The Blade That Remembers
It happened in the early hours of dawn.
Simon had completely passed out in the club basement.
His passion to finish the Manus Dullahan by the end of the day was admirable, but throwing himself into the most difficult stage of the construction while already worn down from working on it all morning and afternoon had been reckless. Without even realizing it, he had sprawled out on the floor and fallen asleep.
…….
…….
A desolate silence settled over the basement. On the center of the table lay the skull of Manus, the subject of Simon's research, surrounded by a clutter of every manner of undead material.
A magic circle hovered in midair, still active, some of its runework crackling as it held. Crack! The floating circle drew in the surrounding mana and released it, over and over, until at last its duration ran out and it dismantled itself. A few shards of its wreckage drifted down and slid into the eye sockets of Manus's skeleton.
Vmmm—
Light flickered to life in the pupils of the skeletal Manus, whose magical power had most certainly been switched off. Those pinprick-red pupils stared down at Simon, fast asleep.
Shhhhhhh—
Manus's skull shot skyward, spewing jet-black in every direction, and the bones of the skeleton that lay scattered carelessly about the room came swirling in around it. Before long, with a dry rattling, the bones began to link together.
Creak—
Creeeak—
Manus had a body.
Parts were missing here and there, and the bones had assembled out of order, leaving its movements clumsy — but it could walk, barely. Creak… creak… With an eerie groan of straining joints, the skeleton shuffled forward. A slow, limping gait. Slow, but precise. It was closing in on Simon.
Shk.
As it walked, Manus snatched up the work knife lying on the table. The moment the jet-black flowing from its skull touched the blade, the knife surged and reshaped itself into a pitch-black longsword.
Creak… creak…
It was right around then that Simon woke. A prickling sensation across his skin finally forced his eyes open.
'Ah, I dozed off for a second…….'
And the first thing he saw upon opening them was a skeleton raising its sword above him.
"Whoa—!"
Simon flung his legs apart in a panic. Shring! The razor-sharp blade carved a long gash into the floor between his legs.
Horror seizing him, Simon scrambled upright and backed away.
[…….]
It should have cut clean through. So Manus seemed to think, glancing once in displeasure at its own shoddy arm before starting toward Simon again.
'What is that?! How is it moving?'
Cold sweat running down his back, Simon stared at Manus's skull and the scattered skeleton bones.
'It's hijacked my skeleton's control authority.'
That thing wasn't functioning as a proper skeleton exerting its own 'manpower.' It had simply wound jet-black around the bones, lifted them, and forced them into the shape of its own body. In the distance, the skull of the skeleton so abruptly robbed of its body was humming a low, indignant drone.
Shring!
Manus swung again. Simon ducked low just in time, and a few strands of hair fluttered away into the air, cleanly severed.
Heart hammering, Simon thrust out his arm.
"W-wait! Why are you attacking me?!"
Years of living alongside Ancient Undead had made the words slip out instinctively — and the thought that followed immediately after made him realize what a foolish question it was.
That was the very essence of the undead. It was being driven by the dread instinct of the dead, the hatred of the living. That thing wasn't Manus anymore; it was closer to a beast moving on pure instinct.
Shk.
Manus lowered its stance, gripped the sword in both hands, and drew it back below its chin. Simon felt every hair on his body stand on end.
That was a proper swordsmanship stance.
'Fighting a Swordmaster at this range is suicide!'
His vision was blurring and his condition was at its absolute worst — and yet the surge of danger snapped his brain awake, focus flaring to life in a split second.
<Cloud>
He lashed the Cloud out like a whip, snagged the table behind Manus, and hauled back on it with all his strength.
[…….]
Manus turned to look behind it and swung its sword.
Shring!
The table split apart along a cross-section so clean it was chilling.
In that exact instant, Simon was already sprinting for the entrance.
He could have fought. But even if he won, it would only end with him destroying the Manus he'd been building with his own two hands. Sealing Manus in here and escaping first was the priority.
'That body is just jet-black holding the shape together by force! There's no way it can run—!'
At that very moment.
