The History of the Legion
Yona was an unyielding man.
No relentless offensive, however fierce, could ever break him.
The Saintess of Efnel, who had burned three thousand of the Dresden Kingdom's soldiers to ash with her fire, spoke to her challenger, Yona.
"Give up. You have lost every one of your comrades."
Yona answered her.
"What nonsense. My comrades will fight beside me for all eternity."
At those words, tens of thousands of pitch-black undead rose up from the ashes.
The tide of battle turned.
Victory in the White Night War.
Victory at the Naval Battle of Graham.
Victory at the Battle of the Heights Plains.
He never needed the help of any other necromancer.
Lonely, yet strong.
Yona and the undead legion that followed him tore through Efnel at a terrifying pace, and every last priest trembled in fear.
"……"
Simon, who had been reading up to that point, flipped the book over for a moment to check the title.
Did I pick up some epic hero saga by mistake?
The History of the Legion.
It was, in fact, a history book.
Puzzled as he was, the pages turned so smoothly that Simon simply kept reading. The book did record historical fact, but Yona's achievements gleamed so brilliantly it might as well have been an epic saga.
Wondering if they were all written this way, he glanced through the entries on the other Legion Commanders. Those sections were nothing but dry, flat lists of historical records — tedious and dull. Only Yona's part had the distinct feel of an author who had gotten carried away.
"Yona, the living embodiment of war, at last brought even the Master of Cheongun Mountain to its knees in death and raised it again to life, that it might follow him. There was none in all the world who could stand against him."
A hollow laugh escaped Simon.
This writer is a total fanboy of my dad.
At first he'd dismissed it as absurd, overblown nonsense, but the truth was, the more he read, the hotter something burned in his chest.
And there was something uncanny about the fact that this story's hero was the very father he saw at home whenever he visited.
The ending, however, was rather anticlimactic.
The Battle of Port Ballott.
The Battle of Harona.
The Battle of Hanbus.
Yona, slain. The 7th Legion, disbanded.
Perhaps the writer, who had scribbled away in a fever of excitement, finally felt a deep regret at the end — the last pages were nothing but a bare list of historical facts, stripped of any personal commentary whatsoever.
For some reason, the single period beside the final words — the 7th Legion, disbanded — looked strangely, unnaturally large to him.
Both Kizen and Efnel were in such a hurry to bury it.
The greatest Legion Commander of the age, and the greatest Saintess of the age.
The two of them had been the trump cards each faction prided itself on — and their story ended in a way neither faction could ever have imagined.
Efnel, for the sake of the dignity of its clergy and the authority of its Saintess corps, concluded that Anna had died in the midst of battle.
Kizen likewise declared that Yona had perished together with the Saintess after a ferocious struggle, and purged every other record of the affair.
Neither side, it seemed, had any desire for an ending like reconciliation.
Simon closed the book with an odd, complicated feeling stirring in him, and pulled the next volume from the tower of books stacked beside him. He had just opened it to the first subsection with Yona's name in it when—
"Studying hard, and so early in the morning too."
"!"
Simon felt the hair on the back of his neck stand straight up as every drop of blood in his body turned to ice. He cranked his stiff neck around — and there stood a man with autumn-leaf brown hair and glasses, smiling.
"What are you reading?"
The new Professor of Hemomancy, Walter Hahn.
Though he'd done nothing wrong, Simon felt a chill run down his spine and the hairs on his head rise on end.
Before Simon could answer, Walter beat him to it.
"Reading up on Legion Commander Yona, I see. He's someone I'm quite fond of myself."
Simon steadied his frantically hammering heart and asked, in as calm and casual a voice as he could manage.
"What is it you like about him, Professor?"
"Among professional necromancers, he's practically a living legend. He worked alone, so not much is known about him, but the accomplishments he racked up were magnificent. Of course, since he's rarely mentioned in the standard textbooks, I'd assumed you young people had no interest in him."
Walter's thick palm came down over the crown of Simon's head.
"Researching Yona first thing in the morning. Admirable. Knowing history is every bit as important as studying the dark arts."
And then he began to stroke Simon's hair, slowly.
Something about it crawled over Simon's skin like insects. He tilted his head away from the man's hand and forced a smile.
"You seem very interested in Cores, Professor."
Simon had already caught the titles of the books Walter had checked out. Both of them. Advanced Studies in New Core Development and The Secret of Core Unsealing.
"Mm, well, yes. Any Hemomancy professor can hardly help but be interested in the field. Core manipulation in particular—"
"Not core manipulation."
Simon pointed at the book titles with his index finger.
"You want to create an entirely new kind of Core, don't you."
Walter only smiled.
"An interesting thought."
He tucked the books under his arm and turned to go.
"You're in Class A with Camibarez, aren't you? Today's your first class. History is all well and good, but don't be late for the lesson."
With only those words, Walter strode off. Simon watched him in silence until he had left the library entirely, then let out a long, tangled sigh.
……I thought coming early would be safe. I need to be more careful from now on.
Simon gathered up the books, carried them back, and slotted them into their original places on the shelf.
It had been a close call against the start of class. Simon grabbed his things and hurried to the Hemomancy lecture hall.
There he spotted Dick, who had arrived before him, slumped face-down on his desk with bleary eyes. When Simon took the seat beside him, Dick lifted his head with an enormous, dragging yawn.
"Where'd you disappear to this early? The bed was empty, you nearly scared me to death."
