Swordsman's Regression: Reawakened as a Necromancer-Chapter 128: You’re Not a Demon

He was thrown backward, his metal boots carving deep grooves into the rotting carpet as he skidded five meters away, barely keeping his balance.

From the darkness of the wardrobe, the figure burst out.

Percival looked through his hair and saw that it was a man. He wore purple robes like a Mage, and had a mop of blonde on his head.

"Stay back!" the young man screamed, his feet sliding over the floor as if on frictionless skates.

He thrust his hands forward, summoning raw mana and condensing it instantly into solid matter.

Ten jagged, translucent daggers of pure energy materialized in a fan formation.

They launched at Percival with supersonic speeds.

Percival’s eyes narrowed. An Arcanist.

Only an Arcanist could bypass the conversion time of elemental magic and weaponize raw mana directly.

He grunted in his throat. Activating ⸢Grave Step⸥, he escaped the mana daggers and rematerialized instantly to the man’s left.

At that same time, he retrieved the Basilisk Blade from his case and swung the sword in a horizontal chop.

"Hah!" The Arcanist gasped, twisting his body in mid-air.

He snapped his fingers, and a small explosion of mana detonated at his own feet, propelling him backward in a clumsy but effective tumble.

He gained distance, landing in a crouch, his hands already glowing for another volley.

"By the Gods, you’re fast," the man spat, sweat dripping down his dirty face. "But you can’t touch me!"

He pulled his hands apart, and a whip of crackling yellow energy formed between his palms. He lashed out, the mana-whip slicing through a portrait on the wall and aiming for Percival’s legs.

’As usual,’ Percival noted in his mind. ’Mages and Arcanists depend on distance.’

He ⸢Grave Stepped⸥ again, slipping through the lash of the whip. Then he reappeared two feet in front of the Arcanist.

The man’s eyes widened. He tried to backpedal, to cast another blast, but Percival was already inside his guard.

Rather than cutting him, Percival slammed the pommel of his sword into the man’s chest, hitting it in a certain precise way that the mana channels were affected.

"Oof!"

The Arcanist doubled over, the mana dissipating from his hands. Before he could recover, Percival swept his leg, kicking the man’s feet out from under him.

The Arcanist hit the floor hard.

In a heartbeat, Percival was over him, the tip of his blade hovering an inch from the man’s throat.

The Arcanist looked up. Unwilling to give up, he attempted to summon mana again.

"Stop," Percival commanded, pressing the blade tip into his chest.

The man froze, his hands half-raised in surrender, trembling.

"You’re not a Demon." Percival murmured.

The man blinked, confusion warring with fear on his grime-streaked face. "A Demon?" he asked, his village accent heavy. "Why would I be a Demon?"

Percival stared down at him, then directed his gaze to the crest floating beside him.

⸢Class:Arcanist⸥

⸢Level: 113⸥

Level 113.

An Arcanist at that high a level would be incredibly powerful. But Percival could tell that this man barely had any battle knowledge.

He fought like a cornered rat—full of power, devoid of discipline.

However, that face...

Percival recognized it slowly. It was the face from Willow’s memory. This was the guy who had looked back at her just before she was killed by the Vampire, and then turned to run into the dark.

Percival lowered his sword. "Get up."

The man scrambled to his feet, keeping his hands visible. He dusted off his torn robes, eyeing Percival warily.

"Who are you anyway?" The young man asked, his voice gaining a bit of indignant strength now that he wasn’t about to die. "And how were you able to do all of that? I saw it all you know? You and the Skeletons ? Are you some kind of Dark Summoner? Though I’ve never seen Summoners who fight like... that."

"Tell me who you are first," Percival countered.

The man puffed out his chest slightly, trying to salvage some dignity.

"I am Lewis. From the village of Norvin, in Luvengart City," he declared. "I am a Level 113 Arcanist. A proud bender of mana."

Percival didn’t react to the title. He simply turned around, turning his back on the man and slid his sword into the heavy metal case strapped to his back.

Clack.

"I’m Percival," he said blandly.

He walked over to the corpse of the nearest Vampire Bat.

"Whoa..." Lewis breathed, his eyes glued to the Swordcase. "A Dark Summoner wielding a heavy Swordcase? I’ve never seen this before. Is that a catalyst?"

Percival ignored him. He crouched by the bat, interacting with for loot.

"Is that why you’re able to summon Warrior Skeletons?" Lewis pressed, stepping closer, his curiosity overriding his fear. "I watched you through the crack in the wardrobe. You used those skeletons to kill the bats."

"Are they somehow tied to the swords in that case? Is that how the dark summoning works? You bind skeletons to blades?"

Percival didn’t say anything, he only silently looted.

