First Class
The hall fell dead silent.
Simon stood frozen, his mind gone completely blank, showing no sign of moving.
"Simon Polentia. Are you present?"
Only after the host finally called his name did Simon swallow hard and step forward. The gazes of a thousand peers locked onto him at once.
"Who is that?"
"No idea."
"He's number one?"
And Serne watched him carefully.
She figured she ought to get a good look at the face of Special Admission Number One — the boy Ainz had been tasked with protecting.
Simon somehow made it to the front, and—
"I swear."
"I swear."
In a slightly trembling voice, he recited the oath alongside Serne. The other nine hundred ninety-eight students followed in chorus.
"We, the incoming class…"
"We, the incoming class…"
Even from where Ainz stood mixed into the crowd, he could see Simon's head spinning.
"No way — are you kidding me?! You were Special Admission Number One?"
The moment Simon returned to his seat, Rowen exploded with excitement.
Rowen stared at him as if demanding to know why he hadn't said anything, but there was no time to explain the whole story — the schedule was too tight.
It was right after the entrance ceremony, the first day of school, and nothing was being left to chance. The first class started immediately, and everyone moved to their lecture halls.
Ainz and Meyrin had been assigned to the same A-class as Simon. Serne, on the other hand, had been placed in C-class — special admission students couldn't be assigned to the same homeroom. Meyrin shot Serne a look that practically screamed my victory, and Serne answered with an easy smile, though her eyes weren't smiling at all.
The first semester of the first year ran without majors, across a total of fourteen classes. At the start, more than sixty students shared a classroom, but that number was often cut in half later on. Merging two or more classes into one was said to be a common occurrence.
The students assigned to A-class filed in. Almost no one knew anyone else.
The first class was Curse Magic. Simon settled into a seat toward the back, and Ainz casually sat down beside him as if by coincidence.
At last the lecture hall door opened and the professor walked in. Students who recognized him erupted in cheers.
"Bahil Amagar!"
"Is that for real?"
When people heard the word necromancer, some still pictured a dark, brooding black mage lurking in the shadows, handling corpses. But that was nothing more than an old story.
The mainstream necromancers of the modern age were smart, practical, refined, and trendy. And one of the figures who best represented this new generation of necromancers was none other than Bahil Amagar. Dressed head to toe in a pure white suit, Bahil boasted proportions that could have belonged to a model.
Outstanding looks, still in his late twenties, and already a member of the Crows — Kizen's core combat force. A young necromancer overflowing with star power. To the students of Kizen, he was an absolute object of admiration.
Bahil smiled at the cheers and waved.
"A pleasure to meet you, freshmen. I am Bahil Amagar, and I will be teaching first-year Curse Magic this year."
Another round of cheers burst out. Bahil raised both hands, skillfully quieting the students, then set his felt fedora down on the lectern.
"Shall we take attendance, then? Since you're all meeting each other for the first time, when I call your name, give a brief self-introduction."
Regardless of what the students thought of the idea, Bahil began reading from the roster.
"Jamie Victoria."
"Yes! Professor, it's truly an honor! I also hope to follow in your footst—!"
Bahil stretched out a hand to cut off the rather overexcited student, then winked playfully.
"You're not introducing yourself to me. Introduce yourself to the friends sitting here. Try again."
Scattered laughter rose around the room. Jamie flushed and managed a simple request that everyone look after her for the semester.
After Jamie's relatively smooth start, the rest of the introductions settled into the same harmless pattern of please take care of me.
Simon kept his own introduction brief, clearly not wanting to stand out any further — though being Special Admission Number One had already made sure of that.
Ainz likewise got by with little more than his name, but the reputation he'd already built outside was more than enough to make him conspicuous.
Meyrin — his adoptive sister, if not by blood — stood out more than necessary as well, and Ainz silently apologized to her in his head.
"Quite a colorful group of students. Excellent."
Once the introductions were finished, Bahil set down the attendance book, rolled up his sleeves, and approached the blackboard.
"Then let us begin class."
Chalk in hand, Bahil wrote the words Curse Magic across the board in large letters. He put so much force into the final stroke that the chalk snapped and flew off.
Without missing a beat, Bahil picked up a fresh piece.
"Let us start with a fundamental question. Why must we study Curse Magic?"
From the very first word, Bahil had a magnetism that pulled the entire room in. Every student craned forward, determined not to miss a single syllable.
"Is there anyone who can define a curse for us?"
The girl sitting directly in front of Simon shot her hand up.
"Claudia Menzies! A curse is black magic that weakens an opponent while leaving your own power intact!"
"Excellent, Claudia."
At Bahil's praise, the girl's face flushed.
"But simply saying it weakens the opponent may not fully land for some of you. Very well. Let us say we have two knights of equal skill."
Bahil moved the chalk, holding it upright like a sword.
"The two knights clash blades and begin a fierce duel. They wear down each other's stamina, waiting for a mistake or an opening."