Simon felt goosebumps erupt across his back and whirled around. Manus had taken its stance to loose a sword strike.
'Danger!'
Grab!
While still running, Simon snatched up a coffin lid lying nearby and hefted it, reinforced with jet-black.
And then —
KRA-KOOOOOOOM!
The world split in two.
The sword strike came crashing down, and the reflected light of the lamps, grazing an arc that defied physics and nature itself, flared blindingly in every direction for a heartbeat and vanished.
The coffin lid in Simon's hands was sheared through, clean as paper.
SHRAAAAK!
A fountain of blood erupted from his shoulder a beat later.
'The Kizen uniform barrier — in a single strike—?!'
Behind him, the basement wall split open like a gaping mouth with a deafening tear, a pale cross-section showing through the gap.
Thud.
Simon crumpled where he stood, clutching his shoulder.
The wound was deep. Blood streamed down, dyeing his uniform shirt a vivid red. His breathing grew ragged — hah, hah — and his face went grim.
But the strike had carried its own risk: Manus's right arm, too, had been reduced to a mangled wreck.
Still wearing that same expression of incomprehension, Manus picked up the fallen sword with its remaining left hand.
Knik!
Knik!
And then, to finish the job, it came on slowly.
"Well."
Clutching his bleeding shoulder, Simon smiled faintly.
"I bought enough time."
BOOM!
[Looord Commander!]
The sealing magic on the door shattered and Erzebet burst into the basement. The moment she saw blood pouring from Simon's shoulder, her eyes rolled back in fury.
[How dare you!]
She flung out her arm roughly — not her usual spiderweb technique, but a raw discharge of condensed jet-black. The effect was unmistakable. The bones Manus held together with dark energy were blasted away under the crushing pressure, and in an instant all that remained of Manus was its skull, dropping to the floor with a soft tok.
BOOM!
Erzebet stomped down on the fallen skull without a moment's hesitation. Her heel bore down as if to crush it then and there, jet-black rippling along the surface of her shoe.
[This maiden shall destroy this wretched thing at once!]
"Stop!"
Simon shouted, frantic.
"I-I'm fine. You got too worked up, Erze."
[Lord Commander!]
Erzebet bound the skull tight in layer upon layer of spiderweb to seal it against any possibility, then rushed to Simon's side.
[Kukuku! You timed it perfectly, Boy.]
Pier's split body said. Simon lowered his head.
"So it was you who called her, Pier?"
[Indeed. You were asleep and answering no one, so I sent Erzebet over, just in case.]
"You saved my life."
Erzebet fussed helplessly over the gash on Simon's shoulder and the blood still seeping from it.
"I'm…… fine. It might still be dangerous, so could you give me a moment?"
Erzebet obediently withdrew, and Simon closed his eyes.
'I can do anything.'
Vmmm—!
He felt the jet-black drain out of his body as sacred energy flooded in to fill the void. Simon, now a Priest, laid his hand over the wound.
<Healing>
FLASH!
It was an emergency stopgap, cast hastily with Healing, the most basic skill of the healing arts — but it wasn't enough. He'd lost too much blood; even his head was spinning.
[Sniff! Lord Commander! Lord Commander! You must not die and leave this maiden behind, I beseech you!]
When Simon's condition failed to return, Erzebet broke into open wailing. Simon let out a weak laugh.
"I'm…… not dying. More importantly — th-take me to Professor Parahan."
[Yes?]
"Take me…… to Professor Parahan."
Just as ordered, Erzebet scooped Simon up at once and carried him straight to Parahan's cottage. Parahan, somehow having sensed something, was already waiting outside his own front door.
Erzebet swiftly transformed into her 'Elizabeth Reaper' persona — a pink-haired schoolgirl — and explained the whole story to him. Simon was moved to Parahan's bedroom, and his last memory was the unfurling of the professor's holy magic.
And then, the next day.
—Meow! Meow!
—Mrow mrow mrow!
Simon opened his eyes to the ticklish sensation of fur squirming against his face.
'Ah.'
He was at Parahan's cottage.
