The Madness That Is His True Strength
The Mausoleum.
The place where Kizen's great necromancers came at the very end of their journeys.
In truth, the Mausoleum was an undersea cavern at the far edge of Roc Island. It seethed with anomalies that defied natural explanation, and for that reason it had long been a holy ground for necromancers.
The funerals held there followed long, unbroken chains of traditional rites. Even pressing the schedule without a moment's rest from dawn, the ceremony would only conclude as the sun rose again the next day. This time, at Lang's request, the rites had been simplified — and even simplified, they were expected to run until midnight.
The only one showing any enthusiasm amid all of it was Umbra, professor of Spirit Studies and master of ceremonies for the funeral. He made the mourners perform the ritual dances the students called the Chicken Feed Dance and the Squid Courtship Dance, nitpicking every last movement as they went.
And so, after a morning of grueling, back-to-back ceremonies, a short break was finally granted.
...Exhausting.
Aaron trudged along, sweeping a hand through his soaked hair.
He was a man who valued the roots of everything, but no matter how he turned it over in his mind, he could not fathom what dunking one's head in an undersea waterfall had to do with praying for the repose of the dead.
Maybe I should write my will in advance. When I die, skip the simplification — cut the whole ceremony entirely.
Trudging along, seriously mulling this over, he came upon an empty chamber in the cavern, utterly deserted.
Perfect.
He stepped inside, leaned his back against the cavern wall, and let out a long sigh.
Only when no one was watching did he shed his outer coat, yank his tie loose, and roll up his trouser legs. With the air finally moving against bare skin, he felt like he could breathe for the first time all day.
He stared blankly up at the ceiling for a while, drained — and then,
"Professor, mind if I come in?"
The thick, rustic dialect unique to southern — or perhaps far-eastern — Shahed brushed past his ear. When Aaron turned his head, Hong Peng of Magic Combat was standing there with a faint smile.
Aaron gave a silent nod that meant go ahead. Hong Peng smoothed down her formal skirt with one hand, then settled against the wall with her knees together.
Silence stretched on for a while before she was the one to break it.
"How's Simon's progress in Summoning these days?"
Ah — asking about Simon's achievements in Summoning. Professors really did love talking about their students above all else.
"About as far along as you'd expect, Professor Hong Peng."
He didn't feel like talking. But even at that half-hearted answer, the corners of her mouth lifted.
"I've been teaching Simon Magic Combat myself, hammerin' it into him intensively."
Aaron stared at the cavern ceiling with a stony expression.
"I've taught a lot of children at Kizen, but I've never seen a piece of raw material like him. I've got a strong conviction that if I pour everything I have into shapin' him, the finest masterpiece will emerge."
"......"
"And you, Professor Aaron?"
She tilted her head. Her hair, tied back with a cord, slid down over her shoulder.
"When did you come to feel that conviction about him?"
Conviction, huh.
Like there was ever such a thing.
"The same moment you felt yours, Professor. The first class, naturally."
He'd felt it from the very first lesson.
In fact, the moment that first class ended, he'd requested a private meeting with Nephthys and asked about the boy's parents.
But Nephthys hadn't answered. She'd just grinned her signature I have no idea what you're talking about~ grin and breezed right past it.
A genius who had been suddenly brought in by Nephthys herself, dropped onto the continent out of nowhere. He'd had his doubts about the boy's origins — but there was never really a choice about raising him.
No. Truthfully, he would have flourished no matter who got their hands on him.
Just then, Hong Peng spoke again.
"Then, Professor Aaron, you intend to make Simon your—"
"What a fascinating conversation I've stumbled upon."
Thud. Thud.
Aaron's expression hardened. Walking in was not the usual white suit and top hat, but Bahil, dressed head to toe in black as if ink had been poured over him.
"I heard the name Simon just now."
Bahil ambled over with unhurried steps, lowered himself onto the floor beside Aaron, removed his hat, and set it on his knee.
"If we're talking about that student, then surely you didn't expect me to stay out of it."
An irritation Aaron couldn't hide crept across his face.
There were plenty of other seats. Why this one.
"Now, now — no bluffing between rivals, gentlemen. Everyone here already knows the boy's talent, don't we? Oh, he's excellent. Oh, he's a genius. Blah, blah, blah. I think it's high time we retired such painfully obvious platitudes."
Having said his piece, Bahil shrugged and raised both hands.
"There! To state my conclusion plainly: I want Simon Polentia for myself."
"......"
The moment he'd arrived, Bahil had straight-up declared war in front of the other professors.
