The Real Guide
Rauly's true colors finally revealed themselves as he drew a knife, its well-worn blade gleaming with a sharp edge.
Swish. Swish.
At the same moment, one thug sauntered up from behind Simon and two more from the front, all wearing ugly sneers.
"...Honestly, who you are doesn't much matter. And the fact that you've fallen into our trap hasn't changed either."
With his companions now at his side, the tension drained from Rauly's face, and he snapped his fingers.
"Empty everything you've got onto the ground. Your bag, your clothes. Everything down to your underwear—don't leave a scrap."
"My underwear too?"
"What's there to be embarrassed about? Just go pick out new clothes at the market."
Rauly pointed at the pile of trash at the back of the alley, and the other gang members snickered along.
"That's right, that there's a Langestin specialty. Who knows, you might get lucky and find a crate to wear."
"Cover your privates and you'll just barely avoid a cell."
Simon answered with a pleasant, easygoing smile.
"I decline."
"..."
The faces of Rauly and his crew darkened.
"...You little punk."
"Guess you're too much of a country bumpkin to read the room. Does it look like we're joking around here?"
The man at Rauly's right strode toward Simon in long, aggressive steps.
"This kind of brat only comes to his senses after a taste of the knife."
"Hey, hold on a second!"
Ignoring Rauly's warning, the man charged in, yanking a dagger from his belt and lunging at Simon.
Swish.
Simon shifted his center of gravity as smoothly as flowing water, opening up his right shoulder. The dagger cleaved through empty air, and Simon, who had pivoted around into the gap, calmly caught the man's wrist.
Crack!
He squeezed, and the man's hand bent backward in a direction it was never meant to bend.
"Kk—aaaaaaaaagh!"
The dagger clattered from his grip as the man collapsed to the ground, shrieking in agony. Simon kicked him square in the face with a resounding thud.
"We have the occasional pest back in my territory too. Types who hide among honest subjects and pull garbage like extortion, all in the name of 'protection fees.'"
"You—you bastard!"
Simon lightly dusted off his palms.
"Cleaning out those pests is a lord's heir's duty. Seems this neighborhood has its fair share of them, so as a fellow practitioner of the trade, I thought I'd help take out the trash."
"...So you're a noble, huh."
Rauly raised his arm and made a signal. Five more gang members came pouring in from the far end of the alley.
"All the more reason we can't let you go."
"..."
Simon calmly loosened up his body. He'd assumed it was two or three at most, but their numbers were larger than he'd thought—and they were organized.
Facing eight armed men alone, bare-handed. Even for Simon, honestly, this many was a bit of a grind.
'I'm sorry, Father. It looks like I might be late for Kizen.'
Simon lowered his stance with a grave expression, and the gang members tensed, gripping their daggers tighter.
It was a hair-trigger standoff. Anyone could lunge at any moment—the fight was about to begin.
"Found you!"
A third voice that had no business being in that alley rang out through it. Every head turned toward the sound.
Thud. Thud.
Someone was walking out of the dark shadows at the mouth of the alley. Jet-black hair that shone as if the night sky itself had been brushed across it, a face still carrying a youthful softness—and blood-red, crescent-shaped earrings. It was a girl.
Simon judged her to be his own age, or perhaps a few years older.
'Now what is this.'
Rauly bit his lip at the arrival of this interloper. What on earth had the man watching the rear been doing? He was nowhere to be seen.
"...This doesn't concern you. Get lost."
At Rauly's warning, the black-haired girl let out a derisive snort, as though the whole thing were beneath her. The closer she came, the more the gang members retreated one nervous step at a time.
A primal, instinctive revulsion and dread. No one could say exactly why—but that girl smelled of something terribly, fundamentally dangerous.
"No need to be scared."
As his men began to waver, Rauly spoke up.
"It's eight to two. We take care of this quick and slip out of Langestin before the guard shows up."
Hearing that, the girl smiled brightly.
"Eight to two? I don't think so."
Rustle, rustle.
As if responding to her movement, the garbage piles and bags scattered throughout the alley began to stir as though alive. A moment later they split open at the seams, and bone fragments rose into the air.
"You know what that is, right up ahead?"
Tap. Click.
The bone fragments began snapping together, pieces of different sizes and types creaking and grinding as they slowly assembled into bodies.
"This building right in front of you is a skeleton shop."
The color drained from Rauly's face and those of his companions. In that instant, the same word flashed through every mind at once.
'...A necromancer!'
Clack! Click!
In the blink of an eye, more than twenty skeletons had the gang surrounded. Paralyzed by sheer terror, the men could barely breathe.
"Khak!"
"Gahk!"
The approaching undead wrapped their arms and legs around the gang members, pinning them in place. With dry, clattering sounds, the dead ran their fleshless hands down the men's faces or lifted their chins to meet their eyes.
"What a predicament."
The girl let a bewitching smile play across her lips.
"My children say they could use some new friends, you see?"
Clack!
Clack!
The skeletons clattered their jaws and palates together in agreement. Some of the gang members foamed at the mouth; others felt their trousers go damp.
'...Incredible.'
Simon was stunned too. Though her skeletons lacked the polish of Richard's, restoring the scattered bone remains lying around them into over twenty instance undead on the spot was a display of remarkable skill.
"W-we beg your forgiveness, Lord Necromancer! Please, have mercy—just this once!"
Rauly bowed his head, trembling violently. The girl folded down her arms, her expression turning somewhat serious.
