Necromancer Academy’s Genius Summoner - Chapter 356

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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 at the Necromancer Academy — Episode 356
Among the Kizen students, Kassan was the first to step onto the presentation platform.
Unlike those who twisted themselves into contortions trying to impress the judges, he stood unmoved—his face bland, his voice flat and toneless—reading through his paper as if reciting from a textbook.
His presentation rolled forward like a tank on a direct assault, unstoppable and relentless. Even the judges, who had been quick to interrupt and attack other students, found themselves too flustered to wedge in a word.
“That concludes my presentation.”
The whole thing had taken less than five minutes.
The auditorium fell into a vast, suffocating silence.
“You are… remarkably bewildering,” one of them finally said.
Bintra, the paper-shredder, held Kassan’s thesis at arm’s length from his eyes as he spoke.
“‘Core Strategy for Summoned Monsters’? Isn’t this more a matter of Magical Combat than Summoning Studies?”
“I felt the information was pertinent to Summoning Studies,” Kassan replied evenly.
It would have been difficult to answer so brazenly even with a bronze face pasted on.
“But more importantly! This thesis contains a critical disqualification!” Kalaban, the source-purist, pushed his glasses up his nose.
“Your student has failed to fill in any sources in the citation section at the back of the paper. Such a fundamental oversight—”
“The guidelines state that sources should be cited when academic materials are quoted. Since I cited no academic materials, I entered none.”
“What?”
“My sources are from the Thief Guild.”
Kassan threw the words out flatly.
“The Thief Guild, like all information guilds, encrypts and protects the identities of information providers. Do people ask information guilds for their sources?”
Ha-ha-ha!
Soft laughter rippled through the audience, and Kalaban’s face flushed crimson.
“Ahem!”
Ratoni, seated on the far left, wore an expression of discomfort. It was difficult to validate or refute a paper on undead combat tactics that lacked an academic foundation.
“Enough!”
Bintra, the paper-shredder, scowled and raised his voice.
“The attempt to analyze monster weaknesses concretely using information guild data has merit, but ultimately this has nothing to do with Summoning Studies. Trash! Zero points!”
Once again, Kassan’s thesis was torn to shreds in Bintra’s hands.
Kassan stared at the judges with an expression of such indifference that it might as well have been contempt, then turned on his heel and walked away.
“Now, now—!”
“Young people these days really are something!”
Bang! Bang!
Bintra struck the table to silence the murmuring audience.
“Time wasted! Next!”
This time, Serne took the stage. She had arranged a flower garden as her backdrop and beamed at the judges and spectators with infectious brightness.
“I’m Serne Eindark~”
The judges let out small gasps of recognition.
“Is this the rumored heir to the Ivory Tower?”
“It’s surprising she’s come to present at Pentamonium.”
“This time we might actually expect something worthwhile.”
Like the other students, Serne used a Crystal Sphere and Mana Output Device to project an enlarged view of her thesis into the air.

In Simon’s estimation, the title was passable enough.
But why was the thesis background a picture of a ferret?
“I used my unique ability to create a custom undead called ‘feather soldiers’!”
As she flipped through the slides, the text density was staggering. It was half blank space, half text.
Simon’s eyes began to strain, and the three elderly judges had to crane their necks forward like turtles or dig out their glasses.
“The feathers I summon through my ability are 100% compatible with the Dark Element! I can even convert them into magic circles. So I thought—what if I used these feathers to create summoning circles? The rune language I employed was…”
Listening to Serne rattle on in rapid-fire speech, Simon found himself consumed by a simple question.
Why was the background a ferret?
“So I reformulated the equation like this!”
Each time she flipped to a new slide, the ferret’s pose changed.
No matter how he thought about it, Simon couldn’t see what ferrets had to do with Summoning Studies. The text suddenly shifted to rainbow colors, and photos of the pet dog she kept at her mansion began appearing. It was clear she’d simply stuffed everything she thought was cute into the presentation without discrimination.
His eyes kept drifting to the ferret instead of the equations.
“Let me demonstrate in real time!”
Serne dropped several feathers onto the ground. They decomposed and formed a magic circle on the floor, into which more feathers flowed.
The feathers melted and streamed, and moments later, a soldier with a white body and geometric, sculptural beauty leaped forth.
