Necromancer Academy’s Genius Summoner - Chapter 7

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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 Prodigy of the Necromancer Academy: Episode 7
The room fell silent, as if the world had stopped breathing.
‘…Did he just call my name?’
Simon felt the blood drain from his face.
“Simon Polentia? Present?”
Simon swallowed hard and rose to his feet. A thousand pairs of eyes—his peers, all of them—fixed upon him at once.
“Who is that?”
“I have no idea.”
“He’s number one?”
This was the first time he’d been in a place with so many people, and the first time he’d received such overwhelming attention.
Simon swallowed repeatedly as he climbed onto the platform and took his place beside Serne.
“Breathe…”
As Simon exhaled slowly, the master of ceremonies approached and patted his shoulder.
“There’s nothing to be nervous about. Just follow what’s written here.”
“Yes, understood.”
Serne was watching him. She nodded, and Simon answered with a nod of his own.
Both raised their right hands simultaneously.
“Oath.”
“Oath.”
Then, from behind them, nine hundred and ninety-eight other students echoed “Oath” in unison.
“We, the incoming students……”
“We, the incoming students……”
Simon’s mouth moved, but his head spun in dizzy circles.
He had no idea if he was speaking correctly, what the words even meant. He simply matched his voice to Serne’s, reading through each syllable carefully so as not to stumble.
And so, from his very first day of enrollment,
Simon had caught everyone’s attention.

