves into magic circles. Their number grew past thirty, then sixty, and soon approached one hundred. Large and small, the circles exchanged patterns of light, interlocking like gears as they prepared something massive.

[Be careful, boy!] Pier’s warning was grave.

Simon nodded and gave the command.

"Advance!"

The thousands of mummies began their march, their monstrous screams tearing through the air. Silage watched them with detached calm, layering and gathering the magic circles in the air until they formed a single, massive construct—a city of glowing runes.

"I will show you," he declared, as all the circles flared to life, "the difference in our class."

Then, the unbelievable happened. The runes at the center of the construct began to weep tears of blood. The droplets became a river, which then branched into thousands, tens of thousands of streams, spreading like the blood vessels of a colossal, unseen body.

Simon’s eyes widened in shock.

The bloody veins snaked beneath the mummies’ feet, and beneath Simon’s, until they covered the entire desert.

His preparations complete, Silage unleashed his black magic.

’‘Fountain of Blood, Harry Helenes’’

The desert floor buckled and swelled. At the very center of the golden city, the ground surged upward, transforming into the crater of a towering volcano.

’Wait, this is what I saw before entering the dungeon...!’

[Dodge it! Boy!]

The volcano erupted, not with fire and ash, but with a torrent of pure, liquid blood.

’Blood...!’

It was the blood of Hemomancy. A crimson geyser, so vibrant it hurt the eyes, shot into the sky. The bloody magma blotted out the sun before breaking apart into a rain of smaller droplets. They fell upon the golden city, and in an instant, the ancient structures collapsed in a chain of blood explosions. Any mummy caught in the blast radius vanished without a trace.

"Historically, it was natural disasters that wiped out even the most advanced civilizations," Silage said coolly. "Have a taste of that power, recreated through Hemomancy."

More craters erupted across the landscape, each one spewing a fountain of blood. They gurgled and pulsed like the wounds of a dying behemoth.

The mummies were annihilated the moment they stepped from their tombs. The metallic tang of blood filled the air.

Simon swung his greatsword, cleaving one of the craters in two, but there were simply too many.

’At this rate, my entire legion will be wiped out!’

He had to strike the caster, the source of the disaster. Simon rallied a squadron of mummy cavalry and charged them directly at Silage.

The thunder of hooves shook the earth. But with a single gesture from Silage, the ground before them swelled, and another blood volcano erupted from the sands.

"Tch!"

Simon leaped from his mount just as the rain of blood and fire consumed his cavalry.

"How many cities and nations do you think I have toppled in my lifetime?"

Silage’s eyes flashed.

"The time I have accumulated is differ..."

A stream of blood trickled from the corner of Silage’s mouth. He grimaced, clutching his left breast. A vessel burst in his eye, and blood poured from his nose.

’Acting up again.’

A bitter smile touched his lips as he glanced down at his chest. It was his congenital limit, his beginning and his end: the heart his father had broken.

He had striven to become stronger, founded the Blood Cult, and risen to the pinnacle of Hemomancy, all to fix this one flaw. But he could never heal his own heart. No matter what body he inhabited, the pain was inescapable.

’I must perform the ritual, offer the sacrifices, and summon the Apostle.’

Everything was in place. The talented first-years had been turned into offerings. The Dungeon Lord was suppressed. The entrance was sealed. All he had to do was leave this place and activate the final spell.

The Apostle, the Blood Cult’s grandest project, would descend upon the world. The ‘cooperator’ who had funded him for centuries intended to use the creature to plunge the continent into chaos, but Silage had other plans.

’I will eat the Apostle.’

He would use ‘Consumption’ to devour it and claim its body for himself. The Apostle had twenty hearts. The failure of one would be meaningless. Once he became the Apostle, he would finally transcend the limits of his heart, and the entire world would be his.

’Cough! Cough!’

He spat a mouthful of blood into his palm. This accursed pain would soon be over.

"Herseva!"

Simon plunged both hands into the sand.

"Sorry, but I’m bringing out more!"

He heaved, and a massive, stable-like structure rose before him. From within, a fresh horde of bandaged mummy cavalry poured out.

"Numbers are always a nuisance," Silage muttered, wiping the blood from his chin and pulling his arm back. "What do you think is the fundamental reason I was able to hide my identity from Kizen headquarters for so long?"

Simon’s eyes widened in shock. A shimmering, crimson portal tore open the air behind Silage. From its depths, countless figures began to march out.

"It’s because I possess a secret art unknown to any other necromancer, one unique to the Blood Cult."

Simon was horrified.

’Impossible! They’re entering Herseva’s dungeon directly?’

It wasn’t a subspace or a teleportation circle. It was some unknown form of spatial magic. The number of arrivals easily exceeded a thousand.

Worse, among the robed followers were crimson zombies Simon knew all too well.

