Necromancer Academy’s Genius Summoner - Chapter 169

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Necromancer School’s Summoning Genius — Episode 169
Creak, creak!
The cargo cart, drawn by camels, lurched forward. Broker, disguised as a merchant, naturally fell into line with the caravan. The long procession of traders was heading toward the border of the Sacred Federation.
And inside the cramped wooden box of the cargo cart, Simon and Lette were pressed together, squeezed as tightly as two people could be.
They’d fought several times already over positioning.
Sitting upright was impossible. The box was a narrow, elongated rectangle—the only way two people could fit was to lie down and curl themselves up into it.
So they’d tried lying face to face, but their faces ended up far too close. Lette had screamed and smacked Simon within five seconds, so that was out.
They’d attempted reversing positions, but that only created an awkward situation where both had to lie curled up with their faces pointed toward each other’s legs, which was even worse.
They’d also tried placing their backs against each other and drawing their knees to their chests, or extending their legs backward, but it only made the space feel more cramped and uncomfortable.
Eventually, they’d returned to facing each other. With their legs overlapping and both curled up—this was the best they could manage.
“…….”
“…….”
Creak, creak.
The sound of the cart wheels rolling came through loudly. And inside the box, Simon’s face had turned crimson all the way to his neck.
‘No, this is way too close.’
Aside from the cramped space, he could sense her scent. When he breathed, their breath mingled, and his neck tickled uncomfortably.
Since he couldn’t exactly stop breathing, he decided to control his gaze instead.
Simon stared at the ceiling; Lette stared at the floor. She’d threatened him several times that if he met her eyes, it would mean death.
“…….”
Lette, who’d initially thrashed about so much, had since given up. Her eyes were downcast, her cheek pressed against the bottom of the box, and she lay perfectly still like a corpse. She’d abandoned thought itself, choosing instead to become an inanimate object within the box.
Just as Simon was struggling against the heat, the suffocation, and the damp sweat trickling down his skin, Lette raised both hands and pressed them together neatly in front of her face. Then, closing her eyes, she began to pray in the smallest whisper imaginable.
“Great Goddess. I accept humbly and endure this terrible trial you have set before me. I have defied your will and consorted with evil, and now I guide him toward your holy land. For these transgressions, I deserve to be struck dead where I lie.”
Murmur, murmur, murmur.
Simon felt a silent laugh welling up inside him. Was she really powering through this with faith?
If she could endure something this unbearable by framing it as a trial from the Goddess, then he supposed he had to give her credit for her own peculiar form of perseverance.
“But Great Goddess, surely you could strike me with lightning instead? Or roll me in a filthy pigpen? Why did you impose this terrible punishment of forcing me to face this vile creature? Perhaps I speak impiously, but I must confess—I’m beginning to resent it.”
“That’s making me feel pretty annoyed.”
“Shut up. Don’t eavesdrop on my prayers.”
Creak! Creak!
Two hours passed with both of them trapped in the box.
By now, it felt as though they’d truly become one with the cart itself.
He was the cart; the cart was him. Simon found himself experiencing the feelings of cargo loaded into a wagon.
‘……I never knew four hours could be this long. Maybe I should try making some conversation.’
People were speaking loudly outside the cart, and with all the noise from the wheels and such, he figured a quiet voice should be safe enough.
Simon carefully tried to address her.
“Let…….”
“Shut your mouth.”
As her breath brushed against him and tickled his throat, Simon’s words caught in his mouth.
“Just… stay quiet, would you.”
There was no hope. He’d been rejected before he could even speak.
Simon gave up on conversation with her and looked away.
And then another twenty minutes passed.
Simon was reviewing everything he’d learned so far in his mind when it happened.
“……Ugh, seriously.”
Lette’s voice came from the darkness. When Simon glanced at her, she was looking at him sideways, her expression absolutely mortified.
“For a man, you’re so stubborn. Don’t you think you should try twice before giving up?”
“Try what?”
“……Ah, never mind.”
She looked away and spoke quietly.
“Why did you call me earlier.”
“Because I wanted to talk.”
“……Well, go on then.”
It was clear that Lette was also finding this time unbearably difficult. Boredom aside, being locked in this swaying box with nothing to do but sit there numbed was mentally exhausting.
Simon smiled and opened his mouth.
“Nothing important, just… something personal……”
“Ah, go easy on it! Watch your breath! Every time it touches my neck I get goosebumps!”
“Then I’ll just keep my mouth shut.”
“……Something personal what.”
Pleased by how unexpectedly eager she seemed, Simon answered with quiet satisfaction.
“How did you meet my mother?”
“Ah.”
It seemed a well-chosen topic—Lette’s lips curved upward in a subtle smile.
“And here you are, asking me about something so important only now?”
“I’ve asked before, but she said she didn’t want to sully such precious memories by sharing them with a Necromancer.”
“……Ah, when did I ever say that……? Ahem! I’d rather not, but just this once, I’ll make an exception and tell you.”
Lette had been a war orphan.
The place where she originally lived was a small mountain village located in the border region between the Sacred Federation and the Dark Alliance. It was a conflict zone, and there was once a time when a group of enraged Necromancers—who had lost comrades to the Priests—descended upon the village and left it in ruins.
At three years old, Lette survived by hiding in a narrow storage cabinet, but she lost her parents in that terror. And that day, she witnessed a sight that would haunt her for the rest of her life.
The Necromancers raising the corpses of the villagers and parents who had shown her such kindness as Skeletons, giggling with delight as they did so.
Eventually those Necromancers left the village, but Lette, gripped by fear, couldn’t bring herself to step outside her home.