“I can control these feather soldiers with my will, just as one commands undead through thought! I’m still a beginner, so the maximum is ten units for now! And the reason I used the Abel equation in my formula is—”
The audience seemed to have given up on understanding halfway through, but the three Necromancer judges were leaning forward with bright eyes.

“Fascinating!”
“Of course—the Ivory Tower delivers!”
The judges were nodding for the first time.
It was almost incomprehensible, but Serne’s presentation—which made sense only in that it featured an adorable ferret—was actually working.
-Academic conferences full of mad, eccentric necromancers would fall for this sort of thing.
Aaron, who had edited Serne’s thesis beforehand, saw it coming.
Serne’s thesis on creating Feather Soldiers through her unique ability had practical value for no one but Serne herself—academically sterile—yet the judges loved it.
These were all necromancers who had stagnated and festered in the field of Summoning Studies. If the previous students’ torn-up presentations had amounted to “one hundred plus one hundred equals two hundred” or “eating too much sugar is bad for you,” Serne’s work felt like explaining how a sloth swims.
The judges felt refreshed by this “new fact.” Never mind that they would never become sloths themselves.
“My unused mental faculties are stirring, I must say.”
“The material was original.”
Thus Serne became the second student to leave with her thesis intact. The judges were pleased, though the audience and other students seemed skeptical.
And now, the final presentation of the session.
“I am Simon Polentia.”
Simon climbed onto the Presentation Platform. Every eye fixed on him.
“Special Exception number one from Kizen.”
The judges reviewed Simon’s profile.
“House Polentia? Never heard of it.”
“Let’s not expect too much and simply observe carefully.”
“Indeed.”
Simon bowed to the judges and distributed three copies of his thesis.
“I shall begin.”
Simon’s gaze settled on the three judges before him.
Kalaban of Source Hell, Bintra the Thesis Ripper, Ratoni the Proof Pedant.
His three adversaries stood before him.
“The subject of my presentation is—”
The final presentation of the student thesis session.
The three older judges seemed to have lost focus, or perhaps Serne’s fresh presentation had impressed them so much that their interest had dulled; they propped their chins wearily or leaned deep into their chair backs.
“Skeleton Mages utilizing Corpse Explosion.”
“What?”
Bintra jolted upright as if catapulted from a spring. Murmurs rippled through the audience.
“Student! This is an Academic Conference! Not a fantasy fiction recitation!!”
Bintra’s drowsiness evaporated instantly; he shouted with sudden sharpness. The other two judges spoke just as harshly.
“An undead commanding another undead to self-destruct—does that even make sense?”
“How could a Skeleton Mage possibly cast something as complex as Corpse Explosion!?”
Simon smiled slightly and straightened his papers.
“It’s possible.”
Simon opened a Subspace and withdrew one zombie and one Skeleton Mage.
“Before explanation, allow me to demonstrate.”
Simon turned and signaled; Serne flicked the feather from her finger.
The feathers planted themselves firmly into the platform floor, creating a protective barrier over the zombie.
Simon gently tapped the barrier with the back of his hand to confirm its safety, then stepped back and issued a command to the Skeleton Mage.
“Corpse Explosion.”
Crack!
The Skeleton Mage raised its staff. As a Magic Circle unfurled at its tip, the zombie suddenly stiffened and straightened.
Light flickered in its eyes and mouth.
Boom!
It detonated.
At the sudden blast, the audience shrieked and dropped low. Even the judges flinched and recoiled.
Puff-puff-puff-puff!
Simon smiled with satisfaction, watching the explosion smoke billow inside the protective barrier.
“This is the principle.”
Serne then tossed another feather, dispersing the explosion cloud with a cleansing spell and releasing the barrier.
Buzz-buzz-buzz!
While everyone reeled in shock, Bintra—the Thesis Ripper—called out eagerly.
“Quickly! Explain how you pulled this off!”
“Of course, Judge.”
Simon had drawn inspiration from a recent siege battle where he’d detonated defensive constructs using Corpse Explosion.
Originally he’d used a Skeleton Mage as a support tool when casting Corpse Explosion on those constructs, but he wondered: what if the Skeleton Mage simply cast the spell through its own native power?
