Zentina's Shadowy Introduction
Zentina's simple introduction was enough to cast a pall over the classroom. Necromancer. The title referred to a mage who communicated with the dead and wielded control over them.
"……."
Sensing the mood, Zentina let out a sigh and swept her hand through the air as if brushing away some invisible pest. In an instant, the skeletons fell apart like marionettes with severed strings, their debris scattering across the floor.
"I'm sick of making excuses every time I meet the newbies."
With another wave of her hand, the bone fragments were sucked away into nothingness, as if drawn into a void. Small gasps of admiration rose here and there, but most students held their breath, warily eyeing the necromancer before them.
"Before we dive into the lesson, let me say one thing: necromancy isn't the dark, sinister magic you all imagine. In fact, for anyone with vast mana reserves, it's a magic you should aspire to."
Zentina emphasized vast mana, her gaze drifting to the corner of the classroom. Meeting her eyes, Maness could vaguely sense she still had her sights set on him.
"H-ha, but it's magic for talking to the dead, right?"
"Yes, exactly as you say. But do you know this? Before necromancy developed, that role was handled by the Church."
Morras clamped both hands over his mouth under Zentina's sharp glare. Rumors held that a necromancer's curse inflicted unforgettable agony for life—and he was the type to swallow such tales whole.
"You're not wrong. Communication with the dead—that's the core of the discipline, no denying it."
Turning back, Zentina picked up a piece of chalk but set it down again. Instead, she summoned a single skeleton and handed it the chalk. Contrary to expectations of creaky joints, it moved with surprising smoothness, scrawling words on the blackboard.
"But that doesn't make necromancy some inherently negative field. You all need to shed that stubborn prejudice—it's all manufactured perception."
Zentina glanced back to confirm the skeleton had written Wrong Perception correctly before continuing.
"As I mentioned, before mages called necromancers emerged, the Church handled all communication with the dead. Back then, they believed it was a sacred power."
The chalk scratched roughly across the board, boldly inscribing the word necromancy.
"As necromancy evolved, it became clear that communing with the dead had little to do with divinity. And when necromancers started not just communicating but directly manipulating those existences, the Church washed their hands of it entirely—dumping every negative connotation along the way."
Zentina grimaced, her jaw clenched so tight it seemed to grind audibly.
"That's why it's not called death magic or spirit magic. The religious side's stigma was so strong, they framed it as sorcery more suited to demons than proper magic."
A few students nodded in understanding at Zentina's fervent defense. Scanning the room and gauging their reactions, she let out another small sigh.
"Wasted time on useless chatter again. Anyway, if you think you've got strong mana, I hope you'll take an interest in necromancy. Got it?"
Maness studiously ignored Zentina's intense pitch. Having more or less set his heart on illusion magic, fretting over other fields was a waste of energy. The advantages of illusion affinity that Metaph had described were plenty convincing…
Wait.
Maness's thoughts ground to a halt as he gathered himself. Illusion magic was niche precisely because it could be easily dispelled. But that wasn't its only flaw.
It was magic that struggled to produce tangible results. Whether twisting senses or deceiving sight, illusions were ultimately just a means to an end. In situations demanding physical harm, illusion magic fell short.
Metaph had cited an example of drowning someone purely with illusions, but that was just an illustration—and even if true, it was the feat of a high-rank mage. Until reaching that level, it was as good as lacking any clear offensive or defensive tools.
And the world outside for a mage was insidiously perilous, whether acknowledged or not. Anti-magic factions. Magical beasts, remnants of demons from the cataclysm. Conflicts born of racialism and supremacist ideologies. Tensions between cities, nations, even the Eastern Continent.
No matter how vast one's mana, relying solely on illusions wouldn't suffice to protect the body.
I need to pair it with something else.
Maness's eyes gleamed with resolve. Just as he'd uncovered his illusion talent, he needed to find another field yielding meaningful results.
Noticing his sudden shift, Zentina flashed a triumphant smile.
*
"Regrettably, I'm not here to teach necromancy today."
Maness felt a twinge of disappointment at Zentina's words. He was eager to sample various fields quickly and gauge his aptitude.
But the rest of Class 1 breathed a collective sigh of relief. It hadn't been long since enrollment—forcing necromancy on them now was no small ordeal. Heading straight to a graveyard wouldn't be an exaggeration.
"As the schedule states, today's lesson is 'Fundamentals of Mana Manipulation'. Think of it as building on yesterday morning's class."
Mentions of mana manipulation brought a mix of expressions to the students' faces. Iris and her ilk, eager to advance magically, lit up with joy; those still clueless about mana flow grew anxious.
Having mentored countless pupils, Zentina instantly read their emotional shifts.
"You're all fledglings yet—no need to get overly excited or impatient. Magic is a path longer than any other discipline, and everyone hits their walls at different points."
The skeleton scrawling on the blackboard rummaged under the lectern, pulling out wands to distribute to the students.
