"We Are Not Here to Play."
Pak!
Aaron casually raised a hand and blocked the snowball. When he clenched his fist, the snowball crumpled to powder, and the watching assistants let out sighs of relief.
"Get breakfast and classes ready. And Simon Polentia."
Simon, who had just sneaked off to meet Erzebet, jolted in alarm at the sudden summons and answered.
"Y-yes, sir, Professor!"
"Come see me for a moment."
Leaving only those words behind, Aaron turned and walked away.
Loraine, Toto, and Eshu crowded around asking what was going on, but Simon merely shrugged and followed after Aaron.
* * *
The two of them arrived at a somewhat secluded corner of the base camp.
A small storage building stood there, barely large enough to fit a single person, with firewood piled up behind it. Simon and Aaron sat on tree stumps serving as chairs, and the Head Assistant came over to hand each of them a steaming cup of hot cocoa.
'W-what does he want with me?'
Simon was breaking into a cold sweat.
Could he have sensed Erzebet? She was a specialist in barriers who could come and go across the Kizen grounds at will, but against Aaron, who knew.
Once the Head Assistant withdrew, Aaron began to speak.
"Starting today, I'm holding consultations and lessons for my direct disciples."
"……Ah!"
Simon relaxed inwardly, his eyes brightening.
Aaron had agreed to take Simon on as a direct disciple starting from second year, but he hadn't yet given him any special training or counsel.
Brimming with happiness, Simon answered with vigor.
"I'll work hard!"
"Good."
Aaron leaned back.
"Is there anything you want to ask, or any concerns? Or if there's something you want to learn during your direct-disciple lessons, I can conduct the lessons around that too."
"Yes, there is!"
Simon answered instantly.
"I—I want to make a Bone Dragon!"
Ptooh!
Aaron sprayed the cocoa he'd been drinking. Coughing and hacking as if he'd swallowed it down the wrong pipe, he rolled his eyes up at Simon.
"And what kind of insane nonsense is this?"
Simon quietly drew a pearl-like orb from his coat.
"Nephthys gave it to me. There's a dragon's corpse inside."
Simon explained the whole story of how he'd received the Bone Dragon from Nephthys.
And then—
"I promised Nephthys. That before second year ends, I would definitely complete the Bone Dragon!"
As he listened, a twitch began at the corner of Aaron's mouth.
'……What kind of wind did that woman blow into this kid?'
It was fine—admirable, even—for her to take an interest in and motivate the student she'd personally selected as Special Admission #1.
But she could have picked something with a shred of realism.
For her, it would end with a single offhand remark. But bearing the brunt of this genius's passion and molding that goal into something concrete and achievable—that burden fell entirely on Aaron's own shoulders.
'Honestly, that woman.'
Aaron ground his teeth inwardly and took a sip of cocoa.
"There's one thing I need to make absolutely clear before we go any further."
"Please, go ahead."
"It is realistically impossible."
Aaron set down his cocoa cup and continued.
"I acknowledge your achievements and talent—you created a Lich at the end of first year. But a Bone Dragon is on an entirely different level. Turning a legendary creature into an undead and commanding it is the dream of every summoner, but dreams are beautiful only as dreams. Even most high-tier necromancers wouldn't dare lay a finger on a Bone Dragon."
"Is it really that difficult?"
"It's beyond merely difficult."
Intensity gathered in Aaron's eyes.
"Because the materials are so rare, research and specimens are scarce. The production method has never been properly established. And the necromancers who even possess one are exceedingly few."
Simon tilted his head.
"Not even you could make one, Professor?"
'……This brat.'
Aaron's smiling face twitched once. Necromancers were a very honest species.
"Of course I made one. And I've deployed it in actual combat, no less."
"Then you can teach me, right?"
Simon's eyes sparkled.
'Damn it.'
Whenever he saw those bright, glittering eyes, Aaron kept finding himself haunted by memories of his own childhood, and it was torment. Doing his best to avoid his student's gaze, he murmured in a low voice.
"This is not a matter to speak of so lightly. You'd have to grind through not just your major studies but scholarship devoted solely to the Bone Dragon. And even if, by some miracle, you did complete it—there's a chance you wouldn't be able to control it."
Simon declared boldly.
"Even so, I want to challenge it!"
'……Yes. I knew you'd say that.'
Not a trace of hesitation, of wavering, of second-guessing.
That passion, that youth on the verge of bursting. He wasn't the type to measure things like realism or specimen counts. He did it because he wanted to—and then he damn well did it.
In truth, Aaron already knew he wouldn't be able to talk Simon out of it.
Just as he had no confidence he could persuade his own younger self, even if he traveled back in time and met the boy face to face.
"Your study load will be at least triple everyone else's from here on."
Simon nodded.
"Of course I'm prepared for that."
"……I understand your resolve."
Aaron squeezed his eyes shut and let his arms hang limp.
"But there is one condition."
"Anything you say!"
"If you're going to make a Bone Dragon, it would be absurd for you to be half-hearted even at the level of a Dullahan. At the very least, bring me an 'off-the-charts Dullahan' that shocks me by this midterm. Do that, and I'll prepare lessons on the Bone Dragon after the midterms."
"Understood!"
Before Aaron could backtrack, Simon hurriedly nodded. The message was clear: this midterm season, he was to focus on the Dullahan.
"I'll make the finest Dullahan among all my classmates!"
"I look forward to it."
The two of them were continuing their conversation when heavy footsteps sounded from behind.
Simon turned to look.
'The second direct disciple, I suppose?'
