The Obsessive Regressor of The Academy

47. Sanctuary

Necromancer. A type of mage who forcibly revives souls already dead and crumbled, subjugating them. Unlike corpse manipulators who deal with the physical form of corpses, they wield mystical miracles using the abstract concept of souls.

A technique impossible to even attempt without an understanding of souls and the talent to manipulate them. Not a unique magic, but a heretical art with comparable levels of danger and difficulty.

Like corpse manipulators who handle corpses, or blood mages who deal with the source of life, blood, necromancers also needed to abandon a certain degree of humanity to achieve greatness.

From the 7th Circle, where magic began to acquire its unique characteristics, they gradually began to forsake human morality, and those who reached the 8th Circle of Archmage were practically devoid of humanity altogether.

The mage before them was such a being. Gervill, Aena, like great Archmages. A monster who had long since lost the heart of a human. A high-ranking mage who acted solely on their own judgment and reason.

“We have to run.”

Warren muttered. The others didn’t turn to look at him, but agreed with his words in silence.

They couldn’t possibly win. Archmages were treated as major national assets, each and every one. To argue about their chances of victory against such a mage, when they were still mere academy students? It was absurd. It was not courage, but arrogance and recklessness.

At this moment, even talent didn’t matter much.

Asel gritted her teeth, racking her brain to overcome the current situation.

Resistance would only buy them a momentary reprieve. To survive, they needed to escape this place first.

But how?

The moment that question arose, the countless souls that had sprung up behind her spasmed, as if chained. They listed meaningless words, drooled and shrieked, as if ready to pounce at any moment.

It didn’t matter if they had been great warriors or intelligent mages in life. Now, they were nothing more than wraiths who lived only to kill others.

However, their abilities were the same as in life. Even at a glance, there were high-ranking warriors and mages aplenty. Talent that would be hard to find anywhere else numbered in the dozens, at least.

And even they were just a means to assist the necromancer. The most dangerous thing in this place was the necromancer themself, wielding souls directly.

Asel swallowed hard and stacked shields, one atop another, to protect her body. The necromancer saw this and wore a languid smile.

“I trust you’re all ready. I think I’ve given you plenty of time to prepare.”

“……”

“Then, let’s begin.”

She said, extending her hand forward.

That was the signal. The shackles binding the souls broke. They surged forward in unison, eager to taste the blood and flesh of the living. The mages chanted, the warriors drew their weapons and quickened their pace.

“…!”

A speed so great, it almost eluded even Asel’s heightened senses. Yet, he could discern the blurred path of their swords. He gritted his teeth and clapped his hands with savage force. Instead of applause, a thunderous roar erupted from his grip.

A tiny spark leapt out in the direction of the sound.

Then, that spark became dozens of tendrils of lightning, engulfing everything the sound reached.

[Thunderous Advance Break (雷聲破進)]

KWA-aaa-aaa-aaa!!

High-level magic used to face armies, to reshape landscapes. Its power needed no further explanation.

But most of the specters filling the cave had seen their share of battle in life. They couldn’t withstand the speed and destructive force of lightning magic entirely, but they could divert it, minimize the impact.

Because of this, the wraiths circling Asel lost limbs left and right, but they did not return to the spirit realm.

Not without severing the link to the necromancer, they were beings that regenerated endlessly. Partial dismemberment meant nothing to them.

“Son of a…!”

Quill’s curse reached Asel’s ears. But he couldn’t spare a glance. He calculated the trajectory of a fireball flying towards him, dismantled it, and used it as fuel for his own magic.

[Great Flame Return Pillar (太炎回柱)]

KWA-Ruuu!!

A massive pillar of flame rotated fiercely around Asel. Those who sensed the afterimage of mana hastily retreated, while the torsos of those who didn’t were torn apart as if melting.

Meaningless damage. With newly regenerated arms, they sliced through the flames and swung their swords at Asel’s neck.

Instinctively, Asel placed a shield in the path of the blade, but the shield shattered like glass without offering any resistance. The aura of a master-level wraith sliced through the shield like tofu, closing in to sever Asel’s head.

