Admission to Kizen
The three of them arrived at Campbell Road.
A shopping district that specialized in goods for Necromancers, Campbell Road grew steadily more unfiltered the deeper one went. Skeletons and monster corpses were the bare minimum; further in, shops sold jars of living-looking organs suspended in unidentifiable fluids.
The three headed straight for a bookstore.
Kizen charged nothing for tuition or enrollment fees, but textbooks and certain supplies had to be purchased out of pocket. Ainz checked his admission notice and the packing list enclosed with the letter, then pulled three copies of each of the horrifically thick volumes stacked along the shelves and piled them high.
From a summoning text whose cover read Introduction to Summoning — by Elikmoore Trinble, the stack grew to include volumes on necromancy, curse studies, hemomancy, sacred defense, martial combat, and more. When he finally added the jet-black magic textbooks on top, Meyrin and Serne could no longer hide their shock.
"Ahaha… I didn't think there'd be this many…"
"This is all for a single semester…?"
Ainz lifted the mountain of books and smiled.
"That's right. This is the infamous Kizen, remember? You should assume you need to master all of this in the first semester of first year."
He said it cynically and headed off to pay.
As Ainz had said, Kizen was notorious for how few students advanced to the next year. Students were expelled without warning for any number of reasons — which meant that simply surviving a full year and making it to second year was enough to guarantee employment somewhere, so long as you hadn't been thrown out for causing actual trouble.
Ainz paid for the books with his own money.
A year earlier, he had started a private business renting out Soul Eaters of his own creation as carriage-pulling undead. They were high-tier undead — on par with Death Knights — which made linking a mental command network to every client impractical, so renters had to give verbal orders. That minor inconvenience was more than worth it: Soul Eaters were far sturdier and more combat-capable than ordinary draft undead, and the business had grown popular enough that even famous merchant houses like the White Ox Guild had become clients. Rental fees were collected remotely by flying undead Ainz dispatched for the purpose, and there were never any delinquencies.
As a result, Ainz had money to spare — enough to cover supplies for all three of them without difficulty. Even if, after advancing to second year, someone developed an interest in a field that burned through materials like water, he would be able to bankroll it without issue.
Ainz purchased the necessary textbooks and materials and arranged for delivery to their lodgings, after which the three of them wandered Langerstein and enjoyed what, from Meyrin and Serne's perspective, amounted to a date.
Ordinarily, buying a Magical Inventory — more casually called a subspace — would have been standard procedure. Meyrin and Serne, however, had already received spacious, easy-to-use subspaces from the Ivory Tower. Ainz had an inventory of his own as well, and he had established the public cover that it was his innate ability — a power born into a person rather than learned through magic or racial traits; Serne's wings were the same kind of gift.
Then one day, Ainz announced he was going out.
"I've got a meeting with Lady Nephthys today."
"About that 'deal' of yours?"
"Right. The one I'm supposed to protect is arriving today."
Ainz left the lodging house and made his way behind Langerstein's grand plaza. And there—
"Mooom!"
Nephthys's daughter, Lorraine Arkvold, was crouched down, scrubbing cream off a child's mouth with ruthless thoroughness. The child twisted her head with little mmph sounds of protest, but the girl's hands were firm.
"I told you to wait quietly! You get lost every single time!"
"But—! There was a free ice cream tasting in the plaza over there!"
The child whining while Lorraine wiped her face was none other than Nephthys Arkvold — the one called the apex of all Necromancers, the absolute ruler of Kizen.
That's the ruler of Kizen…?
Ainz shook his head in pure secondhand embarrassment. At a glance they looked like sisters, with Nephthys as the younger one. Over three hundred years old and still completely incapable of acting her age. Ainz sighed, half-convinced she had simply gone senile.
Beside them, the boy Lorraine had been escorting — Simon Polentia — fretted anxiously, unsure what to do with himself.
A moment later, Nephthys smacked Lorraine on the rear.
"Alright, Lorraine? Take good care of our new student."