The one who appeared was none other than Hector.
Simon smiled quietly with an expression that said, figures.
Hector, too, having apparently predicted it from the back of Simon's head, scrunched up his face.
"Sit."
"Yes, sir."
Hector took his seat, and Simon, his consultation finished, stepped back. Aaron spoke.
"Simon Polentia. Go back and bring in the next student."
By regulation, a professor could take three direct disciples.
If it was Simon and Hector, Simon figured the last one would most likely be Asseraz. Serne wasn't the type to bother with such things, and as far as he knew, Loraine received her instruction directly from Nephthys.
"Shall I bring Asseraz?"
"Unfortunately, Asseraz already entered another professor's direct discipleship back in first year."
"Oh. Then who should I—"
Aaron spoke with an impassive face.
"Bring me White."
"?!"
* * *
That Aaron had chosen White as a direct disciple was entirely outside Simon's expectations.
Why White of all people?
Something came back to him—how Aaron's expression would stiffen every time he looked at White.
'Hmm.'
But that didn't mean he could quibble with a Kizen professor's decision.
Simon went straight back and went looking for White.
"……"
He found him without any trouble.
While the students bustled about with morning preparations or played snowball fights, White sat where he was with that same vacant expression, gazing up at the sky.
"White."
Simon called to him, but White didn't turn around. Simon could see his hair—white as bleached bone, just like his name—swaying in the wind.
"Professor Aaron is calling for you."
Did he even understand words properly?
White rose slowly from his seat.
Crunch, crunch—
The sound of footsteps on snow.
Simon was watching White walk away and about to turn his head when—
'!'
White was suddenly standing behind Simon's back. So startled was Simon that he nearly took him down on reflex.
"You."
White's mouth opened.
"Are there two of you?"
"……Wh-what?"
What on earth was that supposed to mean?
As Simon stood there dumbfounded, White turned his head away.
"No, there aren't."
And then he resumed his plodding footsteps.
"???"
Still an incomprehensible guy, Simon thought.
* * *
True to its name as an intensive training camp, the grueling schedule continued without pause.
"The rune language must function completely. Only students who succeed in activation will move on to the next location. If you fail, keep trying until you don't."
"Jet-Black must pour out of the biological organ like water from a faucet. If the volume is insufficient, the mana conversion efficiency drops as well."
"If the circle doesn't form properly, the Dullahan will malfunction when it uses its aura. Repeat it until it forms."
The students panted for breath, frantically keeping up with the lessons. The goal was to master not only Dullahan creation but its control as well within a single week, so the intensity was far harsher than anything they'd done so far.
When lunchtime finally arrived, everyone slumped into their seats with glazed eyes.
"Uuugh, I have to cook, but my body won't move."
Eshu moaned in a voice half-dead. But there was no time to rest. Before the students could collapse entirely, the assistants hounded them, shouting out the remaining time, and the students forced themselves to move.
"By the way, Professor Aaron's been teaching us nonstop."
Simon was grilling the venison he'd bought this time when Loraine struck up a conversation.
"I wonder if the other professors aren't coming to this camp at all?"
"I think it's because theory comes first."
Summoning Materials Studies dealt with undead materials and crafting chimeras, but it was still too early to dive into practical Dullahan production.
Summoning and Funeral Rites, likewise, was a subject needed for handling already-completed undead more effectively.
Toto, who was washing vegetables beside them, looked up.
"I overheard the assistant teachers in a meeting! They said someone new is coming soon!"
"Really?"
Toto proved right.
After lunch ended and the students lined up to wait, a welcome face appeared.
"ATTEN-TION!"
A burly, muscular man in sunglasses—Grelion, Professor of Summoning Materials Studies—strode to the front.
"All fifty-two of us in the Summoning Department—tonight! We move to the battlefield!"
At the sudden word 'battlefield,' the students began to murmur. Fitzgerald pushed up his glasses.
"I knew something was coming."
"No way they'd let this slide easily. It's definitely going to be a major practical assessment."
The rumor that a large-scale practical evaluation centered on the Dullahan was coming had already solidified into established fact among the students.
While they buzzed with speculation, Grelion spoke again.
"I hear you've all been honing your Dullahan crafting skills admirably! But if you're going to build a Dullahan anyway, you should build it from the finest materials. Am I wrong?"
"Yes, sir!"
"We are moving to the holy ground of the Gahal Tribe!"
Grelion explained that the fortress of the 'Gahal Tribe' in the Frigod Frontier was under attack by monsters, and that they were going to rescue it.
Just as when they'd gone to the desert to hunt the troublesome Ratchers to obtain ghoul materials, Grelion had always placed great importance on necromancers' positive activities and their contribution to society.
"We will support the Gahal Tribe's fortress and fight alongside them. And of course, we are not going merely for the sake of support."
The corner of his mouth curled upward.
"Now that the Knights are extinct, the highest-grade Dullahan material a necromancer can currently obtain—'the Guardian'—has appeared on that battlefield."
"!!"
Light kindled in the wavering eyes of the students.
Of the three great Dullahan materials—'Ogre Lord, Abaddon, Guardian'—Grelion was telling them that the very finest, the Guardian, could be obtained there.
This was monster material that money could not buy.
"I don't know whether even one of these fifty-two will manage to get their hands on a Guardian, but do not waste your chance to own a Guardian Dullahan. We depart late tonight, so prepare thoroughly!"
"Yes, sir!"
The carrot he'd thrown down was nothing short of radical.
The students snapped to attention and began to move at once.