The Witch of Death
The Saintess's arm went flying.
With a little more accurate aim, he might even have been able to kill her — but in truth, hitting a target that had looked like a mere dot in the distance was nothing short of a miracle.
Simon, feeling his consciousness grow hazy by degrees, stretched out his right hand.
'Restoration.'
Light flashed in the distance, and Pier's greatsword came swooping down into the hand of Simon, who was still suspended in midair.
[Hey, boy! This is no time to be passing out!]
Simon's body was plummeting toward the pocked mountainside.
Whump. Whump.
Right on cue, two of Serne's feathers came fluttering in and latched onto his shoulders. His falling body flipped over, snapping into a proper flying posture.
Carried on the power of the feathers, Simon slipped inside the huge hole in the mountain. Here and there along the rock wall, more feathers could be seen flying in and attaching themselves; once Simon had passed, they dissolved into the shape of a magic circle and, shifting dirt and stone, packed the hollow hole tight without a gap.
By the time Simon descended into the Command and Control Room, that great hole had been sealed completely.
"How nostalgic — it's like déjà vu from last time. Some heir to the Ivory Tower I am, playing nursemaid to other people."
Serne approached with a tired laugh.
"And all that help with your little meltdown, and all I get is one arm? From now on, you're my support."
The sound of Pier's skull cackling uproariously rang out.
Sitting slumped on the floor, Simon snorted a laugh, while Kajan let out a hollow chuckle, his disheveled hair hanging over his eyes.
'...Absolute lunatics, the lot of them.'
Two Kizen students had teamed up to drive back a Saintess — and gotten an arm blown off in the process. Anyone who heard it would have scoffed. The information was so divorced from reality, he doubted anyone would even buy it.
"Ugh."
Sitting there on the ground, Simon's consciousness began to slip away. Then Serne jabbed a few feathers into his body, and his mind snapped sharply awake.
"Stay with me. I don't think this is the time to faint, either."
"...?"
Guuuuuuuuuuuuung!
Barely had she finished speaking when the entire Command and Control Room shuddered violently. Every head turned upward.
"Persistent, isn't she."
Kajan muttered. The ceiling was collapsing along with the rock wall around it.
Serne clicked her tongue and sent out her feathers, spreading a defensive magic circle above their heads.
KWA-KWA-KWA-KWA-KWAAANG!
The ceiling blasted apart again. Through a hole more than five times the size of the last one, the Saintess was descending from the sky.
Tap.
Both her feet touched the ground. The sight of her hollow right arm somehow made her look all the more ominous.
[At last.]
She raised her head.
[I understand the Goddess's will.]
Her robes billowed as an indescribable, colossal power surged up from her body. The three of them fell back, eyes wary.
[A Legion Commander, beyond the reach of divinity.]
Her gaze turned toward Simon.
[An existence outside all measure. An irregular. This is a grave calamity. It has even been confirmed that the undead he commands are immune to holy power. Should he reach his full potential, Efnel will gain its worst enemy. The reason the Goddess guided me to Kizen — it was not to terrorize Kizen.]
FWOOOOOOOOSH!
Her entire body began to be swallowed by brilliant Pure White Flame.
[Simon Polentia. It was to eliminate you — you alone.]
Flema began to recite a prayer. Serne gave a wry smile and pointed behind them.
"Shall we run for it, then?"
The moment Simon nodded and turned to flee, a colossal wall of white flame rose up, sealing off every path of escape.
[Forgive this lowly servant her irreverence, O Goddess.]
Flema knelt upon the ground.
[I now understand — that your divine power failing to take effect was meant to enlighten your dull-witted servant as to who must truly be judged.]
"Ah, this is bad. Looks like she's pulling herself back together."
Serne said.
"Nothing about the situation has changed, yet she's simply swallowed her own self-justification and labeled it 'enlightenment.'"
Kajan clicked his tongue as well.
Then the white flame covering Flema's body began to swell and transform.
It was no longer the shape of a human being. A body of smooth, snow-white heavenly metal; her waist narrowed into a single clean line before blooming again into a white torso at the chest. Curved wings hung from her back, and her face was covered in seamless metal without features, only the twin points of her eyes glowing blue. Above her head floated a disc of the same substance, turning slowly in the air.