"…You always dump everything on me."
Lorraine pouted and muttered under her breath, but Nephthys didn't so much as pretend to hear her. She turned her back.
"I'm grabbing one more ice cream and heading back to Kizen, so don't wait up! Bye!"
"Mom— seriously!"
Nephthys vanished like a fugitive. Lorraine and Simon exchanged introductions, then Lorraine led him toward Campbell Road to buy supplies. Once they were gone and no one else remained, Nephthys reappeared in front of Ainz.
"No problems, I assume?"
"More or less. I've already set up countermeasures against information magic."
Ainz kept a permanent anti-information siege barrier deployed around himself, blocking any attempt by others to use information-type magic on him. Normally, a siege barrier was configured to retaliate the moment someone cast information magic on its caster — but Ainz had not linked any attack spells to his. Setting off an offensive spell in the middle of a public street was not an option. Instead, he had chained false-information and illusion spells into the barrier, so that anyone who tried information magic within its range would simply gorge themselves on lies.
"So that boy is Simon Polentia?"
"Yep! I put him in the same class as you, so just keep an eye on him!"
Nephthys paused, then looked at Ainz again.
"And, well… it seems like there's a Priest hiding inside Kizen."
Ah. That. Ainz already knew.
"I've ordered my unofficial right hand to start searching, but could you help out too?"
"No problem."
Satisfied with his cynical answer, Nephthys continued.
"There's a repeater student named Kazan Edward. Make contact with him."
Ainz could have unmasked the Priest that very moment if he wanted to — but he had no desire to stand out that much. He simply nodded, then made a counter-offer of his own.
"Shouldn't we also tighten surveillance across all of Rok Island? I have undead specialized for that. Want to borrow a few?"
"Hmm? Show me first."
Ainz opened his inventory and produced several White-Eyed Corpses — floating pink masses of flesh roughly two meters across, covered in countless clouded white eyes that looked as if they had been torn from a dozen different creatures and stitched on. Their combat power was low relative to their level, but their detection ability was extraordinary; they were natural predators of stealth-type abilities.
"Interesting. Give me five."
"Done."
Ainz linked the White-Eyed Corpses' mental networks to Nephthys and set her as the secondary command authority. They were high-tier undead with enormous mental loads, but Nephthys would have no trouble handling them.
"Can you control them?"
Nephthys tested the five White-Eyed Corpses, sending them drifting this way and that.
"No problem. I'll put them to good use. See you later! Bye-bye!"
She vanished in an instant. Ainz returned to the lodging house.
The next day, the three of them finished their preparations and left the lodging house. They made for the assembly point — a sharp spit of land jutting out toward the sea — and the closer they drew, the more crowded the roadside became.
A fairy-blooded girl touching up her makeup as she walked. A student with twenty swords strapped to his body as if every inch of him were storage space. A girl strolling along at her ease with a case larger than her own frame strapped to her back.
And among them, Ainz quietly watched Simon looking around with the dazed curiosity of someone who had no idea what any of it meant.
Every single incoming student gathered here was privately convinced that they, personally, were the most normal person present.
Before long they reached the assembly point. Kizen servants on assignment were controlling the perimeter, and a ship was moored at the tip of the spit.
"Please hurry. We will be departing for Kizen shortly."
Everyone formed a line to board.
"Present your admission certificates."
Each student handed over the letter they had prepared. The servants checked the letters against a list in their hands, marked them with a quill, and handed them back.
Ainz, Meyrin, and Serne boarded in turn. Simon, having had his letter verified, was about to step aboard when—
"This is wrong, damn it!"
A furious protest erupted from the line just ahead.
"I'm Candidate Number One and not a single person got cut?!"
"My apologies. Lord Lucius is not on the admission list."
"Are you fucking kidding me? You're going to handle it like this? Contact Kizen! There has to be some kind of mistake!"
A minor commotion broke out beside the line. Students boarding nearby murmured among themselves.
"It's an annual tradition."
"There's always a few who can't accept the results."
