Necromancer Academy and the Genius Summoner-Chapter 183: Episode

The more Simon read, the more dumbfounded he became. The Blood Heaven Cult’s objective wasn’t to acquire slaves or live sacrifices. Their ultimate goal was to ignite a war between the Holy Federation and the Dark Alliance.

’I thought they were just a cult of madmen with no real purpose, but they had this scheme all along.’

It was a brilliant, terrifying stroke. The current political climate between the two powers was a powder keg. It felt as though the only thing preventing all-out war was the lack of a final, justifiable reason—the last piece of the puzzle. But if the news of a train hijacking by a cult with ties to Kizen and the Dark Alliance were to spread across the Federation? Hostility toward necromancers would boil over, and public demand for war would become so extreme that not even the Pope himself could stop it.

"This... this could actually lead to war," Simon murmured.

Metin, reading over his shoulder, let out a low groan. "According to these documents, the cult plans to deliberately leak information to the Inquisitor-General so he’ll raid their headquarters. The Inquisitor-General is one of the most extreme war hawks in the Federation. He’ll use any means necessary to turn this incident into a full-blown conflict. It’s like giving wings to a tiger."

"...Is he really that extreme?"

"Yes."

The head of all Heretic Inquisitors, Inquisitor-General Rate, was infamous in both the Holy Federation and the Dark Alliance. In his youth, he was a merciless warmonger who had personally hung countless necromancers on red crosses. Now, as Inquisitor-General, he was a radical who had hundreds of Federation citizens burned at the stake in witch hunts every year.

Listening to the grim description, Simon stroked his chin.

"This is purely hypothetical, but what if we submitted these documents to this Rate as evidence...?"

Metin shook his head. "The truth doesn’t matter to the Inquisitor-General. He’d burn the documents on the spot, and it wouldn’t be the least bit surprising if he killed us to ensure our silence."

"...Ugh."

If Metin was right, persuasion was impossible. As Simon mulled over their options, Metin set the documents down with a heavy sigh.

"To be honest, I used to believe that a certain degree of war was necessary." Metin’s gaze settled on Simon. "But seeing the ‘miracle’ you performed has changed my mind. I can’t help but wonder if my own views have been too narrow."

Simon flinched, then forced a laugh and made the sign of the cross. "I’m not sure what you mean, Priest! Haha!"

Metin offered a small, knowing smile at the reaction. ’He’s so thorough about hiding his identity.’

Simon’s expression turned serious again. "Then what if we leak this evidence to the press before the Inquisitor-General can raid their headquarters?"

Metin nodded. "Yes, I believe that’s our best course of action."

Ultimately, it was a race against time. If they waited until after Rate’s machinations had whipped the public’s hatred of necromancers into a frenzy, revealing the truth would be too little, too late. Their story would be buried under the war rhetoric or dismissed as a fringe conspiracy theory.

However, if they could break the story first—cementing in the public consciousness that the Blood Heaven Cult was trying to manipulate the Federation and the Dark Alliance into fighting—then any anti-necromancer propaganda Rate released later would have far less impact. It might even create a sense of defiance, a refusal to be played for fools.

But there was a major risk: the press in the Holy Federation was controlled by Efnel. Any article required their approval, which would take time. And in that time, Rate could intervene and have the story killed.

"It’s done!" Lethe shouted, throwing her arms in the air. A brilliant light flared from the divine magic circle she was touching, and the train lurched.

"You can control it?" Simon asked, amazed.

"Of course! It’ll be a little slow, but I can even put it in reverse. More importantly, what did you find out?"

Simon quickly brought her up to speed. As she listened, her expression grew just as grave as theirs.

"So, this whole incident was a plot by the Blood Heaven Cult to start a war, and the person coming to ‘resolve’ it is the Inquisitor-General, an extremist war hawk. Is that right?"

"That’s right."

She fell into deep thought. "I agree, we should use the press. But I think it would be better to entrust this information to someone with influence, rather than submitting it ourselves. We don’t have any."

"...An influential person?"

"Yes. I’ll contact an acquaintance of mine," she said, pulling a communication crystal from her pocket. "Someone who can influence both Efnel and the press, and who wants to avoid a war more than anyone. That should be enough, right?"

A moment later, the connection stabilized, and Lethe spoke with the utmost formality.

"Gratula mi Kivilis. This is Lethe Shardena."

Simon started. That was a formal greeting reserved for a high-ranking priest.

---

"Yes, I understand."

The man who set down the communication crystal let out a faint, chilling laugh. The room was devoid of light. Heavy curtains blocked the windows, plunging the office into near-total darkness.

The man sitting in the massive chair was clad in heavy plate armor, even indoors, with an arsenal of weapons strapped to his body. His right eye was a milky white, a stark contrast to his short black hair and the stubborn, unyielding set of his jaw.

"The time has come."

At his words, a subordinate standing at attention replied, "Sir, are you saying the Blood Heaven Cult has hijacked a train?"

"Indeed." The man’s lips twisted into a smirk. He was Inquisitor-General Rate, the man rumored to have killed more necromancers than anyone else in the world. "The time for judgment is upon us."

