Necromancer Academy and the Genius Summoner-Chapter 61: Episode

Simon offered a sheepish smile. "I just got lucky. It was similar to a technique I’m familiar with."

Riding a wave of momentum, he immediately began the second circling. The process was far smoother this time. As Simon rolled the Jet-Black in his palm, it was as if the substance itself was asking him, ’Are we doing that again?’

In response, Simon kept its rotation strong and steady. He completed the second circling in nearly half the time it took him initially, then slotted it into the magic circle.

’Whoooosh!’

Activating the second corner brought a few more runes to life.

"Two more to go!" Dick cheered. "Keep it up, Simon!"

"Right."

Simon sharpened his focus and resumed the process. The third attempt was easier than the second, just as the second had been easier than the first.

’Whoooosh!’

Finally, with all four corners ignited, the entire magic circle blazed with a brilliant light.

’Clack. Clack-clack.’

The skull stirred, clicking its jaw. The sound was crisper and clearer than that of the Island Ratman Skeleton, likely due to the superior quality of the bone. Then, with a sudden lurch, the skull leaped into the air.

"Ouch!"

It chomped down hard on Simon’s arm. Though toothless, its jaw was so powerful that the pressure brought tears to his eyes.

"Ah, there’s a warning here," Dick announced, peering at the assembly diagram. "It says, ‘Saphilos has a strong habit of biting anything and everything. After activating the magic circle, step back and toss it a chew toy or a cushion.’"

"Could have told me that a little sooner!" Simon grunted, struggling to pry the skull from his arm.

"I just saw it now," Dick defended himself. "It also says that after a day or two, you can connect to its consciousness and tame it. That should reduce its aggressive tendencies."

"There’s no time for that." Simon’s eyes narrowed as he glared at the skull. "Get. Down."

The skull, which had been gnawing on his arm, flinched. As Simon’s intense stare bore down on it, the skull finally released its grip and retreated.

"You are never to bite anyone ever again," Simon commanded. "That’s an order."

The skull drooped, falling silent as if it had been thoroughly scolded. Witnessing the scene, Dick let out a dry laugh. "It’s not like there’s a rule against bad skeletons, but they all seem to behave for you."

With the summoning magic active, it was time to assemble the bones. Simon laid them out from the box and gently stroked the skull.

"Just a little longer," he murmured. "I’ll build your body soon."

As if it understood, the skull began hopping around the table in excitement. In its frenzy, it bumped into the small effigy of Pier and knocked it to the floor.

[Who dares!] Pier’s voice thundered in Simon’s mind. [This new recruit has no manners! When you come down to the Legion, you’d better be ready to die]

Simon placed the effigy back on the table and got to work. He followed the diagram, methodically assembling the skeleton piece by piece.

’This is definitely the best part,’ he thought. The bones possessed a natural attraction to one another, and the satisfying ’click’ as they snapped together like magnets was deeply gratifying. However, this assembly was considerably more complex than the Island Ratman’s.

’Banding? How does this work?’

Certain steps required him to use Jet-Black techniques directly, while others involved applying chemicals that came with the kit. The arms proved to be the most challenging part. Skeletons were inherently weak, so creating enough strength to draw a bowstring required several intricate procedures. He had to thread Jet-Black through holes in the arm bones, then wrap them in a process called banding, almost like applying a bandage. He coated the joints with an adhesive, waited for it to become tacky, and then applied heat to cure it.

It was his first time performing such a delicate operation, and he fumbled through it. Dick, who had been dozing for two hours, finally gave up and returned to Room 409. The few other students who occasionally passed through the pantry had long since disappeared. Simon was alone, surrounded by his Summoning and Jet-Black Dynamics textbooks, completely absorbed in his work.

Lost in his task, he hadn’t noticed the passage of time. He glanced out the window to see the first light of dawn breaking across the sky.

He couldn’t remember a day where every single second had felt so precious.

Still, he had to see it through. Simon connected the last two pieces—the leg bones.

"It’s done...!"

A proud, elegant skeleton with a pristine white body and horned skull stood before him, testing its new limbs.

’Clack! Clack-clack!’

Seemingly pleased with its form, it began to leap and bound around the pantry.

"Alright," Simon grinned. "Let’s go outside!"

’Clack!’

Simon and the Skeleton Archer left the dormitory together. The Kizen campus, spread out beneath a cloudless, indigo dawn, looked like a painting. Taking a deep breath of the crisp morning air, Simon shouted, "Catch!"

He opened his Subspace and tossed out a bow made specifically for skeletons. He had considered giving it his own one-gold bow but decided it might be too stiff. It was better to start with something easier.

The moment the Skeleton Archer caught the bow, its body trembled as if in anticipation. It immediately fell into a disciplined shooting stance, gripping the bow with its left hand while its right reached behind its back. There was nothing there, but its hand flailed in the empty air like a malfunctioning machine.