"Candidate Number One? Kind of pathetic, honestly. Heh."
They snickered as they climbed aboard.
"How noisy. Is that a dog barking?"
Serne let out a cold little laugh of her own.
Then the situation finally boiled over. The agitated Lucius shoved a servant to the ground.
"I am Lucius Carol, heir to a count of the Dresden Kingdom! This is an order! Contact Kizen headquarters right now!"
"Please leave. Lord Lucius is not on the admission list."
Even under Lucius's threats, the servant repeated the same words in a firm, unyielding tone. Of course he did. Kizen's authority was absolute. Even if the other party had been the child of Dresden's prime minister, the response would have been identical.
But Lucius's face had gone scarlet, and he finally seized the servant by the hair.
The atmosphere turned ugly. Students stopped walking to watch. Someone began drawing up jet-black mana.
Bloodshot eyes blazing, Lucius raised his right arm—
"Stop."
Lucius's head snapped around. Somehow, Simon had already grabbed his arm.
"Who the hell are you? Let go!"
"……"
Simon smiled faintly and tightened his grip.
"Aaaagh!"
The absurd strength wrenched a scream from Lucius as his body twisted like a pretzel. A soft-raised noble boy had no chance of withstanding the power of someone tempered by long years of hard labor. Lucius sank lower and lower until one knee hit the ground. The hand clutching the servant's hair went slack, and Simon released his right wrist.
Lucius scrambled backward, face still burning red, clutching his wrist as he shouted.
"What the hell is your problem?! You looking to die?!"
When Simon didn't answer, Lucius drew the sword at his hip entirely.
The murmuring swelled. The situation was about to tip into something irreversible — and that was when Ainz fired a second-tier spell, Thunder Spear, at Lucius.
"Gaaah! And who the hell are you?!"
"Stake your life."
"Wh… what?!"
"If you've drawn a weapon, stake your life on it. That is not a tool for empty threats."
Ainz had stepped forward without anyone noticing, and his voice as he addressed Lucius was ice-cold.
"You bastard—! Fine! Let's see who dies today!"
Lucius charged with his sword raised—
"Greater Break Item."
The spell Ainz cast shattered Lucius's blade into fragments. Ainz set one palm against the boy's abdomen and cast another second-tier spell, Shock Wave. Lucius screamed as he was blasted backward through the air.
He coughed and managed to push himself upright. For all his theatrics, Lucius had made it as far as Candidate Number One for Kizen admission; two second-tier spells were not enough to kill him.
Ainz ignored him and walked over to Simon.
"You alright?"
"Uh… yeah. Thanks."
And then—
"What is going on here?"
A man appeared whose face was as pale as a terminal patient's, cheeks hollowed, gray threaded through his hair, hands tinged yellow. Ainz returned to the ship at once. The students around them let out hushed gasps of awe.
"Th… that's Professor Silaji!"
"Silaji is on the faculty?! Kizen really is Kizen."
The mainstream disciplines of modern Necromancy numbered seven in total: jet-black magic, which housed the fundamental offensive dark arts; summoning studies; curse studies; necromancy; martial combat; toxicology; and hemomancy. Of those, hemomancy specialized in magic that used blood as its medium.
Silaji — one of the foremost authorities in hemomancy and Kizen's professor of the subject — slowly swept his gaze across the scene.
One servant sprawled on the ground with his hair a mess. One noble who had been screaming about being Candidate Number One, now crumpled against a wall and barely managing to rise. One student who had jumped in to stop him. One student who had sided with that student and sent the noble flying.
Silaji looked at Lucius with an expression of complete disinterest.
"Any last words?"
Silaji would not kill Lucius — but neither would he send him home gently. This was hardly the first such incident he had dealt with, and mercy only encouraged more fools to crawl out of the woodwork. The question was a final scrap of compassion before a fitting punishment. Lucius kicked that compassion aside.
"D… don't make me laugh! Contact Nephthys right now! How dare you treat me like—!"
