Necromancer Academy and the Genius Summoner-Chapter 6: Episode

"D-Don’t be ridiculous! Contact Nephthys right now! How dare you treat me—"

Lucius vanished. A few drops of crimson spattered on the stone where he had stood. That was all. Everyone stared, mouths agape.

"We’re wasting time," Silage said, turning with his hands clasped behind his back. "All new students, board the ship." His gaze fell on Simon. "You too."

Simon gave a quiet nod and headed for the ship.

The incident had cast a chilling silence over the students. A few, however, couldn’t contain their excitement, whispering amongst themselves.

"So that’s blood-flow system black magic!"

"I was set on Cursology, but for a moment there, I was tempted."

"First-years get to take his class, right?"

As he walked, Simon glanced back at the professor. Silage was watching him. Their eyes met, and a faint smile touched the professor’s lips. "Don’t worry. I didn’t kill him."

"...Ah, right."

As Simon stepped onto the deck, Silage addressed the students. "Everyone, fasten your seatbelts." He waved a hand, and a reddish, bubble-like membrane spread out to envelop the ship.

Simon watched, intrigued. ’How is this thing supposed to get us to Kizen?’ The bow was still pointed at the land. He wondered if they were going to reverse, but a servant on the radio reported to Silage.

"Professor. Arrival in five minutes."

"Guide it in."

The students’ murmuring grew louder. On the distant horizon, a colossal spray of water was racing toward them. The disturbance grew, churning the sea, until a whale of impossible size breached the surface.

"Wooooah!" the students roared.

The whale opened its cavernous mouth, swallowed the ship whole, and plunged back into the depths.

---

The ’Nether Whale’ was an aquatic undead bound to Kizen’s will. It roamed the world’s oceans, devouring the ports of designated cities. Once a year, however, it served as transport for new students who lacked teleportation clearance. In short, it was Kizen’s private, high-speed ferry.

Despite being inside a whale’s stomach, the ship was warm and comfortable. Servants stationed on the beast came aboard to attend to the students, even providing food. The tense atmosphere quickly dissipated, replaced by the boisterous laughter and chatter of students excited for their new lives.

"You were amazing back there," a voice said beside him.

Simon turned to the student in the next seat. A boy with green hair and a wide forehead introduced himself as Rowen Oscar. He was so sociable he’d already made several friends before approaching Simon. "Seriously! It was a tense situation, but you just jumped in and grabbed his wrist, bam!"

"It was nothing," Simon replied nonchalantly, cutting into a fish steak. He squeezed a bit of lemon over the tender meat. As Rowen chattered on, with Simon mostly nodding in response, the boy clapped his hands. "By the way, what did you do for your entrance exam?"

"Entrance exam?" The question caught Simon off guard. "Was there one?"

"Of course! Everyone has to take one to get into Kizen! For mine, I used Jet-Black for a form transformation..."

As Rowen launched into his own story, Simon frowned in thought. An exam? He had no memory of taking one. ’If I mention this, it could cause a fairness issue, couldn’t it?’ He’d already received a 5,000-gold gift; he couldn’t cause any more trouble for Nephthys.

"...and that’s how I did it!" Rowen finished his exaggerated tale, his eyes shining. "What about you?"

"Uh, um... Mine was similar to yours," Simon improvised. "Jet-Black form transformation."

"Oh, what a coincidence!"

"Everyone, take your seats. We’re about to arrive," Silage’s voice cut through the chatter. The students scrambled back to their places. It felt as if they’d just left, but they were already there. A fresh wave of tension washed over Simon as he fastened his seatbelt and straightened his clothes.

Professor Silage ascended to the deck and once again spread the reddish membrane over the ship. Water began to flood the whale’s massive stomach.

"Hold on tight if you don’t want to fall," Silage warned with an eerie smile. Simon gripped the handle of the seat in front of him with all his might.

Like a dam bursting, the water shot out with incredible force. A collective scream tore through the students as the dizzying velocity lifted them from their seats. A pinprick of light appeared at the end of the dark tunnel, and the ship blasted through it in an instant.