“I selected a monster called Muspel as the base material—a flame-type creature from the Lava Region that bursts explosively. You’re likely familiar with it, as it’s commonly used to create flame-type Skeleton Mages.”
Two of the mages Simon owned were Muspels. He strolled slowly through the space, elaborating as he walked.
“Using this very Muspel, I create a pair—one zombie and one Skeleton Mage.”
“Ah!”
“A zombie Muspel? I’ve never heard of such a thing!”
The principle itself was straightforward. He would inscribe identical Rune Language into the Summoning Circles of both the Skeleton Mage and the zombie.
Specifically, the Transmission Rune.
It was the very same rune Simon had used when he attended Aaron’s Magister System lecture.
“The Transmission Rune is the key to the Muspel’s Corpse Explosion.”
A Muspel born in the Lava Region has a lifespan of merely one to two years after maturity. At the end of that span, it is fated to explode, unable to withstand the heat of its own body.
However, it was common knowledge that when a Muspel is killed and turned into a zombie or skeleton, the explosion effect disappears entirely.
“I focused on reviving this ‘explosion effect’ that it possessed in life—triggering it through Corpse Explosion magic.”
Simon’s theory was revolutionary in every sense.
Ordinary Corpse Explosion works by overloading only the Undead’s core or the Summoning Circle itself, but Simon had fixed his attention on the Muspel’s unique characteristics as a creature.
Free and creative thinking, unbound by academic dogma. With each rune and formula he unveiled, gasps rippled through the Necromancers seated in the audience.
“Revolutionary!”
“A stroke of genius!”
“Using the physiological traits of a living monster to create an explosion—how extraordinary!”
“However does one conceive of such a thing?”
The audience grew restless with excitement, and the three judges began perspiring visibly.
“That concludes my presentation.”
Simon finished and broke into a slight smile.
He had not revealed all the formulas and principles—he’d stopped at the right moment. After all, he had a thesis to sell.
The presentation ended, and disappointed murmurs erupted from various corners, but Pentamonium had always been this way.
“Is there no risk of the preserved Muspel zombie detonating prematurely?”
Bintra, the paper-shredder judge, raised an objection.
“As I mentioned, when a Muspel becomes a zombie, the explosion option vanishes. The Corpse Explosion magic of the Muspel Skeleton Mage works by forcibly creating and activating an explosion switch that otherwise would not exist.”
This time, Kalaban from the Source of Hell adjusted his glasses and spoke.
“Why did you omit citations in the back of your thesis?”
Simon shrugged.
“All the ideas came from my own mind.”
Though Kalaban had already reviewed it, Simon’s thesis contained not a single line that overlapped with existing research.
Her mouth tightened, and now Ratoni, the proof-obsessed judge, bolted to his feet.
“This is academic fraud! You mean to insult Pentamonium!”
“Pardon?”
“The Dark signal transmissible by the Transmission Rune operates in a completely different neural domain than the ordinary nervous system! How can you possibly prove that the Muspel’s explosion was artificially induced?”
“If you wish.”
Simon retrieved a wheeled blackboard from nearby.
“I will demonstrate.”
Then he began writing the proof of the Transmission Rune across the board in rapid succession.
Tap. Tap. Tap-tap. Tap-tap. Tap.
In the hushed silence, only the sound of Simon’s chalk moving could be heard.
His hair and shirt-tails swayed as he wrote the formulas as though possessed by divine inspiration.
Theoretical insight.
Simon had already completed that process, and he had finished the analysis from a Dark Reversal Magic perspective as well. Laying out the rune’s explosion sequence in equations was straightforward.
‘Thank you, Professor Eric Aura.’
Everyone watched as Simon moved the chalk.
At last, with a final tap, Simon punctuated the proof with his chalk and lowered his hand.
“Is that sufficient?”
A demonstration of absolute perfection.
There was nothing to say.
‘This is truly…….’
Bintra felt a chill run down his spine.
Beyond revolution—a upheaval.
That seventeen-year-old boy’s creativity and originality had opened a new path in the rigid Necromancer world.
The calcified assumptions taken for granted, the stale conventions everyone believed must remain unchanged—they crumbled and lay scattered on the ground, while a new fortress rose before his eyes.
Clap.
Bintra began clapping.
“Magnificent!”
Clap. Clap.
Applause echoed from throughout the audience.
