Daily Life at Kizen
The next morning.
As if everything Simon had been through the day before had been a lie, the first class of the day arrived.
It was Bahil's Curse Studies. After finishing his theoretical lecture, Bahil moved straight into practical work.
"In the last Egrestr class, I saw far too many of you leaning on the correction tools. So this period, we'll practice with a simpler curse."
The Curse of Transference used the foundational formula common to every curse: imbuing a living target with Jet-Black. The goal of the lesson was to complete that magic circle free-floating in the air, without any correction tool at all.
Ainz assembled the curse faster than anyone else, then turned his gaze on the plants Bahil's assistants had prepared as casting targets.
They were plants that grew by feeding on Jet-Black; when the Curse of Transference was cast on them, flower buds would bloom from their bodies.
The cactus from the previous Egrestr class flashed through Ainz's mind, and he hesitated for a moment. Bahil approached him.
"Oh. Simple as it may be, the completeness of that magic circle is excellent. You finished it the fastest, too. Is there a reason you're hesitating to cast?"
Bahil was watching him with a smiling face.
"Ah, no. I just remembered the plant from the last Egrestr class…"
At those words, Bahil recalled how Ainz's plant had withered into dust, and a flicker of mania tried to surface on his face. He somehow managed to hold it down.
"Go ahead and try it once. I'm right here, so don't worry."
"Understood."
Ainz had no excuse left not to cast, so he fired the curse into the plant—
Exactly as he had expected, countless flower buds erupted from the pole-like body of the plant like an explosion.
In no time the blossoms had swallowed Ainz's desk and kept spreading outward, swallowing the desks of the students around him as well.
"Whoaaa!"
"What the—what is that?"
Gasps of awe burst out from every corner of the room.
And Bahil simply stood there, staring blankly at the plant Ainz had turned into something that looked like the World Tree itself.
A moment later, Bahil's consciousness returned to reality, and he asked Ainz,
"Come to think of it, Student Ainz—were you aiming for Curse Studies?"
Ainz felt a flicker of doubt. He had never told anyone, and he had never even settled on a specialization.
Ah. That must be it.
When the groups had been formed, each member had written down a preferred track. Since Ainz had decided to take Curse Studies as his main and Jet-Black Dynamics as his sub, he had written "Curse Studies" for the time being.
Bahil must have only bothered to memorize the preferences of the students he was interested in. That was how Ainz figured it.
"For now, yes…"
"I see."
At Ainz's answer, Bahil's smile deepened. It looked almost like a victor's smile.
"Do your best. I'll be rooting for you."
With that, Bahil turned to help a groaning Simon and continued leading the Curse Studies class.
A short while later, Simon also managed to create a World Tree of his own, and Bahil's expression was dyed with mania once more.
The next period was Hongpeng's Martial Combat class.
Sure enough, Ainz let out a dry laugh the moment he saw the hippos lumbering toward them again.
Most of the students climbed onto the hippos, and Kamibarez was hopping up and down just like last time.
This time Simon helped her up. Once everyone was mounted, they headed for the training grounds where Martial Combat would be held.
The site Hongpeng had chosen for class this time was a clearing in a bamboo grove, cool with a steady breeze.
As always, they warmed up with hard running. After that, Hongpeng taught the students basic hand-to-hand techniques.
Everyone spread out with generous spacing and threw punches or extended kicks charged with Jet-Black. The assistants moved among them, correcting stances and teaching the knack of packing Jet-Black into a strike.
Hongpeng seemed particularly taken with Simon, who had shown grit and outstanding stamina last time; he spent an unusual amount of effort coaching him personally.
And just like before, when they had to climb the hill with Egrestr hanging from them, Meirin tried to calculate a resistance formula—only to have Ainz interfere, leaving her to groan her way up the slope.
Dick teased her for it and got a textbook slammed into his head for his trouble.
Martial Combat ended, and Summoning class drew near.
"The greatest advantage of a skeleton is its restorative power."
The topic of the lesson was Restoration. They would shatter the Island Ratman skeletons they had built last period and put them back together again.
Aaron raised a finger, and bones scattered across the classroom shot together in midair at tremendous speed.
In a matter of seconds a fully assembled skeleton dropped to the floor and even offered a crisp salute. Cheers and applause erupted from every direction.
"The principle of restoration is not difficult. Even when a skeleton's body is scattered by a heavy impact, residual Jet-Black remains in the bones."
Aaron plucked one bone free with his hand.
"You activate that Jet-Black and maximize its natural 'attractive property'—the force that seeks to return to its original form."
He relaxed his grip, and the bone flew back and snapped into place like a magnet.
"All right. Begin practical work."
While the other students practiced restoring torsos, arms, and legs separately, Simon succeeded in restoring an entire skeleton in a single attempt.
Ainz, for his part, made a show of struggling through a few tries and succeeded on the third—still an astonishing result, enough to make Aaron's eyes go wide.
Meirin and Hector both struggled with restoration. It was a domain of talent that practice and training alone could never push to one hundred percent.