Asel scrunched up his face and jerked his head back just in time. He narrowly avoided losing his head, but half of his left ear was sliced off.

“Kuh…!”

Blood splattered in his peripheral vision. Through the blood, a spear flew towards him. He plucked a strand of mana, bound the spear shaft, and redirected its path. At the same moment, an assassin cloaked in stealth magic approached and plunged a dagger into Asel’s back.

The sharp pain, the first he’d felt since becoming a mage, set his mind ablaze. Asel coughed up blood as he seized the assassin’s head with telekinesis and burst it. He then pulverized the surrounding swords, spears, arrows, and magic that were flying towards him by adding mass to them.

The relentless barrage paused for a moment. Asel seized the opportunity, spitting out the lump that had risen in his throat, along with blood.

“Ugh!”

Chunks of red organ fell to the ground with a squelch. Part of his organs had been sliced off by the assassin’s dagger. He gritted his teeth and pulled the dagger from his back, throwing it to the ground.

Humm.

He focused mana into his eyes. His vision, now bordering on the mystical, took in the situation of his companions.

Quill’s ankle was twisted backward. Thankfully, nothing had been severed, but a deep gash remained on his side. A deep burn mark was etched into his left forearm, likely from a magical attack.

Warren was on the verge of death. Blood bubbled in his throat with every breath, likely from a deep cut to his neck. A spirit was sharing its life force with him, keeping him alive for now, but he would surely die within minutes.

Saya was impaled by a spear that had pierced her abdomen, unable to move. Blood continued to pour from her mouth, and though she was defending against the wraiths’ attacks with her foxfire, her life force was visibly draining away in real time.

Thanks to the dead swarming Assel so diligently, the number of enemies they had to face wasn’t overwhelming, but the difference in ability was undeniable. Without experience or high standing, there was no way they could last long against the undead.

In the end, only Assel remained relatively unscathed. He glared at the necromancer, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth.

“……b*tch.”

The curse escaped him involuntarily as the situation grew dire. The necromancer wore a serene smile as she heard his outburst.

“Those nearing death can be divided into two types: those who struggle to the very end, and those who accept their fate. You are the former.”

“……”

“I like beings like that. They’re difficult to control when turned, their wills so strong, but there’s such a flavor to breaking them. Those you’re fighting now? They aren’t like that. Not even my elite soldiers, you see. Simply vermin to be used and discarded.”

“Shut up.”

“But worry not. I have no intention of discarding you.”

She stretched her lips in a wide, predatory grin, her eyes sweeping over Assel with lust.

“The way you wield all manner of magic, including electric spells… I’ve watched with great interest. Even the beginning signs of awakening a Mana Eye. Wonderful. You shall be one of my personal guard.”

“……”

“And I shall show your teacher, my dear sister, the sight of you as one of the undead. A most delightful experience, I assure you.”

“Sister?”

The word, impossible to ignore, burst forth. Assel’s mind stalled for a heartbeat, and the necromancer gave him a soft, motherly look.

“Enough chatter. And hardly the situation for you to be asking questions, is it?”

As she spoke, she lightly snapped her fingers. One of the mages arrayed behind her instantly unleashed a spell without warning. Assel ground his teeth, reversing the magic’s trajectory.

A strange sight, to be struck by one’s own spell. Yet, the undead did not panic. Neither did the necromancer.

Her smile unwavering, she crushed the approaching magic with a flick of her wrist, all the while looking down at Assel.

Assel ripped his gaze from her, using repulsion to blast a spearman rushing towards him.

She was right.

To fixate on questions when teetering on the brink of death was madness. What mattered was escaping this place, unscathed.

Assel swallowed the bile rising in his throat, retrieving a gemstone from his pocket.

A magical medium, adorned with a system of etched runes. Without hesitation, Assel hurled the gem to the ground. Dozens of magical circles bloomed into existence in the air, and he poured mana into those that were most useful to him, activating them in concert.

[Thunder Mist]

[Smog]

[Fire Banner Aggression]

[Lightning Flower Resonance]

Magic of every variety ignited simultaneously.