Hong Peng looked at him with an amused face.
"The Curse professor? That's a surprise. I've never once seen Simon cast a curse."
"Heh. Sharp as ever, Professor Hong Peng. Straight for the vitals."
Bahil made a playful show of clutching at his own chest.
"But honestly, that hardly matters. The only reason Simon hasn't cast any is that he hasn't yet developed a taste for Curse studies. And once a person gets their first real taste of this field—"
Bahil's tongue glided across his lips.
"They will never. Escape it again."
Hong Peng propped her chin on her hand and smiled as if he were being ridiculous. Aaron closed his eyes with a sour look.
"More to the point, something did surprise me, senior."
Bahil's mouth curled into a smirk.
"I was sure you'd simply tear up that little declaration of yours about not taking a Direct Disciple and snatch Simon for yourself while no one was looking."
A Direct Disciple offer could only ever come from the professor's side.
It wasn't written into any regulation, but it was an unwritten law. For students to beg for the position themselves was considered grossly disrespectful.
Anyone could see that Simon had a deep passion for Summoning. Yet Aaron, of all people, had taken a deliberate step back and was guiding him from a distance.
"What is this creed of yours, exactly? A man must keep every word that leaves his mouth?"
When Bahil kept pressing and needling, Aaron answered offhandedly.
"Not even the first semester is over yet. At a point where I haven't fully excavated the student's talent, it's far too early to be discussing his major. Rushing into talk of Direct Discipleships now — that's what's abnormal. That's what's fraudulent."
Bahil and Hong Peng both flinched inwardly, though neither showed it. Bahil clapped his hands together.
"Setting aside his own greed to think of the student's future! A true model for educators everywhere."
"...Hey."
Aaron's eyes went cold.
"Knock it off already."
"Ahaha. My apologies."
Bahil apologized, but the beaming smile never left his face.
"Oh. By the way."
His gaze shifted.
"It seems someone has smeared honey all over Simon for us?"
The words had barely left his mouth when Silaje, the Hemomancy professor, appeared at the entrance.
Aaron and Bahil, his former students, started to rise — but Silaje raised a palm first, stopping them. He exchanged a light nod with Hong Peng.
"All the professors teaching the first-years happen to be here, so I thought I'd drop in."
Silaje murmured this and continued.
"Am I interrupting?"
"Not at all, Professor. Please, rest a while before you go."
Bahil said it with polished courtesy, but Aaron, who genuinely was starting to feel uncomfortable, moved to get up from his seat.
"Come now, where are you going, senior? Isn't this a truly fascinating assembly! Since all the right people are gathered, let me ask one thing — directly, and to the point."
At Bahil's words, three pairs of eyes turned to him.
"What, in your estimation, is Simon Polentia's true strength?"
"......"
A sudden stillness settled over the cavern. Aaron, half-risen from his seat, slung his coat over one shoulder and spat out his answer.
"Insight."
Hong Peng answered next in a calm voice.
"Solidity."
Silaje, who had remained standing exactly as he'd entered, answered with a thin smile.
"Singularity."
Clap!
Bahil slapped a palm over his own face with a crack. Then he slowly dragged it upward. His wet hair swept back with it, droplets of water falling one by one to the floor.
"All of it! Every last answer, wrong!"
"......?"
"And you call yourselves Kizen professors? Haha! Honestly! You can't even recognize that boy's true worth — how do you expect to guide him down the proper path?"
Bahil began to accelerate, spinning up like an engine.
Shaking his wet head violently, scattering water in every direction, he spoke with glittering eyes.
"His true strength is MADNESS!!"
Arms outstretched as if delivering a sermon, he swept his gaze across his fellow professors and grinned.
"He is the rare material that can truly, genuinely lose itself to something!"
BOOOOM!
CRASH!
FWOOOOOOOSH!
The battle in the Command and Control Room raged on.
Simon gulped down ragged breaths. Through his haze-blurred field of vision, he could see Serne and the Saintess Flema locked in a ferocious exchange of blows.
[Why!]
Flema shrieked.
[Why does a thing like YOU exist in Kizen!]
Flema was clearly furious — and, just as clearly, rattled, because the accuracy of her Pure White Flame had dropped drastically compared to before.
"My, my. What does it matter to you where I happen to be?"
Serne parried the question breezily, hurling the feathers threaded between her fingers like shuriken.
Strangely enough, her feathers endured the Pure White Flame for quite a long time. Only when Flema deliberately cranked up her firepower did the feathers finally burn away — and every moment of that extra effort was, for Flema, a source of considerable stress.