* * *
“No way! Seriously?! You were Special Entrance number one?”
The moment Simon returned to his seat, Rowen shouted in excitement.
Simon tried to explain everything from the beginning, but the packed class schedule forced him to move to the lecture hall immediately.
Though it was the Entrance Ceremony and the school’s first day, there was no time for celebration. The first class began at once.
Simon had been assigned to Class A. The first-year, first-semester curriculum had no specializations; fourteen classes operated in total.
Initially, more than sixty students attended classes together, though that number often dropped by half as the semester progressed, and classroom consolidations were far from uncommon.
When Simon entered Class A, he knew no one. Lorain wasn’t there, nor was Rowen—only Cindy Vivace, whom he’d seen at the bookstore, greeted him with “Hey! Special Entrance number one!” and that was all.
Still, being a new class where everyone felt awkward with one another, Simon was able to blend in reasonably well.
‘First class is Curse Studies.’
As Simon settled into a back seat, withdrew his textbook, and looked up, the students who’d been watching him from behind quickly turned away in embarrassment.
Simon gave a bitter smile and pretended not to notice.
Click!
The classroom door finally opened, and the professor entered. A thunderous cheer erupted from students who recognized him.
“Vahil Amagarr!”
“Really?”
When people think of the word Necromancer, some still conjure images of shadowy figures lurking in darkness, handling corpses in gloomy, sinister surroundings.
But those days belonged to the past now.
The modern Necromancers who had risen to prominence were smart, practical, refined, and trendy. If anything, it was the Priests who carried the rigid, conservative image.
And Vahil was one of the foremost representatives of this new generation of Necromancers.
Dressed in a pristine white suit from head to toe, Vahil possessed the proportions of a model.
A strikingly handsome young Necromancer in his late twenties, he was a core member of the Raven, Kizen’s elite force—a star of undeniable magnetism.
He was the absolute object of admiration for Kizen’s students.
Vahil smiled brightly at the cheers and waved. A few female students let out piercing squeals.
“Welcome, incoming students. I’m Vahil Amagarr, and I’ll be teaching Curse Studies for the first-year class this year.”
Another wave of cheers erupted. Vahil raised both hands and skillfully quieted the students, then removed the felt fedora from his head and set it on the lectern.
“Now then, shall we take attendance? Since this is your first time meeting each other, when I call your name, just give a brief introduction of yourselves.”
Vahil opened the attendance record.
“Jamie Victoria.”
“Yes! Professor, it’s truly an honor! I also want to follow in your footsteps……!”
Vahil reached out and cut Jamie off, then winked playfully.
“You’re not introducing yourself to me—you’re introducing yourself to your classmates here. Again.”
Scattered laughter rippled through the room. Jamie Victoria’s face reddened as she offered brief remarks about looking forward to the semester.
Jamie launched into a straightforward introduction, and the rest of the class followed suit with unremarkable pleasantries.
Simon saw no advantage in standing out further at this point, so he kept his own introduction brief and neutral.
A few students used the moment to showcase themselves for group assignments, while others affected an air of effortless superiority—as if to say, “I’m talented; you should know this already.”
“Quite the collection of distinctive personalities here. Excellent.”
Vahil set down the attendance register, rolled up his sleeves, and approached the blackboard.
“Then, let us begin the lesson.”
Tap. Tap-tap.
He gripped the chalk and wrote three characters in bold strokes across the board: Curse Studies. He’d pressed so hard while writing the final character that the chalk snapped and flew across the room.
Vahil picked up a fresh piece of chalk without missing a beat.
“Let’s start with a fundamental question. Why should we study Curse Studies?”
From the very first words, Vahil possessed a magnetism that drew everyone in. Every student sat forward, neck craned, refusing to miss a single syllable.
“Can anyone here offer a definition of a curse?”
The bespectacled girl sitting directly in front of Simon threw her hand up immediately.
“I’m Claudia Mengis! A curse is a form of Dark Magic that weakens an opponent while preserving my own strength!”
“Excellent. Claudia.”
Vahil’s praise sent a flush across the girl’s face.
“However, the phrase ‘weakens an opponent’ alone might not resonate clearly with everyone here. Very well. Imagine two knights, both possessing Equal Strength.”
Vahil shifted the chalk into a vertical grip, mimicking the stance of a sword.
“These two knights clash their blades and begin a ferocious duel. They trade blow after blow, draining each other’s stamina, waiting for their opponent to slip up or expose an opening.”
Vahil wrote “Exhaust” across the board.
“After some twenty exchanges, the opponent refuses to fall. Then one knight roars a battle cry—a primal howl—and locks eyes with a murderous intent. The opposing knight flinches involuntarily, his expression growing visibly shaken.”
Vahil wrote “Pressure” on the board.
“At last, the blade finds its mark, biting across the opponent’s shoulder. Blood sprays. His movements grow unstable, faltering. Momentum shifts. Victory draws near!”
Vahil wrote “Bleeding” on the board.
With each passing moment of the duel, the list of terms on the blackboard grew longer.
Every single one was a type of Curse spell wielded by Necromancers.
The students’ palms grew slick with sweat, and Vahil’s voice climbed toward a crescendo.
“And finally! The knight severs his opponent’s head from his shoulders!”
Vahil’s arm dropped, the chalk fell still, and the lecture hall fell silent as a tomb.
After letting his gaze sweep across every student, Vahil smiled faintly and wrote one final spell on the board: “Doom.”
Gasps of awe erupted throughout the room.
“Now do you see? Even mankind’s most primal, most savage form of combat—the simple clash of weapons—is nothing more than a series of sequential steps toward weakening the opponent and seizing victory.”
Vahil picked up a fresh piece of chalk.
“Now let’s observe a modern Necromancer at war.”
He sketched a crude stick figure on the board.
“How does a Necromancer defeat this opponent?”
Vahil circled all the curse spells he’d written, then drew a sweeping line from the circle toward the figure, connecting them.
“Victory.”
“Ah…!”
“Curses are among the lightest forms of Dark Magic, possessing the simplest structure and enabling the swiftest application. With minimal effort, they can completely destabilize an opponent—remarkably efficient, wouldn’t you say?”
Vahil winked at a male student in the front row, then swept his arm through the air and unleashed an Exhaust Curse at point-blank speed.
“Ugh!”
The boy collapsed into his seat, paralyzed, his eyes darting helplessly about.
Vahil strolled toward him with unhurried steps.
“This is precisely—”
He drew the Mana Sword from the student’s bag and mimed a downward slash across the boy’s throat.
“—what a modern Necromancer’s duel looks like.”
Roaring cheers!
The exhilarated students leaped to their feet, their applause thunderous.
Vahil grinned broadly, bowed in acknowledgment, then released the curse binding the student.
“I don’t know what specializations you’ll each pursue, but I’m confident that over eighty percent of this entering class will take my course again next semester. Curses are simply that versatile. Whatever your particular gift may be, remember this: slip curses into your opponent whenever the opportunity arises, piece by piece, and you’ll find yourself with the most efficient path to securing victory.”
He walked briskly back to the podium.
“Now, let me share something I think will pique your interest.”
He wrote new words on the board, directly beneath “Curse Studies.”
“I personally believe Curse Studies represents the core of modern Necromancy. The reason is simple.”
He wrote “Priest” on the board.
“It is the most efficient weapon we have against our primary adversary.”
He’d broached a sensitive subject right from the opening lecture. Instantly, fierce competitive fire blazed in every student’s eyes.
“So I ask you this: where we Necromancers command Curses, Priests command Blessings. Enhancement magic versus Weakening magic. And right here—”
Vahil smiled broadly.
“Can anyone explain what advantage curses hold over blessings?”
The classroom fell silent.
As students exchanged nervous glances, one hand shot up. It was Jamie Victoria, the first name called during roll.
Vahil nodded with a smile.
“Jamie Victoria. Curses have the advantage in casting speed over blessings! You can stack weakening effects on the same opponent much faster!”
“An intriguing perspective.”
Vahil crossed his arms.
“But you’re mistaken. If we’re speaking purely of casting speed, scholarly consensus holds that a Priest’s blessing is marginally faster than a curse, which must pierce through the opponent’s ‘resistance’ to take hold.”
Jamie bit her lip in disappointment and sank back into her seat.
“Does anyone else have a thought?”
A hand shot up suddenly.
The student had sharp, angular features and thick brows—a tall young man with a sturdy build.
“Hector Moore.”
“Go ahead.”
“Almost no one trains themselves while in a weakened state.”
It was an enigmatic answer, but a deep smile spread across Vahil’s lips.
“Student. What was your name again?”
“Hector Moore.”
“I’ll remember it.”
Ooooh—
Envious murmurs rippled through the crowd.
With a thousand freshmen competing for admission, being remembered by a professor dramatically increased one’s chances of survival. It was an enormous advantage.
“Hector is right. Weakening magic cannot be countered through training alone.”
Vahil swept his gaze across the assembled students.
“Everyone trains assuming they’re operating at peak condition. Skill is measured by what performance you can achieve when every variable remains within your control.”
The students nodded.
“Humans are far more delicate creatures than they appear. A speck of dust can break the machine. I need not sever an archer’s arm as he draws his bow. Blur his vision with conjunctivitis, make him nauseous, distort his sense of distance, or distract his attention elsewhere—and the arrow that should have found its mark may miss entirely.”
Vahil’s lips curved upward.
“Necromancers possess a multitude of tools to degrade an opponent’s condition. But consider this: when you’re exhausted, or when stomach pain is so severe your intestines feel like they’re tearing, do you really spend the day training to resist curses? No—you simply rest.”
Quiet laughter rippled among the students.
“So remember this: we must focus not on strengthening ourselves, but on finding ways to weaken our opponents.”
The students nodded and began moving their quills. Whatever he was saying sounded exactly like it would appear on an examination.
“Now then, let’s move on to learning Curse Studies directly.”
Simon, who had been jotting down notes by instinct, suddenly lifted his head.
‘Wait—Dark Magic on the very first lesson?’

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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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