Necromancer Academy and the Genius Summoner-Chapter 356: Episode

Kajan was the first Kizen student to take the podium. He was nothing like the others, who had squirmed and twisted in a desperate attempt to impress the judges. With an impassive face and a monotone voice, he read his paper as if reciting from a textbook, his presentation as unstoppable as a tank charging straight ahead.

Even the judges, who had been busy interrupting and attacking the students, were too flustered to find an opportunity to intervene.

"That is all," Kajan announced, his presentation lasting less than five minutes.

A heavy silence fell over the auditorium.

"You... are truly baffling," Thesis-Ripper Vintra muttered, holding the paper at arm’s length as if it were contaminated. "Key Strategies for Summon-Type Monsters’? Isn’t this more suited for the field of martial arts than summoning?"

"I believed the information was essential for the study of summoning as well," Kajan stated, his voice unwavering. It would have been difficult for even the most hardened individual to answer so brazenly.

"No, more importantly! This thesis has a critical flaw!" Citation-Hell Kalavan exclaimed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "You haven’t listed a single source in the citation section. To neglect such a fundamental requirement is—"

"The instructions were to cite sources when quoting academic materials. I quoted none."

"What?" Kalavan sputtered.

"The source is the Thieves’ Guild," Kajan retorted, the words sharp. "All information guilds, including the Thieves’, protect their informants’ identities through encryption. Does anyone seriously ask an information guild to reveal its sources?"

A ripple of faint laughter spread through the audience, causing Kalavan’s face to turn beet red.

"Ahem!" he coughed.

On the far left, Proof-Parrot Latoni sat with an uncomfortable frown. The thesis was a practical guide to beating up undead, not an academic treatise. Demanding proof felt awkward.

"Enough!" Vintra shouted, his face crumpling in frustration. "While the attempt to analyze monster weaknesses using data from an information guild is commendable, the content is ultimately irrelevant to the Department of Summoning. This is trash! Zero points!"

Once again, a thesis was ripped to shreds in Vintra’s hands.

Kajan, utterly indifferent, shot the judges a look of pure contempt before turning his back on them sharply.

"That—that insolence...!" one judge stammered.

"Young people these days!" another huffed.

’Bang! Bang!’

Vintra slammed his hand on the table, silencing the room. "What a waste of time! Next!"

This time, Serne Aindark ascended the podium. She conjured a backdrop of a vibrant flower field, smiled brightly, and greeted the judges and audience with infectious cheer.

"My name is Serne Aindark!"

At the mention of her name, the judges let out small, appreciative gasps.

"Is she the rumored heir of the Ivory Tower?"

"It’s quite a surprise to see her presenting at Pentamonium."

"Perhaps we can have high hopes this time."

Like the students before her, Serne used a crystal sphere and a mana projector to display an enlarged version of her thesis in the air.

’Creating Serne’s Feather Soldiers’

Simon thought the title was passable enough. ’But why is the background a picture of a weasel?’

"Using my innate ability, I created an original undead I call a ‘Feather Soldier’!" she announced.

When she flipped to the next page, an incredibly dense wall of text appeared. It was a dizzying mix of words and empty space. Simon’s eyes grew tired, and the three elderly judges had to crane their necks like turtles or fish out their reading glasses.

"The feathers I produce are one hundred percent compatible with Jet-Black! I can even transform them into magic circles. So I thought, what if I used these feathers to create a summoning circle? The runes I used are..."

As Simon listened to Serne’s rapid-fire, chattering presentation, he found himself lost in pure bewilderment.

’Seriously, why a weasel?’

"So I tried changing the formula like this!"

Every time she turned the page, the weasel in the background struck a new pose. No matter how he racked his brain, Simon couldn’t fathom the connection between summoning and weasels.

Suddenly, the font color shifted to a rainbow gradient, and a picture of her pet dog from her family mansion appeared. It seemed she had just thrown in anything and everything she found cute. His eyes kept drifting to the weasel, completely ignoring the complex formulas.

"I’ll give a demonstration right now!" Serne declared.

She dropped a few feathers to the floor. They dissolved, forming a magic circle on the ground as a few more feathers fluttered down onto it. The feathers melted and swirled together, and a moment later, a soldier of stark, geometric beauty with a pristine white body popped into existence.