Hayangi was perched on his chest playing, while Kkamangi sat on his face, throwing jab after jab of playful kitty punches. The moment Simon's eyes opened, both kittens let out a chorus of mews and nuzzled their faces against his cheeks.
"Haha."
The divine beast cats' affection melted the tension right out of Simon's face. A fresh breeze drifted in through the window, carrying the peaceful chirping of birds.
"Don't go moving about just yet."
Parahan, professor of Holy Defense Studies, walked into the room stroking his white beard.
"You'll tear the wound open."
"……Ah."
Simon lowered his head and belatedly looked himself over. The wound Manus had given him was wrapped snugly in bandages.
"Thank you for helping me, Professor."
"Heheh! Think nothing of it. You're a student I'm fond of — this much is only natural."
—Uooong!
Down at the foot of the bed, the bear divine beast Akalion was holding a tray and a wet towel in his paws. Parahan swapped out the towel resting on Simon's forehead and took a seat.
"So. What happened, exactly?"
Simon told him the whole story — that he'd dozed off in the middle of an undead experiment, and that the undead had woken up and attacked him in the meantime. Accidents like that weren't exactly rare at Kizen, so Parahan simply nodded along.
"What manner of undead were you building, that a student of your caliber ended up like this?"
"……Ahaha."
Simon scratched his head, embarrassed.
"I guess I let my guard down too much."
Parahan rose quietly from his seat.
"It happens to be the weekend. Studying for your exams is all well and good, but rest matters most of all. Stay as long as you like and rest up properly."
"Thank you, Professor!"
Simon spent the whole morning recuperating at Parahan's cottage, lost in thought.
'After all that effort, it didn't budge an inch…….'
So how, in the dead of night, had Manus woken up? And more than anything — Manus was a completely different existence now than it had been as an Ancient Undead, and yet the swordsmanship engraved in it remained. Even now, the memory of that final strike — the slash that had cut him down — refused to leave his head.
'Haha. Have I still not come to my senses?'
But the sight of his own ambition blazing back to life — the urge to revise the formulae and try again even after being cut down like that — told him he really had become a proper necromancer, and the thought drew a hollow laugh out of him.
So Simon rested at Parahan's cottage through the morning and returned to the dormitory in the afternoon. The break had cleared his head and given him a little breathing room. For now, he decided, he would set Manus aside and focus on the midterm exams and his written studies. Since the student council members had agreed to study together in the Student Council Room that weekend evening, he gathered up his books and headed out.
Click.
"There he is."
Simon stepped into the Student Council Room.
"Hey, you made it!"
"Hi, Simon!"
"Yo! What took you so lo—"
The student council members, each greeting him in their own way, went wide-eyed the moment they spotted the bandages wrapped around his body. Mayrin shot to her feet.
"What happened to you?"
Simon turned his head away with a sheepish expression.
"It's nothing. It's already healed."
"Let me take a look!"
Camibarez came dashing over and inspected Simon's wound. She let out a huge sigh of relief and pronounced it healed remarkably clean.
Hardly surprising, considering he'd been treated by the healing magic of Parahan — a former bishop of the Holy Federation, no less. On top of that, unlike most necromancers, Simon's constitution responded exceptionally well to white magic's restorative effects. It was a bizarre enough body to be worth a research paper all on its own.
"Hey! Seriously, why won't you tell us how you got hurt?"
Mayrin kept fussing, worry plainly written across her face, until Simon finally gave in and told them the truth.
"I was building a Dullahan, and……"
"And the Dullahan attacked you?"
Camibarez's and Mayrin's expressions went blank.
"Whoa-haha! So even you still make mistakes like that! I gotta say, it's nice knowing you're human!"
Dick snickered and gave Simon a light thump on the shoulder.
Everyone was thinking of 'post-death instinct' — the reflex that drives a freshly created undead to attack any living thing. But the truth was a little different.
'……Manus.'
Simon had survived an attack from a former Ancient Undead.
'How do I get a handle on it?'
He had a feeling he needed a deeper, more fundamental insight.