The Heart of the Necromancer King (1)
The vacation was drawing to a close.
Deep inside the warehouse of Mortiis Boutique, where no one from the academy would ever see her, Karen wiped the sweat from her brow. My shift's almost done for good. I made enough for living expenses, and with the Special Support System in place, next semester won't be a problem at all.
She had spent nearly every waking moment of the break toiling away, exhausted and stripped of free time, yet she had never felt better. For the first time in her life, the rough outlines of a future seemed to take shape before her eyes.
Just like the instructor said... it's important to put myself first.
It was Instructor Ziel's advice that had pushed her to take this job in the first place. And for once, she had not sent a single copper coin back to her family estate. Try as she might, she could never scrub away the noble name branded upon her back, but neither could she spend her entire youth sacrificing herself to preserve a hollow crest. A pitiful trickle of pocket money would never keep a ruined house from crumbling anyway. Acknowledging that truth brought a sudden, unexpected lightness to her chest.
“Karen, you only have a few days left, right?”
She had met good people here, too.
“Ah, yes, sunbae. That’s right. It feels a little bittersweet.”
“That's because you worked so hard. And you were damn good at it, too. Honestly, I wish we could keep working together.”
Here at Mortiis Boutique, pedigree meant next to nothing. Aristocrats from the realm’s grandest houses swarmed the showroom like storm clouds just to buy a single piece from the seasonal collection. Consequently, management cared little for whether the staff were highborn, lowborn, or commoners. They judged on only three criteria: whether an employee recognized true artistic value, possessed an aesthetic eye, and was thoroughly prepared to receive clients.
Karen had simply applied for a backroom warehouse position and gotten lucky, but the senior clerk shook his head warmly.
“Then please hire me again next break,” she said.
“Of course! Though next time, how about moving from the warehouse to the showroom floor? You know the inventory inside and out by now, and besides... Lord Mortiis has quite a soft spot for you, doesn’t he?”
Lord Mortiis.
The moment the name left the senior's lips, Karen let out an involuntary groan.
“Please, I wish he’d stop calling for me altogether.”
“You’re probably the only person in the entire capital who’d complain about Lord Mortiis seeking them out.”
“No, seriously...” Karen checked her surroundings before leaning in to whisper, “Do you have any idea what it’s like? He summons me day after day just to ask the exact same questions!”
“Which is an incredible honor! Everyone here is green with envy, you know. Do you think Lord Mortiis pays attention to anyone who isn't a top-tier designer? And you're just warehouse staff!”
Despite his enthusiastic scolding, Karen’s face remained thoroughly grim.
“...I really wish he wouldn't. Once he gets started, it’s nothing but Instructor Ziel this, Instructor Ziel that, all day long...”
“From what I hear, that instructor of yours looks like a living work of art.”
“I mean... that part’s true.”
While Karen had been sweating away in the stockrooms, word had reached her that Ziel had visited the boutique. She had wondered why he came, but the far bigger problem was that Lord Mortiis had fallen head over heels for the man's aesthetic sensibilities. Whenever the master designer dropped by, he dragged Karen into his private parlor to interrogate her about Ziel, rave about Ziel, and launch into hours-long monologues on artistic philosophy—or rather, completely one-sided lectures.
Ugh, it gives me a headache just thinking about it.
At first, she had been flattered that someone of Mortiis’s stature took an interest in her, but every single conversation inevitably devolved into a sermon of praise for Ziel. At this rate, I might actually end up hating my own instructor.
The gist of the designer's relentless nagging was simple: the moment the semester began, she was under strict orders to convince Instructor Ziel to visit the boutique again.
“Lord Mortiis almost never showers someone with that kind of praise,” the senior added.
“Is that so?”
“Naturally. And from what I heard through the grapevine, it wasn't just his looks. During the viewing, your instructor picked out the single most neglected piece from Lord Mortiis’s very first debut collection. Apparently, the master was shaken to his absolute core.”
