Why Is Serne Here?
WOOOOOAAAAH!
A colossal roar of cheering erupted.
Simon crouched where he stood, forcing a weary smile. Every ounce of strength seemed to have drained right out of him.
—A true rival to Ballack!
—He's incredible!
He had only taken an exam. Somehow, yet again, he found himself at the center of everyone's attention.
"There we go."
In the spectator stands, Mayrin—who had just watched Simon claim victory—flopped back into her seat. Then, venting her frustration, she punched the ruined Curse Doll with her fist. Thonk.
"I don't know who you are, but just you try getting caught."
And the assistant, still half-buried in sand beneath the collapsed golem, squeezed her eyes shut.
It's over now.
A few days earlier.
A newly appointed executive of the Student Council had summoned her.
"I hear Professor Aaron recently requested permission from the academy for a border dispatch, in order to secure materials for a Death Knight."
Even for the Student Council, that was high-level information—the kind normally reserved for faculty meetings. So the rumors were true: certain third-year professors had been feeding him secrets.
But the real problem was his proposal.
"For the border dispatch, only students who pass the Sacred Defense exam will be granted permission. Would you be willing to lend me a hand then?"
What he demanded was that she personally face Simon during practical training and destroy his summon with holy magic.
That summon was the Dragonian.
The executive seemed intensely wary of Simon challenging Ballack. In particular, he had asked her to shatter the very Dragonian that had once beaten Ballack—the one with that 'Anti-Mage' ability.
The assistant refused, of course—she couldn't possibly meddle in disputes between students. But the councilman had brought up the younger siblings who had come across to the Holy Federation with her, and threatened her: "For your family's sake, I hope I never have to do anything terrible."
She had heard plenty of the filthy rumors about that man. She had no choice but to comply.
In the end.
She hadn't even managed to see it through.
As the assistant knelt with her head bowed, unable to lift herself, Parahan approached.
"So something was going on after all."
"P-Professor."
The assistant looked up at the white magic circle shimmering in Parahan's hand.
He had been preparing holy magic this whole time. If Simon had failed to overcome it, he would have stepped in to stop it himself.
It was set up to fail from the very beginning.
Parahan had seen through everything.
The assistant squeezed her eyes shut.
"Tell me—are you missing your family these days?"
Parahan asked abruptly. The assistant's head shot up.
"S-sorry?"
"You talk about your younger siblings even in your sleep."
He smiled, fanning himself gently.
"They're not holy users, are they? If you're worried, settle them in Rochest, on Roke Island."
The assistant sprang to her feet at those words, then immediately bowed her head low.
"N-no, Professor! I couldn't possibly owe yet another debt to you, who saved our lives—"
"It's quite all right."
He gave her shoulder a light pat.
"Following me all the way to the opposite side of the continent to work—it can't have been easy. If anything, I'm the one in your debt."
With that, Parahan turned and walked away. The assistant's shoulders trembled.
Thank you……!
She bent at the waist in a deep bow toward his retreating back.
"Honestly."
The Head Assistant, who had been waiting to deliver a scolding, let out a long sigh at the sight.
There was no time to linger on the moment—plenty of students still had their turns to come. She raised her clipboard.
"Now then, moving on to the next examinee. Joseph Varga!"
* * *
Having safely passed the exam and earned his 'PASS', Simon's border dispatch was officially confirmed.
Wiping the sweat from his face with a towel, he took a short break and talked things over with Mayrin.
"There was a curse on me?"
"Yep. This right here."
Mayrin held up the Curse Doll with both hands. Dangling from the grotesque straw figure was a lock of hair that was unmistakably Simon's.
When Simon plucked a strand of his own hair to compare, even the length matched, let alone the color.
"……That's kind of creepy."
Dark magic was one thing, but this was the first time he'd ever been hit by a curse of this kind. He hadn't even realized he was cursed during the fight—it had been so subtle he'd chalked it up to nothing more than a plain dip in his condition.
"If we investigate this doll, can we find out who cursed me?"
"Tough call."
Mayrin shook her head.
"The whole point of using a Curse Doll is to hide your identity. There's no trace of a magic circle, and no Jet-Black could be detected either. This is a pretty expertly crafted curse, if you ask me."
"Hmm."
Simon had just sunk into quiet thought when Mayrin suddenly flared up.
"Even without hard evidence, isn't it obvious who did it?"
"Who?"
"Who do you think? It's got to be the work of Student Council President Ballack! He colluded with that assistant, and his goal was to smash your Dragonian with holy magic! I'd bet my life on it!"
"……"
Simon thought her reasoning had some merit, but it was too early to jump to conclusions.
For now, he slipped the Curse Doll into his pocket.
"I'll hold onto this. It might serve as evidence later."
"Right. Better get it analyzed just in case. How about taking it to Kazhan later? If anyone could dig something up, it'd be him."
"Good idea."
There was Kazhan of the Thief Guild, and Eshu knew her way around Curse Dolls too—plenty of people to ask, it seemed.
As the two of them chatted about this and that, a warm, kindly chuckle drifted over from behind them.
Parahan was walking toward them.
"Hello, Professor!"
Simon and Mayrin hurried to greet him. Parahan returned their nod, then looked at Simon.