He wrote Exhaust on the board.
"They exchange some twenty blows, yet neither falls. Then one knight, blades locked, lets out a roar and glares at his opponent as if to kill him. The other knight flinches despite himself, his face going pale."
Bahil wrote Lake Pressure on the board.
"At last the blade carves across the opponent's shoulder. Blood pours out, and the man's movements begin to falter. Bit by bit, the advantage is seized!"
He wrote Bleeding.
As the duel between the two swordsmen progressed, more and more words filled the board — every one of them a type of necromancer curse magic.
"And finally! The knight severs his opponent's head!"
Bahil lowered the arm holding the chalk. Dead silence filled the lecture hall.
He swept his gaze across the students without a word, then grinned and wrote the name of one last spell on the board: Doom.
Gasps of admiration rose from every corner.
"Do you see it now? Even humanity's most primal and barbaric form of combat — simply clashing weapons — is ultimately nothing more than a sequence of steps that weaken the opponent and advance toward victory."
Bahil picked up a new piece of chalk.
"Now let us look at how a modern necromancer fights."
He roughly sketched a human figure on the board.
"How does a necromancer defeat this opponent?"
Bahil circled every curse he had written so far, then dragged the whole cluster across the board until it touched the figure.
"Victory."
"Ah…!"
"Among the many forms of black magic, curses are light, simple in structure, and capable of rapid deployment. With only a modest effort, you can completely unbalance an opponent — that is how efficient they are."
Bahil winked at the male student sitting in the very front. Then, with a flick of his arm, he completed and fired an Exhaust curse in the span of a second.
"Hhk—!"
The student collapsed in his seat on the spot, eyes rolling helplessly, unable to so much as twitch.
Bahil strolled over at a leisurely pace, drew the mana blade from the boy's bag, and—
"This," he said, miming a cut across the student's throat, "is how a modern necromancer fights."
Excited students leapt to their feet and cheered. Bahil smiled, bowed in acknowledgment, and released the curse.
"I don't know which major each of you will choose, but I dare say at least eight out of ten freshmen will still be taking my class in the second semester. Curses are a highly compatible discipline. Leverage your specialty — and whenever you have an opening, steadily drive curses into your opponent. That is the most efficient way to lock down a winning position."
Bahil returned to the platform.
"Now then, let me share something I think you'll find interesting."
Beneath the words Curse Magic already on the board, he began writing something new.
"Personally, I consider Curse Magic the core of the modern necromancer. The reason is…"
He wrote Priest.
"…that it is the most efficient means of dealing with our primary enemy."
Bringing up a sensitive topic in the very first class. Competitive fire immediately lit in the students' eyes.
"So I ask you this. Where necromancers have curses, priests have blessings — the difference between enhancement magic and debilitation magic."
Bahil smiled faintly.
"What makes a curse superior to a blessing? Can anyone explain?"
The room went quiet.
Students glanced at one another, until one hand rose. It was Jamie Victoria, the first name called during attendance.
Bahil nodded with a smile.
"Jamie Victoria. Curses hold the advantage in casting speed! Even against the same opponent, you can stack weakening effects faster."
Ainz was certain Jamie was wrong. As someone whose specialty was both enhancement and debilitation magic, he knew full well which side applied faster and stacked more readily.
Sure enough, Bahil folded his arms.
"An interesting opinion — but incorrect. If we look purely at casting speed, scholarly consensus holds that a priest's blessing is marginally faster, since a curse must first pierce the target's resistance."
Jamie bit her lip in disappointment and sat back down.
"Anyone else?"
Then another arm shot up.
A male student with a strong-featured face, thick brows, tall stature, and a solid build.
"Hector Moore."
"Go ahead."
"Almost no one trains themselves while in a weakened state."
It was an almost riddle-like answer, but a deep smile settled on Bahil's lips.
"Student — what was your name again?"
"Hector Moore."
"I'll remember it."
Envious murmurs rippled through the room.
There were a thousand freshmen. In a place where catching a professor's eye could mean the difference between survival and failure, having your name remembered was a tremendous advantage.
"Hector is correct. Weakening magic cannot be overcome through training."
Bahil surveyed the students.
"Everyone trains under the assumption that they are at full condition. The measure of skill is how well you perform when every variable falls within your control."
Students nodded.
"Humans are far more delicate creatures than they appear — a speck of change is enough to break them. Cutting off the arm of an archer aiming at you is not the only answer. Obstruct their vision with conjunctivitis, induce motion sickness, scramble their sense of distance, or simply make them fixate on something else — and an arrow that should have hit will miss."
Bahil's mouth curved upward.
"Necromancers possess a wide range of means to degrade an enemy's condition. Think about it. When you're exhausted beyond measure, or your guts are twisting with pain so severe it feels like your intestines are tearing — does anyone train against curses in that state? No. You just take the day off."
