Necromancer Academy’s Genius Summoner - Chapter 171

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

Summoning Genius of the Necromancer Academy, Episode 171
I wasn’t boarding the Sacred Train today.
We’d crossed several mountain ranges since dawn, climbed aboard supply wagons, teleported twice, and accumulated enough travel fatigue that we decided to rest for a day in this village where the railway station stood.
“You could just pick any house here and knock on the door.”
Rete walked beside me, sweeping her snow-white hair back as she spoke.
“For them to receive a Priest of the Goddess in their home is a great blessing and honor.”
Simon blinked at those words.
“That won’t be a burden?”
“Well… I suppose it might be a bit awkward to show up unannounced. But that’s how things work here. You saw those farmers earlier, didn’t you? They feed you, put you up for the night, and receive the Goddess’s grace in return—it benefits them too.”
Simon shook his head firmly.
“It’s still a burden. I think it’s better to just slip quietly into an inn.”
“Well, if you insist that much, I suppose there’s no choice.”
The two of us entered an inn in the village center that looked reasonably large and clean. The ground floor was a tavern, while the upper floors served as lodgings.
Crosses, sacred markings, and holy objects covered the walls. It felt more like entering a devout family chapel than a tavern and inn.
The patrons seated at tables were absorbed in their drinks and food, lost in conversation among themselves.
Simon and Rete walked toward the counter. The innkeeper, a man with a stubbly beard, was too busy arranging food dishes to notice us.
“Laus! May the Goddess’s blessing be with you. Do you have any vacant rooms?”
Simon greeted him. The innkeeper, preoccupied with moving a large plate, glanced sideways at us both and replied.
“Two people, a man and a woman? Would one large bed be enough?”
“This is insane.”
Rete, standing beside me with her arms crossed, let out an irritated growl.
The innkeeper set down the food with a clatter and wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve.
“Ah, come now, young friend—if you don’t want it, just say so. No need for such harsh words…”
Only then did the innkeeper’s gaze properly settle on Rete. The moment he saw her white School Uniform, his mouth fell open in disbelief.
“L-L-L-Laus!”
The innkeeper bolted out from behind the counter and immediately prostrated himself at Rete’s feet, pressing his forehead to the floor.
“May the great Goddess’s blessing be upon you, Priest!”
The patrons, wondering what the commotion was, turned and all at once rose from their seats, crying out “Laus!”
“See what I mean?”
Rete sighed deeply, sweeping her hair back with an exasperated gesture.
“Everyone, please raise your heads.”
The innkeeper scrambled to lift his head. His expression was trembling with fear.
“I—I failed to recognize a Priest of Efnel! I have committed a grave sin!”
“Never mind that. Your two best rooms, please. As far as possible from each other—one for me and one for him.”
“Yes, at once!”
The innkeeper hurried upstairs to prepare the rooms. His family members emerged from the kitchen, calling out “Laus!” as they guided us to a table and brought out dishes.
Dishes we hadn’t ordered were arriving—which meant food meant for other patrons was being redirected to us instead.
Rete spoke up.
“We’ve already eaten. Please take these dishes to their original owners.”
“Yes, yes!”
But now the patrons who had been happily enjoying their drinks grew cautious, stealing nervous glances at Rete and barely drinking. Some even began praying spontaneously, as though suddenly remembering their reverence before a Priest.
“You see?”
Rete cupped her chin and smiled pointedly.
“You said we should just walk into any house. Fine—then we’d only burden those people. But now that we’re here, how many people are we actually inconveniencing?”
“……….”
“When you’re in the Federation, it’s better for everyone if we follow the Federation’s customs. Next time, listen to what I say…”
At that moment, Simon stood up from his seat.
“Good evening to you all, brothers and sisters.”
Every eye shifted from Rete to Simon. A flustered Rete gestured frantically for him to sit down, but Simon smiled as if to say “leave this to me” and opened his mouth.
“I am a novice priest named Simon. If you wouldn’t mind, would it be alright if I offered a prayer for all of you?”
At those words, everyone stopped what they were doing and eagerly pressed their palms together as if they’d been waiting for this.
Simon, deftly taking control of the atmosphere, folded his hands and began to pray.
The prayer’s content was something everyone could relate to.
Health.
Good fortune.
And happiness.
Each time Simon’s voice rose, people throughout the room murmured “Laus” in response.
