Swordsman's Regression: Reawakened as a Necromancer-Chapter 111: Heroes’ Training Begins

In the same land known as the Soil of Amity, not very far from the Sovereign Bastion, there was another herculean building. This one was made of glistening marble.

It was the Heroes’ Tutorium. At least, that was the new name that had been given to it.

Its original name was the Hero’s Tutorium. But with the realm entering into a new era, certain names such as these would naturally have to change.

The massive iron doors of the building groaned open, pushed by unseen mechanisms.

One by one, the twenty chosen Awakeners that made the Heroes’ Party stepped inside.

They walked into the main hall. There, they found a cavernous rotunda with a ceiling so high it looked like the white sky.

By the walls were colossal effigies of stone standing fifty feet tall.

They were statues of the past Heroes. The Outworlders.

There was Johnny the Star-Caller, holding a stone staff. Aztafar the Shield, his stone face forever twisted in a scream of defense. And the popular, Idemay of the Blade, looking imperious.

Beneath them were smaller statues of their parties. The ones who had died supporting them.

Multiple footsteps knocked on the floor as feet walked past the statues.

Aethelstan Highcourt led them, his golden cape flowing behind him. He stopped before the statue of Johnny, looking up at the stone face of a boy who, like the others, had failed to save the world, despite being summoned from another universe.

"These statues make them look... bigger than they actually are," Aethelstan murmured. "The reason why there’s so many of them is because they all failed."

"That’s no way to speak of our legends, Stan."

Aethelstan turned.

Nessa Nightfall stepped up beside him. Her hands were folded as though she was uninterested. She was scanning the perimeter of the room, her assassin instincts already mapping exits that didn’t exist.

"Nessa," Aethelstan breathed, a genuine smile breaking his princely mask.

"Aethelstan," she responded plainly.

"I... I was shocked when they called your name. I know your father is very ambitious, but I didn’t think he would agree to this."

"He barely had a choice," Nessa said, her face impassive, though her eyes softened slightly as she looked at him. "It is good to be with a familiar face, Aethelstan. I feel a little overwhelmed."

Aethelstan narrowed his eyes at her reaction. "It’s normal to feel that way with danger on the horizon. But we have a duty as the strongest of the strong."

Nessa stared at him. She wasn’t expecting a speech.

"Your Highness!"

Aethelstan turned his head. He saw Liraeth Windwhisper practically skipping across the marble floor, her red hair bouncing.

She stopped just inches from Aethelstan, performing a curtsy that was deep enough to be respectful but energetic enough to show off her figure.

"I’m Liraeth," she beamed with cheeks flushed a bright pink. She batted her eyelashes, ignoring Nessa entirely. "Liraeth Windwhisper? Of the Golden Spire? I... I just wanted to say, your speech—well, you didn’t give a speech, but the way you stood there! It was magnificent. Truly Mythic!"

Aethelstan blinked, taken aback by the sheer force of her energy.

He looked at Nessa as if asking for help. She only raised a brow.

"Uh, thank you, Liraeth. We are... team members now. No need for such formality."

"Oh, absolutely!" Liraeth giggled, touching her arm. "Team members. Partners! I’m an Elemental Mage, you know. I have a Mythic Talent so I’m pretty useful."

"Pretty useful?" Aethelstan chuckled. "You’re one of the most powerful in the team."

Liraeth’s face wanted to burst.

Nessa took a subtle half-step back, her expression tightening with second-hand embarrassment.

Further back in the hall, the atmosphere was different.

Princess Corisande stood near the entrance, looking small despite her armor. She wasn’t looking at the statues or the other Awakeners.

She was staring at a patch of sunlight on the floor, her eyes distant, lost in the overwhelming reality of her fate.

"It will be alright, Princess."

A gentle hand placed itself on her shoulder.

Corvell Brightleaf stood beside her. He was tall for an elf, with moss-green hair tied back in a scholar’s knot and a face that made everyone around him calm.

Corisande looked up, her smile failing to reach her eyes. "We’re heroes now. You shouldn’t be calling me Princess."

"Your father would have had some carefully chosen words for my father if he ever heard me call you by your name," Corvell jested.

"Well, my father is not here." Corisande said matter-of-factly.

Corvell gazed at her with a playful smile, scanning her features and doing his best not to be bewitched by them. "Why are you acting otherwise? We both know that you are happy as a fox to be here."

"I am not," Corisande protested weakly.

"You are," Corvell chuckled. "Come. The Dwarves are making a scene. We should probably endure it together."

Indeed, the Dwarves were making their presence known.

Bromm Axebringer, the massive Barbarian, was standing in the center of the room, slapping the stone leg of a statue with a hand the size of a ham.

"Solid work!" Bromm roared, his voice booming like a cannon. "Human craft, eh? A bit smooth for my taste, but sturdy! Hey! Ugmar! Bet you ten gold I can lift this statue with my middle finger!!"

Ugmar Logbarion, the Knight from the Support Party, grunted, crossing his massive arms. "Save your strength, you oaf. We aren’t here to wrestle stones. Look at the humans. All stiff and shiny."

"Let them be shiny," Dagna Olgis, the Druid, muttered. She was inspecting the toes of Hero Idemay, seemingly more interested in the legendary heroes than the ones around them.

The massive doors at the far end of the hall swung open with a grinding screech.

The chatter died instantly.

A man stepped out. He was dressed in the severe, grey uniform of the Bastion’s administration, a heavy chain of office around his neck. He was the King Warden, one of the workers of the King, who went on simple and complicated errands.

"Attention!" he barked.

The twenty Awakeners shuffled into a loose formation. The Seven—Aethelstan, Nessa, Liraeth, Bromm, Deron, Dagna, Corvell—stood at the front.

The Thirteen Support members stood behind them.

"I am Warden Havelock," the man announced. He had a slightly friendly voice, though it was too dry to evoke any feeling of warmth or unity. "First, I want to congratulate all of you on being chosen to represent the billions of people of our world."

Some of the Awakeners grinned. Bromm folded his hands proudly. Liraeth giggled. Aethelstan’s eyes narrowed with purpose.

"However, that is the last time I will make this look like a reward. It is not," Havelock declared. "This is now your entire life. Your duty that you must respect. That you must follow. That you must put over personal wants, needs, desires."

The energy had changed now. Smiles and egos disappeared, and everyone froze, feeling the air get tense.

"You have been cheered. You have been feasted. You have been told you are the saviors of Evernia."

He walked down the line, inspecting them.

"Forget all of it."

He stopped in front of Deron Darkhaven, eyeing the young man’s desperate expression.

"In here, you are not Princes, Princesses, or Prodigies."

Corisande eyed Corvell who rolled his eyes.

"You are assets. You are weapons that need sharpening. The world outside screams your names. In here, the only name that matters is the one you carve onto a demonspawn’s corpse."

He turned back to the podium.

"You have twenty different fighting styles. Three different racial backgrounds. Conflicting Guild contracts. That ends today. If you cannot fight as a single organism, the Demon Lord will not just kill you; he will unmake you."

Warden Havelock gestured to the shadows behind him.

"To ensure you survive long enough to be useful, the Council has appointed a Master of Instruction. A man who has cataloged every Demonspawn weakness, every Gate World anomaly, and every failed Hero in the last century."

From the far wall, a wooden door opened, the red curtain moving aside to allow a lone figure to emerge.