Lightning filled the space like a dense fog.

Smoke curls, filling the cavern, a colossal banner of flame staked into the earth, spitting fire.

Lightning-forged blossoms bloom on all sides, resonating with each other, forming a field of thunder.

A feast of magic consuming the space. Asel, leaving the restless dead unable to approach, connected his threads of mana to Warren and Quill, writhing in agony. He hoisted them into the air, rushing toward Saya.

The two, still tethered, collapsed the moment their feet touched the ground. Quill, with a leg crushed and innards spilling from his side, could barely stand. Warren, he did nothing more than gasp for breath.

Saya, pinned by the spear, fared no better. She choked up blood, eyes wide with terror as Asel drew near.

“H-How…? Are we… Are we going to die here? I don’t want to… I still have so much… My family, my family is still…!”

“You won’t,”

Asel managed, his voice barely a croak.

Saya, perhaps no longer hearing him, continued to mutter to herself. With each word, blood bubbled, staining her white clothes crimson. She was far from well.

As were all of them here.

Asel, forcing his blurring vision clear, activated a spell. A magic that would staunch the bleeding somewhat, but insufficient to avert death. Even perfect coagulation would not be a fundamental solution, would not save them.

And to deal with the necromancer?

Madness. Her elite soldiers were yet to appear, and how could they hope to kill a necromancer, clearly superior to them, when their own strength was spent?

The only path to survival was escape. An obvious truth, but in their current state, breaking through the necromancer’s defenses and reaching the passage was impossible. Suicide, nothing more. Not even worth the attempt.

That left one remaining option for flight.

The teleportation formula Asel had witnessed firsthand. A complex magic that, upon fulfilling certain conditions, transported them to a pre-set coordinate.

The formula appeared, vivid as a painting, in his mind.

No time for refinements. Instead of calculating, Asel poured vast amounts of mana into drawing the magic circle, initiating its activation. The circle glowed, beginning to calculate the conditions for its activation.

Assessing the critically injured, identifying the four most severely wounded, and sending an emergency alarm to the Academy’s medical wing.

At the same time, the magic activated. Light erupted from the bodies of the dying, initiating the transport to the designated coordinate – the infirmary they had used during the Academy entrance exam.

“Such frivolousness.”

*Thwack!*

Just as the magic was about to take hold, a mana arrow, from an unseen source, hurtled towards Asel’s head. He layered shields in its path, reinforcing them with both hands, but the arrow shattered the shields and buried itself deep into his hands.

“Argh…!”

He was spared a head wound, thankfully, but the force of the arrow knocked Asel out of the magic circle.

He refused to stop the magic, though. Gritting his teeth, he maintained the flow of mana, triggering the teleportation. He sent his companions to the injured ward where they were tested during the admission for the academy.

The mana consumed had grown exponentially, because it wasn’t only for him, but was intended as a wide-area spell. This made it possible to use unfamiliar teleportation magic precisely, but left the caster stuck in the cave.

A futile result. Yet, Asel did not panic. Using telekinesis, he yanked the arrows from his hands, spitting out a mouthful of blood.

In the rolling motion, his already injured organs had taken grievous damage.

A sense of his life being cut short, in an instant. Asel bit his lip until it bled, and with blood-slicked hands, pulled something from his pocket. Before the necromancer could identify it, he channeled mana, slamming Asel’s body into the ground.

“Gkhuk!”

Asel’s face slammed against the stone floor. The impact was enough to make his head spin. He could barely lift his eyes to meet the necromancer’s gaze, pinned as he was beneath crushing pressure.

Her perpetually composed face was now contorted with thick, unpleasant annoyance.

“My miscalculation,” she said, rising to her feet.

“I hadn’t anticipated you could employ teleportation magic. From the moment I realized it, I attempted to interfere, but it was impenetrable. Bizarrely so. Consequently, all I could manage was to push you outwards, rather than interfere. Despite that, the spell activated, and everyone but you escaped unharmed, it seems.”

“…”

“A truly unpleasant experience. Had I known, I would have dispatched elite soldiers from the start, or perhaps come myself. My penchant for witnessing the soul’s departure from a dying vessel has proven to be a hindrance.”

