The Obsessive Regressor of The Academy

3. Corpse Sorcerer

The overcast sky finally unleashed its rain. Dark clouds obscured the sunlight, and blue lightning flashed through them.

The heavy rain cleansed the blood flowing through the slums, but also accelerated the rot. Asel forced himself to ignore the stench of corpses wafting from the alleys, slicking back his rain-soaked hair as he walked.

“…Hah.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. The scribbled handwriting was hard to decipher, but Asel knew the characters represented an address.

In the slums, it was a rare skill. In this place overflowing with illiteracy, a person who could read held immense value. There were plenty of thugs who could handle their own in a fight, but those with sharp minds were few and far between. There was a reason Asel received more money and was offered more important work than others.

“……”

Asel ducked beneath a threadbare awning, scrutinizing the address scribbled on the paper.

‘First Drain, Fifth Shanty.’

A somewhat cryptic address, but not much of a problem for him, given he’d memorized the slums’ map in its entirety.

Asel quickly stowed the paper, moving with care to keep the narcotics dry. Thankfully, the factory owner’s knapsack was coated in a waterproof material, so he didn’t need to worry about rainwater seeping in.

-KABOOM!

Just as he was about to leave the awning, the sky unleashed a thunderclap, roaring fiercely. Asel’s eyes gleamed as he watched a bolt of blue lightning strike somewhere distant.

Ever since witnessing lightning incinerate trees right before his eyes as a child, Asel had been captivated by its potent force and mystique. He’d profoundly understood why the ancients called lightning a divine punishment.

If the opportunity arose, he’d love to witness a lightning strike again. But wanting wasn’t enough to make it happen, and besides, lightning wasn’t the priority right now.

‘Finish the errand as quickly as possible, buy the medicine, and return home. That’s the only way to save my sister.’

With that thought, Asel adjusted his knapsack. The five bags of narcotics within weighed heavily on his shoulders, but he disregarded it, slipping into a deserted alleyway.

It was the quickest route to the First Drain. A place avoided by everyone due to its abundance of decaying corpses and stagnant puddles, making it the perfect thoroughfare for Asel. He wiped the rain from his face with his hand and began to walk.

An unusually loud peal of thunder trailed after him.

*

It was roughly three hours after leaving the factory when he arrived at the Necromancer’s residence. All that time spent simply walking, unhindered.

This was due to the fact that the narcotics factory was located far from the First Drain, and the Necromancer’s dwelling was hidden in an incredibly difficult-to-find place.

Were all mages like this? It was impossible to know. Delivering narcotics to a mage was a first for Asel.

Rumor had it that mages living in the slums were all raving lunatics. Slum rumors tended to be exaggerations, requiring a grain of salt, but not the rumors about mages.

Their bizarre actions were all actual occurrences within the slums. In Asel’s own slum, some deranged mage had kidnapped and murdered a large number of vagrants, creating a lingering blood mist that took quite some time to dissipate.

If that’s how a normal mage behaved, how utterly mad must a Necromancer be?

“…Hoo.”

Asel let out a long breath, feeling a mix of anxiety and tension. He swallowed hard and knocked on the Necromancer’s door.

Like the other dilapidated houses in the area, the Necromancer’s door creaked eerily as it shuddered.

“Delivery,” Asel announced, rapping on the door. But there was no response. All he could hear was the sound of rain drumming on the ground and the crashing of thunder. Thinking his voice might not have been heard, Asel knocked again.

“Delivery.”

“Quiet!”

The response came from behind him. Asel startled at the rough shout of a man and spun around. A pale-faced man in a dark robe came into view.

He glared down at Asel with bloodshot eyes, breathing heavily.

“I answered, I answered! Why did you call twice! Why, why, why, why!!!!!!”

*You didn’t answer, you son of a b*tch.*

Acel swallowed the words he wanted to say, forcing a strained smile. He carefully shifted the backpack on his back, moving it to the front. An action meant to avoid provoking the presence before him. Thankfully, it seemed to work. The man, he only huffed and puffed, but didn’t leap at Acel with murderous intent.

“Forgive me. I acted rashly. I beg you, grant me your pardon just this once?”

A humility unbefitting his years colored Acel’s demeanor. Part of it stemmed from the street smarts learned peddling narcotics, the rest from the mental maturity granted by echoes of a past life.

Inwardly pleased with his handling of the situation, Acel bowed his head lower.

“I am a delivery boy, sent by Bruges with the shipment. Are you, perhaps, Master Jervil?”

“Ye-yes… Yes, that’s me. The… the stuff! I need the stuff, quickly!”

Jervil’s eyes darted wildly as he jerked about, as if seized by some inner fit. His mental state was teetering on the edge. Withdrawal symptoms, no doubt, from a prolonged absence of the drug.

Demanding payment from a subject in this condition would be akin to suicide.