"Just as one commands the undead with their thoughts, I can control these feather soldiers as I please! I’m still a beginner, so I can only manage up to ten at a time. Now, the reason I used Abel’s equation in the formula is—"

The audience seemed to have given up on understanding her explanation midway through, but the three necromancer judges were watching with gleaming eyes.

"Fascinating!"

"As expected of the Ivory Tower!"

For the first time, the judges were nodding in approval. It was unbelievable, but Serne’s presentation—which was utterly incomprehensible aside from the fact that the weasel was cute—was actually working.

’This is exactly the kind of thing that would appeal to the crazed, eccentric necromancers at an academic conference,’ Aaron, who had proofread her thesis, had predicted.

The paper on creating feather soldiers was useless to anyone but Serne herself. It had almost zero academic value, yet the judges loved it. They were all necromancers who were so deeply entrenched, so stagnant in the field of summoning, that they had seen it all.

If the previous students’ presentations were, from the judges’ perspective, as obvious as ‘one hundred plus one hundred is two hundred,’ then Serne’s presentation was like explaining ‘how a sloth swims.’ The judges were refreshed by the sheer novelty of the information, even though they themselves would never become sloths.

"It feels like my long-dormant brain muscles are finally twitching."

"The content was certainly original."

And so, Serne became the second student to walk away with her thesis intact.

While the judges were pleased, the audience and the other students seemed to accept it with a sense of resignation.

And now, it was the final presentation of the conference.

"My name is Simon Polentia."

Simon stepped onto the podium, and all eyes immediately fixed on him.

"Kizen’s Special Admission No. 1," one of the judges noted, looking at Simon’s profile.

"The Polentia family? I’ve never heard of them."

"It’s best not to get our hopes up. Let’s just watch calmly."

"Mm, indeed."

Simon bowed his head respectfully to the judges and distributed copies of his thesis.

"I will begin."

His gaze swept over the three of them: Citation-Hell Kalavan, Thesis-Ripper Vintra, and Proof-Parrot Latoni. His opponents were all before him.

"The topic of my presentation is—"

It was the final turn. Perhaps their concentration was waning, or perhaps Serne’s novel presentation had left them drained of interest, but the three elderly judges looked exhausted, resting their chins on their hands or leaning deep into their chairs.

"A Skeleton Mage that uses Corpse Explosion."

"What?" Vintra shot upright as if launched by a spring.

A wave of commotion rippled through the audience.

"Student! This is an academic conference, not a fantasy novel reading!" Vintra shouted, now wide awake.

The other two judges chimed in sharply.

"It makes no sense for one undead to command another to self-destruct!"

"How could a simple Skeleton Mage possibly use a complex black magic like Corpse Explosion?"

A faint smile touched Simon’s lips as he held up his documents. "It’s possible."

He opened his subspace and summoned a single zombie and a skeleton mage.

"I will demonstrate before I explain."

Simon turned and gave a signal to Serne, who flicked a feather from her finger. The feather split into several more, which embedded themselves in the podium floor, creating a protective barrier around the zombie.

After tapping the barrier with the back of his hand to ensure its stability, Simon took a step back and commanded the skeleton mage.

"Corpse Explosion." 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝒆𝔀𝒆𝙗𝓷𝒐𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝓶

’Fwoosh!’

The skeleton mage extended its staff. As a magic circle unfolded from its tip, the zombie suddenly twitched and stood ramrod straight. A moment later, a faint light flickered from its eyes and mouth, and then...

’KABOOOOOM!’

It actually exploded. The deafening roar sent the audience ducking for cover with cries of alarm. The judges flinched, recoiling in their seats.

Simon smiled in satisfaction as he peered into the barrier, now thick with acrid smoke.

"Something like that."

Serne flicked another feather, using a ventilation spell to whisk the smoke away before dispelling the barrier.

As the crowd chattered in confusion, Vintra shouted impatiently, "Q-Quickly! Explain how on earth you did that!"

"Of course, Judge."

