Chapter 2

　　After Nephthys left, Simon endured the busiest week of his life. His father, Richard, who was always so relaxed, acted like a possessed man. His piercing gaze and sharp demeanor silenced any childish complaints like, Do I really have to go to Kizen?

　　Richard cast a spell on Simon’s body, a process he called creating a ‘Core’. All Simon knew was that it was an exercise in pure, unadulterated agony. After three sleepless days and nights, the construction of the Core was complete, and Simon boarded a carriage with his father. It was a large and luxurious coach, entirely out of place for their modest fiefdom. The unprecedented comfort of the cushions made Simon’s jaw drop.

　　"Stay safe, Simon." His mother, who had insisted on packing two weeks’ worth of lunches, waved with teary eyes. "If you feel like you can’t take it anymore, you can always come back to Leshill."

　　Richard, a famously doting husband, scolded her.

　　"What are you saying to a boy just taking his first steps into the world?"

　　Simon, who had never seen his parents argue, felt the reality of his changing life sink in.

　　"We’ll be departing now." The coachman pulled the reins, and the wheels began to roll. And so, the adventure of Simon Polentia, who had spent his entire life in Leshill, began.

　　It was, of course, far from a comfortable journey. Inside the carriage, Richard gave Simon a crash course in black magic.

　　"Breathe." The command was an instruction to use the specific breathing method Richard had taught him. Simon took a deep breath, drawing the ambient magic from the air into his body. He had practiced it countless times, so it came easily.

　　"Now, slowly move the mana inside you and pass it through the Core." Richard placed a hand on Simon’s chest to guide him. Simon carefully channeled the river of mana through the Core situated just below his heart. Something had changed. The once fluid energy now felt more viscous, more solid.

　　"Guide the mana down your arm," Richard instructed. "Yes, just like that. Release it from your hand."

　　With the sensation of a blocked dam bursting open, a black liquid beaded on Simon’s palm like sweat. As Simon stared at it, blinking, Richard smiled gently.

　　"Well done, Simon. This is ‘Jet-Black,’ the very source of a necromancer’s power."

　　According to Richard, knights and mages had once ruled the continent. Now, they were a dying breed, pushed aside by the necromancers who had become the new dominant power. Knights couldn’t overcome a necromancer’s sheer numbers, and mages fell behind in casting speed and destructive force.

　　"The greatest difference between a mage and a necromancer," Richard explained, extending his left hand, "is the existence of Jet-Black." Blue mana shimmered above his palm like a heat haze. "Mana has the properties of a gas. Its low density makes it difficult to bind, and it tends to scatter into the atmosphere."

　　He then extended his right hand. A viscous black liquid welled up like a spring and trickled down his palm.

　　"Jet-Black, on the other hand, has properties closer to a solid or a liquid. Composed of dense magic, it is easy to bind and can be freely shaped."

　　The liquid suddenly shot upward, reforming in the air. It morphed into a flower, then a wave, then a snake flicking its tongue, and even a spinning windmill.

　　"Whoa…!"

　　Just as Simon gasped in admiration at the splendid show, the Jet-Black amalgamated into a magic circle. Constructed from numerous runes, the circle began to leak a red light, pulsing like an impending explosion. A chill ran down his spine, and the hair on his arms stood on end. Something incredible was about to happen—!

　　Richard clenched his fist, and the magic circle shattered. The ashes drifted to the floor and slowly vanished.

　　"Those who wield power through this Jet-Black… we call them necromancers."

　　Simon nodded, mesmerized.

　　"We don’t have much time, so there is little I can teach you. For now, focus on the basic practice of drawing out Jet-Black with your Core."

　　"Yes, Father!"

　　The practice was more enjoyable than he’d expected. At first, only a single drop formed on his palm, but with time, its size grew and its shape began to change. Seeing such evident progress, Simon lost all track of time. Richard, satisfied with his son’s rapid advancement, guided him without pressure.

　　A monstrous rate of achievement, Richard thought, though he didn’t let it show. From simple emission to shape-shifting in just three days. This is truly not normal.

　　Considering it took an average person anywhere from six months to two years to achieve shape-shifting, it was no exaggeration to say Simon was born for this. Even as his teacher and father, Richard felt a shiver of awe from time to time. He had always known about Simon’s talent, of course. He had simply been waiting for the right time to create the Core. Talent that blossomed before one’s character was fully formed was a poison. Richard regretted his own tyrannical youth more than anyone and had no desire to see his son repeat his mistakes.

　　But now, the time had finally come for Simon’s talent to bloom. The entire continent would be astonished by his arrival. The mere thought sent a thrill through Richard’s body, making it difficult to sit still.

　　"Father! Look!" Simon conjured a flickering, flame-like wisp of Jet-Black above his palm.

　　Richard observed it with a serious expression.

　　"Dark blue. A beautiful shade of Jet-Black with a slight azure tint."

　　"Is that good? Am I one of a kind? Am I talented?" Simon asked eagerly.

　　"It just looks cool, that’s all."

　　Simon’s face fell, and he sullenly resumed his practice. Richard turned away, barely managing to suppress a smile. Even just keeping a straight face isn’t easy.

　　Time flew by. Before Simon knew it, another week had passed.

　　"This is as far as I can go with you, Simon," Richard announced suddenly.

　　Simon’s heart sank.

　　"I thought you were taking me all the way to Kizen."

　　"I’m sorry, but due to certain circumstances, I cannot set foot in the Dresden Kingdom. From here on, you must make your own decisions and act on them."

　　A terrifying pressure washed over him, and he swallowed hard. Having lived in Leshill for seventeen years, it would be a lie to say he wasn’t afraid. Just then, Richard squeezed his hand tightly.