Especially since this subject was a mage. Though Acel hadn’t witnessed any magic firsthand, he sensed something different, something potent about Jervil. Instead of indulging his curiosity, Acel swiftly retrieved a package of the narcotic from his bag and offered it to Jervil.

“The stuff, the stuff! Give it here, you b*stard! All mine, it’s all mineeeeee!!!”

“Of course, here you are.”

Jervil, seemingly deaf to Acel’s words, snatched the packet from his hand, tore it open, and promptly poured the contents over his face.

A cloud of white powder instantly coated his features. Considering the value of the drug, it was a bewildering method of consumption, but Acel stood patiently, waiting for him to calm.

“…Mm.”

Minutes passed. Jervil’s tongue, darting like a lizard’s, finally stilled. The arms and legs he’d been flailing about with alarming abandon settled into a composed, almost dignified posture. He then lightly brushed the spilled narcotic from his robe. A tsk escaped his lips as he wiped the remaining powder from his face.

“Seems I spilled more than I ingested. Perhaps it’s been too long.”

A profound wisdom laced his voice, a stark contrast to moments ago. An inexplicable refinement imbued his movements, and even the displeased twist of his lips hinted at an aristocratic air.

As if an entirely different person had taken his place. The jarring shift made Acel gulp and instinctively step back. Only then did Jervil seem to register Acel’s presence, his brown eyes shifting to meet Acel’s gaze.

He studied Acel’s nervous posture with a detached air, then a small, genuine smile touched his lips as he approached.

“My apologies. I am hardly myself without the drug to keep me steady. I hope you can forget that disgraceful display.”

“…What happened? I’ve never seen Master Jervil until just now.”

“Hm? Haha! An amusing fellow, aren’t you? I hadn’t expected such a reply. Are you older than you appear, perhaps?”

Jervil regarded Acel with a glint of amusement, then bent at the knees to meet his eye level. He produced six gold coins from his robes, offering them to Acel.

One coin more than the agreed price. Acel opened his mouth to speak, but Jervil was quicker.

“Keep one for yourself. A reward for the entertainment.”

“…Thank you!”

Acel bowed swiftly, almost shouting his thanks. He had no intention of refusing.

A single gold coin was a small fortune in itself. Enough to buy Evelyn’s medicine and still have something left over for extra supplies.

Acel clasped the coin given by Jervil with both hands, lifting his head with a bright expression.

–And found himself breathlessly frozen.

“……Hmm?”

Zervil’s expression remained unchanged. The same easy smile clung to his face, and he regarded Asel with a gentle gaze. But his eyes were different.

“Friend. You have a curious talent, don’t you?”

The brown eyes, once vibrant after the drugs, now radiated no life at all. It felt like standing before a lifeless corpse.

An unidentifiable stench wafted from his nose. At the same instant Zervil’s eyes met his, whispers erupted in Asel’s mind.

-Savemesavemesavemesaveme.

-Even death wasn’t an escape? Then why did I have to do it that way! Why, why!!!

-Iwanttodiedesireto fromhere

-I’llkillyouI’lltearyoutopieces.

A barrage of naked pleas, curses, and laments, unfathomably deep, shook Asel’s head. He couldn’t suppress the sudden wave of nausea, and he vomited a stream of water and bile onto the floor.

“Ugh!”

“Friend. Are you alright?”

Zervil chuckled softly, stroking Asel’s back with his hand as he collapsed. The touch was corpse-cold, startling Asel into a standing position. Zervil still looked up at him, smiling.

Asel deliberately ignored Zervil’s gaze, bowing his head in greeting.

“I’m, I’m fine. More importantly, I’ll be going now. I’ll leave the drugs here.”

Asel said this and turned away quickly.

“Wait a moment, friend.”

At that moment, Zervil rose to his feet and spoke in a low voice. Asel’s steps halted abruptly. He instinctively sensed a power imbued within that voice. And then he understood.

The very essence that formed the world. The origin of everything, the miraculous power that spurred the development of civilization.

Mana flowed from Zervil’s voice, pressing down on Asel’s shoulders.

Thud, thud.

Zervil’s footsteps drew closer. Asel gritted his teeth, trying to move, but his body wouldn’t budge. In fact, the more he struggled, the more a burning sensation spread through his muscles. His brain felt like it was roasting.

“Shit!”

The pain coursing through his body, the searing heat in his head, and the anxiety and unknown fear, all caused Asel to curse without realizing it, his eyes darting frantically.

He searched for an escape. But there was nothing to see. Only the scattered trash around him remained, pathetically guarding its place.

“Oh dear, one shouldn’t swear, you know.”

Zervil said with a hint of amusement. He had reached Asel and tapped him lightly on the head.

“Good. Just stay still, friend. I have something I want to ask you.”

“…….”

“When you met my eyes, you heard something strange, didn’t you?”