Simon had gotten the idea from blowing up the ’gwoemul’, a type of monster, during the recent siege warfare evaluation. He had originally used the skeleton mage as a support catalyst, but it occurred to him to see if the mage could cast the spell on its own.

"For the material, I selected a monster called a Muspel," he began, his voice calm and clear. "It’s a fire-type creature from lava zones that is known to explode like a bomb. You’re likely familiar with it, as it’s a common material for ‘Fire-Type Skeleton Mages’."

Two of the mages in Simon’s own legion were Muspels. He began to pace slowly as he laid out his explanation.

"You create a pair—a zombie and a skeleton mage—from the same Muspel."

"Oho!"

"A Muspel zombie! I’ve never heard of such a thing!"

The principle wasn’t difficult. The same rune was inscribed on the summoning circles for both the Skeleton Mage and the Zombie: the Rune of Transmission. It was the very rune Simon had learned about in Professor Aaron’s Magister System class.

"The Rune of Transmission is the key to the Muspel’s Corpse Explosion," he explained. "A Muspel’s lifespan is only one to two years after reaching adulthood. At the end of its life, it is fated to explode, unable to contain its internal heat. It is commonly believed that when a Muspel is reanimated as a zombie or skeleton, this explosive effect is lost. However..."

He paused for effect.

"I focused on inducing this latent ‘explosive effect’ from its former life through the Corpse Explosion spell."

Simon’s theory was nothing short of revolutionary. A typical Corpse Explosion worked by overloading the undead’s core or its summoning circle. Simon, however, had focused on the inherent characteristics of the Muspel itself—a free and creative line of thinking, unbound by rigid academic dogma.

With every rune and formula Simon revealed, the necromancers in the audience gasped.

"How revolutionary!"

"A truly genius idea!"

"An explosion that utilizes the creature’s own physiology from when it was alive...!"

"How did he even think of this?"

The audience was buzzing with excitement, and the three judges were beginning to sweat profusely.

"That is all," Simon concluded with a bright smile, deliberately cutting his explanation short. He hadn’t revealed all the principles, of course. He needed to sell this thesis, after all.

Sounds of disappointment erupted as he finished, but that was how things worked at Pentamonium.

"Is there no risk of a stored Muspel zombie exploding prematurely?" Vintra asked, probing for a weakness.

"As I mentioned, the explosive trait disappears upon zombification," Simon countered smoothly. "The principle here is that the Skeleton Mage’s spell forcibly creates and presses a non-existent detonation switch."

This time, Kalavan adjusted his glasses. "And the reason you cited no sources?"

Simon shrugged. "Because all the ideas came from my own head."

Kalavan had already skimmed the paper. Simon’s thesis didn’t overlap with existing research by a single line. His mouth snapped shut.

It was Latoni who shot to his feet. "This is a grand deception! An attempt to insult Pentamonium!"

"Pardon?" Simon asked, feigning surprise.

"The Jet-Black signal sent by the Rune of Transmission operates in a realm completely separate from a normal central nervous system! How can you prove the Muspel’s explosion was artificially induced?"

"If you wish." Simon calmly wheeled over a nearby chalkboard. "I will prove it."

He then began to write.

In the breathless silence, the only sound was the scratching of chalk against slate. With his hair and shirt sleeves fluttering, Simon wrote out the formulas as if possessed. He had already completed the theoretical insight and analyzed it from a Jet-Black Dynamics perspective. Laying out the rune’s explosive process in neat equations was a simple matter.

’Thank you, Professor Eric Aura!’

Everyone watched, mesmerized. Finally, with a sharp ’tak’, Simon dotted the final point and let his hand fall to his side.

"Is that sufficient?"

The proof was flawless. There was nothing more to say.

’This is truly...’ Vintra thought, a shiver running down his spine. This wasn’t just unconventional; it was a revolution. The creativity and sheer unpredictability of this seventeen-year-old boy had just forged a new path for the rigid, stagnating world of necromancy.

The old assumptions, the ingrained common sense that things had to be a certain way, were all crumbling to the floor. In their place, a new castle was rising before his very eyes.

’Clap.’

Vintra started to applaud.

"Brilliant!"

’Clap. Clap.’

Applause echoed from across the auditorium. Soon, it swelled.