’Don’t tell me... Is it searching for arrows in a quiver?’

Skeletons were known to retain strong habits from their former lives. That was why the bones of monsters who had been archers were prized materials for Skeleton Archers. The Saphilos was a half-human, half-beast creature from the forest that had used a bow as its primary weapon.

"Here are the arrows," Simon said, pulling one from his Subspace.

The Skeleton Archer shuffled backward toward him, its back still turned, its right hand still sweeping through the air. Simon chuckled softly and placed an arrow in its waiting grasp.

It nocked the arrow with lightning speed.

With practiced ease, it drew the bowstring and took aim. Simon connected to its consciousness, designating a target.

’Shoot that tree.’

His heart pounded with anticipation. This was it—the culmination of a sleepless night’s work.

’Now!’ he commanded.

The arrow sliced through the dawn breeze and slammed into the tree with a solid thud.

Simon clenched his fists and let out a triumphant cheer. He had created his very first Skeleton Archer.

---

At that same moment, in the city of Rochest, a man slowly sat up on an operating table in an unmarked, underground surgical room. The space, located beneath a dilapidated building far from the city center, was a chaotic mess of blood-stained tools. The man wore only underwear, his entire torso covered in swirling Jet-Black tattoos.

"Ugh." He grimaced, clutching his forehead against a splitting headache.

"So, you’re awake, Haren Cork?"

His gaze shifted. The door creaked open, and a man with a weary face walked in.

"Oh, Professor Bahil!"

Bahil leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "The procedure was a success. How are you feeling?"

Haren looked down at his own body, a canvas of swirling Jet-Black ink. He clenched his right fist, and the dark energy flowed from it like spring water, dripping to the floor.

"...I’m overflowing with power," he breathed, a manic grin spreading across his face. "I feel like I can do anything."

"I’m glad to hear it," Bahil replied with a serene smile. "Now, return to Kizen and attend your classes as usual. You must never, under any circumstances, show your body to anyone. And refrain from showering until after the dueling evaluation. Washing your hair or face will be fine."

Bahil tossed Haren the uniform that had been hanging on a nearby rack.

"The day after tomorrow, when the evaluation begins, the tattoos will fade from your body naturally. You won’t be flagged by Kizen’s doping tests. Still, the power you’ve gained from the curse will easily last for two months."

Haren stared at Bahil, his eyes shining with adoration. "Professor... why would you do all this for me?"

"My reasons are irrelevant, wouldn’t you say? You simply need to carry out the task I’ve assigned you."

At those words, Haren’s expression hardened. "Defeat Simon Polentia, Special Admission No. 1 of Class A, in the dueling evaluation."

"Precisely," Bahil confirmed. "Don’t be intimidated by his title. As you are now, you are far beyond his level."

Haren clenched and unclenched his fists, testing his newfound strength. He then summoned his signature technique, the ‘Black Hand,’ from his back.

A massive, inky hand erupted from between his shoulder blades. Haren could only marvel at it. Its size and power were on another level entirely. When he extended it, the hand was large enough to shield his entire body. When he swung it like a whip, it tore through the air with a terrifying ’swoosh!’

With this, he was certain he could defeat anyone.

"Thank you, Professor Bahil! I will never forget your kindness!"

The intoxicating euphoria was overwhelming. To Haren, the man who had granted him this power was a god. He felt compelled to add, "If Simon Polentia is a nuisance to you, I could kill him during the evaluation and make it look like an accident."

In that instant, the smile vanished from Bahil’s face, replaced by a glacial mask.

A sound like a legion of wailing ghosts emanated from behind the professor. A wave of pure terror washed over Haren, and his body began to tremble uncontrollably.

"Do not do anything foolish," Bahil’s voice was dangerously low. "You will do exactly as I’ve instructed, and nothing more."

Haren felt his throat tighten, his breath catching. He clawed at his own neck, gasping for air.

"If something goes wrong and he dies..." A chilling light glinted in Bahil’s eyes. "You and your family will not have the mercy of a simple death. I will ensure your souls suffer for eternity."

"I—I’ll keep that in mind!" He coughed.

As Bahil withdrew his oppressive aura, Haren collapsed, panting for breath.

’How dare a worthless pawn who isn’t even a backup plan,’ Bahil thought with disdain.

He turned and walked out of the operating room, donning his overcoat and hat.

’Simon Polentia, I apologize for resorting to such methods, but it is necessary.’

The decision had been agonizing, like carving his own flesh and bone. But what Simon needed right now was a crushing defeat. Drowning in that bitterness, he would be forced to look inward, to question what went wrong. And eventually, he would realize that the source of his failure was Summoning.

’I will apologize for this one day. But you, too, in the distant future...’ The corners of Bahil’s mouth twisted into a grotesque smile. ’...will be grateful for the decision I made. Of that, I have no doubt!’