"Just stopped by the library for a bit. Something suddenly caught my curiosity."
The moment Simon answered, pulling out his textbook, Dick's eyes went wide.
"Wha— you traitor!"
"?"
"You've become a total bookworm! Are you turning into Meilin? Have you decided to study out of pure spite now? Even if we enrolled at different times, we swore to flunk out on the very same day— uurk!"
He clapped a hand over his mouth in a hurry. At Dick's retching sound, the surrounding students scattered like cockroaches when the lights come on. A few of them, as if the noise had infected them, covered their own mouths and bolted for the bathroom.
"……Uuurgh, the Toxicology aftereffects are no joke. Seriously."
Barely recovered, Dick flopped back down onto his desk.
"Morning, you two!"
Camibarez and Meilin arrived at the lecture hall as well. Simon returned Camibarez's cheerful greeting, then glanced over at Meilin.
"What's wrong with Meilin?"
She had swept her long, flowing sky-blue hair forward and was hiding her face behind it like some vengeful ghost. Meilin whispered something quietly to Camibarez and buried her head even deeper.
Camibarez relayed the message.
"She says the poison hasn't faded from her face yet — she's still got spots and markings — so she's embarrassed, and please don't look at her."
"Oh, come on~ aren't you special. So very, very special."
Dick snickered and needled her mercilessly.
"We all got ugly together, so isn't it a bit much hogging all the misery for yourself? It's morning — at least let us see your face while we talk."
Meilin whispered to Camibarez once more, quick and urgent. Camibarez answered with a sweet, apologetic smile.
"Shut your mouth. That's what she says."
"……Wow. Getting told something that harsh through Cami actually kind of hurts."
"Ugh, enough!"
At that, Meilin — still hiding behind her bangs — flung her hair back as if she couldn't bear another second of it.
"Fine! Fine! Look all you want!"
Simon's and Dick's gazes locked onto her instantly. Across Meilin's face were pale whitish-black stripes.
They looked just like—
"……Watermelon?"
"Don't say it!!"
Meilin went scarlet and hurled her textbook at Simon. The markings vanished from sight in an instant, buried under her flushed face.
Dick clapped his hands and pointed at her.
"Whoa! Watermelon cross-section!"
"……"
This time, truly, with not a trace of playfulness, she radiated a killing chill with the full intent of murdering Dick. Camibarez and Simon shrieked and wrestled her back.
"……Hah. Honestly."
All hell broke loose for a good while. Having frozen two chairs solid to vent her fury, Meilin finally flopped into her seat and pressed a hand to her forehead.
"And I have to sit through classes like this at least once a week from now on? I'll just choose death."
Before Dick could fire back, someone's cry of "The professor's coming!" rang out. The students flooded back to their seats, and a moment later the new teaching assistants filed in.
Thud. Thud.
Last of all, Walter made his entrance. He was enjoying such staggering popularity at his new workplace that he'd already earned the nickname "the Walking Statue."
Among Kizen's female students lately, the question of who was more handsome — Bahil or Walter — had escalated into a matter of grave, impassioned debate.
"Welcome, everyone."
Walter began, wearing a gentle smile.
"I'm Walter Hahn, and I'll be teaching Hemomancy in Professor Silaje's place."
Squeals bordering on outright screams erupted from every corner of the room. The buzz and clamor made the classroom feel less like a lecture hall and more like a fan club event.
"I studied and grew under Professor Silaje's own instruction. The broad framework will be no different from the curriculum you were following under him, so you won't need any extra time to adapt or sort out any confusion. Set your minds at ease."
To the Class A students who had already survived Byeolya's Toxicology, that was welcome news indeed.
"Then let's do a quick review before we move on."
Walter stepped up to the lectern and loosened his throat. His voice was the kind that melted clean off the ear.
"Hemomancy is the dark art that works through blood. As you all know, jet-black and blood flow together within a necromancer's body. Naturally, in that state, nothing happens at all — but."
He unfurled a jet-black magic circle in the empty air.
"A necromancer uses the dark arts as an artificial means to bind jet-black and blood together, giving rise to all manner of magical reactions."
And then he let a single drop of blood fall onto the circle.
The instant the crimson droplet passed through it, the circle below bloomed into a tiny droplet that swelled into a whirlpool of blood, churning and spiraling. The students gasped in admiration.
This time Walter demonstrated the reverse. He spread a circle of blood, then dropped jet-black onto it — and the circle and the darkness fused together, forging a razor-sharp rose of blood.
When Walter handed the flower to a girl in the front row with a dashing smile, the reaction that erupted was nearly ear-splitting.
"……Ugh."
Meilin turned her head away, her face twisted in disgust. Simon looked at her.
"What's the matter?"
"……Nothing, I just don't get why everyone's losing their minds over him. Something about him rubs me the wrong way. He's got that greasy look."
Behind them, Dick and Camibarez snorted into their hands.
"Your taste sure is unwavering, isn't it."
"Meilin's heart belongs to Lord Pion and no one else~"
"Bo-both of you, shut it!"
Flustered, Meilin whipped around and barked at them. Simon, equally flustered, sneaked a glance out the window.
Once that little commotion had settled, Walter resumed his lecture.
"Blood-based dark magic consumes your own blood directly, so your stamina drains quickly — but in exchange, it is fast, and it is powerful."
Walter clapped his hands lightly, and all the magic circles scattered into the air.
"Now then — show me. What kind of potential does your blood hold?"