Simon finished the prayer in a warm, comforting tone and lowered his hands.
“A pleasant evening to you. We pass our days with the wine and food the Goddess has granted us. I believe faith is not something grand or complicated. It is our daily lives, our habits. Is it not faith itself to remain faithful to the Goddess’s grace in such ordinary moments?”
Simon’s gaze drifted subtly.
“Might it not be better, Your Grace, if the faithful could devote this evening entirely to the grace the Goddess has bestowed upon us?”
Rete stifled a silent laugh.
Permission to play without restraint—that was what she’d asked for. In mere weeks, Simon had absorbed the languages of the Sacred Federation, made them his own, and wrapped the locals around his finger.
The way he swayed their moods with nothing but three inches of tongue—he really did look like a junior priest.
‘I hate to admit it, but he’s good. I won’t have to worry about him being caught by a heretic interrogator on the train.’
Rete nodded.
“Very well. I grant it.”
She raised her wine glass as she spoke.
“In gratitude for the Goddess’s blessing.”
“In gratitude for her blessing!”
Everyone echoed the words and took a sip of wine or water. The atmosphere dissolved like morning mist, and the chatter soon returned—boisterous, uninhibited, alive. At last they could laugh and enjoy themselves without watching Rete’s face.
Simon sat down and spoke.
“Well?”
“Tch… he does it well enough.”
Rete had watched Simon’s efforts for two weeks straight, so she offered no further complaint.
“But how does he pray so beautifully when he doesn’t even believe in the Goddess?”
“Health, fortune, happiness. Faith isn’t necessary for that—universal human sincerity gets through.”
Simon thought he’d made a strong start in his role as a priest. Just then the innkeeper came down and said the cleaning was finished.
The two of them went upstairs and unpacked. Exhausted, Rete collapsed onto the bed at once, while Simon asked her permission to go buy some things he needed.
She gave him a suspicious once-over, then buried her face in the pillow and said:
“Don’t do anything foolish. Just buy what you need and come back.”
“Got it.”
The points he’d earned downstairs with Rete seemed to be working in his favor. Simon stepped out of the inn into the cool evening breeze.
‘First things first—I need to secure funds.’
Simon asked the residents for directions to the village antique dealer. There he exchanged an ancient coin similar to the one he’d given the broker for cash.
The coin’s value was lower than what the broker had offered, but it was enough to live comfortably in the Sacred Federation during the break.
The Sacred Federation’s currency system was unified entirely in Blanc, with the following approximate values:
1 Gold = 100,000 Blanc.
1 Silver = 100 Blanc.
He’d just exchanged the coin for 20 million Blanc—about 200 Gold from the Dark Alliance. That was more than generous travel funds.
“Where is the night market in this village?”
“Ah! At this hour it should be open. Try down that way.”
“Thank you!”
Simon blended naturally into the stream of villagers. Whenever he remembered that he was a Necromancer, he felt a peculiar thrill at being here in the Sacred Federation. Of course, as he’d proven at the inn, he was confident he wouldn’t be discovered.
‘Yes, this is a place where people live, like anywhere else.’
He thought how both the Dark Alliance and the Sacred Federation were plagued by excessive hostility.
The Sacred Federation taught its people that the Dark Alliance was a cursed land, seized by wicked demons.
They were told that ninety percent of its territory had been denied the Goddess’s favor and was rotting away, that no grain or even a blade of grass would grow there, that most of the population had turned to zombies and wallowed in depravity—painted as a pit of evil.
The Dark Alliance was no different.
They portrayed the Sacred Federation as a place where corrupt clergy exploited and squeezed ordinary people to death in the Goddess’s name. They said the streets were piled high with corpses of the starved, but the reality looked nothing like that at all.
If both sides actually visited each other, they’d realize those stories were lies soon enough.
‘Wow.’
He’d arrived at the Night Market. Though it was evening, exotic bright lights glowed in patches everywhere, and countless stalls were packed tightly together.
As a stranger in foreign lands, Simon walked through the market full of firelight, genuinely savoring the feeling of travel.
‘What do I need to buy first…’
Simon stopped before a displayed stall.
“Greetings! May the Goddess’s protection walk with you, traveler. Is there something you’re looking for?”
The merchants of the Sacred Federation were less aggressive in their hawking. Instead, they waited until a customer paused to examine something, then approached with a greeting, accepted the customer’s response, and displayed keen interest.
