I Became The Academy Necromancer

“It’s truly a relief that this battle isn’t being shown to the civilians.”

Orpheus, who was watching the battle between the necromancer Deus Verdi and the Mage Magistrate Tyren Ol Velocus, shared his candid feelings.

If the masses had witnessed this, their fear of dark magic would only have intensified.

Lightning and storms, terror and chill —

Necromancers were generally known for merely imbuing their mana with malice to execute destructive spells.

— But what lay before his eyes seemed nothing short of a natural catastrophe.

The Grand Magus and his apprentices had already sprung up from their seats, analyzing the multitude of spells raining down.

“It appears that the main spells are Prophet Benton’s unique magic of ‘Wave of Terror’ and the ‘Blade Storm’ that Grahan used to employ.”

“All these unique spells from past criminals. Can this truly be the spectacle produced by a single individual?”

“M-Master.”

“......”

Standing here, witnessing firsthand how many have been executed here, one can’t help but feel a complex swirl of emotions.

The great spells of powerful figures, long lost in the annals of history, manifested as their unique, awe-inspiring selves, assaulting Magistrate Tyren.

Even for an Archmage, replicating this spectacle would be nigh impossible.

And yet, hunched within that storm, Tyren stood like a steel statue, facing everything head-on.

But.

In the end, this battle was a race against time.

Continual resistance alone won’t bring victory, especially in this execution ground where countless have already perished.

If Tyren remains passive, his defeat will only become more inevitable.

And he knew that too. Thus…

Bang!

Amidst the ferocious bombardment of magic, he, somehow, took a heavy step forward.

* * *

For a spirit to use its own mana, a strong will is required.

Generally, that will is rooted in resentment.

Only when the resentment is so profound that it can substitute for a physical body can the spirit use its own mana in its spectral form.

For example, the woman with a half-burned face, who was currently accompanying Illuania was such a case.

Otherwise, she’d be no different from ambient mana drifting in the atmosphere—merely more concentrated.

That’s why it was surprising.

Many of the departed souls in the execution ground had, surprisingly, left the world without any lingering regrets, finding their own peace.

It seemed they had each closed their eyes in their own individual moments of realization.

Some had closed their eyes entrusting their lingering concerns to posterity, despite their sorrow.

Others, having lived a carefree, hedonistic life, closed their eyes laughing, thinking, “I’ve had my fun; time to go.”

Some welcomed their own death, saying they could finally return to the embrace of God.

If not for Lemegeton, known as Spirit Stone, awakening these spirits would have been a failure from the start.

[It feels like my head is going to explode!]

“You won’t die.”

The Dark Sage possessing me was aiding in the conversion of numerous souls’ mana into magic.

I wasn’t the one fighting.

After awakening the spirits and transforming those souls who lacked resentment into clumps of magical mana, they would go forth and fight of their own accord.

Chieftain Katoler became a violent bolt of lightning, striking down upon Tyren.

Pirate King Oulman transformed himself into a pistol bullet, launching forward.

Prophet Benton became a massive wave of fire, sweeping across the land.

Strategist Foltman turned into a spear of ice, stabbing Tyren from a blind spot.

Grahan of Silence became a blade-like storm, preventing Tyren from stepping forward recklessly.

[Really, this is incredible.]

“…….”

Finding a moment’s respite, the Dark Sage opened her mouth while observing the spectacle before us.

[You’ve far surpassed the standards of a necromancer.]

“It’s because of Lemegeton, and the advantage of this location played a significant role as well.”

Even as I gave a candid yet cold assessment of myself, the Dark Sage didn’t disagree.

After all, the advantage of the execution ground as a location had led to this result. Magistrates knew about this advantage as well, but they still chose this place to maintain the formality of an execution.

They were paying a steep price for it though.

[Did you enjoy beheading me?!]

[O, Magistrate! Raise your head once more! Why does that staff remain silent!]

[Kekeke! Idiot! You’re impressively good at taking hits!]

Tyren, who was hunched over, remained utterly still. The giant mana that was tearing through the sky had now become eerily calm.

Tyren’s magical armor had already begun to distort. Scratches and scorch marks were spreading from all directions on armor that everyone thought was impenetrable.

Then, Tyren, coiled up like a hedgehog, slightly lifted his head.

Although countless spells obstructed my vision, by a twist of fate or mere coincidence, our eyes met.

I reached out my hand.

“Come.”

Boom!

The heavy footsteps, seemingly of a giant, pounded against the ground as he advanced. From that point, a torrential gust of mana began to clear a path.