Within moments.
Clap-clap-clap-clap-clap!
Cheers erupted from every direction.
The applause transformed into thunderous roars and standing ovations. Several professional Necromancers leaped to their feet, clapping with flushed faces in their excitement.
Even the exacting Kalaban and the meticulous Ratoni found themselves clapping, their expressions slack with amazement.
Simon bowed to acknowledge everyone’s appreciation.
“This is exactly what we needed!”
An excited Bintra shot up from his seat.
“Many have questioned the caliber and purpose of student thesis presentations. But today, Simon Polentia has proven their necessity! Fresh perspectives from our younger generation! Bold, unconventional attempts born from youth! We may well be witnessing the dawn of a new era. Absolutely magnificent!”
“I’m honored.”
“You’ll be registering this thesis with Pentamonium, I presume?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Come here!”
Simon had no idea what Bintra’s intention was, but he walked toward him nonetheless.
“Take this.”
What Bintra handed him was a sheet of white paper. The judges on either side stole glimpses and gasped in genuine horror.
“Bintra, you can’t!”
“This is a thesis presentation session! You can’t just—!”
“There’s no rule against purchasing a thesis during the presentation, is there?”
Bintra’s eyes gleamed with avarice, his mind already half-lost in it.
Simon lifted the paper with a bewildered expression.
It was a check. But the amount line was blank, and only Bintra’s name appeared as the drawer.
“Sir, this is…”
“A blank check.”
Murmur, murmur, murmur!
The audience erupted in uproar.
“What is the meaning of this!”
“Are you not ashamed of yourself as a judge?”
“If you wish to purchase it, you must compete fairly through proper bidding!”
As the professional Necromancers shouted with red faces, Bintra laughed with a metallic edge.
“Bidding or not, I’ll purchase it at the highest price. That’s how market logic works, isn’t it?”
For a moment, Simon found himself thinking that this man before him was a Necromancer through and through, down to his very bones.
“Go ahead, write down whatever amount you wish! It doesn’t matter how large!”
He spread his arms wide and announced it loudly. Then, in a voice meant only for Simon, he added softly:
“Necromancer students studying Summoning Magic are always desperate for funds, aren’t they? I’m sure that’s partly why you came to this conference.”
……
A blank check.
Whatever amount I write becomes entirely mine.
Enough to even purchase the Lich’s Heart Core.
In a sense, it’s a blessing. When in life would such an opportunity ever come again?
Simon’s hand began to move slowly.
“Yes, yes. Go ahead and write the amount—”
“Sir.”
Simon gripped the blank check.
And slowly.
Held it up vertically so Bintra could see clearly.
“What are you—”
Riiiiip—
!!!
The entire presentation hall fell into absolute silence.
No one moved. No one breathed.
Riiiiip—
While everyone in the space stood frozen, only Simon’s hands continued their motion, tearing the blank check.
Rip— snap.
Finally, having torn the blank check clean in half, Simon turned toward Bintra, who trembled with pale shock.
“Feels terrible, doesn’t it?”
Simon smiled gently and aligned the two halves of the torn check together.
“You showed good faith with your offer, but seeing it end this way…”
And now he began tearing it lengthwise.
“That’s what our students felt too.”
Rrriiip—
The sound of tearing paper hung long in everyone’s ears.
Alande, Sierra, Moiran—every student in the hall jolted to their feet, eyes wide.
“Despite busy academic schedules, everyone who participated in this conference gave their all. The scale of effort may differ, but there was not a soul here who did not try.”
-At minimum, without preparation, without care, without thought—just filling in the obvious. You were the one who disrespected Pentamonium from the start.
“Disrespecting Pentamonium? Unless I’ve lost my mind, how could a mere student possibly disrespect Pentamonium?”
-Children these days have no dignity.
-What are they even teaching in Sierra?
“No one starts out good. We did our best with what we had. Did you, honored judges, do well from the beginning?”
-Garbage. Zero points.
And then, at last, Simon saw Bintra—his expression utterly shattered, his lips trembling.
Throb. Throb. Throb. Throb.
“We are—”
Just as the paper-tearing Bintra had done.
Simon let the shredded Blank Check fall before him.
“It is not garbage, Judge.”
Not a single soul in this world
has the right to mock someone who tried their hardest.

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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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