In the next instant, there was a soft pop, and Lucius vanished. All that remained were a few drops of blood that hung in the air for a moment before falling to the ground. Aside from Ainz, no one fully understood what had just happened. Everyone else simply stood with their mouths open, blinking.
"We're short on time. All incoming students, board the ship."
Silaji turned, hands clasped behind his back.
"You as well."
"……"
Simon nodded quietly and climbed aboard.
The incident had frozen the atmosphere among the new students into silence — though a few still couldn't quite suppress their excitement and whispered among themselves.
"So that's blood-type dark magic!"
"I was planning on curse studies, but I almost just switched."
"First-years can take his class too, right?"
As Simon walked toward the ship, he glanced at Silaji. Silaji was looking back at him. When their eyes met, the professor smiled.
"Don't worry. I didn't kill him."
"…Ah. Yes, sir."
Once Simon was aboard, Silaji spoke again.
"Everyone, fasten the safety harnesses on your seats."
He swept a hand through the air. A reddish, bubble-like membrane unfurled and enveloped the entire ship. Simon watched with open curiosity.
How is this ship supposed to get us to Kizen?
The bow was pointed toward land, not the sea. He wondered if they were going to reverse — and then a servant who had been exchanging communications reported to Silaji.
"Professor, arrival in five minutes."
"Guide it in as planned."
The students' murmuring grew louder. Far out on the horizon, a massive spray of water was approaching. The spray swelled as it came, and a moment later a whale of indescribable size erupted from the sea.
"Whoaaaa!"
The whale opened its jaws, swallowed the ship whole, and dove beneath the waves.
The Netherworld Whale — an aquatic undead that obeyed Kizen's commands. It roamed the oceans of the world, devouring the harbors of cities Kizen designated. Once a year, however, it also served to transport new students who had not been granted teleportation clearance to the academy.
Being inside a whale's belly was surprisingly comfortable. Kizen servants stationed within the Netherworld Whale came aboard to attend the new students and even served food. The mood soon loosened; people laughed and chattered about the lives awaiting them.
Simon fell into conversation with a sociable student named Rowen Oscar.
Time passed. Then something shifted, and everyone grabbed their seat handles tight. The water that had filled the whale's belly shot outward with tremendous force. The speed was dizzying enough to lift their legs off the floor, and screams rang out in every direction.
The ship was ejected along with the whale's water spout, rocketing thousands of meters into the open sky. Gradually the force of the spout weakened, and the bow tipped downward.
Silaji scored a cut across his index finger with a fingernail. A single drop of blood was absorbed into the membrane surrounding the ship, and the rate of descent began to slow. Before long, the vessel was descending as gently as a hot-air balloon.
"Woooow…!"
The students cried out in wonder. The ship continued to slow until at last it settled safely onto solid ground.
"Disembark and form up in four columns."
Silaji completed a quick headcount and moved the students along.
Kizen was a fortress so vast its scale defied estimation. A giant gatekeeper opened the gates, and they passed through multiple layers of security dark magic to enter. Besides the group that had arrived via the Netherworld Whale, other new students who had come by different routes were visible — every one of them looking thoroughly wrung out.
"We'll need to move a little faster. This way, please!"
Once inside the fortress, waiting servants guided them with brisk efficiency. The students were led into a nearby building, issued uniforms, and split by gender into changing rooms.
"Please finish changing within five minutes and assemble outside."
Everything here moved at speed. Swept along by the atmosphere, Simon hurriedly changed into his uniform. Ainz configured a rapid-disrobe spell with the uniform he had been issued, used it to change in an instant, and recovered his original clothes into his inventory.
As assembly time approached, everyone emerged in student shoes as well.
"Come out now! We're moving!"
They left the changing rooms, descended a long flight of stairs, and entered the great auditorium.
"Simon! Is this real? We're actually at Kizen! This doesn't feel real at all!"
Rowen, who had been briefly separated from Simon during the move to the changing rooms, had already found him again and launched into chatter.
A little later, Simon asked him a question.