Karen blinked. Was it really that shocking?
“It was the piece Lord Mortiis cherished the most in his entire life, yet not a single patron had ever spared it a second glance. And then this Instructor Ziel walked in and recognized its worth immediately.”
Lacking an artist’s eccentric temperament, Karen could only tilt her head in mild bewilderment. I wish someone would look at me like that... A pang of quiet envy brushed past her heart before the clock chimed the hour.
“Ah, my shift’s up. I'll get everything cleaned up and head out.”
“Right. Get home safe. Want me to walk you back?”
Her senior was a good man, but this was his one persistent flaw.
“No thanks. You ask every single day, and I turn you down every single day. Trust me, I'm not the type who needs an escort.”
“I just thought it'd be nice to walk togeth—”
“Stop right there. I’m leaving.”
“Fine, fine. See you tomorrow!”
She didn't dislike him; she simply lacked the emotional leeway to entertain romance. Karen finished tidying her locker, slung her bag over her shoulder, and set off toward the academy grounds.
Just as she crossed the threshold into District 5, she ran straight into a familiar figure.
“Huh? Instructor?”
“Student Karen Aswan.”
She hadn't seen him once the entire break. Ziel was just emerging through the brass doors of the imperial courier station.
“Are you back from your home visits?”
“It has been a few days.”
“Were you sending letters?”
“Yes. Are you on your way back from Mortiis Boutique?”
“Yes, I just finished my shi—wait, what?” Karen nearly dropped her shoulder bag onto the cobblestones. “H-How did you know that? Who told you?”
“I simply knew.”
“What do you mean, you 'simply knew'?!”
“I noticed during my visit the other day.”
“Ah...”
Had her voice drifted out from the stockroom? It wasn't entirely surprising that Instructor Ziel would notice, but still...
“Instructor, you'll... keep this between us, won't you?”
“The fact that you are working a part-time job?”
“Yes... I really don't want the other students to find out.”
“Is it illegal work?”
“What? No! Of course not!”
“Then why are you ashamed?”
“That's...” Karen trailed off, words catching in her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut before forcing the bitter truth out. “...Because I don't want them knowing I’m so poor that I have to scrub floors during vacation.”
Most academy students spent their breaks lounging at their ancestral manors or luxuriating in summer villas. Those who trained did so on sprawling private grounds, attended by retinues of squires and servants. But Karen could never afford such luxuries.
Because I have no money.
Her family’s abject poverty was the raw nerve she guarded with her life.
“I see. Understood. I will keep it confidential.”
“Thank you...” Flushed with embarrassment, Karen dipped her head in a hasty bow and moved to brush past him.
“However,” Ziel’s steady voice cut through the street noise, “you have nothing to be ashamed of, Student Karen Aswan.”
Her foot froze mid-stride.
“Pardon...?”
“You are making an active effort to overcome your circumstances. That is something to take pride in.”
A sudden warmth welled behind her eyes, threatening to spill over.
“Instructor...”
“Striving to solve one’s own problems is an attempt at personal growth.”
Could this man really offer such comforting words? He had always been someone who dealt strictly in unvarnished facts—a man who often seemed cold, rigid, and distant...
“At least, that is what the book said,” Ziel added flatly.
“...I don't know what book that was, but those are very kind words.”
“It is titled Warm Words That Move People. It can be found in the Central Library, section F-90, fifth shelf from the top, tenth volume from the right.”
How does he even memorize that? Karen shook her head in fond exasperation, but as her gaze drifted downward, something caught her eye.
“Wait.” She stared at Ziel’s right wrist. “Instructor, that bracelet... could it be?”
“A gift sent by Lord Mortiis.”
“Heavens...”
It was unmistakably the piece people had been whispering about—the rough, unrefined artifact from Mortiis’s earliest days that only Ziel had recognized. “I'm jealous... Though for a Mortiis original, it's definitely less pret—”
“It is beautiful.”