’Blood Zombies!’

Rage flared in his eyes. He had fought them to the death on the holy train. Most were made from the kidnapped citizens of the Holy Federation. Their primary ingredient was human.

And it wasn’t just the zombies. The eyes of the living followers were vacant and unfocused, their bodies withered. They had received the Blood Core and avoided zombification, but not the side effects.

[A state worse than death,] Pier observed grimly.

The horde of Blood Cultists and their undead thralls filled one side of the desert. Among them, three figures radiated an aura of immense power.

"You called, Archbishop," said a man dragging two blood-stained crosses behind him.

"Hee hee! Do we finally get to see the Apostle?" cackled a woman covered in piercings, her tongue lolling from her mouth.

"It’s always like this here," muttered a man with a ponytail, his expression one of utter boredom.

All three were Bishops of the Blood Cult, each as strong as, or stronger than, Aloken, the boss he had fought on the train.

"Simon Polentia. See this, feel this, and despair. You are now—"

Silage spread his arms, his smile a vicious slash.

"Facing the entire Blood Cult."

The fanatics roared, their voices shaking the very sands.

The mummies, agitated by the noise, charged forward, only to be torn to shreds by the three bishops, who then landed gracefully before Silage.

"Archbishop. Do we just need to kill that child?" the bishop with the crosses asked, glancing back.

Silage nodded.

"Yes."

The moment the order was given, a palpable killing intent erupted from the three of them. Simon’s expression hardened.

’Ah.’

As if things weren’t bad enough, cracks began to spiderweb across the sky of Herseva’s ‘World of Sand’. She was at her limit. If this world collapsed, he wouldn’t just have to deal with Silage’s lingering spell; he would be facing thousands of Blood Cultists.

Simon was silent.

The situation was desperate.

But for some reason, Simon found himself smiling.

’Despair, he says.’

Was this truly a desperate situation? No. Not yet. His mind was still racing, his brain still calculating, still searching for a path to victory.

Simon lifted his head, his eyes flashing with grim determination.

"That kid’s got a murderous look in his eyes," the ponytail-wearing bishop noted with a flinch.

The female bishop nudged his arm.

"Don’t let your guard down. He may look young, but the Archbishop himself requested our aid."

Simon lowered the hand from his forehead and let out a long, slow breath.

’A chance. A way to win.’

"Herseva."

[Boy! Aargh! I can’t hold on much longer!]

"There’s one way."

Simon rolled up his sleeve to reveal the bracelet on his wrist. He channeled a thread of jet-black into it and tapped it lightly. A subspace tore open.

It was Herseva’s personal subspace, crafted by the artisan Gellen Eclipse.

Inside that narrow dimension sat the lich’s true body.

Between its ribs, a Life Vessel pulsed with a steady, rhythmic light.

Simon reached his hand toward it.

[Boy! Surely not!] Pier’s voice was laced with horror. [That’s impossible! A Life Vessel is a completely different concept from a core!]

"Right now, this is the only way."

Simon’s expression was grim, but a confident, almost reckless smile played on his lips.

"I will make it happen. No matter what."

He knew that if he did this, he would never be able to use Herseva in Kizen or anywhere else again. The memory of the monumental effort it had taken to create her was still painfully vivid.

But too many lives were on the line. The faces of Meirin and his friends flashed through his mind, all of them turned into sacrifices. Shaking off his hesitation, Simon placed his hand on Herseva’s Lifevessel and injected his Jet-Black.

A violent tearing sound erupted as Simon’s power began to interfere with the Lifevessel.

[Ugh!] Herseva cried out in pain as the cracks in the dungeon she was maintaining began to spread even faster.

"Puhaha! What is he doing?" one of the bishops cackled.

"To think he’d break this space for us! All the better," another sneered as the Blood Cult followers joined in their snickering.

A violent sizzle filled the air as Simon’s Jet-Black and Herseva’s power tangled, clashing in a chaotic storm.

’Break it for you? Not a chance,’ Simon thought grimly.

He was initiating the process of legionization, attempting to turn Herseva herself into a Legion-type Undead.

Turning a Lifevessel into part of a legion was something not even his father, Richard, had ever attempted. It was an unprecedented act, and if this continued, the Lifevessel would explode.

The first band maintaining the vessel snapped, and the second and third followed in quick succession. With only the central core remaining, the Lifevessel pulsed erratically.

"Herseva!" Simon’s eyes hardened with resolve. "I am your creator! I will never lose you!"

[You crazy bastard! Ugh! What are you talking about now...?! Ughhhhhh!]

"Trust me!" Simon roared, his eyes wide as blood streamed from his nose. He, too, was suffering from the symptoms of a Jet-Black backlash. "Trust me and open your heart!"

