Chapter 153
Necropolis.
The final resting place of the great necromancers of Keyzen.
The necropolis was a submarine cave at the end of Roke Mountain. A place boiling with abnormal phenomena that couldn't be explained by natural laws, it was also revered as a sacred ground for necromancers.
And the funeral held in this necropolis followed a long and arduous tradition. Even if the ceremonies proceeded nonstop from morning until night, they would barely end by dawn the next day. This time, it had been simplified according to Lang's will, but even so, it was expected to finish in the middle of the night.
In such circumstances, the only one showing true enthusiasm was Umbra, the professor of Spiritology and overall director of the funeral. He forced even the mourners to perform the ceremonial dances, dubbed by students as the "chicken feed dance" or the "squid courtship dance", and nitpicked every single movement.
After continuing through the packed schedule of rituals since early morning, a short break was finally granted.
'…Exhausting.'
Aron, brushing his wet hair back, trudged along wearily.
He was someone who valued "roots" above all, but no matter how hard he thought about it, he couldn't figure out what plunging one's head into a waterfall inside a submarine cave had to do with offering condolences to the deceased.
'Maybe I should write my will in advance. If I die, skip the rituals entirely, not just simplify them.'
With that serious thought in mind, Aron wandered aimlessly, eventually discovering an empty chamber within the cave.
Perfect.
He entered and sat against the stone wall, letting out a long sigh.
With no one around, he took off his outer robe, loosened his tie, and rolled up his pant legs. Now that air was brushing against his bare skin, he finally felt like he could breathe again.
Exhausted, he gazed absentmindedly at the ceiling for a while.
"Milord, may I come in?"
A thick dialect, typical of the southern or far-eastern regions of Shahed, tickled his ear. When Aron turned his head, he saw Hongpeng of Magical Combat smiling gently at him.
Aron gave a nod of approval. Hongpeng smoothed down her formal skirt, then sat beside the wall, legs together.
A silence followed. Then, Hongpeng was the first to speak.
"How is Simon's progress in Summonology these days?"
Was she asking about Simon's accomplishments in Summonology? As expected, professors always liked to talk about their students.
"At the level you would expect, Professor Hongpeng."
He wasn't in the mood for conversation.
Even with that curt reply, her lips curled into a soft smile.
"I focused on teaching Simon Magical Combat personally."
Aron's expression remained flat as he looked up at the cave ceiling.
"I've taught many students at Keyzen, but never one like him. I'm certain, if I devote all my effort into shaping him, he'll become a masterpiece."
"..."
"What about you, Milord Aron?"
She tilted her head. Her hair, tied by a cord, slipped down over her shoulder.
"When did you become certain about that child?"
Certainty, huh.
That kind of thing—
"Likely the same moment you did, Professor Hongpeng."
It's only natural to notice from the very first class.
Right after the first lecture, he'd even requested a private meeting with Neftis to ask about the boy's parents.
But Neftis didn't answer. With her usual "I don't know what you're talking about~" expression, she just chuckled and brushed it off.
Suddenly brought in by Neftis, a genius who popped out of nowhere on the continent. Aron had his suspicions about Simon's origin, but he had no choice but to nurture him.
Or rather, no matter who taught him, he would've grown anyway.
Then Hongpeng spoke again.
"Then, Milord Aron, do you…"
"What an interesting conversation I'm hearing."
Step, step.
Aron's expression hardened. The one entering the room was Bahil, dressed not in his usual white suit and fedora, but in pitch-black clothes as though soaked in ink.
"I just heard the name Simon."
Bahil, moving at a slow pace, bent down next to Aron and took off his hat, placing it on his lap.
"If it's about that student, I can't possibly miss out."
Annoyance flickered across Aron's face.
Of all places, he had to come here.
"Come now, let's stop bluffing between contenders. Everyone knows the kid's talented. The kid's a genius, blah blah. Isn't it about time we stop stating the obvious?"
Saying that, Bahil shrugged and raised both hands.
"Yes! To get straight to the point, I want Simon Follentia too."
"..."
From the moment he entered, Bahil declared war right in front of the professors.