“What?”
“It was more aesthetically pleasing than anything else on display in that shop,” Ziel stated with unyielding conviction. “I cannot agree with the assessment that it lacks beauty.”
His sheer, deadpan insistence left Karen momentarily dazed. That clunky thing is beautiful? To any normal eye, it was just a thick, unpolished band of crude metal. People might buy a pebble off the street if it carried the Mortiis signature, but this was...
“True refinement looks like this,” Ziel declared firmly.
Ah. So that's what his tastes are like.
“Right... It’s, um, very pretty.”
“I am pleased that you agree, albeit belatedly, Student Karen Aswan.”
Well, at the end of the day, it was still a genuine Mortiis piece. Karen cleared her throat. “By the way, Instructor, are you teaching liberal arts electives again next semester?”
“Yes. I will be conducting two courses, as before.”
“I’m so nervous... What if I can’t get a seat in your class?”
“Then you will not take it.”
“...”
And here I thought he was getting better at comforting people.
As they reached the gates of Edelbein Academy, Ziel gave a slight nod. “I have somewhere to be, so I will take my leave. Head inside, Student Karen Aswan.”
“Yes, sir...”
Karen watched him walk away. A heartbeat later, another figure materialized from behind a decorative column, scurrying after Ziel with hurried, shuffling steps.
Who is that?
Judging by the attire, he was certainly no student. Trotting faithfully at Ziel’s heels, he resembled nothing so much as an eager hunting hound.
Another instructor? Or an acquaintance?
Leaving Karen to ponder the mystery, the two men moved deeper into the academy grounds.
“Boss, was that person just now a student?”
“Student Karen Aswan.”
“Aha! The one from the diagnostic reports back then.”
“Yes. Her rate of improvement is quite favorable.”
Gilbert trotted briskly alongside Ziel, chattering with tireless enthusiasm. “I can’t wait for next semester. Just two weeks left, right?”
“Indeed. There is little time remaining. Ensure you are fully prepared to carry out your duties as teaching assistant.”
“Of course! You don't need to worry about a single thing, Boss. By the way, where were you coming from?”
“I was dispatching mail at the courier station.”
“Oh, really? To where?”
“To House Kundel and Personnel Director Rocus.”
“Kundel and Director Rocus...? Wait, why them?”
“That is confidential.”
“...You sure have a lot of secrets, Boss.”
“Yes. And you have an excessive amount of curiosity.”
“I want to know everything about you, Boss!”
Gilbert’s eyes sparkled with sheer devotion. Ziel glanced sideways at him and thought, He is a bit burdensome.
“I refuse.”
“D-Did you really have to shoot me down that bluntly?”
“Because I do not wish to.”
Ziel quickened his pace, and Gilbert hurried to match him, leaning in close with a conspiratorial whisper. “Boss, I found something out. Would you like to hear it?”
“What is it?”
“Regarding that task you gave me. The item you liberated from the black market!”
Ziel stopped in his tracks. “Speak.”
“It’s an incredible artifact. I ran some discreet inquiries just in case, and... Boss, this thing is completely absurd.” Gilbert glanced around the empty path, lowering his voice to a bare murmur. “Have you ever heard of the Heart of the Necromancer King?”
“I have not.”
“It's the actual heart of the Necromancer King—the legendary monster who plunged the entire continent into terror six hundred years ago!”
Ziel had never encountered the name in his studies. I will need to look up historical records in the library.
“In other words, this thing is an absolute monster of a relic,” Gilbert pressed, gesturing animatedly. “Standing out here isn't safe, Boss. Shouldn't we head somewhere private to discuss this?”
“No. Speaking here is fine. No one will cross our path until we reach the faculty dormitory.”
Gilbert swallowed hard. How does he even know that? Can he sense that far ahead?
