Necromancer Academy’s Genius Summoner - Chapter 179

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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 of the Necromancer School — Episode 179
Crash!
Prince seized the Hellhound’s front paw with a single hand, pinning it to the ground. Though his frame was slight—a boy’s build—he matched the towering chimera’s raw strength without yielding.
[And this thing—he asked me to fetch it, so I did.]
Prince removed the Crown from his head and dangled it from his index finger. It wasn’t a replica born of his own power, but the genuine artifact its true owner had worn.
[You’re really going to wear this?]
“!”
The moment Simon’s eyes landed on the Crown, his pupils sharpened and his fingertips trembled. He’d thought the addiction phenomenon would have faded somewhat with this much time between uses—but it hadn’t.
Simon answered with a bitter smile.
“I’d prefer not to, but… just in case.”
While Prince and the Hellhound grappled for dominance, Blood Zombies came flooding into the cabin. Lette moved to react at once, preparing to cast Holy Magic, but Simon raised his arm to stop her.
“It’s fine.”
“Huh?”
Prince had already placed the Crown back upon his own head.
Pop!
His irises blazed gold. The dozen-odd zombies charging at them froze mid-stride—and their eyes too shifted to gold.
In the next instant, they shifted their target and began clambering up onto the Hellhound’s body.
“What? Why are they doing that?”
Lette’s arm fell, her expression blank with shock.
“Prince is controlling them.”
The Hellhound thrashed and lashed out with its opposite foreleg in desperate fury, but the zombies clung with relentless tenacity, fastening themselves to its throat and across its body.
Then Simon spread his right hand open. The zombies under the Legion Commander Prince’s control could be detonated by the Legion Commander using Corpse Explosion.
‘Corpse Explosion!’
Boom-boom-boom-boom!
The zombies erupted in succession, their explosions tremendous. The Hellhound shrieked and convulsed. Seizing the moment, Prince pushed off his knees and launched skyward, his fist smashing down across the beast’s face.
Crack!
The massive Hellhound’s body flew backward, crashing through and shattering the train’s already-tattered wall, then plummeted beyond it.
Simon and Lette both gasped. Prince descended to the floor, keeping the Crown secure on his head.
[Whoa—you can cast Corpse Explosion without wearing the Crown now?]
“Dad trained me hard over the break.”
The two fist-bumped lightly. It was then that Prince noticed Lette, who had pressed herself rigid against a seat like a vigilant cat.
[So what’s with her? Isn’t she a Priest?]
Slap!
Lette struck his cheek the instant he stepped closer, her face twisted in revulsion.
“Stay back, you lunatic!”
[Ow!]
Prince’s irritation flared.
[What’s your problem?! We just met! Simon—can I kill her?]
“Behave. Play nice.”
Lette studied Prince with a serious gaze, her eyes traveling up and down his frame.
“……The aura feels like Undead, but how does it speak?”
“Prince is an Ancient Undead.”
At Simon’s explanation, Lette’s eyes widened and she turned toward him.
“You’re a Legion Commander too…….”
“Yeah. I told you before.”
Lette had never personally encountered a Legion Commander, though she’d heard the rumors.
The greatest obstacles to the Dark Alliance’s conquest. Beings capable of commanding hundreds of thousands of Undead, monsters who wielded the mysterious power of Ancient Undead—such was the legend she’d heard.
Sparks of ambition kindled in Lette’s eyes.
‘This bastard’s one step ahead of me, isn’t he? Damn. I need to become a Saint faster too.’
Prince gave Lette a sharp look, then turned away.
[Let’s go.]
The three pushed forward through the train swiftly.
With Prince’s presence, it was child’s play. He donned the Crown and bent the zombies to his will, turning them into his own forces. The Cultists, caught off guard, were blindsided by their former allies and fell.
As they pressed onward through the train, trouble struck.
Crash!
The Hellhound—the one they’d earlier hurled from the cabin—tore through the wall and burst back inside. It had caught up to the train on foot.
[You’re persistent!]
Prince pulled the Crown from his head and hurled it to Simon.
[I’ll handle this one. And a word of advice—if you can help it, not using it would be better for your mental health.]
“I appreciate the counsel.”
Simon tucked the Crown into his Subspace the moment he received it.
Prince and the Hellhound collided in a furious clash, their impacts thundering through the carriage. In that chaos, Simon and Lette slipped through to the next compartment.
“How many of these cultists are there, anyway?”
Blood Heaven Cult believers had barricaded themselves behind beds, hurling crimson magic in relentless volleys. Behind them, zombies churned and waited.
“This one’s going to take time too.”
“We can’t keep wasting time like this. Let’s split up.”
Lette tilted her head at the suggestion.
“Split up?”
“You keep pushing forward through the main force and free the prisoners. I’ll sprint up through the ceiling and make straight for the Engine Room. Once I’ve cleared it, I’ll hit them from behind.”
It made sense—if both of them kept moving forward, crushing enemies as they went, they’d meet somewhere in the middle. Lette nodded.
“Better than both of us bogging down. That works.”
The plan shifted. Simon pried open the compartment ceiling and hauled himself up.
Clatter-clatter!
The train shrieked against the rails, and a violent wind tore across the roof. Simon shielded his face with his arm, scanning the chaos around him.
Blood Zombies still shambled across the fields below, and from the spell circles etched on the train’s flanks, more undead and cultists continued to materialize.
‘Just keep moving. The Engine Room will tell me what I need to know.’
Simon broke into a sprint.
“Intruder!”
A handful of Blood Heaven Cult believers and zombies stood guard along the roof.
Simon charged forward, unfurling his right arm. His Subspace opened, and skeletal bones erupted from within, cloaking his limb in seamless armor.

