Sometimes the World Is Indifferent
Sometimes the world was utterly indifferent. Ignoring the tangled mess of Maness's circumstances entirely, the morning at Snowrobe returned brimming with energy.
The third mana manipulation class. Iris manifesting a small but perfect mana bullet, the other students cheering her on. It was irritating that his own worries had piled up alone, but the familiar sight brought a measure of relief too. No matter if the ones he'd gotten tangled with were an anti-magic faction, there was no need to tremble in fear or despair.
Problems were met with solutions, and Maness had the foundations of information and ability. His plan to piggyback on the protagonists for personal growth had been utterly shattered, but maybe that was for the best. Avoiding the conflicts of class, race, and social structure ahead had only been a hope anyway.
His nighttime encounter with Row had made it clear: fate wouldn't let him slip free. If it was pushing him forward, better to move first. At least enough to protect himself from the renowned powerhouses.
It was time to actively exploit the potential he held as Maness Pictri.
But why the hell am I here?
After rolling those thoughts around through the morning, the afternoon class arrived. By schedule, it should have been the crisp-weather-perfect "Physical Strength Is National Strength" session, swinging wooden swords. Instead, Maness was in the mountain cave where he'd been ambushed by skeletons, watching the necromancy professor hum a tune and bustle about.
"...Even so, isn't pulling me out of class a bit much?"
"Best to start right when the urge to learn hits."
The encounter with Row had spurred Maness to seek out Zentina during lunch. Securing means to protect himself was priority, and necromancy offered top-tier efficiency there. Plus, with the professor showing interest now, it was the perfect timing.
"I'm interested in swordsmanship too, you know."
"Professor Barton approved it. Your body's already built, so technique can come later."
It was a forced excuse. Professors like Metaph or Zentina latched onto promising students with obsessive focus. And Maness's physique was indeed primed for proper sword training.
Of course, he could guess why Barton allowed it. Class 1 already had monsters like Kyle and Conien when it came to wielding a body. No need for the swordsmanship prof to covet Maness too.
"Even so, using a meeting as an excuse to yank me from class...?"
Structurally. Ethically. As Maness kept nipping at the edges, Zentina shot him an aggrieved look.
"Don't say it like that; you'll hurt my feelings. Do you know how much effort I put into clearing your schedule?"
"...What exactly did you do?"
"I treated your TA and everyone at Dawn Bearing Dew to a round!"
Dawn Bearing Dew. An infamously upscale imperial tavern, with prices worlds apart from the rest. In the original story, if a recipe needed ingredients only available there, he'd have checked his wallet first.
"You must've suffered."
"Right? So learn properly and raise necromancy's reputation, okay?"
Maness nodded at the pitiful plea to boost her rep. Doubts like "Is buying your way out of class allowed?" flickered midway, but what was done was done.
"Shall we dive in properly, then?"
Zentina dumped a pile of bone models from the corner and sat in the chair opposite. In the spacious cave, the teacher and student facing off over rickety seats created a strangely awkward vibe.
"First off, we can skip what you need at your level. Your mana control talent seems top-notch."
"No need to check?"
"You already proved it by instinctively firing a mana bullet."
Zentina prodded Maness's crown with her staff tip.
"I heard you practiced controlling that orb at night. What did it feel like?"
What did it feel like? Maness closed his eyes, summoning the sensation as best he could.
"Like my whole body sharpened its senses. Or more than that—like discovering a sense I'd never known...."
"The sixth sense. That's what the magic world calls it."
Sixth sense. The depth of the lesson made his head nod on its own.
"Your illusion magic talent makes that sense especially vital. Obviously. Illusions are built on senses to begin with. And that applies to..."
Zentina pointed her staff at the bone models between them. The bones rattled up noisily, assembling like puzzle pieces into a human skeleton.
"...necromancy too."
Clap clap clap—Maness's applause echoed through the cave toward the instantly completed skeleton. He was so sick of skulls he'd dreamed of being chased by one, but he couldn't skip the prof's demo.
"Good thing I got Almond's cooperation. Thanks to her, you've honed your sixth sense, and we can jump straight to the main point."
"Haha...."
Thanks to her, I suffered like hell back then. He'd never forget that first Row encounter.
"Alright, let's start with why the sixth sense matters in necromancy."
At Zentina's glance, the skeleton picked up a piece of chalk from the floor and began drawing.
"See how the skeleton moves as I intend? Linking with spirits needs the sixth sense too, but there's something even more fundamental."
"Hm... the point of contact with the spirit?"
Zentina smiled in satisfaction at her student's guided answer.
"Did some prep study? You know your stuff. For those who commune with spirits, contact is key. Without it, most of necromancy's pointless."
She pointed her staff at the floor. Two circles with a line blocking between them.
"One side's the world of the living, the other's the dead. Laymen think necromancers drag souls from the realm of the dead."
Following her words, the skeleton drew a cute little ghost on one circle. Adorably so, you wouldn't guess a skeleton did it.
