Necromancer Academy’s Genius Summoner - Chapter 175

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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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Summoning Genius at Necromancer School — Chapter 175
“Prayer Text, Third Verse.”
“May all things revere the great Deva as their mother.”
“The Tenth Ascetic Practice.”
“Abstinence Asceticism: neither eating, drinking, nor sleeping.”
“From the Scripture of Malaoqi, Chapter Eight, Verse Thirty.”
“When the Mammonites invaded, Priest Raven erected stout walls and built an altar. Upon the walls he placed scarecrows. The Goddess looked upon this with favor and transformed the scarecrows into the soldiers of heaven. When the Mammonites beheld this, fear seized their hearts and they departed.”
Ah—
The interrogators listening nearby felt genuine admiration at how flawlessly Simon answered each question. Even possessed by malice, Metin had poured forth an endless barrage for nearly twenty minutes, yet Simon remained utterly unmoved.
“I mean, Chapter Eight of Malaoqi? I don’t even remember details like that.”
“Most impressive.”
“Novice, that’s enough. Why are you so desperate to catch this devout brother in a trap?”
Metin’s jaw clenched hard.
It was impossible. It made no sense. This man reeked of Necromancer from every pore, standing right before his eyes, and he was supposed to simply let him go?
His teeth ground together. He should have struck first and skipped the interrogation entirely. If Simon passed the questioning legitimately like this, wouldn’t it fall to Metin to prove Simon’s faithfulness?
“Listen.”
Bakara, the senior interrogator, hardened his expression. He too was growing irritated by Metin’s recklessness.
“We don’t have time to stay trapped here.”
“Just one more. Allow me a final question.”
Metin replied with barely restrained venom, thrusting his face forward at Simon.
“The Eighth Ascetic Practice.”
“Rolling one’s body upon burning sand and enduring for four days.”
“No, not that.”
Metin smiled wickedly.
“You said you were a Novice Priest, yes? Right after you completed the Eighth Ascetic Practice, tell me every detail—and I mean every detail—of what happened in the two hours that followed. It wasn’t long ago, so you should remember it properly. If you stumble, you’re done. Go.”
A detailed account of past memory.
If it were an experience someone had never lived through, the more they spoke, the more mistakes and lies would slip in.
Yet Simon drew a breath without the slightest sign of alarm.
“When I rose after completing the Eighth Ascetic Practice, my throat was parched and my skin had peeled away entirely—the agony was extreme. At some distance away, an elderly man who had been watching over my practice for several days with a mat beneath him handed me a water vessel. He said seeing me reminded him of his late son. His firstborn, who had exhausted his immune system through rigorous practice at just sixteen, and had fallen ill that year and passed into the Goddess’s embrace. The elder said that for a time he had even resented the Goddess for taking his son so soon. But when he saw me, he—”
“Didn’t you mention his appearance at all?”
“The man had dark, dusky skin, thick eyebrows, and full lips—a man in his fifties, with deep furrows carved into his brow. He handed me the water vessel and wept. He said the Goddess’s grace appeared to him once more in that moment. The elder embraced me and prayed that my ascetic practice would see me reach a higher place than his son. He promised to visit me again after my remaining practices were complete, and he did return—on the evening of my Tenth Ascetic Practice, bringing clean robes and food.”
“Enough! That’s enough!”
Bakara cried out, halting Simon mid-sentence.
Metin and the other interrogators tensed, staring at Bakara. Metin bristled in protest at the interrogation’s interruption, while the others protested the cutting short of such a crucial moment—but Bakara dismissed it all casually.
“I wish to thank our faithful brother for his cooperation! To have harbored even a moment’s doubt of your faith causes me deep shame. Come now, let us go!”
Bakara and the interrogators moved into the Second Class Car. Metin thrashed about, insisting he could complete the questioning, but his seniors seized him by the collar and dragged him away kicking.
With a heavy thud, the car door closed, and at last the tension dissolved. Simon exhaled a breath of relief.
“Is it over?”
Just then, from the other direction, Rette emerged into the corridor, her pristine white hair trailing behind her.
