Necromancer Academy’s Genius Summoner - Chapter 669

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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 669
“I think you should retire to your bedroom, Your Grace.”
“What did you…?”
There was no doubt about it — this boy really was Yona’s son.
The Grand Duke’s face darkened with displeasure.
“Insolent thing! Give him an inch and he takes a mile!”
Her voice rose sharply.
“Just because I drank and showed weakness, you dare speak of the bedroom? How dare you!”
A moment later.
She lay in bed with a dazed expression, and Simon tucked the blanket carefully around her, breaking into a faint smile.
“Rest well, Your Grace. I’ll explain things to everyone outside.”
Click.
Simon closed the door without another word and stepped out.
She stared at the ceiling with a peculiarly frozen expression, her hand resting on her jaw.
“Is he really Yona’s son?”

* * *
Having escorted the drunk Grand Duke to her bedroom, Simon returned to the banquet hall with a tired expression, straightening his hair.
With the Grand Duke — the only person capable of keeping the Northerners in check — gone, the party’s atmosphere descended into chaos.
Axes and swords jutted from the walls. Some men lay sprawled in drunken stupor, while others slept with their faces buried in wine barrels.
“I was the one who planted the flag on the eldest’s head!”
A man shouted this while violently rocking his chair, and struck an unfortunate general standing beside him across the forehead. The general’s hand flew to his sword hilt.
As Simon observed the inebriated Northerners,
“…….”
he noticed one man who stood out peculiarly.
The man clearly found the party unbearable, squirming as if sitting on thorns. He was thin — an unusual sight in the North — and wore Glasses. The warriors around him either ignored him outright or regarded him with open contempt.
He must have been an outsider like Simon.
“!”
Their eyes met. The man with Glasses suddenly broke into a broad grin.
“?”
He held Simon’s gaze, his smile growing warmer by the second. Then he strode over with measured steps.
“Hello there!”
He greeted Simon. Several Northerners’ gazes turned sharp and focused on him.
“Ah, yes. Hello.”
Still, there was no reason to refuse a greeting offered in good faith.
“You’re Simon from Kizen, aren’t you? Simon Polentia?”
“……How did you know that?”
“Ha ha, how could I not? The current Kizen Student Council President is hardly someone to overlook.”
How extraordinary.
This man really was an outsider.
In the North, they gave no weight to anyone’s rank or status from beyond their borders.
“Here.”
The man then slipped Simon a Letter with a discreet motion, speaking in a hushed voice.
“My master sent this. Please, do read it. Well then, I’ll take my leave.”
Unable to endure the Northerners’ stares any longer, he hurried away with an awkward bow. Simon felt the Letter in his pocket.
‘His master sent it?’
He felt a seal pressed into the Letter’s surface.
It seemed to be from a nobleman.
He ran his fingers carefully across the seal’s impression, trying to picture it in his mind, but it didn’t match any noble house sigil he knew.
‘Hmm.’
Simon slowly rose from his seat and made his way out.

* * *
“Insolent brat!”
Crash!
Just as the party reached its peak, the bedroom door suddenly burst open and the Grand Duke, dressed in training clothes, shouted.
“I need answers now! Where are you?”
Sleep would not come.
She felt that now was the only moment to speak.
“Get up here at once! I have questions about your father!”
When she made a commotion, every warrior’s gaze swung toward her.
“Oh.”
The faces of the Northern Region soldiers, already flushed with wine, grew even redder.
“Truly the Grand Duke! We shall offer our lives!”
“We would follow you to the very depths of hell!”
The warriors’ fervent loyalty surged audibly through the hall.
An elderly soldier with the weathered face of age even felt tears prick his eyes.
“Choke! It seems like only yesterday when you were just a little thing, and now you’ve become a true lady……!”
Crack!
She tore a piece of wood from the wall with her bare hands and hurled it without hesitation. A warrior struck square in the face crumpled to the ground, blood streaming from his nose.
“Do you all have a death wish?”
The warriors sobered instantly, snapping to rigid attention.
“Godric! Where is my apprentice?”
“Ah, Grand Duke.”
The butler Godric scratched the back of his head.
“It seems he went outside. I saw him receiving something from that one’s servant.”
The Grand Duke’s expression hardened.
“What?”

* * *
Simon had slipped out from beyond the castle walls and now walked toward the address written on the letter.

