Necromancer Academy’s Genius Summoner - Chapter 176

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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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The Summoning Genius of the Necromancer School, Episode 176
The fourth day of the train journey.
Now only a single day remained before reaching their destination.
In the meantime, many things had happened.
Simon had taken long naps throughout the daylight hours, and even Ellen had joined them for card games with the three of them—until others spotted the fun from different cabins and came along, making it seven playing together.
Whenever the train stopped at a station, they’d step outside and stretch thoroughly, returning with all manner of food. While the meals served on the Sacred Holy Train were adequate, they’d grown tired of them; the stations offered far more delicious and generous bento boxes.
There was real pleasure in sampling different regional specialties at each stop. It was a taste of travel unique to the Sacred Federation.
Wanting to experience more of train culture, Simon had even ventured to the third-class cars and mingled with travelers there. Though the culture differed, they were the kind of good people you’d find anywhere.
Simon possessed an innate warmth that endeared him to everyone quickly. Now when he passed through, the men would thrust bottles of rum at him, insisting he drink. After one particularly heavy session, he’d returned to the cabin half-dazed and collapsed at the desk—only to have Rette pat his back with a look of utter disgust.
And then there was Metin, the Heretic Inquisitor.
Even after being dragged away and struck by Rette, he refused to relent, persisting in interrogating Simon. Rette would glare from the sidelines as if ready to kill, but he paid her no mind—which only put the senior inquisitors caught in between in an awkward position.
In the end, the senior inquisitors often simply cut his questioning short and hauled him away themselves.
Rette’s anger was frightening enough, but in truth, Simon’s reputation among the inquisitors had grown considerably—as a devout and well-mannered young man. Metin now had no allies among them.
“Hey, hey! Lighten up, rookie.”
Just as Metin had fired off two questions and was being dragged away by the seniors, one of them draped an arm around his neck and spoke with cheerful ease.
“Even if that friend were a real Necromancer, don’t you think we’d have to give him credit? A fellow with such devotion is hard to find, even in the Federation.”
……
At those words, Metin stared flatly at the senior inquisitor.
This senior was named Odel—a fourth-year Heretic Inquisitor and the team’s morale maker.
“Senior…”
“Hmm?”
“You seem quite knowledgeable about Necromancers.”
It was a barb, but Odel laughed loudly with genuine mirth.
“Of course I am! My job is to crush those things!”
“Necromancers are vile creatures—they desecrate the dead, lust after corpses, and wage terror for sport.”
Odel gently grabbed Metin by the crown and scrubbed vigorously left and right.
“Ow, that hurts!”
“Look—I don’t understand the tastes of those bastards either, but the ones causing terror in cities and doing evil? They’re extreme cases, kid. Want me to spell it out more simply? Just think: ‘Only those kinds would do that.’ Do you really think this sincere, good-hearted friend would go around committing terror and villainy? Is the only reason you suspect him just because he’s a Necromancer?”
……
Metin felt his resolve waver for just a moment and bit his lip hard.
“Whether they do evil or not, Necromancers cannot be forgiven by their very existence.”
Odel chuckled.
“Right, right. Why am I trying to convince a devoted young man like you? The point is: be flexible.”
By then they’d arrived at the Inquisitor Break Room at the front of the train. Standing before the door, Odel brushed off Metin’s shoulders as he continued.
“Plenty of ordinary people hate the Goddess too. Their lives are so wretched, yet no matter how much they pray, not a crumb falls from heaven. And temples still levy temple taxes, preach the Twelve Precepts, and extract nothing but taxes. If you branded everyone with doubts about the Goddess as a heretic, there’d be no one left to farm, and the entire Federation would wither and collapse.”
……
“Well, I’ve lectured enough. Let’s go in!”
The two entered the Inquisitor Break Room. Five men, including the captain Baccara, were laughing boisterously.
“Oh, the rookie! Did you get beaten down by that friend again today?”
“Look at that expression—it’s confirmed!”
“Hahahaha!”
Metin ignored the jeers and dropped heavily into a seat at the far end. Baccara waved the seniors off with a “That’s enough, enough.”
“Well done. Odel, Metin.”
“Yes, Captain!”
Odel answered with a grin.