"Another splendid showing. Holding the golem's core until the very end, then raising it up like a natural barrier at the decisive moment—fine move, that."
"Thank you, Professor."
"If you're willing, could you stop by for a bit after today's classes?"
He'd been meaning to visit Parahan's cottage anyway now that the break was over.
Simon broke into a smile.
"Of course, Professor!"
* * *
Sliiiiiirp—
Steam rose from the teapot. A refined ceramic cup filled with herbal tea.
After class, Simon and Parahan sat facing one another, deep in conversation. The divine beasts Hayangi and Kkamangi lay curled on Simon's lap, fast asleep.
"I'm sorry about what happened during the training."
"Please don't be. I didn't exactly come out any worse for wear."
Simon replied as he scratched the kittens under the chin, and a contented purrrr rumbled out of them.
"And how is your mother keeping these days?"
"Oh, she's well! Actually, just this break she was asking about you, Professor—"
The two traded stories of everyday life, laughter blooming between them.
Parahan was one of the very few people with whom Simon could speak with his heart completely open.
"By the way—you looked troubled the entire training. Something weighing on you?"
At Parahan's question, Simon rubbed the back of his neck.
So that's why he called me over.
The Curse Doll incident had only just come to light. What had genuinely consumed Simon's thoughts was something else entirely.
"It's not exactly worry—it's just that Professor Aaron seems to be pushing himself rather far with this one."
"I was plenty startled myself when I heard Aaron was bringing back the remains of a Paladin from the Holy Federation with his students. He's no ordinary man. That's not the kind of idea that comes from a small mind."
Simon was quiet for a moment before he spoke.
"Is it truly even possible, theoretically? The notion of a Paladin becoming a Death Knight and wielding Jet-Black—it just defies everything I know."
"I believe it's possible."
Parahan stroked his beard.
"After all, you—who wield Jet-Black and divinity at the same time—aren't exactly a model of common sense yourself, are you?"
"Haha! W-well, no, I suppose not."
"Then it's only natural that this interests you."
He was right.
Simon possessed an unprecedented constitution, able to wield both Jet-Black and divinity. And if a Corrupted Death Knight was a Paladin who had wielded divinity in life and came to wield Jet-Black after death—then it might be connected to his own secret. All the more reason his interest was piqued.
"I consider myself a truly blessed man in my old age. A priest, yet since coming to the Dark Alliance I've come to understand so much more. The more you learn of this world, the more wondrous it becomes."
Parahan mused on something for a while, then asked abruptly:
"What do you think mana is?"
Simon answered without hesitation.
"The origin of all things."
"Exactly so. A pebble at your feet as you walk, a blade of grass, a single tree—there is nothing in which mana does not dwell."
He lifted his tea cup, shaped from earthen clay.
"Even this humble crafted object holds a small measure of mana. It loses nothing by being called an offshoot of the origin of all things."
"True."
"Jet-Black and divinity are both derived from this mana. Understanding that much must come first—only then can you grasp what Aaron intends."
As he set his cup down on its saucer, there came a pleasant, delicate clink.
"Let's take Jet-Black first. Do you know the principle behind the creation of natural-type undead?"
"Yes—though scholars still dispute it even now."
"Just as mana resides even in common inanimate objects, it naturally lingers in the corpses of dead animals and plants alike. But when mana stagnates for a long time within a corpse—one corrupted and decayed—the mana itself rots, its nature growing ever more turbid. And that turbidity is—"
"Jet-Black."
"Precisely."
Fwoosh!
He snapped his fan open and waved it. With Simon chiming in so readily, vigor blossomed in Parahan's voice as well.
"Mana also has the property of flowing. Within a corrupted, decayed corpse, mana cannot flow as it does in its natural state—so in the end, the mana transforms itself, in order to flow within the corpse."
Parahan raised his other hand and summoned mana into being. A ribbon of blue energy twisted tail-to-head through the empty air, spinning without pause.
"And so Jet-Black begins to flow within the corpse. The flow creates rules, and rules create cause and effect. In time, Jet-Black naturally gathers where its fluidity is greatest, forming a kind of 'nucleus'—the earliest stage of what we commonly call a 'core'."
"Fascinating."
With a single shake of his hand, the circling current of mana scattered into the air and vanished.
"Jet-Black, flowing in reverse of natural mana, can never return to the world outside. It can never revert to what it was. It is confined to moving within the corpse alone, endlessly sucking in the world's mana to swell its power. And in the course of that process, the corpse begins to move. That is the birth of the natural-type undead."
Simon nodded, eyes shining.
"Heheh! Of course, this is only one theory among many, so don't put too much faith in it. Now then—next, how does divinity come to exist?"
Clack.
As the two of them talked, the sound of a door opening suddenly rang out.
Startled, Simon shot to his feet.
Who—? Professor Parahan's house should be warded with a divine barrier!
With the click of footsteps, someone appeared.
Platinum hair gleaming in the sunlight, emerald-green eyes, a bearing overflowing with noble grace, and a coquettish smile playing at the corners of her eyes.
"Oh my—am I interrupting?"
Serne Eindark.
"Please, carry on with what you were discussing, you two. You've gotten me interested as well."
Simon's pupils wavered.
Why is Serne here?