[By the will of the great Goddess, I shall tear out the sprout of evil by its roots — staking everything I am.]
Executor Mode — a form that could only be sustained by burning away Flema's own lifespan as fuel for the white flame. She truly was gambling everything on this fight.
Shhk.
A sword of white flame rose up from her wrist. Her metal body, too, seemed to be composed of white flame, radiating heat as wisps of shimmering haze curled off it.
Before the battle had even begun, the three of them knew.
They could not win this.
[Now.]
She raised her right arm high. The sword of white flame surged dozens of meters upward before erupting in a massive burst of fire.
[Be annihilated.]
The burning blade fell toward Simon's head. He desperately hoisted Pier's greatsword.
'There's no way I can block it in this state—!'
KAAAAAAANG!
With a ringing clash, Flema's sword was stopped.
Simon's eyes went wide. It hadn't been him. At some point, an unfamiliar golden magic circle had spread open directly in front of him.
'Don't tell me—!'
[So quickly?!]
Flema's gaze whipped around.
A golden portal was opening in midair.
Twenty minutes earlier.
"His true strength is madness!! He is the rare sort of timber capable of genuinely losing himself to something!"
Bahil shouted, beside himself with excitement.
Aaron, who had been listening, narrowed his eyes with disdain.
"...You just found someone who reminds you of yourself, is all."
"Madness is also the mark of genius, you know."
Bahil shrugged.
"Allow me to share an experience of mine. During a Class A Curse Studies lesson, I briefly interfered with Simon's body to assist his practical exercise. I placed a Sensory Curse on him to maximize his focus. And then..."
The corners of his mouth curled upward.
"In every battle, and at every critical moment — especially during Professor Jane's Cyclops assessment — Simon was mimicking that exact state I had created with my curse. He seems to believe he's merely 'reproducing a mental image.' But that isn't what's happening at all."
His jaw dropped open theatrically.
"Compello."
At that word, not only Aaron but Hong Peng and Silaje as well went wide-eyed.
"He is inducing that very 'Compello' that the great necromancers are said to experience only once in a lifetime. Yes! A seventeen-year-old brat! He's triggering Compello just to recreate the focus he felt during a mere curse lesson! Does that even make sense?"
Beholding the three vacant expressions, Bahil smiled like a victor surveying the conquered.
"It's certain."
Hong Peng rested her chin on her hand.
"He did get help from another shtudent, but our Shimun — ahem, Simon mashter mashtered Internal Jet-Black Eruption in only two tries. He really did swing wide the door to Compello, I'm shure of it."
"Oh-ho. That's news even to me."
Bahil nodded and continued.
"In any case, the reason I'm sharing this information is that, as fellow educators charged with teaching Simon, I thought we ought to agree not to interfere with his concentration—"
"I object."
Silaje said, coughing.
"If he keeps flinging that door to Compello open, his mind will unravel. He's only seventeen. You know full well what end awaits necromancers addicted to Compello — every last one of them died young."
"And yet."
Bahil let the corners of his mouth linger.
"They achieved astonishing feats and carved their names into history, didn't they."
"...Professor Bahil!"
"Don't misunderstand me. I pride myself on the fact that no one on this faculty cares more about Simon's well-being than I do. The ones who break themselves throwing open Compello again and again were going to break regardless — that's simply the caliber they were. But Simon's very aptitude is different."
"In the outside world, we call that exploitation."
At Silaje's words, Bahil's eyes turned ice-cold.
"Professor Silaje — forgive my bluntness, but are you truly a necromancer?"
"If it's rude, then don't say it. A professor's role is to guide him now, toward restraining his use of Compello and building a stable foundation that lets him win without resorting to such reckless power. That boy will climb high enough on his own without it."
Irritation bled into Bahil's expression.
"His potential is limitless! Snapping a genius's wings under the pretext of 'management' disqualifies you as an educator — and as a necromancer, it's a cri—"
"Enough."
Clap, clap.
Hong Peng mediated, clapping her hands together.
"We're about to have a fight on our hands. Today is Bishop Lang's funeral. Hardly the time or the plashe for this."
"..."
Silaje shut his mouth, his face flushed red. But Bahil still looked like his tongue was itching for a fight.
Just then, Aaron's gaze shifted.