"But that's dead wrong, obviously. The afterlife—hell, underworld, whatever you call it—is beyond even top necromancers."
"Then where...?"
Fresh info fired up Maness's scholarly thirst. The original story glossed over it simply; he'd never delved this deep into such an otherworldly field.
Zentina beamed at her wide-eyed prodigy's pure curiosity—a magic world's rising star paying attention to her.
"Where we necromancers tread is right here."
The skeleton's chalk stabbed the spot her staff indicated. The straight line crossing between the circles.
Maness pondered the line's meaning. Zentina savored even the pause patiently.
"Is there another world between them?"
"Close enough, though not quite precise. Want to hold the staff tip?"
He cautiously gripped the end she offered. A chilling sensation flooded in. He yanked his hand back, whipping around the cave.
"How was it? Feel anything?"
He'd blanked out even the professor beside him, catching his ragged breath. A vivid presence. In a space empty save for them, a clear gaze pierced him.
"Was someone just here?"
"Surprised? It's an old friend of mine."
"...A spirit?"
"Yep. It's eyeing you right now too. Can't resist stimulating mana, huh."
Maness swallowed dryly at the necromancer's words. No matter how intriguing, his first spirit brush was unpleasant.
"The spirits we deal with aren't far off in the dead's realm. More like the boundary between life and death."
"Boundary...."
"Exactly. The Soul Divide, to be precise."
Soul Divide. A space he'd never heard of in life.
"Where souls that can't pass to the dead's world linger. Like our living realm, yet utterly alien."
Chills prickled again at the explanation. Zentina's words, laced with a subtle smile, didn't sound entirely her own. Like multiple voices perfectly harmonized.
"Hover at the boundary, and spirits will flock to you. Gotta get used to it, young mage."
"...Professor, is that you?"
She grinned at the wary question.
"It just has something to say to you, nagging away."
Possession. Maness faintly regretted his choice amid the bizarre ordeal.
"Before we really start, something you need to know."
Zentina pointed to the skeleton shifting pre-assembled skull models between them.
"What kind of soul do you think's in that skeleton?"
"What kind...? Well...."
The bustling skeleton seemed ordinary. Skinny bones, barely a lifeform. Maness could only offer a simple impression.
"A farmer who died unjustly?"
"Pfft!"
His pondered answer earned roaring laughter.
"You're such a sentimentalist."
"I think the question's off to begin with."
"Naturally. Teasing students is a professor's perk."
The aggrieved student swallowed a throat-lump question about what warped her so.
"Let's rephrase. What's the difference between the spirit that possessed me earlier and this skeleton's?"
Maness rubbed his chin at the new puzzle. Both gave creepy first impressions. Both crossed to the living world via a medium. Seemingly similar, but a clear difference emerged after thought.
"No will of its own?"
"Oho, nailed it first try?"
Zentina clapped crisply, then swung her staff. The skeleton crumbled mid-task, a faint ripple bursting from within.
"The souls necromancers commonly handle. Ones that move solely on the caster's command, bereft of self."
"...Bereft of self?"
"Yeah. Who they were, the life they lived, their memories—all lost, drifting the boundary."
The ripple followed her staff's dance.
"We call these lost souls. Ages of necromancers researched their origins endlessly, but found zilch."
"Souls that are basically dead, then."
"Exactly. No need for needless emotions handling lost souls. Newbies feel guilt thinking they're manipulating the dead, but these aren't even lives."
All that defined life, stripped away. To Zentina, such lost souls were mere tools for necromancers.
"Then the one you possessed earlier..."
"Too soon for that."
The lost soul flung into the scattered bones reformed the skeleton.
"First, summon a lost soul to the living world and control it. That's plenty for now."
She handed over her staff. No creepy sensation this time, thankfully.
"It's a shortcut, but effective for touching the boundary. Using a medium infused with spirit scent."
Spirit scent. Maness knew of it— the aura clinging to those frequently contacting spirits, like necromancers.
"Through my staff, it'll be easier. Normally, first contact shocks you into panic, needing slow acclimation. But you can handle it, right?"
"...Doesn't sound like it."
"Don't worry. If you panic, I'll sort it out."
"Then why ask?"
This time, the grumble flew straight.
"Anyway, grip both ends and feel the spirit scent. Heavy, murky, suffocating—like choking on thick smoke."
Sensations he had zero desire to feel, but resignation won. Hands on the staff, eyes shut, focus poured into his palms. It didn't take long.
"Got it."
"Quick as expected. Now imagine spreading it through your body. You, sinking into the spirit scent."
The uncanny feel already crept from his fingertips. Soon, like inhaling acrid fumes, breathing grew labored.
"...Keep... your focus... steady..."
Zentina's chattering faded, distorted, distant. Like body and mind sucked into another space. Dread hit like plummeting into forbidden territory.
He had to snap his eyes open.
Innumerable gazes. Piercing every inch like thorns, unbearable even eyes closed. Like absorbing the world's entire yin energy at once.
What unfolded defied human words.
A colorless realm. The young mage faced a domain of the departed not even gray could name.