After several days passed like this, and young Lette was on the verge of starvation, someone entered the house.
Lette quickly hid in the wardrobe, but the person knocked gently on the wardrobe door to put her at ease, spoke a few words, and slowly opened it. And then Lette—
—I’m sorry.
encountered a miracle.
—I’m sorry. I’m sorry. We’re truly sorry.
Her name was Anna Cross.
At that time, Anna had completely severed ties with Efnel, entered the Dark Alliance, and had even given birth to Richard’s child. But after regaining her footing, she would visit her homeland in the Sacred Federation from time to time.
She had donated the enormous fortune she’d accumulated while active in the field entirely back to society. With her own money, she established over twenty orphanages across the nation.
These orphanages differed from the typical concept of monasteries that presided over a village’s worship and collected church taxes—they were orphan asylums. Children who had lost their parents to war and combat and become orphans were brought here to be raised.
Several times a year, Anna would slip into the Sacred Federation under an assumed identity to help with the orphanages’ work.
It was during these visits that Anna and Lette first formed a bond.
—Teacher Anna!
Lette followed Anna, who had saved her life, as if she were her own mother, and Anna adored her in return.
—When I grow up, I want to become a wonderful Priest just like you, teacher!
At Lette’s words, Anna smiled with an unreadable expression.
—You should become an even greater Priest than I am.
—But teacher, I heard you were the miraculous Saint! There’s no Priest in this world greater than you!
At those words, Anna stroked Lette’s hair with sorrowful eyes and spoke.
—I caused too many people sorrow and suffering. Don’t be like me, Lette.
No matter what Anna said, Lette’s role model remained Anna.
She built a sound faith at the orphanage and, through Ascetic Training, became a promising Priest at a young age. The elders, captivated by her talent, all spoke of her as the reincarnation of “Anna Cross.”
Though she never broke Anna’s youngest record, Lette was happy simply being compared to Anna by the adults. She grew steadily and was admitted to Efnel as the top-ranked student.
“But learning the truth about teacher Anna was… quite a shock.”
Lette spoke in a deflated voice.
“My benefactor, the person I respected most—that legendary Saint genius—had actually married a Necromancer and even borne his child.”
Her voice simmered with emotion.
“All because of a mere Necromancer, she fell from her position as a Saint, contracted an incurable disease, and has been suffering in some remote backwater where no one knows when she’ll die. Honestly, I couldn’t bring myself to understand it.”
“…….”
Simon couldn’t utter a word, struck by the weight of her revelation.
‘So that’s why Lette despises Necromancers so deeply.’
Horrific memories buried so deep they festered into trauma. Her own parents becoming Undead before her eyes, while the Necromancers laughed with glee—who could not harbor resentment after witnessing such a thing?
And with years of religious education hardening her hostility toward Necromancers to an extreme degree, the way Lette had treated both Simon and Richard represented her doing the best she could.
“But who can know what fate holds?”
Her gaze turned toward Simon.
“I find myself face to face with that very Necromancer, our bodies nearly touching as we live in close quarters. I’m truly at my wit’s end.”
“…….”
In his heart, Simon wanted to apologize on behalf of those Necromancers who had desecrated the corpses of her parents, as a Necromancer himself. But such an apology would be hollow and utterly meaningless.
It had no substance, no significance. It would offer her no comfort whatsoever.
So.
“I’ll do my best to change how you see things.”
All Simon could do, as always, was to try.
“No matter what you do, it won’t change a thing.”
Lette snorted. Yet her tone was noticeably gentler than the scorn and mockery from before.
Tap.
Then the two of them froze. The sound of knocking directly on the box rang out.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Five short raps in quick succession. This signal meant only one thing.
“Get ready. We’re about to enter the Sacred Gate.”
The Sacred Gate was, in simple terms, a kind of checkpoint. If a person or cargo carried any malevolent aura, the gate’s color would become murky, and Heresy Inquisitors would immediately conduct a search.
After Broker sent the signal, the cart’s pace slowed. The carts were moving in a queue, passing through the Sacred Gate one by one.
“Are you worried?”
At Lette’s seemingly indifferent question, Simon simply smiled.
“I’m confident.”
Simon summoned his Sacred Flame, then wrapped his entire body in it to conceal the aura of the Core nestled near his heart.
Now even the smallest sound felt like a risk. The two of them remained silent, eyes darting in the darkness.
Slap!
Someone had placed their palm against the cargo cart, and the sound rang out sharp. Lette, caught off guard, clapped her hand over her mouth.
One careless noise and they’d be discovered.
Thud!
This time, someone had climbed atop the cart.
‘Damn it—they better not be doing this intentionally.’
Lette barely suppressed the urge to kill them all. Simon’s eyes shifted in the darkness.
A man’s voice came from atop the cart, talking loudly to someone. When the Broker protested about goods being damaged, the man grudgingly climbed down.
‘Now they’re heading for the gate.’
As a user of Sacred Flame, Simon was confident he wouldn’t be detected, yet the tension gnawed at him regardless.
Then Lette shifted closer, her body pressing against his. Her breath became tangible against his skin, and Simon went rigid.
“Hold still for me.”
Lette placed both hands on Simon’s chest. The flow of Sacred Flame emanating from her body draped across him like a veil.
And moments later.
Whoosh!
Simon felt his body pass through something foreign—a barrier. They had slipped safely through the Sacred Gate.
‘Thank the gods. We made it.’
As relief flooded through Simon, she giggled softly, her body trembling with suppressed laughter.
“Welcome, Necromancer.”
Her voice came through low and near, almost intimate. She held a finger to her lips, one eye winking at him playfully.
“To the Sacred Federation.”

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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