The First Ghoul
Kiiiing!
Simon surged forward on his golem board, kicking up clouds of dust and dirt behind him.
The sheer cliffs of Ramakan.
It was a vital passage through the great trading hub known as the Sand Road — but it was also a place where heavy casualties piled up every year, thanks to the explosive growth of the Ratcher, the native monster that infested it.
The local lord had long since washed his hands of exterminating the things entirely, and the merchant caravans had taken to paying the cost and losing the time to route around it altogether. Just recently, starving Ratchers had even made an attempt on a large merchant convoy's escort — a region where the damage simply never stopped.
—Ghouls to secure, monsters to cull — two birds with one stone! And protecting people from monsters is the duty of an elite necromancer, too!
Professor Grelion's voice rang in his memory.
—Thanks to your seniors' hard work and the blood they spilled, necromancers' image has improved across the entire Dark Alliance these days. We're woven into daily life, and this whole infrastructure exists because of it! Follow in their footsteps with gratitude!
Twang.
Simon drew his bow. In the distance, a single Ratcher was sprinting.
Shaggy brown fur covered it from head to tail, its ears pointed and alert — the overall impression was something like a goblin running on all fours.
Avoid damaging the muscles as much as possible.
Simon nocked an arrow and drew the string taut.
Aim for the neck. One shot.
Fwee!
The arrow flew like lightning and buried itself in the Ratcher's thigh. The monster writhed in agony, then spotted Simon and came charging straight at him.
"Ah, crap."
Seeing the leg dragging and buckling with every step, Simon clicked his tongue in disappointment and drew another arrow. This one struck the neck precisely, and the creature did not last long after that.
Shaaa—
The golem board glided up to the dead Ratcher, and Simon hopped down to inspect the corpse.
"This one's a pass-with-me, I'm afraid."
Of all places, the arrow had hit the crucial thigh muscle, and the tissue was already stiffening by the moment. Even if he turned this thing into a ghoul, its mobility would suffer — worst case, he'd end up with a limping, shambling one.
It very likely fell short of Grelion's standard. Simon left it behind without a shred of regret and climbed back onto the board.
"Nine of these things to secure, huh. Easier said than done."
He hadn't managed to claim a single one yet.
The rule was Pass or Fail. Get disqualified here, and he'd lose not just the field practicum with ghouls, but the next Battle Arts class as well.
That said.
If a Ratcher had been lurking nearby, there was a very good chance its den was close by too.
Simon circled the area on his board, scanning every inch of the ground — and at last, he found it.
A hole gaped in the sandy floor, like a breathing vent. It looked narrow, but a Ratcher's supple, elastic body could slip through it with ease.
So this is a Ratcher den.
Simon dismounted and swept his hand through the empty air.
⟨ Summon Golem ⟩
Shaaaaaa—
The surrounding dirt and sand began winding around the golem board. In moments the shape shifted and swelled, and the massive body of a golem rose to its feet.
"Widen the entrance!"
At Simon's shout, the golem heaved up its colossal arms and brought them down on the burrow.
THOOM!
THOOM!
The ground for yards around began shaking as if it would collapse. Simon retreated to a safe distance as the golem laced its fingers together and slammed both fists into the hole with everything it had.
KWAAANG!!
The earth sank in all at once, and the opening yawned wide. From inside came startled cries of 'Kikik!' 'Kik!' — the panicked shrieks of monsters.
Simon retrieved the golem's core, then dropped down into the darkness without a moment's hesitation.
Thud.
He landed on the floor and straightened up — and eyes were glinting at him from all corners of the dark. Ratchers, baring their teeth, crouching low and growling.
Found the place, all right.
Scattered throughout the den he could see the skeletal remains of people, along with shredded scraps of cloth and tattered, worn-out bags.
—Kyaaack!
One Ratcher lunged at him. Out of pure habit, Simon clenched his fist and began gathering jet-black — then bowed his head with a rueful grimace.
I almost flattened it without thinking!
WHUMP!
The Ratcher sailed clean over his body and landed against the far wall. Simon steadied his stance and opened his sub-space.
"Everyone, out!"