⸢Vampiric Sonic Gland (x30)⸥

⸢Bat Fang (x12)⸥

⸢Demon Hide (x6)⸥

⸢Demon Core (x10)⸥

Percival tossed the items into his inventory.

"It has to be!" Lewis continued, babbling nervously to fill the silence. "I mean, an Arcanist like me, we study the flow. I saw the mana connecting you to them.

"It felt... sharp. Like steel. And the way you moved! You don’t move like a Mage. You move like a striker. It’s almost like you have two Classes. But that’s impossible for a mortal..."

Percival paused, but pretended he didn’t hear anything as he moved to the other bats. He interacted and collected.

⸢Vampiric Sonic Gland (x10)⸥

⸢Bat Fang (x6)⸥

⸢Demon Hide (x6)⸥

⸢Demon Core (x10)⸥

"...and that teleportation!" Lewis waved his hands. "That wasn’t a Blink spell. Blink leaves a residue of arcane energy. Your spell smelled like... souls. Like a grave."

Lewis paused. He squinted at the air above Percival’s shoulder.

There, hovering faintly, was his Class Crest. A skull with a crown of blue flame.

"Wait," Lewis whispered. "That crest... The Necromancer?"

He gasped, stepping back. "You’re the Summoned Hero! The man everyone is talking about! You refused the King! You refused us!"

Percival stood up, wiping the green ichor from his gloves. The loot was decent. Enough to fetch a good price at the exchange, or perhaps to use as crafting materials for gear.

"Is that why you’re here?" Lewis asked, his eyes wide with hope. "To help us? I heard you once saved a village in Wolsend. Did Lord Eutheo send you to give aid?"

Percival finally turned to face him. His expression was completely blank under his dark hair.

"I have a question for you, Lewis," Percival said, ignoring the man’s excitement.

"Anything! Ask me anything!"

"What happened in the Encounter Zone before this one?" Percival asked softly. "The Foyer. I saw corpses of dead Awakeners. Two Knights. A Mage. And a Barbarian..All higher than Level 100. They were.. siphoned to death."

His eyes squinted at the Arcanist.

"Somehow... you are alive."

Lewis flinched. The excitement drained from his face, replaced by a sudden, shifty guilt. He looked down at his boots.

"Well I... I almost wasn’t," Lewis stammered. "It was a massacre. We didn’t know what to expect when we got in here but this is no ordinary Gate World that’s for sure."

"Those blood suckers in the Foyer, they were too fast. They separated us. I barely escaped. I had to use my Mana Cloak to hide in the shadows. It was terrible."

Percival watched him. "Did you try to help anyone?" he asked.

Lewis looked up, surprised. "Of course! I tried! But there were too many of them. If I hadn’t run, I would have died too! What good is a dead Arcanist?"

Percival stared at him for a long, uncomfortable moment.

He knew the truth. He had seen Willow’s memory. He had seen Lewis turn his back on a girl who was begging for help. He had seen a coward who sacrificed his team to buy himself seconds.

But Percival said nothing. Revenge served no purpose at the moment. Besides, even Willow saw it unnecessary. She had chosen her parents’ corpses over killing this guy.

"I see," Percival said finally. "I have cleared both Encounter Zones. The Foyer is empty. The Gallery is empty. I am moving forward."

Lewis let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for days.

"You... you’ve cleared both?!" he exclaimed, a smile breaking out. "Unbelievable! That means the path is open! I can leave! I can finally get out of this hellhole!"

Lewis turned, adjusting his cloak. "Thank you, Hero! I will report your bravery to the—"

He tried to step past Percival toward the exit.

A hand shot out.

Percival grabbed Lewis by the end of his cloak, jerking him to a halt. The grip was like iron.

"Hey!" Lewis yelped. "What are you doing?"

"You’re not leaving," Percival said. "You’re coming with me."

"What? No!" Lewis struggled, trying to flare his mana. "I’m out of mana! I’m exhausted!"

"I have potions. You can retain as well on the way. As an Arcanist, retaining Mana should be very easy for you, right?"

Lewis gazed at Percival’s face, terror on his own. "I can’t fight anymore! You can’t make me—"

"Awake."

Blue flames suddenly erupted and two Skeleton Soldiers appeared. They flanked Lewis, eyes and swords burning blue.

The Arcanist gulped and he died the mana in his hands.

"Stay in the front," Percival ordered, releasing the man’s cloak and shoving him gently toward the dark doors at the end of the Gallery. "To the next Zone."

Lewis looked at the Skeletons, then at the darkness ahead, and finally at Percival’s unyielding mask.

He realized he had traded a chaotic death for a calculated one.

"Fine," Lewis squeaked, his voice trembling. "Fine. But if I die, it’s on your conscience."

"Don’t be so sure I have one," Percival said.

Lewis turned and gave him the most alarmed expression.