"A magic wand helps channel mana more effectively. Seasoned mages don't need them, but 'seasoned' doesn't suit you lot."
The students fondled their new wands curiously. They looked like plain sticks.
"Those who didn't find their Mana Well yesterday, repeat the process. Those who did, grip your wands."
Unlike yesterday's mere two successes, many now held wands—thanks to Iris's late-night dorm advice sessions.
"The first spell you'll cast is the Mana Bullet. A 1st Rank pure magic spell."
Zentina opened her palm, and a bluish orb of light materialized above it. Its density was such that even from afar, the students faintly sensed her mana.
"Sensation is key when manifesting spells. Feel like you're condensing pure, pristine mana into a spherical form. No other affinities' colors allowed—those are impurities in pure magic."
Students with wands extended their hands, eyes closed or fixed on the wand tips. As they began gathering mana in their own ways, Maness followed suit, assuming his stance.
A spell he'd manifested once before. No one in Class 1 understood the Mana Bullet better than he did.
Confident, Maness thrust out his wand and fed pure mana into its tip. Even with the mana-suppressing ring, it could spiral out of control like before, so he went slow.
Fsssh—
But contrary to expectations of instant success, the expelled mana refused to coalesce. Reality wasn't a game. Skills weren't single-key activations after one learn; manifested spells demanded precise sensation.
Maness, approaching it with mere intent to gather mana, made no headway—like the others.
Observing Iris form a rough orb, he switched tactics.
Magic was akin to art. He recalled the sensation from first witnessing Boltman's Mana Bullet and recreating it under duress.
Pure mana's condensation. A crystal with a firm core. A sphere curving from that center.
Just like that time, relying purely on sensation, he let mana flow. The only changes: the wand as medium, and reduced mana volume.
Suddenly, Maness felt as if the wand were an extension of himself—a force acting on the mana converging at the tip.
Gripping that force tight, he layered mana like a spider spinning silk. In response, a small orb materialized just beyond the wand's end.
A crystal of mana deeper and purer than any gem in the world.
"Hoo…."
Maness exhaled the breath he'd held during focus. Far smaller than his previous Mana Bullet—fingernail-sized—but he was satisfied. His mana control was still immature; pouring more risked the unknown.
Plop—
As he savored the manifested Mana Bullet, a patrolling skeleton—for accident prevention—placed a note on his desk.
Maness carefully unraveled the entwined mana and read the contents, his gaze turning meaningfully toward the lectern.
You have an exceptional talent for approaching magic intuitively.
That means you must learn necromancy.
Meeting the eyes of her prospective successor, Zentina beamed.
*
Necromancy, huh.
Maness pondered deeply as he headed back to the dormitory after a cursory dinner. The professor's shady recruitment attempt was an opportunity in disguise. Snowrobe crawled with students desperate for faculty attention.
Might be worth learning.
As Zentina said, necromancy's reputation was poor, but not to the point of total societal rejection. The major upcoming incident where the shadowy Necromancers' Association steps into the spotlight proved it.
With trust in illusion magic still shaky, prioritizing high-utility spells was wise.
"Hm?"
Maness halted, eyes on the ground. At the dormitory entrance swarmed a crowd unlike any he'd seen at Snowrobe.
"Hey."
Weaving toward the vivid red hair amid the throng, Maness called lowly to one student.
"What, aren't you the princess's friend?"
"Cut the weird titles. What's the mess?"
"Ah, well, you see."
The 1st-year dormitory hall, typically a place to unwind with peers after the day, was packed as usual—but markedly different.
"Hahahahahahaha!"
"My apologies, my apologies."
"No mistakes allowed. Just like we've practiced…."
As if under mass hypnosis. Students stood in place, expressing varied emotions or muttering to themselves.
"…What a sight."
"A sight, right?"
At the familiar intruding voice, Maness and Iris turned simultaneously. A figure out of place in the dorm: the 6th Rank illusion mage, watching the scene with a sleazy grin.
"Professor Metaph."
"Man, I dropped by for a quick errand and stumble into this. Nearly missed the show."
"I-isn't this an emergency?"
Metaph shook his head at Iris's worried-yet-curious tone.
"If it were dangerous, I'd have handled it already. Phantasmal wisps don't inflict physical harm on people."
"Phantasmal wisps?"
Maness, who'd been listening silently, resurveyed the hall's chaos. Above hung round wisps like chandeliers from the ceiling, emitting bright yellow light.
That thing.
From Kyle's perspective—who skipped post-meal exercise—it was the culprit behind the late-reported incident: 1st-years panicking in the hall.
"Playful little bugger. Probably one that escaped from the magical creature lab."
"Is it… okay to just leave it?"
"Happens all the time. When you're deep in magic, incidents like this are routine."
Maness side-eyed the grinning professor with a jaded look.
"No intention of fixing it, then."
"Of course not. If it's in the 1st-year dorm, it's up to you all to handle it, right?"
That was Snowrobe.