Ainz restored his own skeleton, then helped the members of Group 8 with theirs and even gave Meirin a demonstration.
Simon, who was usually too busy just keeping up with class, savored a rare stretch of free time. After checking Dick's and Kamibarez's restorations, he still had time left and began idly scribbling in his textbook.
"Hey. You sure you can just sit there goofing off?"
Meirin grumbled, clearly sulking. She herself had only barely succeeded thanks to Ainz's halfhearted demonstration and was still practicing, so Simon's easy posture grated on her.
Instead of answering, Simon swept a hand through the air. The bones scattered across his desk locked together, and a complete skeleton took shape.
"…Y-you're good at that."
Meirin shut her mouth. Dick cackled as if he'd won something, then caught the eye of a passing assistant and went quiet.
Simon turned his attention back to the textbook. Ainz gave him a couple of taps on the shoulder.
"Hm?"
Ainz pointed wordlessly somewhere. Simon's gaze followed.
"Simon Polentia."
Aaron was looking down at him with a menacing glint in his eyes. The color drained from Simon's face.
"What are you doing right now?"
He'd been caught slacking—there was no room for excuses. Even the page he had open was different from everyone else's.
"Answer me."
Aaron's voice was ice-cold. Simon didn't make excuses; he told the truth.
"I finished the restoration, so I was briefly looking ahead at the next lesson material."
"……"
Aaron already knew. Simon and Ainz were the only students in Class A who had achieved full restoration in under ten seconds.
Even so, Aaron's expression looked murderous.
"Stay behind in the lecture hall after class."
With that alone, Aaron turned on his heel and left. Simon's face went deathly pale.
"S…Simon… Did you just get marked?"
Dick muttered with a stiff face. Meirin pouted and crossed her arms.
"See? I told you. I asked if you could just sit there goofing off."
Even as she said it, she was watching carefully for reactions. But none of those voices reached Simon's ears.
Group 7 arrived at the lab to prepare poison.
They had started the compounding before Simon got there, and the conversation quickly turned to whatever he might be going through right then.
Someone even suggested Aaron had chained a student up, stripped him to the waist, and was thrashing him with a long whip—at which Kamibarez's face went ashen.
In any case, Group 7 began manufacturing the poison while they waited for Simon—
"I'm back."
Simon arrived. And his expression looked fine.
"Simon!"
"What happened?"
"You didn't get hit… right?"
Simon answered with a smile.
"It was nothing spe—"
"You got hit? You did get hit, didn't you? I knew it…!"
"I heard Kizen corporal punishment is infamous for how brutal it is. They chain a student up, strip him, and take a long whip to—"
Simon broke out in a cold sweat. It really had been nothing.
"He just gave me extra instruction."
"What?"
The rest of the group looked like they couldn't believe it.
"Professor Aaron gave you private tutoring? No way!"
Meirin refused to accept it—
"Maybe he got hit so hard in the head with the whip that—"
Dick stroked his chin.
Simon gave up trying to get through to them and walked over to the cauldron.
"How's the potion coming?"
"Perfect! Who do you think made it?"
Meirin declared, suddenly full of confidence, as if she had never been worried at all.
"Water volume, ingredient measurements, boiling time, skimming off the impurities—all perfect! Just twenty more minutes on low heat and it's done. You guys just trust me and follow along!"
Dick looked at her with open irritation, but he couldn't deny how large her role had been.
Before long the potion finished boiling, and Dick brought over empty bottles.
"Potion's done boiling. Time to bottle it!"
Dick turned the handle attached to the cauldron, tilting it carefully, and pressed a bottle to the spout to catch the liquid.
"Curious whether it works? Then our group leader will personally sample it as our representative!"
"…You keep running your mouth like that and you're going to get beaten to death."
Meirin's eyes went sharp as axes, and Dick hurriedly ducked his head and went back to work.
"Ugh. If this weren't Kizen and we were outside, I'd have you arrested for insult."
"Insult, y'say? This humble one's too unlearned to know what that means."
The two of them started bickering again. It would be over in a moment, but Kamibarez fretted restlessly the whole time.
At any rate, between one conversation and another they finished bottling the potion—five bottles in total.
Meirin would keep three; Simon would keep the remaining two.
"Looks like we've got something to present in the next Beginner Black Magic class."
"While we're at it, let's decide what we're going to say in Professor Jane's class tomorrow before we go!"
"Yeah."
The four of them cleaned up and left at once in search of an empty lecture hall.
After finishing dinner, Simon was waiting for someone at the café.
He had barely managed to claim a seat and was waiting when the area around him suddenly grew noisy.
From the café entrance, a girl with long black hair was walking inside.
"Whoa…!"
"That's her, right? That's her?"
The atmosphere she carried was nothing like the other students'.
A haughty stride, crimson eyes that seemed to look down on the world itself, and a cold, expressionless face…
She might as well have been a different species from the students around her.