His mind boiled, an electric current sizzling through his brain. ’I can do this. I have to.’ The moment he focused all his consciousness on that single point, the bishops’ jeers and the sounds of the mummies fighting the cultists faded away.

The world fell silent. Time seemed to crawl, each stretched second sharpening his perception to a razor’s edge. He projected his Jet-Black into Herseva’s Lifevessel and, using it as a center, drew a new band around the collapsing vessel.

’The first band.’

He forged a new band with the legion’s power.

’The second band.’

A second, intersecting band formed beside it.

"He’s doing something!" a bishop yelled.

"Stop him!"

A bishop holding a cross vaulted over the mummies and rushed toward Simon.

[It is useless, human!]

With a deafening ’clang’, Pier, having already deactivated his Bone Armor, personally parried the bishop’s cross with the Sword of Ruin.

The bishop’s eyes widened in shock.

"W-What? This undead is...?"

[Khahahaha!]

A follow-up strike sent the bishop flying, and Pier turned back to Simon.

[Yes, do as you please, boy!] Pier’s mouth split into a wide grin. [You are that man’s son, after all!]

The world rumbled violently the moment the three bands forged from the legion’s power finally overlapped on Herseva’s heart. The crumbling world of sand was transformed.

Night fell upon the desert. The clear, pristine sky was dyed a deep, dusky blue. Herseva’s eye floated in the sky, its once-dull pupil now holding a dark blue gleam—the same color as Simon’s Jet-Black.

A deep rumbling shook the ground, and the Blood Cult followers froze in terror. The golden city, its ascent halted moments before, began to rise once more.

"S-Suddenly!"

"More mummies are coming out!"

The cultists faltered and backed away as Herseva’s excited voice rang out.

[Kid! Kid! What did you just do? Power is surging through me!]

"Welcome to the legion, Herseva." Simon grinned, down on one knee and panting. "You can do more, right?"

[Of course—!]

Simon recalled what Magnus had said when they had met for the Akemus prisoner exchange.

"Shall I tell you something? The true way to use an Ancient Undead."

The true way to use an Ancient Undead. Ever since hearing those words, Simon had felt he had not yet drawn out the true power of a legion commander.

Until now.

’I will surpass my limits!’

What he had to do was clear. Now that he was more intimately connected to Herseva, he understood. He could feel the true power of this world of sand.

’Herseva’s power isn’t creation, but the ability to ’summon’ the mummy troops she possesses. In that case...!’

’Do not set limits; expand freely. Herseva is the legion, and the legion is me. Therefore, Herseva can now summon more than just mummies.’

A low ’hiss’ echoed as something else began to rise from the desert to the right of the central city: a large mansion.

But that was not all. Centered around the mansion, faded buildings reminiscent of a ghost town rose from the sand, unfolding a domain of undecaying death.

[Wahahaha! This is insane!]

The mansion’s door burst open, and out walked a small boy wearing a faded crown, patting his own body in disbelief.

[Simon! How did you bring me here?]

It was the Ancient Undead, Prince. In the middle of the desert, the Deathland was being recreated. Following him, countless zombies poured from the buildings of the ghost town.

"Two o’clock! A large horde of zombies has appeared at our two o’clock!" a cultist screamed.

"There must be at least three thousand of them!"

"Where in the world are they coming from?"

The Blood Cult followers stared, bewildered by the sudden appearance of enemy troops.

[I do not know what is going on, but!] Prince struck a pose, covering his face with his right hand. [The captain of the legion’s zombie unit! The hero, Prince, has arrived!]

A guttural roar rose from the horde as the zombies surged forward like a black, crashing tide.

[How noisy,] a sultry voice purred.

Simultaneously, a new presence rose on the opposite side of the Deathland, and the cultists’ gazes snapped in that direction.

A chilling ’chittering’ filled the air. The ground there had warped into a nightmarish spider’s den, choked with thick, glistening webs. A woman sat upon them, her legs elegantly crossed.

[Captain of the spider unit and the Lord Commander’s most faithful servant,] she announced, rising with a captivating smile.

[I am called Erzebet.]

The ground shuddered. At the rear of the formation, tall trees shot up one after another, transforming the heart of the desert into a dense jungle.

[I was on standby in the ruins, but I have been summoned. Into the most favorable environment for battle, no less.] Dropping from nests in the trees were the harpy undead, the Skullwings, led by the man perched above them. [Captain of the Skullwing unit, Akemus. I have answered the young master’s call!]

A series of piercing ’shrieks’ echoed as the Skullwings blotted out the sky.

"Now then, you specter of Silage. And the Blood Cult." Simon grinned and donned Pier. "I will throw your words right back in your face. Take a good look at this situation, feel it, and despair. You are now—"

He spread his arms wide.

"—facing a legion."

An earth-shattering roar erupted from the dead gathered in the night desert, a tremendous, unified cry.