Hongpeng looked at Bahil with a smiling face.
"Professor of Katarology? That's surprising. I've never seen Simon use a curse before."
"Heh, that's just like you, Professor Hongpeng. Right for the solar plexus."
Bahil playfully pressed his own chest.
"But honestly, that doesn't matter. The reason Simon hasn't used curses is because he hasn't found them fun. Once he gets a taste for this field…"
Bahil licked his lips.
"He'll never escape. No way."
Hongpeng rested her chin on her hand and gave a mocking smile. Aron, now visibly sour, closed his eyes.
"More than that, I found something surprising, senior."
Bahil's lips curled.
"I thought you'd break your no-disciple declaration and snatch Simon for yourself."
Only professors could propose taking on a personal disciple.
While not a formal regulation, it was an unspoken rule. For students to ask first was considered rude.
Simon clearly showed a strong interest in Summonology. And yet, Aron kept a step back, guiding him from a distance.
"Is it one of those beliefs? 'I must keep my word once spoken'?"
As Bahil persistently pressed on, Aron replied with disinterest.
"The first semester isn't even over yet. It's too soon to decide a major when we haven't even fully uncovered the student's talents. Talking about personal disciples now, that's abnormal. It's what con artists do."
Both Bahil and Hongpeng flinched inwardly, but didn't show it. Bahil clapped his hands.
"Rather than chasing your own desires, you think about the student's future! Truly a role model for educators."
"…Hey."
Aron's gaze turned cold.
"Quit your nonsense."
"Ahaha, my apologies."
Bahil apologized, though he continued smiling brightly.
"Ah. But,"
His gaze shifted.
"Did someone smear honey on Simon? Seems he's attracting everyone."
The moment that sentence ended, the professor of Haematology, Sillage, appeared at the entrance.
Aron and Bahil, who had been his students, tried to rise, but Sillage raised a hand to stop them. He exchanged a light nod with Hongpeng.
"I heard all the professors teaching first-years were here, so I dropped by."
Sillage muttered, continuing,
"Am I intruding?"
"No, not at all. Please make yourself comfortable, Professor."
Bahil said politely, but Aron genuinely looked uncomfortable and stood to leave.
"Ah, where are you going, senior? This is the perfect lineup! Since we're all gathered like this, let me just ask one direct question."
All three turned their attention to Bahil.
"What do you think is Simon Follentia's true strength?"
"..."
A moment of silence passed through the cave. Aron, now on his feet with his coat slung over his shoulder, gave his answer bluntly.
"Insight."
Next, Hongpeng responded in a calm voice.
"Integrity."
Sillage, still standing in his original posture, grinned and replied.
"Singularity."
Smack!
Bahil covered his face with his palm. Then slowly dragged it upward. His damp hair, brushed aside, released droplets that splashed to the floor.
"You're all! Completely wrong!"
"…?"
"And you call yourselves Keyzen professors? Hah! Really! You don't even recognize that child's true worth! How can you guide him down the right path?"
Bahil was now in full rant mode.
Shaking his wet hair wildly, scattering droplets, he looked around at the professors with gleaming eyes.
"His true strength is madness!!"
Stretching out his arms like a preacher, he turned to his colleagues with a grin.
"A student capable of being truly mad about something!"
* * *
Rumble!
Crash!
Fwoooosh!
The battle in the command control room was still raging.
Simon was panting heavily. In his blurred vision, he could see Serne and Saint Plema exchanging fierce blows in a heated duel.
[Why!]
Plema shouted.
[Why does a being like you exist in Keyzen!]
She seemed utterly furious. Perhaps even flustered, the accuracy of her White Flame projectiles had significantly decreased compared to earlier.
"Oh my, what does it matter to you where I am?"
Serne responded lightly and flung the feathers on her fingers like throwing knives.
Strangely enough, her feathers held out against the White Flame for quite some time. Plema had to consciously boost her firepower to burn them away, and that situation seemed to be causing her considerable stress.
[This is blasphemy!]