“Yes, I managed to get through it somehow.”
“No trouble? No tricks?”
“That Metin pressed hard, but everything he asked fell within what we’d prepared.”
“All that drilling paid off.”
She entered the passenger car and leaned back against the seat, looking worn. Simon opened his mouth.
“I got held up by that interrogator, sure, but why did you take so long?”
Rette waved her hand dismissively.
“I went by the book the whole way, obviously. That crazy woman demanded I remove everything—including undergarments! No matter what nonsense they invoke about interrogation protocol, who does that anymore these days? Honestly infuriating.”
She planted her elbow on the windowsill and vented her anger. Simon managed a strained laugh.
“So we’re done with all the hard part now, right?”
“Yes. It’s over. We’ll make straight for the Tree of Life in one go, so rest up.”
Of course, that was merely the hope of two people.
“It’s gonna be a real—blast—of a Heresy Interrogation, pal!”
Metin persistently added more Heresy Interrogation sessions to the schedule, devoting most of his allotted time to questioning Simon.
And Simon, shoulders squared as if to say “ask whatever you like,” answered everything smoothly.
The two engaged in a battle of wills, repeating interrogation and response over and again, each cycle ending the same way: with Bakara or the senior interrogators telling Metin to knock it off and hauling him away.
Thus passed the Train’s second day of travel.
Once again worn and exhausted by Metin’s harassment, Simon rested his head against the window, his face heavy with fatigue.

Just as Metin turned to move into the next car, having garnered nothing new, Rette—who had been watching his back intently—called him to a halt.
“Interrogator.”
“What is it.”
Metin turned to look at her. Rette, resting her chin on her hand, tossed back a reply.
“Once you’re done with the interrogation, come see me for a minute.”
A short while later, after finishing the heresy interrogation in another passenger car, Metin walked toward Rette. He stood at an angle, brushing back his hair as he spoke.
“You called for me.”
On his way to her, Metin had meant to ask one more question, but Simon had slipped away to the bathroom.
Rette rose from her seat, flicking her fingers in a “follow me” gesture as she stepped out into the corridor.
“Ellen, come with us for a second.”
“Oh, yes!”
Rette led Ellen along as they continued walking, passing through several passenger cars until they reached the cargo hold at the tail end of the train.
“What is it, priest.”
Metin spoke in a tone dripping with annoyance.
“I have official duties to carry out this afternoon, so please keep this brief.”
“Ellen.”
Rette turned to face her.
“Keep watch.”
“What?”
Crack!
Ellen’s eyes went wide. Metin doubled over, clutching at his abdomen.
Thud!
This time she drove her knee up into his nose. Blood streaming down his face, he staggered backward and slumped against the wall.
Rette seized him by the hair and yanked his head forward, then slammed her palm across his cheek with a sharp crack.
“Ah, ah…!”
Ellen covered her mouth, trembling with shock. Rette’s voice dropped to a cold whisper.
“Keep watch, I said.”
“Yes, yes, I’m watching!”
Smack! Crack! Bang! Thud!
The cargo hold was awash with blood. Blood pouring from his nose and mouth, Metin submitted to the one-sided barrage without resistance or counterattack—only his eyes remained fixed and murderous.
“Hey.”
Rette grabbed Metin by the collar.
“You know you’re pathetic, right? Why do you keep touching him? Are you trying to drag him into this and pin us both away?”
Metin spat blood onto the floor. A tooth, slick with crimson, rolled across the metal.
“I’m simply doing my job.”
“And yet you don’t read the damn room.”
Crack!
Another blow to his cheek sent Metin to his knees for the first time.
“That get to you?”
Rette ripped away his Efnel School Uniform jacket and hurled it through the air.
“Then take off your rank and come at me. Bastard.”
At her words, Metin tore the Interrogator Badge from his uniform and drove it to the ground with a sharp crack. He summoned his Sacred power, pulling a Thorn Mace from his pocket dimension.
“You’re finished…!”
Boom!
Before Metin could even register it, Rette’s boot sole had already swept across his face, dragging him along the wall.
“Cough, cough…!”