’Clap-clap-clap-clap-clap!’

The applause turned into a thunderous cheer, a standing ovation. Several professional necromancers were on their feet, their faces flushed with excitement. Even the fastidious Kalavan and the skeptical Latoni were clapping, their expressions dazed.

Simon bowed his head in gratitude.

"This is exactly what we wanted!" Vintra exclaimed, shooting up from his seat. "Many have questioned the standard and significance of the Student Thesis Presentation Conference. But today, Simon Polentia has proven its necessity! A new approach! A revolutionary attempt born from the fire of youth! We may have just witnessed the beginning of a new Chapter in history. Absolutely brilliant!"

"I’m honored," Simon replied.

"You intend to register this thesis with Pentamonium, I presume?"

"Ah, yes."

"Come here!"

Simon wasn’t sure why Vintra was summoning him, but he walked over.

"Take this," Vintra said, holding out a white piece of paper.

The judges on either side gasped, their shock turning to horror.

"Judge Vintra!"

"This is a thesis presentation! You can’t suddenly...!"

"There’s no law that says I can’t purchase a thesis during the presentation," Vintra countered, his eyes gleaming with a greed that bordered on madness.

Simon took the paper, bewildered. It was a check. Vintra’s name was signed as the payer, but the amount line was blank.

"Judge... this is..."

"A blank check."

A wave of murmurs swept through the audience.

"What is the meaning of this!"

"Have you no shame, as a judge?"

"If you wish to purchase it, you should compete fairly through bidding!" the professional necromancers shouted, their faces red with indignation.

Vintra smirked. "Bidding or not, I will purchase it for the highest price. Isn’t that how the market works?"

For a moment, Simon was struck by the thought that this man was a necromancer to his very core.

"Now! Feel free to write any amount you wish! It doesn’t matter how much!" he boomed, spreading his arms wide. Then, he leaned in and whispered, "Necromancer students are always in need of money. You must have participated for that reason as well."

A blank check. Any number he wrote would be his. He could buy the heart for the Lich’s Life Vessel and more. In a way, it was an incredible honor. How many people ever get a chance like this?

Simon’s hand slowly moved.

"Yes, that’s right. Go on, write the amount—"

"Judge."

Simon picked up the blank check. Slowly, deliberately, he held it up vertically so Vintra could see it clearly.

"What are you doing...?"

The sound of tearing paper sliced through the air.

’Riiiiip.’

A collective gasp sucked the air from the room. In that instant, the entire presentation hall fell into a stunned, absolute silence. No one moved. No one even seemed to breathe.

’Riiiiip.’

While everyone remained frozen, only Simon’s hands moved, tearing the check.

’Rip. Tsk.’

Finally, having torn the check completely in half, Simon turned to the trembling, dumbfounded Vintra.

"It feels unpleasant, doesn’t it?" Simon asked, a bright smile on his face as he folded the two pieces together. "You showed me sincerity out of consideration, and this is what happens."

This time, he began to tear it horizontally.

"The other students felt the same way."

’Riiiiiiiiip.’

The sound of paper tearing lingered in everyone’s ears.

Alland, Sierra, Moiran—all the students shot up from their seats, their eyes wide with disbelief.

"Despite their busy schedules, everyone who participated in this conference gave their all," Simon’s voice rang out, clear and steady. "The amount of effort may have differed, but there was no one who didn’t try."

’You were the one who disrespected Pentamonium first, filling your role with obvious content, without the minimum of preparation, sincerity, or thought.’

"An act of disrespect to Pentamonium? Unless one is insane, how could a mere student disrespect Pentamonium?"

’Kids these days have no class. What on earth do they teach at Sierra?’

"No one is good from the start. We did our best with what we had. Were you, the judges, perfect from the very beginning?"

’This is trash. Zero points.’

Finally, Simon looked at Vintra, whose expression had completely crumbled, his lips trembling uncontrollably.

’Rip. Rip. Rip. Rip.’

"We—"

Just as Thesis-Ripper Vintra had done to the others, Simon let the shredded pieces of the blank check flutter down in front of him.

"—are not trash, Judge."

No one in this world has the right to laugh at someone who has worked hard.