’WHOOOOOSH!’

They were airborne. Thousands of meters high, the ground below looked like a child’s playset. The ship surfed atop the water jet propelled by the Nether Whale. As the jet’s power began to fade, the ship’s bow tipped downward.

The students screamed in terror. They were falling.

"Agh!" Simon hugged the seat in front of him for dear life. The world became a blur of streaking light as they plummeted. The wind howled, whipping at his clothes.

Silage calmly drew his thumbnail across his index finger. A single drop of blood fell onto the protective membrane, and as it was absorbed, their descent began to slow. When Simon dared to open his eyes, the ship was drifting down as gently as a hot air balloon.

"Woooaaahhh...!"

Cries of awe replaced the screams of terror. Below them, a fantastic sunrise painted the horizon in fiery orange. The full panorama of Roc Island, Kizen’s home, spread out beneath them: a lush jungle, a polished plain, a cascading waterfall, and a snow-capped mountain. An entire world of four seasons contained on a single island.

"Rowen! Wake up!"

Rowen didn’t stir.

Rowen, like most of the others, was still slumped in his seat or dry-heaving over the side.

The ship, now descending as if by parachute, finally touched down with a gentle bump. Sighs of relief echoed across the deck as students scrambled for the nearest tree to be sick.

"Disembark and form four lines," Silage ordered.

After a quick headcount, he led them toward the castle. Kizen was so enormous its scale was difficult to comprehend. A giant gatekeeper heaved the gates open, and they passed through multiple layers of black magic security. Inside, they joined other groups of new students who had arrived by different, apparently equally harrowing, routes.

"We must hurry. This way, please!" Waiting servants guided them with brisk efficiency. They were led to a nearby building, issued uniforms, and split into male and female changing rooms. "You have five minutes to change and assemble outside."

Everything here moved at a breakneck pace. Swept up in the urgency, Simon quickly changed.

’Even the uniforms are cool.’ The stylish black trousers fit him like they were tailored, looking more like part of a suit than a uniform. They were form-fitting but didn’t restrict his movement in the slightest. He put on the white shirt and red tie, then shrugged on the sharp jacket emblazoned with the Kizen crest. He stepped in front of a mirror.

’Wow.’

Was this the power of a well-tailored uniform? He looked impossibly sharp. The design was a perfect blend of uniform and formal wear, stylish enough for a royal banquet. Elated, he turned this way and that, admiring his new look.

"Look! The jacket’s enchanted!" someone exclaimed.

"They say the uniform doubles as combat gear," another added. "Supposedly tougher than most armor."

Hearing them, Simon ran a hand over his jacket. A faint hum of magic emanated from the fabric. He wondered how much something like this cost. It was like wearing a suit of solid gold.

"Two minutes until assembly!" a servant called.

Simon hurriedly pulled on his dress shoes and stepped outside. Other students were admiring themselves in mirrors, all grinning from ear to ear.

"Please exit now! We are moving!"

Simon and the other boys filed out of their changing room just as the girls emerged from theirs. As if on cue, both groups faltered, coming to a halt. Simon was no exception.

’The girls’ uniforms are even nicer.’

The stylish black jacket with the Kizen logo, the crisp white blouse and thin tie, the skirt that ended just above the knee—it was a design that was both smart and chic, fitting each girl perfectly and lending them an air of maturity beyond their years.

"Male and female students, form two lines each and proceed to the grand auditorium."

Perhaps it was seeing each other looking so impressive, but a strange, electric current flowed between the two groups as they walked. They stole glances at each other, quickly looking away when their eyes met. The first whispers of "who’s handsome" and "who’s pretty" began to circulate.

’So this is what school life is like,’ Simon thought.

They descended a grand staircase and finally entered the auditorium where the entrance ceremony would take place. Many students were already seated; Simon’s group was one of the last to arrive.

"Simon! Can you believe this? We’re actually at Kizen! Holy crap, it doesn’t feel real!" Rowen, having found him again, started chattering excitedly.

