Necromancer Academy Genius Summoner

**Necromancer Academy’s Genius Summoner - Chapter 2**
After Nephthys’s departure, Simon faced the busiest week of his life.  

Even his usually laid-back father, Richard, acted as if possessed.  
The sharp glint in his eyes and his brisk demeanor silenced any childish complaints like, *“Do I really have to go to Kizen?”*  
Richard cast a spell on Simon’s body, a process he called “Core creation.” Simon didn’t understand the details, but the pain was excruciating.  

After three sleepless days and nights of constructing the Core, Simon boarded a carriage with Richard.  
It was an impressively large and luxurious carriage, far too grand for their modest territory. Simon’s jaw dropped at the unfamiliar comfort of its plush cushions.  
“Stay safe, Simon,” Anna said, her eyes brimming with tears as she waved, having loaded the carriage with two weeks’ worth of packed lunches.  

“If it ever feels like too much, come back to Leshill anytime.”  
Richard, a notorious doting husband, snapped at her, saying it was no way to speak to a child taking their first steps into the world.  
Simon, who had never seen his parents bicker in his life, realized his everyday routine was truly starting to change.  

“Let’s depart,” the coachman announced, pulling the reins. The carriage wheels began to roll.  
And so began Simon’s adventure, leaving behind the only home he’d ever known in Leshill.  
The journey was far from a leisurely ride. Inside the carriage, Richard drilled Simon in the basics of dark magic.  

“Try breathing.”  
By “breathing,” Richard meant the specific technique he’d taught Simon.  
Drawing a deep breath, Simon pulled the ambient mana from the air into his body. It was a task he’d practiced countless times, so it came easily.  

“Now, slowly channel the mana inside you through your Core,” Richard instructed, placing a hand on Simon’s chest to guide him.  
Carefully, Simon directed the flowing mana, like a river, through the Core just below his heart.  
Something changed. The once-fluid mana grew viscous, denser, more solid.  

“Now guide the mana to flow through your arm. Yes, release it through your hand.”  
A sensation like a clogged vein bursting open surged through him.  
Black liquid, like beads of sweat, seeped from Simon’s palm.  
Blinking, Simon stared at his hand. Richard gave a gentle smile.  

“Well done, Simon. This is ‘Jet-Black,’ the source of a necromancer’s power.”  
According to Richard, there was a time when knights and mages ruled the continent.  
But now, necromancers dominate, overshadowing both. Knights can’t match the sheer numbers necromancers command, and mages fall short in casting speed and destructive power.  

“The biggest difference between a mage and a necromancer is the presence of Jet-Black,” Richard explained.  
He extended his left hand, and blue mana rose like a haze.  
“Mana has gaseous properties—low density, hard to bind, and prone to dispersing into the air.”  

Then he extended his right hand. A viscous black liquid welled up, dripping down his palm.  
“Jet-Black, on the other hand, is closer to a solid or liquid. It’s dense, easy to bind, and can be shaped freely.”  
The black liquid flowing from his palm suddenly surged upward. In midair, it morphed into a flower, then a wave, a slithering snake, and even a spinning windmill.  

“Wow…!”  
As Simon marveled at the dazzling display, the Jet-Black transformed into a magic circle. From the intricate array of runes, a red glow erupted, as if a bomb had detonated.  
A chill ran through Simon, his hair standing on end.  

*Something incredible is about to happen…!*  
*Crack!*  
Richard clenched his fist, shattering the magic circle. The falling ashes slowly dissipated.  

“Those who wield this Jet-Black to manifest power—we call them necromancers.”  
Simon nodded, entranced.  
“We don’t have much time, so I can’t teach you everything. For now, focus on mastering the basics of producing Jet-Black with your Core.”  

“Yes, Father!”  
Practicing Jet-Black was surprisingly fun.  
At first, only small droplets formed on his palm, but as time passed, the volume grew, and the shapes began to shift.  

The tangible progress kept Simon engrossed, unaware of time passing. Richard, pleased with his son’s rapid growth, ensured he didn’t rush too recklessly.  
*…This is monstrous talent.*  
Though Richard didn’t show it, he was inwardly stunned.  

From basic emission to shape manipulation in just three days?  
This was far from normal.  
For an average person, mastering shape manipulation takes six months to two years. Simon, it seemed, was born for Jet-Black. Even Richard, his father, felt chills teaching him.  

Truthfully, Richard had long known of Simon’s talent. He’d delayed creating Simon’s Core, waiting for the right moment.  
Unleashing such explosive talent before a child’s sense of self and emotions are fully formed can be poison. Richard, who regretted his own tyrannical youth, refused to let his son repeat his mistakes.  
But now, the time had come for Simon to let his talent bloom. The entire continent would soon be astonished by this boy’s arrival.  

The mere thought sent shivers of excitement through Richard, making it hard to sit still.  
“Father, look!”  
Simon summoned Jet-Black, flickering like flames above his palm. Richard studied it with a serious expression.  

“Dark azure. A beautiful Jet-Black with a faint blue hue.”  
“Is that… good? Am I a rare case? Do I have talent?”  
“It just looks cool, that’s all.”  

“…”  
Simon pouted and resumed practicing. Richard turned away, barely suppressing a grin.  
*Keeping a straight face isn’t easy.*  

Time flew by.  
For Simon, the week passed in a blur.  
And then—  

“This is as far as I can take you, Simon,” Richard announced abruptly.  
Simon’s heart sank.  
“I thought you were taking me all the way to Kizen.”  