"...Something's happening outside."
Sniff, sniff.
Silaje caught the scent and bolted for the door at once. The other professors followed on his heels.
Murmur, murmur, murmur.
A commotion was rippling through the mourners at the Mausoleum entrance. The professors pushed through the crowd.
"Camibarez!"
Silaje ran to her.
A Kizen girl was staggering into the Mausoleum, drenched head to toe in blood. Blood poured ceaselessly from her eyes and mouth, and the great bat wings on her back hung limp and dragging.
"...Ah."
The moment she saw the professors, tears welled up in Camibarez's eyes.
"Professors! Please!"
"Steady now. Your body's in a terrible state."
Silaje said, supporting her as she threatened to collapse.
"Please — save Simon! Save the people there!"
"Save them? What on earth are you talking about?"
Just then, with a flash of light, a small girl appeared at Camibarez's side.
"Sounds like something's gone wrong."
Nephthys Archbold.
At her appearance, the professors and every mourner present bowed their heads in unison.
"You're..."
Camibarez's pupils trembled. Without a doubt, it was that tiny girl who had come wandering into their classroom and cadged snacks off them.
"Hiya! Would you show me that thing?"
The girl pointed at Lang's diary, which Camibarez was clutching to her chest.
Camibarez hesitated, her eyes darting uncertainly — but when she saw Hong Peng give a small nod, she handed the diary over to Nephthys.
Swish.
Nephthys opened Lang's diary. The other professors drew near, peering over her shoulder at the pages.
My TA is going to kill me.
At the very first sentence, the professors' eyes nearly bulged out of their heads.
"That's Lang's handwriting."
Nephthys murmured, turning the page.
The professors' expressions shifted by the second. Shock, horror, confusion — and in the end, what surfaced was fury of the purest kind.
"Mm. No need to read further."
Nephthys murmured calmly and handed the diary back to Camibarez.
The moment Camibarez hugged the diary to her chest again, Nephthys beamed and gently stroked her hair, pat, pat.
"It's all right now."
Camibarez, who had been wound tight with vigilance, felt her heart go inexplicably calm at the sound of that voice.
"Leave everything beyond this to us."
Perhaps it was those words, so profoundly reassuring, that did it.
At last letting go of the thread of tension, Camibarez's eyes lost their focus, and slid gently shut.
Nephthys sighed, as if tired, and slowly straightened up.
"Honestly, you people~"
The voice that had been cooing sweetly turned arctic.
[I want to tear every last one of them apart.]
KRA-KOOOOOOOOOM!
In an instant, the bright midday surroundings were swallowed pitch-black, and black lightning began to strike again and again.
The mourners shuddered to their cores. The weather had inverted in the span of a breath.
Nephthys turned.
"Silaje, please tend to this girl."
"Yes."
"And."
Nephthys said, glancing back over her shoulder.
"Who's coming with—"
FWIP! FWIP! FWIP!
Before she could even finish, Aaron, Bahil, and Hong Peng thrust their hands up with murderous enthusiasm.
Other necromancers and mourners behind them raised their hands as well, but each one sheepishly lowered an arm or two in the face of those three's ferocity.
"Good."
She nodded and snapped her fingers. An afterimage flickered in the air, and Jane appeared, head bowed.
"Prepare it, Jane."
"Yes, Headmistress."
Jane invoked her dark magic, and her own body along with Aaron's, Bahil's, and Hong Peng's were enveloped in jet-black and compressed into the form of small cubes. The cubes dropped into Nephthys's palm.
Then Nephthys tucked the cubes away and stretched her hand out toward the empty air.
Tick! Tick! Tick!
A magic circle of spinning golden clockwork unfolded in the void — and transformed into a colossal gate.
"Shall we, then?"
The Witch of Death took her first step.
Five minutes later.
KAAAAAAANG!
With a ringing clash, Flema's sword was stopped.
Simon's eyes went wide. An unfamiliar golden magic circle had spread open directly in front of him.
'Don't tell me—!'
[So quickly?!]
Flema's gaze whipped around.
A golden portal was opening in midair.
And from within it emerged a girl, silver hair streaming in the wind.
"Long time no see."
Nephthys smirked, cocking her head.
"Saintess of Purification."