Lorraine Arkvold—the only daughter Nephthys, the Witch of Death who ruled half the world, had borne in three hundred years.
Whether she was truly her daughter was still a matter of debate, but since Nephthys herself called her her daughter, no one dared challenge it to her face.
A celebrity's appearance packed the area with people craning for a look. Lorraine let out a small sigh and lifted her eyelids.
"Came to gawk?"
At that single line, every student within a radius of several dozen meters vanished clean away. Those seated farther off couldn't even meet her eyes and kept their heads bowed low.
Lorraine walked over until she stood in front of Simon. He swallowed. Even though they had met before, the sheer difference in presence left him awkward.
"L…long time no see… Haha…"
Simon mustered what courage he could, but Lorraine's face remained cold enough to freeze. He started fretting over whether he had done something wrong.
A moment later, a laugh escaped her, and the corners of her eyes and mouth curved.
"Hi, Simon."
The two of them took their ordered coffee and went up to the café's third floor.
The café owner, looking tightly wound, had taken their order himself; the moment Lorraine said she wanted a quiet place, he immediately opened the closed third floor for them.
"First time since Langerstein."
Lorraine, seated across from Simon, swept her hair back. Simon still wore a stiff, unrelaxed smile and nodded.
"Th…the uniform suits you surprisingly well."
"Hm?"
Lorraine glanced down at her school uniform, then fixed Simon with a sly look.
"Hey. What's that supposed to mean? Are you saying I look old or what?"
"N-no…! That's not it! When we first met in Langerstein, I just couldn't picture you in a uniform…!"
"Why couldn't you picture it? Because I look old?"
Simon waved his hands frantically, his face bright red. He was hopeless with this kind of thing. Before coming to Kizen, he had never even met a girl his own age.
Lorraine was clearly enjoying his reaction.
After teasing him a little longer, she gave a slight wink—and Simon, realizing he had been played, let out a low groan.
Lorraine brought up the real reason she was there.
"So. What's this important thing you needed to tell me?"
"There's a spy inside Kizen."
Simon laid out the story. He told her about witnessing a priest praying before a cross in the Forbidden Forest.
Peer had said the person might be at the level of a Kizen professor, so Simon had brought it to Lorraine—the one person he could trust.
"……"
After hearing him out, Lorraine sank into thought with a grave expression. Watching her, Simon opened his mouth.
"Lorraine, I know it might be hard to believe, but I—"
"I believe you."
She lifted her head.
"More than that—the cross you saw. Can you describe its appearance in detail?"
"There was a large cross in the center, with a woman hanging from it, wrapped in vines."
"That settles it."
Lorraine's crimson eyes flashed.
"That's the Goddess Deva—the one true god the priests of Ephel believe in."
Ephel, the priest academy under the direct authority of the Holy Empire's Pope.
It stood as the polar opposite of Kizen, which trained necromancers—a school that trained priests.
Within the Holy Empire it held recognition and power on par with Kizen, and the "Saintesses," counted among the empire's greatest forces and set as the counterparts to the Dark Coalition's Corps Commanders, were chosen exclusively from among Ephel's female students. The institution monopolized every form of authority.
Which was stronger, Kizen or Ephel? Whose students were superior?
Those questions had been an old favorite topic of conversation for people across the entire continent.
"…How dare they…"
The glass Lorraine was holding shattered under her grip, coffee spilling in streams.
"How dare some priest trash set foot in Kizen?"
Lorraine composed herself for a moment, then called to him.
"Simon."
"Yeah."
"Besides you, who else knows about this?"
"If anyone… that priest, and… also…"
"And?"
"Three undead saved me. Two Death Knights and one Lich… I don't know who the necromancer controlling those three was, but they would know."
Lorraine fell into thought. Necromancers who could handle either Death Knights or Liches were rare across the entire continent.
To command both types of powerful undead at once—and two Death Knights at that—meant a necromancer of at least continental-class skill.
Lorraine wondered whether one of Kizen's Summoning professors had been the one who released the three undead Simon described.
She set that thought aside for now and nodded.
"Thanks for reporting this. I'll tell Mom right away."
Lorraine thought further. If undead like that had clashed with a priest who couldn't reveal their true strength for fear of exposure, the priest would have fled.
They might not even have left any clues behind.
With that in mind, Lorraine rose from her seat along with Simon.
Meanwhile, watching the two of them under the highest-tier invisibility magic—a spell that erased even the sound of one's own presence, Perfect Unknowable—Ainz was rather satisfied.
Lorraine knew nothing about the deal he had struck with Nephthys.
Which meant Nephthys was keeping the secret as thoroughly as he had demanded.
Ainz already knew who the priest was. But he had no intention of saying so just yet.
If Kazan asked during an information exchange whether he had any suspects, or if Nephthys asked him directly, he planned only to offer a certain amount of circumstantial evidence and say something like, "This person seems suspicious."
That's my test subject. I have no intention of handing them over. There are far too many experiments I still want to run.
With that thought, Ainz returned to the dormitory.