The concentrated mana expanded violently, forming a transparent tunnel, and carving out a singular passage.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Declaring the moment of reckoning, Tyren straightened his back and began to advance.

[Stop him! Stop that bastard!]

[Where do you think you’re going!]

[Tyren! Look into my eyes!]

Countless evil spirits began to rush towards Tyren once more.

The tunnel of focused mana had undoubtedly played a significant role for Tyren. Had he stayed put, he might have been buried and perished right there and then.

It had at least allowed him to escape the encirclement.

But it couldn’t offer more than that.

The tunnel created by the torrent of mana began to crumble under the heavy onslaught.

Just a few steps and once again, he was subjected to a bombardment of magic spells.

“Ugh, weak!”

Even as he shouldered it all on his broad back, Tyren did not falter.

His sturdy legs showed no signs of stopping despite their trembling.

“You think this is enough to stop the execution!”

Boom!

With each step, the ground beneath him caved in. The mana was so potent it pushed away the incoming spells.

It was no longer mere mana.

It was something else, intermingled with determination and belief.

A transcendent will, something you’d only see in the departed, was fiercely present in Tyren’s eyes.

“So this was it! The weight of death I’ve been carrying!”

Boom!

Lodging the staff in the ground, Tyren pulled himself, advancing forward.

“Is this all! The culmination of my deeds, the countless lives I’ve taken to protect the kingdom!”

The magical armor that had been shielding him was already tattered, failing to perform its role.

The edge of his cloak was fraying, and the shoulder armor was cracked—the broken pieces falling to the ground.

“If it’s really the weight of my Karma—It’s light!”

He didn’t even have the energy to wipe the blood streaming from his forehead. His vision was tinged with red, making it hard to see clearly ahead.

“Infinitely! It’s infinitely light!”

The steps of the Magistrate were consistently moving forward.

His heavy, conviction-filled steps never hesitated as they approached me.

To protect the kingdom called Griffin. To uphold the justice he believed in.

Tyren Ol Velocus was a man who embodied righteousness to the point of being rigid.

“I’ve borne the grudges of a hundred, and saved a thousand souls! Deads! How dare you obstruct my path!”

[Where do you think you’re going?!]

[I will kill you! I will stop you!]

[Your debts have not yet been cleared!]

The mana of the resentful spirits wasn’t infinite.

As their firepower gradually weakened, the spirits stopped pouring out crude spells and began to cling directly to Tyren.

They grabbed at his feet, hung onto his shoulders, wrapped their hands around his waist, and strangled his neck.

It was as if countless evil spirits were trying to drag him to hell, and Tyren was resisting their pull.

As the Chief magistrate, he had executed many.

There were those who may have been wronged, and those who rightly deserved death.

Not only were there criminals who had violated the kingdom’s laws, but there were also generals from rival nations, and chieftains of immigrant tribes who had lost in war.

Undoubtedly, each had their own story.

But my intent wasn’t to alleviate the resentment of these spirits.

I was simply unleashing all of my prowess as a necromancer to defeat this man named Tyren.

“Remarkable.”

Thus, I couldn’t help but genuinely admire.

The sight of him bearing the hatred of countless deceased souls to protect the Griffin Kingdom...

It reminded me of the legendary titan, Atlas, who held up the sky in myths.

Boom.

Finally.

His steps had reached his destination.

Standing before me, his appearance was utterly wretched.

His armor and staff were shattered, and the mana he’d focused on for defense was completely drained.

Sweat and blood stained him, and “ragged” would be an understatement for his scorched body.

“For the... kingdom.”

His trembling hand lifts, and his hefty fist gently touches my chest.

Struggling, he rasps out a few words with a voice as if choked by dust.

“Execution... must be...”

My clothes were stained, soaked with his blood.

Thud.

And that was it.

In the end, once…

Just once, after touching me, he falls to his knees, head bowed low.

A faint breath was the only indication that he still lived.

But his limp body signaled he had passed out.

An eerie silence enveloped the surroundings.

Magistrates who had been observing the execution rushed forward.

Their faces were filled with awe and respect, and some were even shedding tears.

Seeing their leader, who hadn’t retreated an inch even when facing the formidable dark wizard dubbed the “evil of the kingdom,” their emotions seemed overwhelmingly stirred.

Swish.

As one person saluted Tyren,

Swish, swish, swish.

Others followed suit, directing their salutes toward him as well, filled with reverence.

Even in dire circumstances, his unwavering adherence to his own beliefs and justice was undoubtedly noble and worthy of praise.

Thus, I too placed my hand on my chest and bowed.

“I respect… Your steel conviction.”

--- End of The Chapter ---

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