Eight skeletons burst from the sub-space, and at Simon's gesture they scattered in unison, breaking apart into their component bones.
⟨ Bone Prison ⟩
Simon thrust his arm out roughly. The bones shot forward like darts, seized the nearby Ratchers, and pinned them hard against the walls.
-Keaaah!
Every time the monsters thrashed violently, the walls shuddered with them.
They really are threat-level 3. Stronger than I expected.
Simon flicked his index finger this way and that, like a conductor wielding his baton. The arm bones of the skeletons linked to the Bone Prison clicked into alignment, segment by segment, until finally the hand bones clutching swords connected as well.
One clean stroke to the neck, and the creature fell silent.
-Keaaaahk!
More Ratchers came charging from the opposite side. Simon spun his whole body and swept his arm in a wide arc — and the monsters were caught by the flying bones and slammed against the walls.
Then Simon drew his arms toward the center.
Shnk. Ssh.
The hand bones lying on the floor rose into the air, weapons in their grips. With Simon spreading both arms like wings as the signal, they charged.
Thk! Thk! Thk! Thk!
Four clean thrusts — four necks impaled with perfect precision.
That makes four secured... oh.
Just then a thundering roar of footsteps echoed from deep in the tunnel, and well over ten Ratchers came boiling out at once.
That many level-3 monsters in a space this cramped was flat-out dangerous.
"Taking all of them without a scratch is asking too much. I'll settle for having secured half."
Simon clad himself safely in Bone Armor. Watching the Ratchers come pouring in like a flood, he gave the order.
"Open the gate."
SHAAAAAAK!
SHAAAAK!
Serpentine blades came pouring out, coiling around Simon and carving the ghouls down as they charged. Fountains of blood erupted in every direction.
Meanwhile, at the same hour.
The entire Summoning Department had scattered across the cliffs, each student hunting Ratchers in their own distinctive way.
Ranked fifth, Asseraz stood with his arms crossed, peering down into a burrow.
"Perfect."
He pulled out the gas potions he'd blended in Poison Studies class and tossed a few down into the hole. Before long, an acrid stench rose up and agonized shrieks began erupting from every corner below.
"In other words, all I need to preserve is the muscle."
He sealed the burrow shut with a layer of dark magic, turning it to solid sand.
And then — another breathing hole, not far from this one. There, waiting in advance, stood his Skeleton Knights in gleaming silver armor.
-Keaaaah!
-Kerrk!
Unable to endure the gas any longer, the Ratchers finally came scrambling and tumbling out of the burrow in a panicked rush.
"Not a single one gets away. Take them all."
The fleeing Ratchers were snatched mid-stride by the Skeleton Knights and driven headfirst into the ground. Some knights threw nets; others moved through the crowd cleanly beheading one target after another — control so refined that the squad had even divided up roles among themselves.
Asseraz cleared the mission with ease.
FWOARRRRR!
And while everyone else was busy hunting burrows — up on the cliff face.
A black dragon was streaking across the sky, spewing gouts of flame breath.
Common sense says Ratchers that live on the cliffs develop stronger shoulders than the burrow-dwellers.
Ranked third, Hector was in his dragon form. Most of the Ratchers caught in the fire breath he rained down were burning alive where they clung.
-Keaaahk!
"The weak ones are worthless! Only the survivors are fit to become my ghouls!"
Having just spotted a massive Ratcher colony on the hillside above, Hector was on the verge of clearing the test himself.
So while the black dragon strutted through the sky, diligently setting the cliff walls ablaze — down on the ground, a female student was watching the whole spectacle with a yawn.
"So much energy in this blazing sun, Class Rep~"
She had conjured a chair to sit on — and gone so far as to unfurl a parasol to shelter herself from the sunlight. Behind her, a male student was fanning her diligently with a handful of leaves.
"Thank you all so, so much~ Oh, you really didn't have to."
She laughed in a voice dripping with honeyed charm. Before her, the feather-marked students were laying out the Ratchers they'd dutifully caught one by one, each wearing a dazed, sheepish grin.
"Before she gets here, how about just one apiece for me, hm?"
And so Serne, quietly siphoning off other students' Ratchers one by one, was edging her way toward her own clear.