“I’m sorry, but I have reasons I can’t enter the Dresden Kingdom. From here, you’ll have to make your own decisions and move forward.”  
A heavy pressure washed over him, and Simon swallowed hard. After seventeen years in Leshill, it would be a lie to say he wasn’t afraid of such change.  
Then Richard clasped Simon’s hand firmly.  

“I guarantee it, my son. You’ll do better than anyone. And…”  
He smiled warmly.  
“I’m truly proud of you.”  

Hearing his father’s rare praise, Simon felt a lump in his throat.  
“I’ll be back, Father.”  
And so, parting with Richard, Simon continued alone in the spacious carriage. Determined not to waste time, he focused on refining his Jet-Black.  

Another week passed.  
“Wow…!”  
Simon arrived at Langerstine, the capital of the Dresden Kingdom.  

His first impression of the city was overwhelming.  
Towering buildings, carriages weaving chaotically through the streets, and throngs of people—his eyes spun at the unfamiliar sights.  
“Out of the way! Move!”  

Simon jumped back in surprise. A massive carriage, over five meters wide, barreled down a steep slope, pulled by skeletal horses made entirely of bone.  
*Undead!*  
Undead roamed openly in the heart of the city.  

From pulling carriages and rickshaws to handing out flyers in the plaza, they performed all manner of tasks.  
This was a sight only possible in an era dominated by necromancers.  
*Get it together.*  

Simon lightly slapped his cheeks and unfolded a crumpled note from his pocket.  
<239 Cammelrod, Langerstine SL1E 6AJ.>  
 
*So I need to find this address.*  

Steeling himself, Simon reasoned that whether in Langerstine or Leshill, people were people. Find the address, meet the guide to Kizen, and everything would fall into place.  
But the note alone gave him no sense of direction.  
Finally, he approached a woman with voluminous blonde hair standing with her back to him.  

“Excuse me, ma’am, may I ask for «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» directions?”  
As she turned, Simon froze.  
One of her eyes dangled loosely, swaying back and forth.  

“What is it, dear?”  
*…*  
*Don’t be rude. Don’t be rude.*  

Suppressing his shock, Simon forced a smile.  
“I’m trying to get to the address on this paper…”  
“Address? Let me see.”  

Her dangling eye stretched toward the paper, scanning it. Cold sweat dripped down Simon’s back, but he bit his lip to stifle any sound.  
“Oh, Cammelrod? It’s a famous spot in Langerstine. Head to that plaza up there, turn right, and you’ll see an alley lined with golden tiles.”  
“Oh…! Thank you so much!”  

Simon bowed deeply.  
The woman covered her mouth with a fan and chuckled.  
“Such a polite young man, rare these days. Good luck in Langerstine.”  

Things seemed to be going well!  
Thanking her again, Simon strode toward the plaza she’d indicated.  
*…*  

Moments later, a man quietly observing the scene approached the woman, repeating Simon’s question.  
---  
*Finally, Cammelrod.*  

What a maddeningly complex city. After wandering for twenty minutes, Simon reached Cammelrod. As the woman had said, the alley was paved with golden tiles.  
*239, 239…*  
Checking the addresses on the buildings, he walked on until—  

“Excuse me.”ashed forward, addressing him.  
A bald man with sweat beading on his forehead. He wiped it with a handkerchief and spoke politely.  
“Are you heading to 239 Cammelrod, specifically SL1E 6AJ?”  

Simon’s eyes widened.  
*How does he know the exact address?*  
“Are you… the guide sent by Howl?”  

The man nodded.  
“Yes, I’m Howl’s guide! You didn’t show up, so I was worried you might be lost and came looking.”  
Relieved, Simon smiled.  

“Finally! I’m Simon Polentia.”  
“I’m Raulri, your Langerstine guide. Come, let’s get you to your lodging to rest.”  
Simon nodded and followed.  

“It’s about a fifteen-minute walk. I’ll take you the quickest way.”  
“Alright!”  
Leaving Cammelrod, they wound through narrow alleys. Simon looked around, fascinated.  

Houses everywhere, packed so tightly there was no wasted space.  
The population here must be several times that of Leshill’s entire territory.  
“I was really worried, sir,” Raulri said. “It’s dangerous for an outsider to wander Langerstine without a guide. Pickpockets, robbers, shady merchants—they’re everywhere, preying on naive travelers. At the lodging, I’ll teach you some local slang. It’s not much, but better than nothing.”  

“Ha.”  
Simon grinned.  
“So you’re trying to scam me too, huh?”  

“...!!”  
Raulri stopped dead.  
“S-Sir? What do you mean…?”  

“Your eyes keep darting downward,” Simon said, pointing.  
“You touched your vest’s lower pocket once, checking something, right? Judging by the pocket’s width and creases, it’s holding something like a knife.”  
“…”  

Raulri, sweating, turned to face Simon.  
“You’re… right.”  
*Click.*  

He revealed a knife handle in his vest pocket.  
“As I said, Langerstine is dangerous. In alleys like this, you never know who you’ll run into…”  
“And that ‘Howl’ I mentioned? I made him up.”  

Simon grinned, leaning back with his hands behind his head.  
“You jumped at the name. Howl’s actually the name of a goat Johnson back in Leshill adores. Are you running errands for a goat?”  
“…”  

Raulri’s friendly smile froze.  
“So you knew and still followed me? Who the hell are you?!”