……
Metin merely nodded with his fingers interlaced. A few of the senior inquisitors noted his attitude, but Baccara shut them down again.
‘What would these fools lounging around on the Sacred Holy Train even know.’
Metin found these seniors disagreeable.
Metin and his original colleagues had been posted to the front lines of conflict zones. Those places were steeped in Dark Alliance propaganda, crawling with Necromancer sympathizers and heretics.
If anyone was suspected, you interrogated them first and established order through swift punishment—because if you didn’t, it was your own side that got captured and killed.
But the inquisitors assigned to the train were all weak-willed, perhaps because they managed such peaceful rear-area duties.
From Captain Baccara, who was merely good-natured, to Odel, who actually defended Necromancers—Metin found them all contemptible.
“Well, now.”
Odel stood and clapped his hands, lifting the mood.
“Today’s duties are all done, and yesterday was the Holy Festival, which we just let pass! We should have a light drink or two today!”
The Deva Religion’s Holy Festival tradition involved drinking red wine crafted in the monastery while praying to the Goddess. With that said, Odel produced a bottle of premium wine from his bag.
“This is from Banyard Monastery! A seventeen-year vintage.”
“Whoa! That’s an expensive brand, isn’t it?”
“Perfect! We’re ordained too—we should mark the Holy Festival.”
The atmosphere grew boisterous. Odel poured a measure of premium red wine for each of them, passing the glasses around. Metin refused at first, but under the weight of his seniors’ gazes and pressure, he reluctantly accepted.
“What about Sara?”
Baccara asked. She was the sole woman on this train’s interrogation team—the only female heretic inquisitor among them.
“The usual. She’s sleeping in the women’s cabin as soon as work ends. Sara doesn’t even touch alcohol anyway.”
“Let’s just keep it among ourselves and call it a night.”
They reached agreement. Odel, who had brought the wine, raised his glass and offered a prayer. Everyone closed their eyes and listened.
“In gratitude for the Goddess’s blessing! Laus!”
“Laus!”
They all brought their glasses to their lips with vigor. Exclamations rang out from every corner.
“Ahh! Excellent taste!”
“Very nice. Though there’s something about it—like a burning sensation in the throat…”
By the moment they noticed the wrongness, it was already too late.
“…What?”
The inquisitors lowered their heads. Something crimson was protruding from their chests.
The walls of the train had turned a livid red, as if flesh itself had come alive, and thorns erupted from them. The moment they swallowed the wine, their bodies seized. They couldn’t dodge or raise a protective barrier.
Clang!
Odel, standing alone, let out a low chuckle and dropped his wine glass to the floor. The wine spread across the ground like blood.
“You…!”
Baccara’s pupils trembled.
“It wasn’t Odel…!”
Whoosh! Crack! Crack!
At Odel’s gesture, countless thorns erupted from the walls, piercing through Baccara’s body.
“You’re the most troublesome one here, so I’d better make sure you’re dead. But…”
Odel turned his head.
“How did you catch on, rookie?”
While five heretic inquisitors met their end, there was one—half-risen from his seat, grasping at the thorns embedded in his body.
“You reek of neither sacred power nor darkness. Just blood. That stench alone…”
Metin spoke, his nostrils flaring.
“A reek so vile it drowns out every other scent—the kind only legendary murderers carry. For someone like that, you moved far too naturally.”
“Hmm, so that talk about the smell wasn’t nonsense after all?”
In truth, Metin had warned his seniors that Odel reeked of something suspicious. But his words had been dismissed after the Simon incident had cost him their trust.
“Metin, Heretic Inquisitor of the Eastern Front.”
A low hum filled the air.
Metin spread both arms wide. A subspace tore open, and torture tools clattered to the floor or latched onto his body.
Metin took up a combat stance.
“Commencing heretic interrogation. Reveal your true identity at once.”
“One last gift—that works for me.”
A violent aura erupted from his body, and his shirt tore away. Across the exposed torso, crimson markings were painted in intricate patterns.
“My name is Aloken.”
Odel tore away the biotechnological skin adhered to his face, revealing a middle-aged man with long-slitted eyes.
“I am a bishop of the Blood Heaven Cult.”

The fight lasted less than two minutes. Metin, drenched in blood, collapsed against the wall.