　　"I promise you, my son. You will do better than anyone. And," Richard added with a gentle smile, "I am truly proud of you."

　　Hearing his father’s praise for the first time, Simon felt a lump form in his throat.

　　"I’ll be going now, Father."

　　After parting ways with Richard, Simon spent the rest of the journey alone in the spacious carriage, focusing on his Jet-Black training. Another week passed.

　　"Whoa…!"

　　He had arrived in Langerstine, the capital of the Dresden Kingdom. His first impression of a great city was one of pure, overwhelming awe. The towering buildings, the chaotic rush of carriages, the swarming crowds—it was a sight unlike anything he had ever seen, and it made his head spin.

　　"Move! Out of the way!"

　　Simon jumped back in surprise as a massive carriage, over sixteen feet wide, hurtled down a steep slope. Pulling it was a horse made entirely of gaunt, skeletal bones.

　　Undead!

　　They were everywhere, brazenly roaming the city center. From pulling carriages and rickshaws to handing out flyers in the square, the undead were a common sight in an era dominated by necromancers.

　　I need to keep my wits about me. Simon lightly slapped his cheeks and pulled a crumpled note from his pocket.

　　239 Campbell Road, Langerstine SL1E 6AJ.

　　Guide is waiting

　　I just need to find this address, right? Simon steeled his resolve. Langerstine or Leshill, they were both just places where people lived. All he had to do was find this address, meet the guide, and he’d be on his way to Kizen. But the note alone gave him no clue. Finally, he approached a woman with voluminous blonde hair who had her back to him.

　　"E-Excuse me, ma’am. May I ask you something?"

　　The moment the woman turned, Simon froze in horror. One of her eyes was popped out, dangling by a thread of sinew.

　　"What is it, dear?" she asked, her voice raspy.

　　It’s rude to flinch. It’s rude to flinch. Simon desperately calmed his racing heart and forced a smile.

　　"I’d like to go to the address on this paper…"

　　"An address? Let’s see." The dangling eyeball suddenly stretched out and scanned the paper. Cold sweat trickled down Simon’s back. He bit his lip hard, managing to stifle a gasp.

　　"Ah, Campbell Road? It’s a famous spot in Langerstine. Go around that square up ahead, and on your right, you’ll see an alley paved with golden tiles."

　　"Oh…! Thank you so much!" Simon bowed deeply.

　　The woman fanned herself, covering her mouth as she giggled.

　　"Such a polite little one. A rare sight these days. I wish you good fortune in Langerstine."

　　This is going better than I thought it would! After thanking her once more, Simon strode vigorously toward the square.

　　Unseen by him, a man who had been quietly watching the entire exchange approached the woman, just as Simon had.

* * *

　　Finally, Campbell Road. This city was ridiculously complicated. After wandering for twenty minutes, Simon finally found the street. Just as the woman had said, the tiles were painted gold.

　　239, 239….

　　He walked along, checking the address on each building, note in hand.

　　"Excuse me."

　　A man suddenly appeared before him. He was bald, with beads of sweat on his forehead. He took out a handkerchief, wiped his brow, and spoke in a polite tone.

　　"Are you perhaps heading to 239 Campbell Road, specifically SL1E 6AJ?"

　　Simon’s eyes widened. How did he know the exact address?

　　"Oh! Are you the guide sent by Mr. Haul…?"

　　The man nodded.

　　"Yes, I am Mr. Haul’s guide! You were late, so I came looking, thinking you might have gotten lost."

　　Simon let out a great sigh of relief.

　　"I’ve finally found you. My name is Simon Polentia."

　　"I am Raully, a Langerstine guide. This way, please. You must be tired from your journey, so I’ll show you to your lodgings first."

　　Simon nodded and followed.

　　"It’s about a fifteen-minute walk. I’ll take the fastest route."

　　"Thank you!"

　　Leaving Campbell Road, they wound through a series of twisting alleys. Simon looked around, fascinated. Houses were packed so tightly that there was almost no wasted space. The population of this city alone seemed several times larger than that of the entire Leshill fiefdom.

　　"I was really worried, sir," Raully rambled on. "It’s dangerous for an outsider to wander Langerstine without a guide. They say you can get swindled right under your nose. The city is swarming with opportunists, pickpockets, robbers, and unscrupulous merchants who prey on unsuspecting travelers. When we get to the lodgings, I’ll teach you a few phrases in the local dialect. It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing."

　　"Aha," Simon said, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "So you’re planning to swindle me, too."

　　Raully stopped dead in his tracks.

　　"S-Sir? What do you mean by that…?"

　　"You have a habit of glancing down at your vest," Simon observed, pointing his index finger. "You even patted the lower pocket once, didn’t you? To check if something was still there. Judging by the pocket’s width and the wrinkles, I’d say there’s a knife inside."

　　Raully turned to face Simon, a cold sweat breaking out on his brow.

　　"That… yes. You’re right."

　　He admitted it readily, revealing the handle of a knife in his vest pocket.

　　"I told you, didn’t I? Langerstine is a dangerous place. In a narrow alley like this, you never know who you might run into…"

　　"And more importantly," Simon interrupted, a grin spreading across his face as he cradled the back of his head, "that man I mentioned earlier, Haul? I made him up. You took the bait the moment I said I was looking for his guide. Haul is the name of my neighbor Johnson’s prized goat. Are you perhaps running an errand for a goat?"

　　The friendly smile on Raully’s face hardened into a scowl.

　　"S-So you followed me knowing it was a trap? Who the hell are you?!"