And then there was one more.
"Haa... haa..."
Deep inside a Ratcher den.
Loraine stood with a dagger in hand, flanked by two Skeleton Knights.
Countless Ratcher corpses lay strewn across the floor — and before her, an enormous, boss-class Ratcher stood its ground, eyes flashing.
I never imagined this.
She wiped the sweat streaming down her face and stared ahead.
I never thought there'd come a day when I was the one cornered by Ratchers.
The lesson was searing itself into her bones.
How fragile she truly was, with her abilities sealed away.
And how utterly complacent she had been.
What did running a school even mean? What did becoming the next Headmaster of Kizen even mean?
Every careful step she'd ever taken while minding the adults' eyes and moods now filled her with shame.
Start over. Slowly, one step at a time.
Whoosh!
She re-gripped her dagger with practiced ease, lowered her stance, and glared at the snarling, oversized Ratcher.
Just like him. What I can do, here and now!
"Ugh... that was rough."
Simon made it out of the Ratcher hole in one piece.
Midway through the fight, the ground he'd weakened earlier had caved in beneath him — another step and he'd have been buried alive. Simon spat out sand, pah, pah, and hauled himself upright.
First, he opened his sub-space and took stock of the haul. Four Ratchers from the initial batch, plus two more just now — six in total.
But Grelion's requirement was a minimum of nine.
I need to find one more den.
Roughly an hour remained.
Simon laid out one of the freshly killed Ratchers and drew the corpse-carving kit he'd bought in Rochest.
Then, just as Grelion had demonstrated earlier, he began dressing the carcass at speed.
One of the Ratcher ghoul's most important traits.
Its phenomenal sense of smell.
A Ratcher ghoul gains detection power potent enough to pinpoint objects buried under sand and soil.
Combing this vast stretch of terrain inch by inch would be a gamble. Simon intended to build a ghoul right here, on the spot.
He removed the internal organs, sprinkled on the drug that released rigor, and reset the muscles and skeletal frame immediately.
All of it was from today's lesson, so his memory was fresh. His hands still fumbled with the gestures and the tools, but he could manage to follow along.
Is that good enough?
Finally, he carved the summoning circle into the ghoul's skull. Connecting skull to body, Simon stepped back a few paces, took a deep breath, and activated the dark spell.
⟨ Summon Ghoul ⟩
CLACK!
In that instant, the dead monster's head snapped sharply upward.
Jet-black poured out from the circle and spread through the ghoul's entire body, and with the power of the dark spell it began to move, joints creaking and groaning.
It flopped and twitched like a fish hauled onto land — then, before long, it arched its back high and steadied itself on all four limbs.
"There we go!"
He had succeeded at summoning a ghoul for the first time in his life.
But even as Simon reveled in the success, the ghoul's eyes, fixed on him, were anything but tame. It bared its teeth and lunged.
Every undead, in the very moment of its creation, awakens as a dead thing whose nature predates its complete subservience to the necromancer — the instinct of a wild animal that bites before it can be broken in. Some snap at their summoner; some attack any living thing nearby. With ghouls, it was always the latter.
The finished ghoul flung its jaws wide and came hurtling at Simon —
TAK!
But Simon, springing off a footing of jet-black itself, was faster. In a flash he seized the ghoul by the head.
BOOM!
And slammed it into the ground.
The thrashing ghoul, pinned in Simon's grip, growled and writhed, trying to tear free. Simon's eyes flashed.
"[HALT.]"
The moment Simon's Absolute Order took hold, the convulsing ghoul went limp.
In life, Ratchers lived in packs and submitted to the strongest among them. That instinct still lingered in its bones.
Only after he was certain it was fully subdued did Simon release his grip and step back.
"Up."
At the command, the ghoul sprang to its feet. Panting on all fours, it looked for all the world like a puppy.
"Good boy."
When Simon held out his hand, the creature whimpered and gently nuzzled its face against his palm — a dog, through and through.
"Sorry to put you to work the second you're made, but there's something I need you to find."
The ghoul threw its head back and howled at the sky like a wolf, then broke into a run, signaling for Simon to follow.