“Weak.”
He hadn’t been bothered. Aloken smiled, teeth bared, and moved forward. Beyond this inquisitor break room lay the crew room, and beyond that, the engine room.
As Aloken crossed the passenger cabin and opened the door, the crew members who had been preparing a meal froze in shock. Aloken raised his arm.
Boom! Splat! Splat!
By some incomprehensible force, several crew members were drenched in blood and fell.
“Ahhhhhhh!”
“Silence.”
At Aloken’s chilling command, the surviving crew members clamped their mouths shut, trembling. When he flicked his hand, a noose of blood flew through the air and coiled around their necks.
“Agh!”
Gripping the nooses, Aloken headed straight for the engine room. The crew members were dragged along, writhing in agony.
The iron door of the engine room was shut tight, but when Aloken placed his palm against it, blood erupted like a explosion, obliterating the door.
“Gasp!”
The Chief Engineer yelped in terror and tumbled from his seat.
Aloken surveyed his surroundings. At the center of the engine room was an enormously complex eternal sacred holy magic circle, with pipes supplying sacred power crowded thickly around it.
“From now on, this entire train is an offering to the Blood Heaven Cult. The inquisitors are all dead, so abandon any thought of resistance.”
At those words, the Chief Engineer’s face drained of color.
The Blood Heaven Cult! Those very maniacs who’d been massacring indiscriminately across the realm—heretics of the worst stripe.
“Turn the train around. Chief Engineer.”
Aloken dropped the map at the trembling Chief Engineer’s feet.
“Reduce speed and take us to Point C, marked here on the map.”
The Chief Engineer looked at the map and saw it—a single letter ‘C’ marked in bold red ink.
“B-but that section’s been abandoned for years! Those rails are ruins! If we send the train that way, we’ll—”
“We’ve already restored the tracks.”
Aloken’s voice cut through, glacial and final.
“Stop talking. Do as you’re told.”
The Chief Engineer swallowed hard, his voice shaking.
“You’re asking me to endanger all the passengers? I can’t possibly—”
Thwack!
Before the Chief Engineer could finish, Aloken’s hand whipped backward. One of the crew members he’d dragged along crumpled to the floor with a wet crunch, drenched in blood.
“Aaahhhhh!”
A shriek that seemed to tear the very air split through the Engine Room.
“For every moment you waste, I’ll kill another.”
Thwack!
The second crew member’s body burst, limp and motionless.
“After these, I’ll bring the passengers from the cabins—and I’ll kill every last one of them in front of your eyes.”
Thwack!
The third crew member’s body exploded. The Chief Engineer’s frame convulsed uncontrollably. Aloken’s arm extended toward the last remaining crew member.
“Please! No, no, no! Someone save me! Chief Engineer, help me!”
The last crew member pleaded through sobs, voice breaking.
Tears streamed down the Chief Engineer’s face as well. This monster meant every word. He realized now that even if every crew member in this Engine Room was sacrificed, this killer would truly bring the other passengers here to slaughter them all before him.
“…Very well.”
The Chief Engineer finally took his seat and activated the Sacred Holy Magic Circle.
Moments later, as the Sacred Holy Train slowed and smoothly transitioned onto the Point C rail line, Aloken smiled with deep satisfaction.
“Excellent.”
Thwack! Thwack!
The Chief Engineer and the remaining crew member’s bodies went limp, blood-soaked.
No one could stop him now. He laughed aloud, his voice ringing through the Engine Room, and drew out a Communication Crystal.
“Everything proceeds as planned. Begin.”

* * *
“Everything’s unfolding perfectly~”
Rette, in high spirits after finishing the cream cake served for dessert, spoke in a smooth, satisfied tone.
“Just a little further and we’ll reach our destination. We’ll get off at the station, head straight up, and there’s the Tree of Life. We’ll finally be able to save Anna.”
“……”
Rette trailed off and looked at Simon.
“What is it? That grim expression.”
“…Don’t you smell something strange?”
Rette shrugged her shoulders.
“Have you caught it from that Metin fellow? What smell are you talking about?”
“Blood.”
At that word, Rette’s complexion stiffened. Simon rose from his seat.
“A sharp, piercing smell of blood.”

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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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