“Understood,” Gilbert said, clearing his throat. “First off, this thing is lethally dangerous.”
“Why?”
“Because it harbors an immense quantity of grotesque, unstable mana. A truly terrifying volume. From what I dug up, it was bound under a triple-layered seal just to keep it contained.”
“Which explains why its external nature was difficult to determine.”
Mana had leaked continuously from the casing, leaving Ziel unsure whether it was a magic artifact or raw magitech material. Now the reason was clear.
“Exactly. Inside that casing... is the literal, fleshy heart of the Necromancer King. And it's still beating. *Thump. Thump.* Right this second.”
It defied common sense. An organ pulsating on its own after six centuries?
“Preposterous.”
“Right? But the craziest part is something else entirely. Boss... this intelligence was extraordinarily difficult to get my hands on, but that relic is an heirloom of House Siren.”
Ziel gave a calm nod. “That seems likely.”
“...Wait, what?”
“The black market vault belonged to House Siren.”
Finding a family heirloom inside the private treasury of an underworld operation run by House Siren was hardly a surprising revelation.
“...Ah. Right. You did tell me that earlier,” Gilbert mumbled, rubbing his temples. He was starting to feel remarkably slow-witted lately. But he quickly rallied. “A-Anyway! The truth is, even House Siren couldn't handle the damn thing, which is why they were forced to treat it like an untouchable heirloom. A total white elephant! Too precious to throw away, but far too lethal for any of their mages to actually use.”
“What was its intended purpose?”
“Mages would try to refine it into an elixir. You know how those arcane types are—they'll swallow anything if it promises to expand their mana pool.”
“I see.”
During his days as an assassin, Ziel had regularly consumed bitter compounds prescribed to sharpen his sensory perception. Only after breaking free of the brainwashing did he realize those concoctions were lethal secret elixirs brewed by Black Sky.
“Swallowing this thing would do more than give you an upset stomach,” Gilbert warned, shuddering. “It wouldn't just poison you; you'd be vaporized without leaving behind a speck of ash! Taking in even a fraction of that corrupted mana would tear a person's physical vessels to shreds.”
“A hazardous object indeed.”
“Precisely. So... selling it off is going to be nearly impossible. A real shame, honestly. Almost nobody could afford it, and even if we found a buyer, House Siren's hounds would track them down instantly.”
Gilbert retrieved the securely wrapped container holding the Heart of the Necromancer King and offered it back. Ziel accepted the box, his gaze resting quietly upon the dark exterior.
As Gilbert said, liquidating it on the open market was out of the question. Tucking it away in some hidden vault wouldn't be an issue, but...
An immense reserve of mana.
Looked at from another angle, if one could properly harness it, the relic represented an extraordinary resource.
What if I utilize it in the students' curriculum?
Starting in the second semester, his syllabus called for full-scale combat instruction involving mana manifestation. If an infinite, self-replenishing reservoir of mana could be supplied to the training grounds...
The students could train continuously without suffering from mana exhaustion.
Had any student overheard that thought, they would have collapsed in sheer terror. Of course, Ziel had no intention of exposing adolescent bodies to corrupted, raw necromantic energy. That would be sheer madness. But there had to be a technical solution.
His own theoretical knowledge of high-tier sorcery was limited, but a suitable acquaintance came to mind immediately.
“I must go somewhere briefly.”
“Where are you headed, Boss?”
“To the Arcane School.”
“What? Where? The *Arcane School*?”
“Yes. There is someone I must meet.”
He had planned to pay a visit before the semester began anyway.
The professor supervising the Arcane School's first-year class.
Professor Emeric Kent.
During the previous semester's joint survival practical, Ziel had intervened to save the man from an engineered catastrophe, allowing him to escape the ordeal by the skin of his teeth. In exchange for that lifeline, Ziel had laid down three non-negotiable conditions.
The loan of magic tools.
The lease of combat magic puppets.
It is time to claim the third and final condition.