"Name your organization."
The skeleton gripping Rauly began slowly raking its bare fingers across his throat. As five streams of blood trickled down his neck, Rauly squeezed his eyes shut and shouted.
"Klayven! We're Klayven!"
"Ah, I've heard of you. Quite the sizable outfit, for one that robs the purses of poor outsiders."
With a hand resting on her hip, she spoke in a voice as cold as ice.
"Deliver this to Klayven himself. He will crawl to the guard headquarters and turn himself in—head smashed to the floor of his hideout and hands clasped behind his back."
All the blood left Rauly's face.
"P-please, have mercy—! Turn me undead instead, I beg you!"
The girl's expression twisted into something ferocious.
At that alien voice, as if something beyond the human realm were speaking, Rauly's body went rigid with terror. She let out a small breath, and her voice returned to normal.
"Cheap tricks like sending a lackey won't fly. If I check and his face hasn't been ground in thoroughly enough, then I will erase your entire organization from this world in the name of Kizen."
The moment the word Kizen left her lips, every member of the gang dropped their heads in utter horror. Rauly, too, answered as if all hope had abandoned him.
"...It will be done as you say."
"Get lost."
The skeletons stepped back, and the gang bolted as if they'd been waiting for exactly that. Watching their tails disappear down the street, she clicked her tongue once.
"Thank you for your help."
Simon bowed his head in greeting. Only then did the girl turn with an 'Ah,' looking at him at last.
"Simon Polentia. That's right, isn't it?"
Fortunately, there was no trace of hostility in her lightly smiling tone. Simon nodded quickly.
"Yes, that's me. If it isn't rude to ask, might I know your name...?"
"Know my name? What kind of question is that? I'm your real guide."
Simon's eyes went wide as lanterns.
Then this person is—
At that moment, she tugged him by the wrist.
"Come on. Mom's waiting."
"...Your mom?"
* * *
"Mommyyyyy!"
Behind the grand plaza of Langestin, the girl who had brought Simon here was crouched down, scrubbing vigorously at the cream smeared around a child's mouth.
The child went 'Wubbub,' shaking their head in protest, but the girl's hands were merciless.
"I told you to wait quietly like a good girl! You get lost every single time!"
"But stiiiill—! Theeeere was a free ice cream tasting event in the plaaaaza!"
And the identity of the child whining as she got her face scrubbed was none other than Nephthys Archbold—ruler of Kizen and the very pinnacle of all necromancers.
The so-called Witch of Death, walking around with ice cream on her face... Simon was utterly dumbfounded.
And what baffled him even more was that the girl who had saved him was calling this Nephthys 'Mom.' Mother and daughter, those two? No matter how he looked at them, they read as older and younger sisters at most. And if one had to pick which was the mother, it would surely be the girl rather than Nephthys, who wore the form of a child of about ten...
"Simon?"
At some point the girl was looking his way.
"You just had a strange thought, didn't you?"
"Wh—no, I didn't."
She glared at him with narrowed, suspicious eyes—then promptly turned her head away with a huff.
...Her instincts are terrifying.
"You've had a long journey, Simon—well done!"
Nephthys came scampering over. Though she wore the innocent guise of a child, her true nature was a monster among monsters, one who had lived over three hundred years and plunged the world into fear. Simon bowed politely at the waist.
"I am honored to stand before the ruler of Kizen."
"Aw, you don't have to be so stiff about it."
She laughed and waved her hand.
"This is our first meeting since Leshill, isn't it? Did you pick up anything from Richard in the meantime?"
"Ah, yes! Just a little, but..."
Simon immediately spread out his palm. He engaged his core, sent mana flowing, and drew out jet-black.
The jet-black raced up his arm and burst out over his palm.
Ssssssss.
His signature jet-black, faintly tinged with blue, danced like a living flame.
Nephthys and the girl stepped forward in unison, eyes going round. Watching them like that, he could almost believe they really were mother and daughter.
"Wow."
Both of them had shining eyes, gazing as though at some exquisite work of art.
"It's been a while since I've seen jet-black with a blue cast to it."
"But it still carries the nature of mana. The way it flickers like fire means it hasn't yet escaped its gaseous state."
"We'll need to teach him to use his core more efficiently."
The mother and daughter exchanged a few brief observations and nodded.
"That's enough for now, Simon."
Simon released the jet-black and stood up straight.
"No need to be impatient. Kizen is, after all, a 'school.' There's a great deal more for you to learn."
"Yes, I'll keep that in mind!"
"Now then—Lorraine?"
Nephthys gave the girl a firm smack on the backside.
"Our new student's orientation. I'm leaving him in your hands."
"...Mom always dumps the work on me."
The girl pouted and grumbled, but Nephthys didn't so much as acknowledge it, already turning her back.
"I'm going to have one more ice cream and then head back to Kizen, so you two carry on! Off I go!"
"Ugh, honestly! Mom!"
And with that, Nephthys vanished as if fleeing the scene, leaving the two of them alone in the plaza.
The girl let out a small sigh and turned to face Simon.
"Oh well. Let me introduce myself properly, then. My name is Lorraine Archbold. A student of Kizen, just like you."
"I'm Simon Polentia, from Leshill! I look forward to working with you!"
"Great. We've already lost a lot of time, so let's head out right away."
"What are we going to do?"
Lorraine swept her falling hair back over her shoulder and answered.
"It's the new semester, isn't it? We're going shopping."