What Is a Holy Necromancer?
What is a Holy Necromancer?
I don't know.
The concept simply doesn't exist in my limited knowledge of necromancy.
But if I had to define it myself, a Holy Necromancer would be a necromancer capable of wielding holy power.
So, let's consider.
Has there ever been a necromancer who could handle holy power?
The answer was no.
Why?
It was simple.
Faith was one thing, but holy power itself required something akin to a bloodline talent—namely, a divine blessing—before it could be used at all.
Yet in that very moment, a spark flared inside my mind.
Inspiration, pure and sudden.
"Um, Young Master Khtun? What's the matter?"
[What's wrong with you?]
I left Brother James and the Ancestor, both fretting over my condition, behind me and strode straight for the training grounds.
I wanted to answer them—I truly did—but the moment I spoke even a single word, I was certain the inspiration floating in my head would slip away forever. Silence was the only option.
The instant I reached the training grounds, I summoned Golgol.
Golgol—!
Whether the call delighted it or not, Golgol let out a thunderous roar. I paid it no mind and simply held out the core.
"Golgol, take this for now."
Golgol?
Leaving the bewildered skeleton behind, I surrendered myself completely to the inspiration drifting through my thoughts.
First.
Mana. Move the mana.
My mana as a necromancer is special.
By its very nature it can hold Death's Blessing.
The long years of study and the careful logical steps that ordinary necromancers without a bloodline talent must perform every single time they cast—those things simply happen for me, as natural as breathing.
As I stirred the mana, I felt an unknown power intervene inside my mind.
Before, I had never known what that intervention was—or even that it existed. Now I understood.
This is Death's Blessing.
One of the blessings of this world, freely given because it loves my bloodline.
From here on, reason no longer applied. Only instinct.
Like a newborn fish that breathes underwater without being taught, like a reptile drawn unerringly toward warmth.
I poured the mana laden with Death's Blessing into the core.
Then I pushed harder, forcing the mana that wrapped the core to wrap around Golgol as well.
That was the moment.
Paz, pazzz—
Golgol?!
An inexplicable ripple shuddered through the air. Golgol cried out, and a brilliant light exploded across the training grounds.
It was the purple that symbolized Death's Blessing… yet somehow more solemn, more sacred than that color alone.
How long did the light last?
Golgol?
When it finally faded, Golgol stood there.
But it was no longer ordinary Golgol.
"Goddess above—!"
[What in the world… Am I seeing this correctly?]
Between Golgol's ribs—ribs that had always been empty—sat a pure white jewel.
Like a heart.
The first undead of the first Holy Necromancer.
Holy Golgol had been born.
The birth of Holy Golgol was enough to stun even Brother James—a priest and demon hunter who had seen every hardship under the sun—and the Ancestor, a dragon slayer in his own right.
Brother James was especially shaken.
"What in the world is this?! Am I truly seeing what I think I'm seeing? I can feel holy power coming from Young Master Khtun's undead…"
"You are seeing correctly."
"How is something like this even possible…?"
"I couldn't say."
I had no words that could properly explain it either.
As always, the result had been born of instinct and intuition, not logic or understanding.
Still, I wasn't completely without a theory.
I've heard of something like this, haven't I?
Attribute undead.
Creatures that mostly arise naturally in the wild. The most common are frost skeletons found in the polar regions.
Their traits match the name exactly.
They're skeletons, yet freezing cold flows through their bones, and any wound they inflict freezes solid with vicious tenacity.
Rarer still are the flame skeletons of volcanic zones.
Of course, holy power is nothing like ice or fire attributes.
Ice and fire magic can be learned and cast by anyone with talent. Holy power, without a divine blessing, cannot be forced out of a person even if you beat them half to death.
Anyway.
I need to run some experiments…
I was still wondering how to test it when our ever-helpful Brother James stepped forward first.
"Young Master Khtun, may I perform a few tests?"
"What sort of tests did you have in mind?"
"Nothing major. Just a moment…"
Brother James approached Golgol and examined it from every angle—tapping the skull, even injecting a bit of his own holy power.
Then he looked back at me.
"Would you be able to order your undead to use holy power?"
"Ah, of course. Golgol."
Golgol.
Golgol understood at once and focused its will into the greatsword.
What happened next was almost unbelievable.
Tsz, tszzzz—!
A milky-white aura bloomed along Golgol's blade.
It was not true aura, of course.
Aura is blue.
So what was this?
"Not quite holy aura… but holy power, yes."
"There's a difference?"
"There is. Holy aura looks like this."
Brother James drew a short dagger from his robes. The same milky light coated its surface.
"Can you feel the difference?"
"Yes… yours is denser. If Golgol's is like mist, yours is like liquid."
"Exactly. The density is different. Raising the density of holy power alone doesn't turn it into aura, of course, but the phenomenon is similar. And the difference in raw power is even greater."
According to James, pure destructive force clearly favored holy aura.
So what was the point of coating a weapon in ordinary holy power?
"Physically the boost may be modest, but because it is still holy power, the blade can now cut magical beings. In simple terms, it can shear through magic itself… and, given that you are a necromancer, it can also cut soul-type undead."