“How much is this?”
Simon held up a mask that covered the entire face. White base with eye wrinkles and cheeks painted over in geometric black lines.
As he’d surveyed the market, he’d seen quite a few masks like this. Buying one would make it impossible to trace who’d purchased it.
“5,000 Blanc!”
About 50 Silver. Not bad at all.
‘So which one should I get?’
Since there were many similar designs, Simon deliberated over what color to choose.

* * *
He smelled it.
The scent reached him.
Thirty minutes ago the man had caught the scent, and as if entranced, he’d turned his steps toward the Night Market and entered.
‘. . .’
The Night Market teemed with people.
Where there were crowds, their odors mingled.
But this reek—acrid, burnt, and rank with decay—cut through the cacophony of scents with terrible clarity.
‘The stench of the Dark Element.’
The man walked.
Not by sight, but by smell alone.
He collided with several people along the way; they cursed or shouted at him, but he paid them no mind, consumed entirely by the trail before him.
Threading through the Night Market in a daze, the man’s nostrils flared as he sniffed the air.
That acrid burn unique to the Dark Element.
And beneath it, the stench of death.
The man was certain.
‘A Necromancer is here somewhere.’
He swiveled his gaze wildly about, moving with frantic purpose.
‘The smell is strong.’
The acrid reek stabbed at his nostrils.
This was the place.
He stopped abruptly and scanned his surroundings.
Where? Where was the wretch?
And there, lost in his frantic search, stood Simon among the crowd, browsing masks at a street vendor’s stall.
Once Simon selected a mask to his liking and paid, he moved on.
“You.”
Thud!
The man lunged forward and seized someone by the collar, hoisting them upward.
But it wasn’t Simon he’d caught—it was the Burly Man standing beside him. Grabbed without warning, the Burly Man’s face twisted in fury.
“What—what the hell is this?”
The man ignored him entirely and tore the Burly Man’s shirt open with a violent yank. Then he pressed his nose directly against the exposed flesh.
Sniff-sniff-sniff.
His nostrils flared as he breathed in the scent of the left chest.
Not acrid at all.
Just foul, fetid sweat—revolting enough to make him gag.
Crack!
The Burly Man’s fist sent the man crashing to the ground. The Burly Man’s face contorted in disgust as he bellowed.
“You lunatic! What’s wrong with you? You deranged bastard!”
Murmur, murmur, murmur.
The crowd retreated, forming a circle around the two combatants.
“What’s going on? Is that a fight?”
“Wow, look at the size of that guy.”
The Burly Man cracked his knuckles menacingly and advanced. The man staggered to his feet, drawing himself upright.
‘Damn.’
The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth and nostrils—he’d lost the scent.
To lose the Necromancer he’d had cornered filled him with sudden, seething rage.
“Goddess above.”
Still unsteady, the man rose and made the sign of the faith. Then, in a soft, frigid voice, he began to murmur.
“I have awaited the hour of judgment. Today as always, I commend your creation to your holy embrace, that if his punishment be light you grant him peace, and if his punishment be grievous you consign him to the pit of eternal torment.”
“What are you babbling about, you freak? Want another round?”
As the Burly Man strode forward, the crowd split sharply to both sides. He roared and threw his full weight behind a thunderous punch.
Thud.
The force of the Burly Man’s blow landed gently against the man’s raised palm.
Sweat poured down the Burly Man’s face as he strained with all his might, but the man didn’t budge an inch—his fist wouldn’t even withdraw.
Crack.
“Gah—gaaahhhhh!”
The back of the Burly Man’s hand twisted to meet his wrist. When the man released him, the Burly Man fell to one knee, cradling his shattered wrist.
“You.”
The man crouched down.
“Are you a Heretic?”
At that single word, the Burly Man’s face drained of all color.
The crowd’s reaction was no different. People clamped their hands over their mouths or shrieked. Those far enough away simply turned and fled.
“You made me lose him. On purpose, wasn’t it? What’s your connection to that wretch?”
Behind the man’s back, a pocket dimension opened.
Clang! Thud! Boom!
Torture wheels, guillotines, racks, circular saws, war hammers, spike maces, stocks—countless instruments of torment clattered to the floor, scattering across the stone.
“Heretic Interrogator Metin.”
He seized the spike mace, its cruel barbs jutting upward, and raised it high above his head.
“Beginning heretic interrogation.”

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