The Blood Heaven Cult intended to use the Inquisition to start their war. Their plan was simple: evacuate their own forces, then leak information to the Heretic Inquisitors, allowing them to "discover" the evidence. But long before any information could be leaked, Rate already knew everything, thanks to his own intelligence network.

The entire situation was unfolding in the palm of his hand.

"Insolent fools." His lips curled into a sneer. "They think they’re using us, but it is we who are using them. At dawn tomorrow, we will raid their headquarters and wipe them from existence. Then, I will inform every press outlet that the Dark Alliance was behind them. Once public sentiment has reached its peak, I will personally go to Efnel for an audience with His Holiness the Pope."

"Yes, sir! We will prepare everything!"

With a flick of his finger, Rate commanded the curtains to part, and sunlight flooded the room.

"Ughhh..."

The light revealed a gruesome tableau: blood-soaked figures were nailed to red crosses. Their fingernails and tongues had been torn out, and their flesh was seared with the marks of hot irons. Their eyes were vacant, devoid of any will to live.

"Number 5415 has confessed, sir."

"Good work."

At another flick of Rate’s finger, inquisitors dragged the broken figures out of the office. They would now confess their sins at a holy trial, be executed, and finally find freedom from their torment. Long streaks of blood marked their passage.

"Finally." Rate rose to his feet, his colossal, three-meter frame towering over the room. "The time for war is at hand."

He touched his milky-white right eye—a scar from Nephthys. The thought that he would soon tear that woman apart with his own hands brought a cruel smile to his face.

’Fwoooosh!’

An explosive wave of Divinity erupted from his back. The inquisitors flinched, stumbling away from the sheer pressure.

’This is the rumored...!’

Rate’s Divinity revealed its true, terrifying nature in times of war. When engaged in battle against heretics, it granted him one thing: infinity. He could cross thousands of battlefields and never tire. With a bottomless well of divine power, he could rise and revive himself endlessly, striking down countless necromancers. Victory always belonged to him—the last man standing.

"By next year, I will slaughter every last creature of evil on this continent!"

Divinity was the Goddess’s will. And the Goddess’s will was war.

"Prepare the executions! Carve the crosses! Paint them red!" He grinned, a chasm splitting his face. "This year, the carpenters will be busy."

---

Night fell. Lethe had managed to get the train moving in reverse, but it hadn’t gone far before grinding to a halt. The problem was a lack of fuel; a supply pipe to the engine had been damaged during the battle.

Left with no choice, Metin gathered a few able-bodied men from among the passengers to begin the arduous task of refueling by hand. It was a process of trial and error, as every crew member with the necessary knowledge had been killed. As they worked, darkness descended. They would have to wait inside the stationary train until the tank was full.

The passengers trembled, gripped by the fear that the Blood Heaven Cult could attack again at any moment. Lethe organized the priests and clerics on board into a temporary militia and distributed the remaining food from the warehouse.

For now, there was no sign of an attack. Simon, Lethe, and Ellen sat in an empty passenger car, a gaping hole in its wall offering a view of the night, and ate a late dinner.

Lethe had a surprisingly hearty appetite. After inhaling a plate of steak, she tore open another lunch box and spoke. "I talked to my contact again in the washroom. They said they’re coming here directly."

Simon’s eyes widened. "Seriously? They’re coming here?"

"I was surprised, too. They’re incredibly busy and important, but they said the situation seems grave and they’ll rush right over." Even Lethe sounded genuinely shocked.

"How are they getting all the way out here?"

"By spamming ridiculously expensive teleportation magic circles. They want to see the situation with their own eyes. So, once we get the train moving, I have to go set up a teleportation guidance circle near the Blood Heaven Cult’s headquarters."

Ellen, who had been focused on her food, looked up in alarm. "T-That’s too dangerous! We have no idea how many of those horrible heretics there are!"

"I have no choice," Lethe said firmly. "I’m the one who called them, so I have to take responsibility."

"I’ll go with you," Simon offered immediately.

Lethe nodded. "Would you? Then let’s head for the Tree of Life as soon as this is over. It’s not that far from here."

As they talked, Simon excused himself to use the washroom. The moment he was gone, Ellen’s eyes lit up, and she leaned in close.

"Lethe, Lethe! So what’s the deal with you two? You’re perfectly in sync!"

"Shut up," Lethe snapped. "You want me to kick your jaw up to your nose?"

"Hmph! You’re always so mean to me!"

Lethe leaned back against her seat, replying listlessly, "There’s nothing between us."

Her denial only spurred Ellen on. "Oh, come on, nothing? Bringing Simon, a necromancer, all this way is something you had to risk your life for, Lethe! Who risks their life for a total stranger?"

Lethe’s eyes flashed as she corrected her, enunciating every word. "The life of my benefactor is on the line. Her son simply came along to help." As she spoke, she sighed, wondering why she was even bothering to make excuses. "It’s so obvious. Grow up. I know what you’re trying to imply, but this isn’t the fun little romance you’re imagining."

"Is that so?" Ellen chuckled. "Then, is it okay if I confess my feelings to Simon today?"