“…I didn’t hear a thing.”

A lie.

Zervill chuckled, pressing down harder on Assel’s head with his hand.

*Thwack, thwack*, the sound echoed as Zervill swung his hand, violently rocking Assel’s head.

“I favor honest friends.”

Zervill said, caressing Assel’s cheek with his other hand. A chilling aura emanated with each movement, overflowing.

*Necrosis*. The power used to manipulate corpses, refined from mana. That horrifying energy slowly began to rot away Assel’s cheek. Assel clenched his fist, gritting his teeth against the pain that felt like his flesh was burning away.

Regardless, Zervill didn’t even spare a glance at whatever Assel did, wearing a pleased smile.

“I’ll ask again. What did you hear?”

“…Ugh, y-yes. I heard it.”

“Hmm… Curious. It shouldn’t be so easy to read the memories of the corpses within me.”

Zervill muttered to himself, tapping Assel’s cheek with his hand. The rotting flesh was mashed together with each touch, instantly smearing Assel’s cheek with blood.

“Perhaps you’re a mage? No, doesn’t seem like it. I can’t sense any magic power whatsoever.”

“…”

“Hmm… but there’s a lot of mana floating around. Blessed by mana, perhaps? Just how good is your affinity for this phenomenon to occur? Judging by how you forced your way into hearing the voices of the corpses comprising my body, your sensitivity must be remarkable…”

Zervill tilted his head, muttering to himself. Then, he grinned, staring at Assel with an intrigued gaze.

“Just how outstanding *is* your talent, then?”

“…This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

“Well, of course. How many people would recognize your talent in a dump like this? No one but someone like myself would even notice.”

Zervill shrugged. Assel, avoiding Zervill’s gaze as much as possible, began racking his brain for a way to survive.

“It’d be a shame to let talent like this rot away. But having a disciple is a bit much. Hmm… I’ve decided, then. I’ll just cut out your heart and brain, separately, and investigate your mana sensitivity and affinity. I can see it now, you know. The mana going wild, eager to enter your body. I’ve never seen mana this restless before.”

Zervill gently stroked Assel’s hair.

“Don’t worry. I won’t kill you right away. I’m curious about the mana’s reaction when I torture you, when your emotions fluctuate. Or, I could just forcefully implant a mana core into your body. I forcefully extracted it from a 5th Circle mage, so it’s not in the best condition, but it should suffice, don’t you think?”

He nonchalantly spat out chilling words with a laughter-laced voice. Assel didn’t care about talent or anything else, straining every muscle to break free from these shackles and escape.

There was no one around to ask for help. Even if there were, the chances of them helping were slim.

Saving someone in the slums without any compensation? That’s the stuff of novels. Reality is that people are too busy running away. Avoiding getting caught in the crossfire.

“…Hgh…”

There wasn’t a single helpful object nearby. Even a rusty blade, which was common, couldn’t be found when he needed it most. No, from the start, his body wouldn’t move. Whether Zervill intended it or not, the only part he could move was his mouth.

The talent Zervill praised. It was also useless. What good is it to tell someone who has never held a pen that they are good at drawing? That person doesn’t even know how to draw. They can only scribble lines on paper, unable to create anything that could be called a ‘drawing.’

Assel was the same. Mana sensitivity? Affinity? No matter how many times he heard that he was excellent, Assel didn’t even understand the concept of mana. He only vaguely knew that it was the force that formed the foundation of the world. He had no idea how to use it, how to wield it.

Helplessness. And fear devours thought.

‘What to do? Just die here?’

What about Evelyn then. Acel glared at Jerville, who was stroking his chin and pondering, and gritted his teeth. But there was nothing he could do. No matter how he racked his brain, he couldn’t see a way to survive.

“…Shiibal.”

*Kuurung.*

Just as Acel spat out the curse, a white lightning flashed amidst the falling rain. Acel narrowed his eyes at the never-before-seen color of the lightning, and in that instant, a silhouette could be faintly seen below where the bolt struck.

“…”

A woman wearing a huge hat and long, snow-white hair reaching her waist, stood in the middle of the alleyway, staring intently at them.

Her clear blue eyes sparkled, catching the light. Her unique attire blended with the mystical atmosphere without the slightest dissonance, and the white lightning crackling around her vaporized the falling rain.

It was a figure that felt unreal. Without realizing it, Acel stared at her. At the same time, she also gazed at Acel.

Their gazes met in the air, and the woman moved her lips first. Though her voice wasn’t audible, Acel could understand what she was saying. No, to be precise, her words echoed in his head.

[Duck.]

The moment he understood, Acel’s body was forced to the ground.

A spell of words that compels action. Jerville, sensing the residue of that peculiar magic, snapped to his senses.

[Discharge Lightning (放雷)]

A bolt of pure white lightning was fired at Jerville.