The Genesis Of A Necromancer - Chapter 40

Chapter 40: tournament begins
The air in the passageway was thick with power and tension as seven figures moved with a silent, steady grace, their footsteps echoing faintly on the stone floor. Each of them carried an aura so potent it seemed to distort the very atmosphere around them, a silent message that none but the strongest dared to approach. The group’s collective presence was a force unto itself, a palpable charge that made the air hum.

Leading them was an elder shrouded in dark robes adorned with intricately embroidered patterns of gold and silver. His cloak bore a distinct emblem—a magic staff stabbed into the earth, with threads of power rippling outward. His long, white hair cascaded over his shoulders, framing a face deeply lined with age and wisdom. His eyes held depths of knowledge far beyond the others, with a gaze that could pierce through the illusions of the world itself.

“So Alogra decided not to come?” one of them asked, breaking the silence.

“Nonsense,” the elder retorted, his voice sharp and dismissive. “He’s likely still sulking over that pitiful incident years ago. To cling to such things… it’s unbecoming.” His expression hardened, showing not a trace of sympathy.

A woman toward the back chuckled, a low, slithering sound that suited her appearance. Scales of a deep emerald green covered parts of her skin, glinting in the dim light. Her eyes, slit-pupilled like a serpent’s, held a dangerous glint as she swayed her hips, speaking in a voice that matched her sinuous movements. “It was a big blow to him, after all. He hasn’t been the same since.” Her tone was mocking, as though she relished Alogra’s lingering wounds.

“We don’t have the luxury of time to dwell on past grudges,” said another, his voice calm and almost serene. He was a striking figure with silver hair and closed eyes, his face unblemished by the turmoil that simmered between the others. He wore immaculate white armor with a distinctive insignia, one that commanded immediate recognition.

Lilith, the serpent-like woman, narrowed her eyes at him and hissed, “Respect your elders, church man. You’re all so unbearably self-righteous.” Her disdain was open and venomous, yet the man, Ivan remained composed, barely acknowledging her words with a slight turn of his head.

The tension in the group was nearly tangible, an invisible clash of egos and rivalries that bristled in the air. Only Ivan the youngest among them seemed to stand apart from the silent battle of wills. He walked in silence, his gaze focused inward as though lost in contemplation. Thoughts of his mission burned in his mind, each one colder and sharper than the last.

‘Our lady has decided to join this training,’ he reminded himself. ‘No harm shall come to her. I’ll ensure no filthy hands even brush against her presence.’

The passage opened up to a grand hall, bathed in the bright glow of daylight spilling in from tall windows that lined the walls. Rows of students, each awaiting their arrival, stood at attention in the center of the room. Their postures betrayed a mixture of awe and intimidation as they watched the imposing figures stride in. At the head of the group, the elder lifted his hand, commanding silence with nothing more than his presence.

“Welcome, noble successors,” he announced, his voice ringing through the hall. “You know why you’re here, I trust?” His eyes roamed over the assembled students, each one stiffening under his gaze. Among them, a young man stared back with narrowed eyes, his gaze sharp and calculating.

‘Luther Gregory,’ Jack noted silently, instantly recognizing the elder. ‘The Mage of the Sands. The only one to stand against Alogra’s fury and survive unscathed. Kingdom Ciriaus’s most feared mage. How is it that these ancient relics hold all the power while the younger generations flounder like weak mongrels?’

As he scanned the faces of the other figures standing alongside Luther, he picked out several he recognized—formidable figures with reputations as large as their power. And then his gaze landed on a woman whose presence was almost hypnotic.

“Hey, look, it’s Miss Emma. She’s so beautiful!” whispered a voice from behind Jack, pulling him from his observations. He glanced back to see a group of beast women murmuring with reverent admiration, their eyes fixed on their leader.

Emma Lilith the Conqueror, a name spoken with a mix of fear and reverence. It was said she had single-handedly defeated a lesser devil in battle. Jack scoffed as he watched the worshipful expressions on the women’s faces, their awe bordering on worship.

‘Why can’t they aspire to be strong like her, instead of just admiring her from afar?’ he thought with thinly veiled annoyance.

“Power is something that demands reciprocity,” a voice murmured beside him as though reading his thoughts, snapping him from his thoughts. He turned, casting a glance at the girl standing next to him, her expression unreadable.

‘This girl again?’ Jack thought, his eyes narrowing slightly. She’d been attempting to draw his attention ever since they’d arrived. He ignored her, dismissing her with a mental note: ‘Pest.’

But a familiar gaze bore into him from across the room, one that sent a thrill of satisfaction through his veins. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he met the hostile stare of his half-brother, Arin, who stood among the other students with an expression of poorly concealed loathing.

“Brother,” Jack muttered under his breath, his grin widening as their eyes locked.

Arin’s gaze was filled with a mixture of bitterness and apprehension, as though he’d hoped never to see Jack’s face again. ‘So, he didn’t die off like I’d hoped,’ Arin thought with a sneer, ‘and somehow managed to learn a thing or two, at last.’

“Prince Arin, who is that?” a voice interrupted, but Arin’s irritation flared as he whipped around to hush the speaker. “Mind your own business, Henry. No one here should know of any connection between me and… him.”

A sharp, echoing cough from the elder silenced the hall instantly, snapping everyone’s attention back to the front. Luther raised his staff, signaling for quiet as he prepared to speak again.

“Listen well,” Luther’s voice commanded, every word imbued with a quiet power. “We’ve gathered you here, the most promising students, and will mentor each of you in the arts for which we’ve devoted our lives. Each of you will be paired with an instructor—or an assistant—for this training period. Soon, you will join us in our duty to conquer the planes, under the guidance of the angels.”

A murmur ran through the hall as the gravity of his words sank in. The students shifted uneasily, sensing the weight of expectation that pressed down on them. Jack’s smirk returned, amusement flickering in his eyes.

‘Good to let them know they’ll be knocking on death’s door soon enough,’ he thought darkly, watching the nervous expressions around him.

“We have arranged an opening tournament, a series of one-on-one duels. You’ll face a competitor from a different kingdom,” Luther continued. “The array embedded in the dueling platform will prevent any lethal blows. So fight without restraint. Show us what you’re capable of.” He gestured to a raised platform at the center of the hall, its surface gleaming with intricate runes that glowed faintly.

A sense of excitement rippled through the students as Luther lifted a scroll, unfurling it with a flick of his wrist. “Our first match,” he announced, his voice carrying effortlessly across the hall. “Arin Digmun of Kingdom Ciriaus… and Kevin George from the Kingdom of Blades.”

Jack’s grin widened as his brother’s name was called. ‘Let’s see how far little Arin has come,’ he thought, his anticipation mingling with a darker satisfaction.

Arin clenched his fists, a steely determination flashing in his eyes. He stepped forward, moving to the platform with a prideful stride. Jack watched with a wicked glint in his eye, imagining the brutal end he envisioned for his brother.

“Go on, brother,” he muttered under his breath, savoring the thrill of rivalry. “Let’s see how much longer you can survive. After all…” His eyes sparkled with malice as he whispered to himself. “You’ll be the first to die.”