Furious, Plema flung her arms out, scattering circular White Flames like a shotgun blast, but Serne dodged with top-speed flight.
'…She's changed.'
Watching the battle between Serne and Plema, Simon's eyes sparkled.
That white flame, which used to only affect the undead or necromancers, had suddenly started exerting physical influence over objects.
Then Serne turned to Simon.
"Simon. One coupon won't cut it for this one, will it? She's a Saint, I'll need two more…"
"Watch out, Serne!"
Fwoooosh!
Streams of White Flame flew toward her.
Though Serne's flight speed was considerable, the Command Control Room was a confined space. While dodging well for a while, she was finally struck by a stream of White Flame and crashed to the floor.
Crash!
Just as Plema moved to press the attack on the downed Serne, her gaze twisted with irritation. Simon had charged in, swinging his greatsword at her back.
Naturally, it struck the White Flame barrier protecting her once again.
[No matter how many times you try, the result will be the same.]
Plema swept her right arm harshly. The White Flame burst outward, sending Simon flying once more, crashing into the wall.
"Ughhh!"
Simon groaned, clutching the spot where the White Flame had hit, his body writhing in pain.
[Yes, this is what we call divine compatibility.]
A smile returned to Plema's face, which had been filled with irritation while dealing with Serne.
[Proof that the Goddess truly exists! Those who deny her cannot oppose her power!]
As she tilted her finger, clumps of White Flame began to rain down directly on Simon's body.
"Damn it, Simon!"
Serne shouted. Their most important recruitment target was dying before her eyes.
"Damn it all!"
Kajan, who had been crawling on the ground in agony, also gritted his teeth.
He had faced many formidable foes before, but this Saint, he had no method of dealing with her.
[That last struggle wasn't too bad.]
Plema extended her arm. She was now ready to finish off the incapacitated Kajan with certainty, igniting her White Flame once more.
Rustle.
At that moment, Simon, body charred and still alight with White Flame in several places, trembled as he rose to his feet.
[…Boy!]
The only thing left intact was the Bone Armor on his right hand, which he pulled back in a guarded stance.
Simon raised his head with effort, but his legs gave out and he collapsed face-first onto the floor.
"Kh…!"
The accumulated damage to his body alone was brutal, not to mention the mental toll, it was enough to shatter a man's spirit. Yet, Simon continued to drag himself, little by little, forcing his body to rise.
He would lift his torso, take a few steps, then fall. He'd get back up, only to smash face-first into the ground again. Drooling, staggering like a living corpse, he struggled to rise again and again.
Plema's face twisted in disgust.
That wasn't human willpower.
"Back down, Simon. You can't win with your strength."
Even Serne wanted to avoid watching their most important recruit die.
She released her full power. Floating into the air, ten enormous magic circles formed before her using feathers.
Chwarararararararararak!
Hundreds, no, thousands of feathers passed through the magic circles, transforming into golden streaks of light as they launched toward Plema.
Thousands of feathers that wouldn't disintegrate even upon contact with White Flame.
Plema instantly raised both arms and summoned a wall of White Flame at maximum output. Roaring explosions erupted as the wall clashed with the feathers.
"Haaaaaaah!"
Meanwhile, Simon was once again rising like a zombie and charging forward. At this point, Plema was beyond annoyed, she was dumbfounded.
[Just die already!]
Before Simon could even swing his greatsword, White Flame shot forth, engulfing his body. Plema turned her attention back to maintaining her flame barrier.
Thud.
[…!]
Plema's spine suddenly chilled, a wave of goosebumps ran down her back. Simon, who should have been writhing in agony on the ground, had suddenly reached her unharmed.
'What? How—?'
"Raaaaaaaagh!"
Though another burst of White Flame engulfed his entire body, Simon emerged, trailing fire like a comet. With madness in his eyes, he charged at her.
"That attack…!"
Chwaaaaaaak!
Simon's sweeping greatsword of destruction slashed diagonally across the Saint's back.
As the Saint's blood sprayed like a fountain, Serne and Kajan's shocked faces appeared beyond it, and Plema's eyes were wide with horror.
"Too lukewarm!!"