“Still… hngh… so loquacious…”

Even speaking was difficult under the weight pressing on his chest. Still, Asel sneered at her.

The white strand of hair clutched in his right hand flickered faintly.

“You people always were… Zervil, that b*stard too, haa… he was quite the talker…”

“You know Zervil, it seems. Ah, yes. Your previous reaction indicated as much.”

*Clack, clack.*

The necromancer approached Asel as she spoke. The vengeful dead, their mouths watering, parted to clear her path.

“Come to think of it, Zervil mentioned an interest in Ena’s apprentice. Seems you’ve met somewhere. How very… amusing.”

She grinned and yanked Asel up by his hair. Their gazes met in the air.

“What reaction might he have when I return with your soul to the one who craves your corpse? Will that drug addict become genuinely enraged, or will he simply laugh it off, as he always does? I wonder. Oh, how I wonder.”

“…Not inclined… to indulge…”

Asel mumbled, his voice thick with the taste of blood, and lowered his head. The necromancer laughed at him.

“That is for *me* to decide. Not you.”

“No.”

Asel spoke without lifting his head, only his eyes rising to meet hers.

” *I* decide.”

In that instant, two different spells erupted simultaneously from his hands. A subtle surge of power, so discreet that even the necromancer failed to notice. Not enough to kill her, but sufficient to rob her of her sight for a fleeting moment.

The blood from the arrow wounds. He manipulated that blood to draw a magic circle, scraping together every last scrap of mana. Two spells, fueled by desperation.

[Ascending Thunderclap]

*Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzt!!!*

Lightning coalesced from Asel’s left hand, which was pressed to the floor, then burst forth, shooting upwards. The necromancer clicked her tongue and took a step back as Asel used the thunder’s recoil to propel himself away.

He slammed into a wall in the process, momentarily blacking out, but even as he did, he continued to activate the magic blooming in his right hand.

He ripped apart the intricacies of the teleportation spell that had safely whisked his companions away, instantly refashioning it into a magic reliant on a specific catalyst.

A simple, limited magic that transported him to the location containing the catalyst’s inherent mana. As his medium, Asel chose a strand of white hair he always carried, intended for a swift reply once his messenger raven returned.

There was no need to contemplate whose it was.

“…!”

The necromancer, comprehending the magic’s essence, contorted her face, manifesting magic directly for the first time. Souls coalesced, forming a sphere launched as if to obliterate Asel entirely.

Remaining there would mean his entire body crushed before the teleportation spell even activated. But instead of reacting, Asel closed his eyes, forcibly extinguishing all sensation.

Already on the precipice of death, his talent reached beyond even the grave.

Imitating the dead wasn’t difficult at all.

“…Ah.”

A world devoid of all sensation. A realm of death where neither the five senses nor the ability to perceive mana remained. For some reason, Asel felt a tree growing beyond that darkness as he slowly opened his eyes. Simultaneously, all sensation returned.

What his re-opened eyes beheld was the necromancer, a limb severed by the very magic he’d employed, and a bracelet on his right wrist radiating light. Asel grinned faintly, saying to the bewildered necromancer staring at him,

“So, that’s how this artifact functions.”

“…You.”

“Thank you. I’m taking away quite a lot, thanks to you.”

He met her devilishly twisted face head-on.

“See you next time. I’ll have quite a bit to say then.”

He received no reply. The teleportation spell, erupting from Asel’s right hand, activated instantly, locking onto the location of the catalyst’s mana.

His body vanished from the cavern in the blink of an eye.

The necromancer, left utterly alone, did not even think to stop the cascade of blood, and then gave a hollow laugh.

“…Haha.”

Soon, the hollow laughter transformed into maniacal howling.

“Ahahahahaha!!!”

A contradictory laughter interwoven with rage, fascination, and delight. She stood there for quite some time, laughing like a madwoman, before abruptly ceasing her laughter and whispering quietly.

“…Ena’s disciple.”

That name was deeply engraved in her mind in that very moment.