Scattered laughter ran through the class.
Ainz stayed quiet for now. He could have said any number of things, but drawing too much attention was something he preferred to avoid.
Ainz's primary objective was dealing with that priest. He already knew the identity. He was simply keeping a low profile because standing out too much was undesirable.
Still, to fulfill Nephthys's request — protecting Simon — he would need to draw at least some of the aggro that priest would eventually direct at Simon onto himself. That meant registering with the professors to a certain degree. But that much could be handled by performing well in actual combat.
While Ainz was thinking that, Bahil continued.
"So remember this. Rather than strengthening ourselves, we must devise ways to make our opponents weaker."
Students nodded and set their quills moving. It sounded like the kind of thing that would definitely appear on an exam, so they started taking notes.
"Now then — time to learn curse magic yourselves."
Straight into practical work. Simon, who had been diligently writing, jerked his head up. He clearly hadn't expected to start learning black magic from the very first class.
But not knowing didn't change reality. Bahil's teaching assistants appeared and set out a practice kit for each student.
On the right sat a cactus-like plant in a sand tray; on the left, a mold-like magic circle frame — a calibration tool for novice necromancers.
"It's a little embarrassing for a Kizen student to use a calibration tool, but this is the first class, so it can't be helped. Getting a feel for it is fine, but relying too heavily on the tool can breed bad habits, so be careful. Now! Let us begin practicing the Exhaust curse!"
Bahil kindly explained how to use the calibration tool, and Simon followed as instructed. Ainz went through the motions as well.
Grip both handles of the tool and draw out Jet-Black, channeling it into the grips. The Jet-Black flowed through the frame, gradually forming the shape of a magic circle.
"The key is how completely you can form the main runes."
Runes, put simply, were characters that held magical power. A necromancer produced magical effects by drawing these characters with Jet-Black.
"All right — those of you who have finished, lift your magic circles into the air."
Ainz casually floated a magic circle that looked as if it had been stamped from a mold. A pitch-black circle, reminiscent of tar, detached from the frame and drifted in midair.
He glanced sideways at Simon. Simon was grunting and straining, and when his circle finally rose into the air in complete form, a look of accomplishment crossed his face.
But Simon hadn't properly refined his Jet-Black — it still retained some of the gaseous properties of ordinary mana — and for someone like that, any lapse in concentration was fatal.
"Ah!"
Sure enough, one edge of Simon's magic circle turned liquid and began to drip.
"I'm seeing a number of students whose circles are collapsing."
Bahil spoke as if he'd been waiting for it.
"That happens when the Jet-Black hasn't been properly refined, or when the circle's binding force is weak. Try again. And those of you who can maintain a circle in the air — move straight into practical application! Cast your curse at the plant on your desk!"
Simon gritted his teeth and started over from the beginning. Ainz activated his magic circle toward the cactus-like plant.
Black vapor shot from each student's circle toward the plants. Roughly half showed no change at all; the other half drooped limply.
And the cactus in front of Ainz…
Is this really an Exhaust curse…?
It didn't just droop — it withered as if it were about to die on the spot, then crumbled into nothing more than a handful of dust. This… was Exhaust?
Simon, completely absorbed in his own work, paid no attention to what had become of the plant beside him.
"The gap is already opening. Students who succeeded — drill until you can complete the circle faster. Those who feel their speed is sufficient — practice forming the circle in midair without the calibration tool."
Time passed, and Simon tasted his fourth failure.
"Simon, was it? Mind if I borrow your shoulder a moment?"
"…Uh, sure?"
Ainz placed a hand on Simon's shoulder and guided the mana inside him toward his core.
"…!"
"Don't think of it as simply extracting Jet-Black from mana. That kind of thinking actually interferes with refining it — and tanks your conversion efficiency."
Ainz manipulated Simon's mana for a moment, then demonstrated himself.
"Spin your mana around the core like a turbine. It'll refine into pure Jet-Black on its own."
From Ainz's hand, tar-black, sticky Jet-Black flowed out — then, when he clenched his fist, it reverted to mana and was reabsorbed into his body.
"Ah…!"
Corrected by Ainz, Simon sent Jet-Black into the calibration tool again with a look of renewed confidence.
"Got it!"
Even floated into the air, the magic circle held. Simon steered it toward the plant on the sand tray and activated it at once.
Gray smoke shot from the center of the runes, struck the plant cleanly, and its body sagged downward.
Simon clenched his fist at the sight.
And Bahil, who had been watching the entire process, spoke.
"Ainz Bilene… was it? Excellent work. I hope the rest of you will follow Ainz's example — if you see a classmate struggling, lend a hand. Even at Kizen, with its endless competition, this is still the student protection period. Helping one another wouldn't hurt, would it?"
On the surface it was a warm piece of advice. But the eyes of the man saying it were fixed, with a gaze that bordered on mania, on the cactus Ainz had reduced to dust with a single Exhaust.