Simon took in the vast hall. "Are all these people first-years?"

"You bet!" Rowen beamed. "There are a thousand of us!"

Simon’s jaw dropped. It was a far larger crowd than he had ever imagined.

"And there are only about three hundred second-years," Rowen added. "I heard the third-years are less than half of that."

"...What?"

"You get what I’m saying, right?" Rowen let out a grim chuckle. "Out of these thousand students, only the top thirty percent will make it to the second year. It’s a battle for survival, and it’s absolutely brutal."

A battle for survival... at school? The concept was alien to Simon. Just how demanding was this place, considering that seven hundred students were weeded out in a single year?

As he mulled this over, attendants herded the students into their designated seats. Rowen, ever the informant, immediately began a quick scan of the hall, pointing out the noteworthy figures.

"Serne Aindark! Knew she’d be here this year. She’s the official heir to the Ivory Tower."

Simon followed his gaze to a girl with an icy demeanor, her platinum blonde hair cascading down her back.

"All the big names are here! Darwin Caradin! Jay Sanders... Whoa! What is that?"

"What?"

"Behind you."

When Simon turned, his eyes landed on the most striking individual yet: a male student with a colossal frame, standing nearly ten feet tall. The unfortunate students seated behind him were craning their necks, their faces twisted in a grimace.

"Chatel Maer," Rowen whispered. "Half-giant."

"...He’s huge."

"Probably a Combat Magic major. I mean, who could possibly stand against a physique like that?" Rowen shook his head in awe. "And..."

A smirk played on Rowen’s lips as he glanced to their left. His attention had landed on someone who had already become the center of the room’s attention: a girl with black hair and piercing red eyes, sitting with an air of perfect composure.

"No matter what anyone says,she’s the top dog this year. Lorraine Archbold."

Simon flinched but managed to conceal it with a nod.

"Being Nephthys’s only daughter, I figured she’d be a Special Admission for sure," Rowen continued, his voice low. "But I heard she just took the regular entrance exam and got in with a decent score."

"Really?"

"She might not have ranked first or second, but let’s be real—everyone knows she’s the best of this year’s class."

Simon had to agree. He’d witnessed her power firsthand and knew better than anyone what she was capable of.

Just then, a man’s voice boomed from the stage.

"We will now begin the entrance ceremony! All students, please rise."

A crisp and professional host guided the proceedings. True to Kizen’s reputation, the ceremony was efficient and devoid of fluff. The Vice-Principal’s speech was brief, and the administrator’s review of the rules was concise. It was a welcome relief for the audience.

The loudest cheers, however, erupted when the professors took the stage. They were top-tier necromancers, legends like Silage who were still active and feared on the continent. Even Simon, who knew little of world affairs, recognized some of the names. As these living idols appeared, the students’ excitement bordered on fanaticism.

While Rowen screamed himself hoarse beside him, Simon carefully scanned the faculty on stage.

’Nephthys isn’t here,’ he noted quietly.

Rowen overheard his murmur and chuckled. "You think a necromancer of her stature would show up for a first-year entrance ceremony? You’d be lucky to catch a glimpse of her even once by the time you’re a third-year."

"...Is that so?" Simon mused. He doubted Rowen would believe him if he said that same legendary figure had been wandering through Langerstine, lost, with ice cream smeared on her face. "Next, we will have the student representative pledge," the announcer declared.

"All students, please rise."

Finally, the ceremony was nearing its end. Simon stood with the others. Rowen had told him that the representatives were always the top-ranked male and female students of the first-year class.

"Will the students whose names are called please come to the stage?" The announcer unfolded a document. "Special Admission Number Two, Serne Aindark."

A massive cheer swept through the auditorium. The girl with platinum blonde hair rose from her seat and strode forward as whispers of "the Ivory Tower’s heir" rippled through the crowd.

"And Special Admission Number One."

As the host spoke again, the murmurs died instantly, replaced by a heavy silence.

"Simon Polentia."