[This is blasphemy!]
Enraged, Flema flung out both arms and scattered circular bursts of white flame like shotgun spray. Serne dodged them at top flight speed.
...He's changed.
Simon's eyes gleamed as he watched the two fight.
That white fire — a force that until now had only ever struck down undead and necromancers — had suddenly begun exerting physical force, affecting objects in the room.
Just then, Serne glanced back at Simon.
"Simon. One coupon isn't going to cover this, you know? The opponent is a Saintess, so let's say two more—"
"Look out, Serne!"
FWOOOOSH!
Streaks of white flame came hurtling in.
Serne's flight speed was considerable, but the Command and Control Room itself was a confined space. She dodged brilliantly, again and again — until one stray stream of flame clipped her and sent her crashing to the floor.
SLAM!
Flema turned to press her advantage against the fallen Serne — and her gaze flicked away in irritation. Simon had closed the distance before anyone noticed, striking at her back with the greatsword.
And of course, once again, the blade merely sank into the white flame that shielded her.
[No matter how many times you try, it changes nothing.]
Flema swung her right hand savagely. The flame detonated, and Simon's body went hurtling across the room, slamming into the wall.
"Ghhhhk!"
Simon clutched at the places the white fire had touched, his body convulsing in agony.
[Yes — THIS is the advantage of affinity.]
The smile returned to Flema's face, the annoyance she'd worn against Serne melting away.
[This is the proof that the Goddess exists! Those who deny Her can never stand against the power of the Goddess!]
She crooked her finger, and mass after mass of white flame hammered into Simon's body in unbroken succession.
"Oh no — Simon!"
Serne cried out. Her single most important recruitment target was dying in real time.
"Damn it all!"
Kajan, who had been crawling across the floor in the grip of his pain, ground his teeth.
He had faced countless powerful enemies in his time, but against that Saintess, there was simply nothing to be done.
[Not a bad last stand, all things considered.]
Flema extended her arm. She summoned her white fire, intending to finish off the neutralized Kajan first and be done with it.
Shk.
And then — Simon, his body still scorched with patches of lingering white flame, was rising to his feet again, his legs trembling.
[...Boy!]
Only his right hand — the last remnant of Pier's Bone Armour — he drew back behind him, shielded.
Simon lifted his head with agonized effort, but his legs gave out and he collapsed face-first onto the floor.
"Ugh!"
The damage stacked on his body was bad enough; the blow to his mind should have shattered his will entirely. And yet there he was, dragging his legs, forcing himself up again and again.
He pushed his torso upright, took a few staggering steps, and fell. He rose again only to crack his head against the floor and go down once more. Drool trailing from his mouth, he staggered upright like a walking corpse.
Flema's face twisted with disgust.
This was beyond human willpower.
"Stand down, Simon. You cannot win. Not with your strength."
Even Serne wanted no part of a scenario where her top recruitment target died.
She unleashed everything she had. Rising into the air, she summoned her feathers before her, and they arranged themselves into ten enormous magic circles.
⟨ Frenzy of a Thousand Feathers ⟩
SHRAAAAAAAAAAAAANG!
The moment hundreds, then thousands of feathers passed through the magic circles, they transformed into a golden radiance and came screaming down upon Flema.
Feathers that would not burn away even on contact with the Pure White Flame — thousands of them at once.
Flema instantly thrust both arms forward and raised a wall of white flame at maximum output. Wall and feathers collided, hammering out thunderclap after thunderclap.
"HAAAAAAH!"
And through it all, Simon was hauling himself up yet again, shambling toward her like a zombie. By now Flema had passed beyond irritation into outright disbelief.
[Just DIE already!]
Before Simon could even swing his sword, white flame blasted out and swept across his body. Flema turned her attention back to her shield.
Tap.
[......!]
In that instant, Flema felt the blood drain from her spine, gooseflesh racing up her skin. Simon — who should have been writhing on the floor in agony — slammed into her at full force, entirely unharmed.
What — how?
"GRAAAAAAAAAGH!"
When she summoned the white flame once more, it seemed for a heartbeat to swallow Simon whole — and then he burst out of it, trails of fire streaming from his body like a tail, charging at her with eyes burning with pure madness.
"That attack of yours—!"
SHRAAAAAAAAK!
The Sword of Ruin in Simon's hand carved a diagonal gash across the Saintess's back.
Beyond the fountain of the Saintess's rising blood, Serne and Kajan stared in disbelief — and in the spray, the Saintess's own terror-stricken eyes flickered.
"NOT GOOD ENOUGH!!"