"So is this whole crowd just the incoming class?"
"Of course! First year alone has a thousand new students!"
Simon's mouth fell open. It was more than he had imagined.
"And second year is around three hundred. Third year is less than half of that, from what I've heard."
"…What?"
"You get what that means, right?"
Rowen let out a dark little chuckle.
"Only the top thirty percent of these thousand make it to second year. The competition for survival is that fierce."
As time passed and the servants directed everyone to their seats, Rowen scanned the room in a quick circuit and began pointing out various persons of interest.
"Serne Aindark! She enrolled this year after all. She's a candidate for the next head of the Ivory Tower."
In the direction Rowen indicated, Serne was visible.
"All the big names from the major factions are here! Dawon Caradine! Jay Sanders… whoa, what is that?"
"Where?"
"Behind us."
Simon turned as directed and saw a male student over three meters tall.
"Chatel Maer. Giant hybrid."
"…He's huge."
"He'll go martial combat for sure. Who's going to fight that physique?"
Rowen shook his head. Then—
"And… heh."
Looking to the left, the corner of Rowen's mouth curled up. It wasn't just him; a great many eyes were already fixed on the same person.
A black-haired, red-eyed girl sitting calmly in her seat—
"No matter what anyone says, this year's top is her. Lorraine Arkvold."
Simon flinched but kept his face carefully blank and nodded.
"She's Lady Nephthys's only daughter, so everyone assumed she'd come in on a special exemption — but apparently she just took the entrance exam herself with a decent score. Not first or second place, but everyone already knows, right? This year's best incoming student is her. Or maybe…"
Simon found himself agreeing. Rowen looked toward Ainz — who already had nearly as many eyes on him as Lorraine did.
"Over there. The Ivory Tower's 'Black Lord,' Ainz Bilene. Famous as a master of pure-mana magic."
At fifteen, Ainz had single-handedly crushed the Black Iron Fortress — a rival power to the Ivory Tower — and folded its territory into the Tower's sphere of influence. That exploit had made him famous. As a side note, he had operated in different attire during the Magnus incident and his deal with Nephthys, so neither of those events was publicly attributed to him. Ainz did not particularly enjoy the fame, but it was useful for his undead rental business, so he accepted it.
Simon swallowed hard, looking tense. He didn't know much about the Ivory Tower, but the fact that the person who had helped him stop Candidate Number One's rampage was a celebrity came as a considerable surprise.
"We will now begin the entrance ceremony! Students, please rise from your seats."
The master of ceremonies took over. True to Kizen's style, the proceedings were clean, free of excess, and brisk. The vice headmaster's address and the administrator's rundown of regulations said exactly as much as needed and no more.
When the faculty appeared, cheers erupted. Like Silaji, who had escorted the students aboard the Netherworld Whale, these were top-tier Necromancers still active in the field. Confronted with idols they had only ever heard of, the students' reactions bordered on religious fervor. Rowen in the next seat was foaming at the mouth and screaming along with the rest, while Simon carefully studied the faculty lineup.
"Lady Nephthys didn't come."
Rowen snorted at Simon's mutter.
"You think a Necromancer that great would show up for a first-year entrance ceremony? You'd be lucky to catch a glimpse of her face by third year."
"…Is that so?"
Hearing Rowen's words, Ainz laughed coldly to himself.
I'd love to see your face if you found out that great Necromancer was wandering around lost in Langerstein with ice cream smeared all over her face.
Simon, too, was remembering the Nephthys of that day. The ceremony continued.
"Next, we will have the student representative oath. All students, please rise from your seats."
At last, the final act of the entrance ceremony had arrived. Everyone stood. According to Rowen, the student representatives were always a pair — the top male and top female first-years.
"Students whose names are called, please come up to the platform."
The master of ceremonies unfolded a document and read aloud.
"Special Admission Number Two, Serne Aindark."
A massive cheer went up. Serne, who had been sitting beside Ainz, walked forward.
"And Special Admission Number One. Simon Polentia."