He had time to spare anyway, and with weapons flying about in that banquet hall, even two lives wouldn’t be enough. So Simon decided to meet the person seeking him out.
The destination was a sprawling mansion situated a considerable distance from the Grand Duke’s Castle.
In terms of luxury, it far surpassed the castle itself. Guards stood at intervals throughout the grounds—men with clean-shaven faces and fine armor, bearing little resemblance to the rough Northern Region soldiers.
“Thank you for visiting House Boldmont. What brings you here?”
Two guards stepped forward as Simon approached, their spears crossed in formal greeting.
‘So it is a House of nobility.’
Simon silently produced the letter. When the guards saw the seal attached to it, they lowered their spears and bowed respectfully.
“Please come in.”
The moment Simon’s foot touched the garden path, a procession of butlers and servants suddenly bent in unison to greet him.
“Welcome.”
“The Count awaits you.”
It was the most gracious treatment Simon had received since coming to the Northern Region, and it made him somewhat self-conscious.
At the same time, a question formed in his mind.
Normally, an Earl ruled a single domain. Yet the Northern Callos was firmly under the control of Grand Duke Jin Arscalt, and there was no reason for a nobleman of merely Earling rank to establish a grand residence here.
‘I’ll understand once we meet.’
Simon tucked the letter away and followed the servants’ guidance deeper into the mansion.
“Count. The Lord Simon Polentia has arrived to visit you.”
“Good, show him in.”
A cheerful voice rang out.
The door opened, and Simon stepped inside.
A meticulously appointed interior, with potted plants scattered throughout and expensive paintings hanging on the walls. On one side, shelves held old books.
And there, seated in a chair, was a man waving his hand in greeting with evident cheer.
‘Younger than I expected.’
Simon had pictured a portly, middle-aged gentleman, but the face before him was far more youthful—roughly Simon’s own age or perhaps a year or two older.
Following the Callos protocol he had learned in royal studies, Simon made to bow.
“Count Boldmont, it is an honor to——”
“Ah, no need for such formality. Sit, sit.”
The Count rose with a smile.
“Would you like something to drink? Warm tea? Or perhaps a cordial or wine?”
“Tea would be fine, if you please.”
Before Simon’s words had fully left his lips, the door opened and a servant entered pushing a cart. Simon was startled to see several other attendants standing by, ready to assist with the cart.
The servant set a teacup before Simon and poured with meticulous care. The liquid was a vibrant orange, with a delicate fruity aroma.
Simon picked up the cup and took a sip.
‘Oh.’
It was delicious enough to make his jaw drop—a far cry from the bitter cold tea of the Northern Region.
“I’m glad it suits your palate.”
As Simon sipped the sweet tea, Count Boldmont settled into the sofa across from him with an amused smile.
“How old are you this year?”
An oddly abrupt question for a nobleman of the Earl’s station to ask.
Simon set down his teacup and answered.
“Eighteen, sir.”
“Ah, then we’re practically friends! I’m only a year older, but let’s just speak freely with each other. Sound good?”
“But……”
“It’s fine, really.”
The Earl of House Boldmont kept pressing the matter, so Simon had no choice but to nod in agreement.
“So.”
Simon dabbed his mouth with a prepared handkerchief as he spoke.
“I’m curious what you wanted to see me about.”
“Because I really wanted to meet you!”
The Earl’s eyes lit up.
“A Kizen student! And even the Student Council President coming to the Northern Region—I had no idea. Are you really the Council President in your second year? That’s impressive!”
Simon’s gaze sharpened.
This was the primary reason he’d come here.
“How did you know my name is Simon Polentia, and that I’m Student Council President?”
Simon had been dispatched to the Northern Callos for special instruction.
Only a select few—the Grand Duke herself, her steward Godric, and similar associates—knew his name and status. The rest simply called him “apprentice” or “outsider.”
So when people who knew his true identity suddenly appeared wanting to meet him, Simon couldn’t simply brush it aside.
“Oh, I just heard from a friend.”
Toringdon answered casually, but Simon filed away the information that this Earl of House Boldmont was closely connected to someone within the Grand Duke’s circle.
“But anyway! Tell me about Kizen, won’t you?”
Toringdon’s eyes gleamed as he spoke.
“I was only educated through my family’s tutelage, so I’m genuinely curious what the Necromancer School is like! I have such a romantic image of it! Is it true you really lock the students on an island and make them fight each other?”
“That happens too, yes.”
Simon offered a brief account of Kizen, and Toringdon seemed quite satisfied. Especially when Simon described the Dark Festival—the Earl let out a delighted exclamation and even clapped his hands together.
“Ah, that sounds genuinely fun.”
Toringdon gazed up at the ceiling with a wistful expression.
“If it weren’t for my family’s duties, I would have enrolled at the Necromancer School myself.”
“Actually, I was curious about that.”
Simon pressed forward, not missing the opening.
“The Northern Region is the Grand Duke’s territory. So why is House Boldmont stationed here?”
The Earl grinned, as though he’d been waiting for this very question. Then he lifted his teacup and took a sip.
“I’m an Observer.”
While it varied from kingdom to kingdom, in at least the Callos Kingdom, the title of “Grand Duke” meant a figure equal to the king within their domain.
Before the current Four Kingdom system was established, the North had been an independent territory, never belonging to Callos. House Arscalt had been the de facto rulers of the North—kings in all but name.
Callos had desperately wanted to annex the Northern territories, but the risk far outweighed the benefit of launching a war to seize them.
Even if they conquered the land, how would they stop the floods of monsters and undead that pressed down upon it? What nobleman would venture into the remote villages of the North and risk his life fighting? Above all, no other noble family possessed House Arscalt’s capacity to defend the North completely.
So the Callos Kingdom proposed granting House Arscalt the title of “Grand Duke”—a position equal to the king within their region. It was, in essence, merely painting the territory on the map as part of Callos, while the true command of the North remained firmly in the Grand Duke’s hands.
Of course, if they agreed to the annexation, the kingdom promised year-round supply of the fertile crops grown in the South. The head of House Arscalt, facing severe famine and unable to bear watching his people starve, accepted the proposal and joined Callos.
“But the Callos nobility always feared the North’s military strength.”
Toringdon continued.
“They wanted at least some safeguard. And that safeguard is—”
“The Observer.”
Simon finished for him, and Toringdon’s satisfaction was immediately evident.
“Exactly! A noble house of at least Earl rank stations itself directly in the North and takes charge of supporting and observing the North.”
“…Though I imagine most other families wouldn’t want to take on such a role.”
“True enough.”
Which of those Earls, content to govern their own domains and live in splendor, would willingly come to this harsh North? The Observer post was essentially a place of exile for nobles who’d lost the battles of central politics.
But.
“I volunteered.”
Toringdon interlaced his fingers, his eyes blazing.
“The moment my father passed and I became Earl, I petitioned His Majesty for House Boldmont to take on the role of Observer in the North.”
“…Why?”
“This is a land of opportunity! Everyone else just doesn’t understand—they call it an exile post out of ignorance.”
The corners of his mouth lifted, and for an instant, Toringdon’s mask slipped away.
“The truth is, the North holds hidden secrets.”

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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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