A technique he’d developed fresh during the break. He extended his arm toward the approaching zombies, taking aim.
Whirrrr!
The barrel’s hub spun like a wheel, and bone fragments fired from the chamber in his wrist like bullets from a gun.
Bang-bang! Crack!
The zombie struck by the bone projectiles flew backward or tumbled clean off the train.
‘First real combat with this, and it’s holding up beautifully. Reload!’
By channeling the Skeleton’s Restoration technique, he could recycle the projectiles. The fired bones spiraled back, clicking and snapping back into the wheel’s grooves.
Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat!
He sprinted forward, unleashing cascades of bone fire at the surging zombies. Cultist shouts erupted from all sides.
“This bastard’s a Necromancer!”
“Surround him!”
As the cultists closed in, Simon drove his left foot hard against the roof. The blade of the Overlord sang free, its arc sweeping the surrounding cultists clean off the train.
“Argh! Hah!”
In the frenzy of combat, he’d reached the front of the Holy Train, drawing near the Engine Room.
Simon descended the carriage wall with spy-like caution and kicked through a window, tumbling inside.
He rolled once and rose to his feet, taking in the surroundings.
“……Ah.”
This was the Crew Rest Room, and the train’s staff lay sprawled in pools of blood.
Simon rushed past them into the Engine Room beyond.
‘Too late.’
The Engineer—the only person who could have controlled the train—lay dead, his body cold. There was no way to stop it now.
Simon glanced around, hoping for some clue. That’s when he spotted a map lying on the floor.
It was an ordinary station guide, the kind usually tucked in a compartment, but someone had marked a section in red pen with the letter ‘C’. The map itself showed only forest, but a hand had traced a deliberate red line through it.
‘We entered by this C route.’
Simon’s eyes traced the red line further. At the end: an X.
He didn’t know what that place was, but it was clear the architect of this catastrophe intended to deliver the Holy Train and its passengers to that exact destination.
Before arrival, they’d sent cultists and zombies to eliminate any resistance still aboard and capture passengers who couldn’t escape.
‘But then—’
Simon crumpled the map into his pocket, frowning.
‘What have the Heretic Inquisitors been doing while all this happened?’
It was hard to believe Priests of such power had already fallen, but the fact that he hadn’t encountered a single one yet suggested they might be dead.
Simon left the Engine Room and walked. From the Engine Room to the Crew Rest Room, and from the Crew Rest Room to the Heretic Inquisitor Rest Room.
‘……Ah.’
Simon’s breath caught.
Five inquisitors lay dead in their chairs, each with a hole bored through the chest.
He recognized all their faces from the interrogations.
‘Someone inside betrayed us.’
Then came a pained groan. Simon spun, and at the far end of the room, he saw one inquisitor clinging to life, hemorrhaging badly.
It was Metin, the one who’d hounded him relentlessly.
‘He’s still alive!’
Simon approached and examined his wounds. He placed his left hand on the most severely injured area and used Restoration, while pulling a Potion from his Subspace and pressing it to Metin’s lips.
Both internal and external injuries began to heal gradually, and Metin’s breathing slowly returned to normal.
‘That should have saved his life.’
Simon rose to his feet once the treatment was complete.
“…Why?”
As he moved toward the next car, a faint voice called out from behind.
“Why are you saving me? I… I was going to—”
Simon didn’t answer and kept walking. Metin spoke again.
“Watch for the tiny droplets of blood. Smaller than you’d think.”
Simon’s footsteps halted.
“The archbishop of the Blood Heaven Cult is aboard this train.”
Simon stared at Metin in silence. Metin had said all he needed to say; he lowered his head back to the floor and breathed heavily.
Simon committed the information to memory and moved toward the next car.
Clack-clack! Clack-clack!
This section showed signs of a vicious battle—the walls had collapsed, wind howled through the gaps, and the rumble of the train’s movement was clearly audible. Blood coated everything.
‘No useful clues here.’
Simon cautiously moved toward the next compartment.
‘…!’
Had he not looked carefully, he would have missed it—a tiny droplet of blood suspended in the air. Simon immediately rolled backward.
Boom!
The droplet exploded to an enormous size. As Simon retreated, he spotted more blood droplets scattered across the floor and walls.
He gritted his teeth and rolled across the ground.
Boom! Boom!
Simon barely evaded the blasts and rose to his feet, breathing hard.
“Quick reflexes.”
A man was walking toward him from the opposite car.
Reddish-brown hair and crimson eyes. His clothes were torn to rags, but they were unmistakably the garb of a Heretic Inquisitor.
“A sudden masquerade, how amusing…”
The man laughed as he looked at Simon’s mask.
Even without prior intelligence, Simon could tell this man was the Blood Heaven Cult’s archbishop. The aura of strength simply emanated from him.
“I am Aloken, archbishop of the Blood Heaven Cult. You appear to be a Necromancer—why do you attack us?”
Simon’s eyes hardened.
“Because I’m a Necromancer, I should help you?”
“Not necessarily, but meeting a fellow Necromancer in such hostile territory… wouldn’t it be better if we helped each other, brother?”
He raised his arm.
“The Heretic Inquisitors and Priests we’ve eliminated here—once war breaks out, they’ll all become a burden on the Dark Alliance. In terms of warfare, we’ve achieved a significant victory…”
“That logic applies in wartime.”
Simon cut off Aloken’s words and lowered his stance, his expression fierce.
“You’re nothing but a terrorist.”

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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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