A speed he couldn’t follow.
Overwhelming force.
Metin’s trembling pupils snapped forward. In the darkness of the cargo hold, two eyes—golden and sharp—gleamed with lethal intent. Coiled around her arm was something serpentine, alive.
Metin swallowed hard, unbidden.
Overwhelmed.
This is really a first-year student?
“Ugh!”
Metin immediately grabbed her pale leg to pin it, then swung his other fist—planning to break the limb—but her left leg, anchored to the ground, snapped free and drove upward into his head.
Crash!
His back launched him through a wooden crate, shattering it. Buried in grain dust, he coughed and gagged.
“Rahhh!”
Metin threw out his right arm, clenching his fist. Ten Sacred Fangs materialized around her and flew at her simultaneously, but Rette blocked them by unfurling a protective barrier around herself.
She brought her hands together and began to pray.
Whoosh!
Blessing erupted, and a gale tore from her body. Her white hair grew long enough to brush the floor, and her golden eyes blazed with radiant brilliance.
<Rette Original – La Venue>
Metin swallowed hard as the overwhelming surge of power washed over him.
When Rette extended her right arm, the White Dragon coiled around it opened its jaws wide, and a brilliant prismatic blade shot forth.
“I’ll slice you to pieces before you die.”
Just as she moved to rush forward—
“Rette! Rette, Priestess!”
Ellen cried out in alarm.
“S-someone’s coming! They’re heading this way!”
……
She clicked her tongue. It seemed they’d made too much noise in the cargo hold, and a passenger had reported them to the Interrogator.
Rette spoke as she released the Blessing she’d cast on herself.
“Ran.”
Ran coiled around Metin’s body and dragged him before her. She crouched down and placed her hand on his face.
“Ugh! What are you doing?”
“Be quiet.”
Great Heal
Whoooosh!
Metin’s body began recovering rapidly.
He was taken aback. This woman’s healing prowess is considerable. His face had mended before he could say anything proper.
“This is the bare minimum. Whether you snitch to your seniors about being beaten by Efnel or not is up to you.”
……
She retrieved Ran back into her Subspace, then left the cargo hold with Ellen.
Metin sat slumped on the floor in a daze. For a moment he heard Rette and Bakara bickering, then she departed and Bakara stepped inside.
“Phew.”
Bakara let out a hollow laugh, surveying the wrecked cargo hold and Metin sitting vacant-eyed on the ground, uninjured.
“I knew this would happen. Didn’t I tell you to stop poking at her?”
……
“Did she hit you? Tell me honestly. No matter how much Efnel claims an Absolute Domain, I can report it to the professors and push through at least a self-imposed disciplinary measure.”
Metin staggered to his feet. He picked up the hat that had fallen to the floor, dusted it off, and placed it back on his head.
“Nothing happened.”
“Damn it.”
“And I’ll continue the interrogation as planned.”
Metin stumbled out of the cargo hold. Bakara watched his retreating figure and shook his head slowly.

* * *
Simon, having returned to the Passenger Car from the Bathroom, was worried about Rette.
She’d disappeared without a word, and quite some time had passed without her returning. If she’d gone to the Bathroom, the women’s Bathroom was directly across, and they should have crossed paths.
Wondering if something had happened, he began to rise to search for her.
“What are you doing there, slouching about?”
Rette walked calmly down the Corridor. Behind her came Ellen, glancing nervously around.
“You disappeared without saying anything. I was worried.”
“I’m not frail enough to warrant your concern.”
Rette made a quick gesture toward Ellen, who hurried back into her own Passenger Car. Rette returned to her seat across from Simon.
She let out a long sigh.
“Something happened, didn’t it?”
“I won’t speak of it. And truly, it was nothing of importance.”
Simon regarded her quietly for a moment, then averted his gaze.
“If you say so, I’ll trust you.”
Simon offered a faint smile and turned his attention back to the Scripture resting on the table before him.
……
Trust.
She couldn’t quite understand it. Could trust ever truly exist between a Priest and a Necromancer?
Rette uncorked a fresh bottle of Wine.

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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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