"Oh-ho."
"But that isn't its true strength."
"No?"
"Against anything profane, it will display far greater force than ordinary aura."
Profane…
"Demons!"
"Precisely. Against the things commonly called demons—or the demonkin—holy power is pure poison. Do you understand now? Do you grasp the true face of the power you have just obtained?"
"Yes. I understand. Very, very well."
In other words, I had just become a thug who could casually thrash most demonkin.
The Shadow Clan might still be a problem…
But the doppelganger I had caught before? I could beat that thing into paste without much trouble.
What, it's a liquid life-form?
It's a demonkin first and a liquid second.
Any creature that carried wicked power could no longer dodge Golgol's blade.
"One last experiment, if I may…"
"Please, go ahead."
"I would like to measure how long that holy power lasts, and whether it recovers once fully spent."
"Understood. Golgol?"
Golgol!
Golgol answered with a mighty cry and cranked its output higher.
The light only grew a little brighter than before, but it poured every scrap of power it had into the effort until the holy energy was completely exhausted.
After a while, Brother James spoke.
"Hmm. Duration is a little over ten minutes."
"Is that short?"
"Not at all. There's no preparation time required, so if you use it at the right moment, it should be more than enough to cut down one or two demonkin."
"Excellent!"
Ten minutes felt a touch disappointing, yet the assurance that it was plenty for carving up wicked demons lifted my spirits.
The remaining question was recovery.
"Hmm, just a moment… No, it doesn't appear to regenerate on its own."
"Ah… is that so."
"It's only natural. Holy power is a gift shared by the Goddess, born of faith. Simply fusing a core wouldn't make it refill automatically—that would be stranger."
"Ah."
So what now?
Was Holy Golgol limited to a mere ten minutes?
Golgol…
Both of us drooped. Then Brother James spoke again.
"Perhaps you might try this?"
"Try what?"
"From what I can see, Brother Golgol is an elite undead with a self—am I correct?"
Apparently the holy power had elevated Golgol's status; James was already calling it "Brother."
"Yes."
"Then why not have it recite the prayers of our order? Undead or not, it already carries divinity within its body. Reciting the prayers might allow holy power to refill."
"…Would that actually work?"
"Why wouldn't it? The Goddess does not turn away a believer for their outward form. If there is reason, if there is faith, and if there is a good heart to draw that faith forth, She will surely reach out Her hand. I will teach the prayer; have Brother Golgol memorize it."
"Ah… thank you, then…"
I agreed, though privately I doubted it would succeed.
An undead that believed in a goddess was hard to picture.
"No need to rush. Have it learn the words first. While I remain here I will teach Brother Golgol our doctrine and our faith. It may not happen overnight, but I am certain it is possible."
"Truly… you are a brother of the Church."
"By the way, Young Master Khtun—what are your own thoughts on joining the Twelve Hour Church?"
"Ah, well…"
[I see no harm in it, myself.]
The Ancestor agreed, yet I still felt reluctant.
It wasn't that I disliked the Twelve Hour Church.
This is a world where gods actually exist, after all.
One look at Brother James was enough to know how fine an order it was.
But.
"I don't think the time is right. If I took up faith now, it would feel as though… yes, as though I only wanted something in return. It wouldn't be pure faith."
"Hah."
Brother James let out a short laugh. My shoulders hunched a little.
"That was too arrogant of me—"
"No, Young Master Khtun… no, Brother! Your words are exactly right. What a splendid heart! Precisely so. Just as the Lord gives us everything while asking nothing in return, we too must offer Him that same pure faith. And yet I… I find myself truly ashamed in this moment."
Somewhere along the way the title had shifted from "Young Master" to "Brother."
I didn't mind. It meant my sincerity had reached him.
"Yes. This present hesitation is surely the Lord's arrangement so that you may one day gain true faith. For the time being, then, I shall teach Brother Golgol the ways of faith."
"If you would do that, I could ask for nothing more."
"Haha. I look forward to the day we smash demon skulls side by side."
"As do I."
"Brother!"
"Yes, Brother!"
We clasped hands fiercely.
The man had a grip like a vise. I half expected my entire hand to be crushed—until a voice rescued me.
My personal attendant, John, stood at the far side of the training grounds and pointed toward Sir Valt, who was watching us.
"Young Master… Sir Valt has come looking for you."
"Ah, has he? Brother James, it seems our meeting for today must end here."
"So it does. And Brother Golgol…?"
"I'll leave him with you. Please teach him well."
I left Golgol behind and walked over to Sir Valt.
The knight, still trying to piece together the scene, bowed his head to me.
"I heard you had awakened and came at once. I am deeply curious about what has happened… but for now, the Lord of the house summons you."
"Father?"
"Yes. It concerns the Merlin Count family."
Ah. That business.
My seniors used to say things like this:
Marriage is… like climbing into a grave.
They all looked happy enough afterward, yet I was certain that happiness was not the kind I knew.
I had shoved the whole matter onto Bilheim out of fear of the unknown, but the proper conclusion would only come once Father, Bilheim, and I sat down together.
"Shall we go?"
I strode out with all the dignity I could muster.