Deus Necros

Ludwig didn’t allow the professor’s looming presence to rattle him, nor did he feel the need to engage in any further exchange. His focus shifted back to the exam, and his eyes scanned the next question on the paper:

“If a curse can only be broken by the one who cast it, what’s the most effective way to ensure the curse is lifted if the caster has perished?”

The question seemed straightforward at first glance, but Ludwig knew better than to rush. His intuition told him that this was a trick question, one that required careful thought. He paused, considering the implications, before he began writing his answer:

“While it might appear that a curse would become unbreakable once the caster has perished, the key lies in understanding the source of a curse’s power. Curses are often tied to intent and energy. If the curse was bound to an object or place, destroying or cleansing the conduit of power can sever the curse’s influence.

Additionally, some ancient curses are linked to the caster’s bloodline or their magical legacy, meaning a descendant or magical heir could have the authority to lift it. Therefore, to break such a curse, you would need to locate either the source of its power or a living relative of the caster.”

Ludwig lifted his hand from the paper, noticing the professor eyeing him with a smug, skeptical expression. Oda’Ruh Vastion clearly anticipated an incomplete or inadequate answer, as though Ludwig’s response so far had fallen short of his high standards.

But Ludwig wasn’t finished.

He leaned back over the paper, his pen moving smoothly as he added: “Additionally, the most effective method is not always to break the curse, but to transfer it.”

That last line seemed to hit its mark. The professor’s expression darkened, his scowl deepening into something far more irate. Ludwig allowed himself a small smirk, knowing he had nailed the answer.

Without lingering on the professor’s reaction, Ludwig moved to the next question. “How does necromancy affect a soul that died peacefully?”

This, too, was a question designed to mislead most students, feeding into common misconceptions. Ludwig’s pen hovered for a moment before he wrote:

“There is a widespread misunderstanding regarding necromancy and the undead. Many believe that only those who died violent or cursed deaths return as the undead, but this is not the case. Even those who died peacefully and led pious, religious lives can fall victim to necromantic forces. The truth is that once a soul is revived, it is ensnared by the malevolent essence of undeath.

It is called ‘malevolence,’ but what it truly represents is the soul’s resentment toward the living. Those who have died, no matter how they passed, do not wish to suffer alone in death’s abyss. The bitterness toward the living grows, and the undead seek to drag others into death, ensuring no one escapes the ultimate fate of all who have lived.”

He continued answering the rest of the questions with the same precision, each one crafted to mislead or test a student’s true understanding. Ludwig explained not just the answers but the underlying principles and nuances, ensuring his reasoning was solid and his comprehension irrefutable.

Every question seemed to echo knowledge Ludwig had gleaned from his time in Bastos Van Dijk’s library, as well as Kassandra’s notes, which he had committed to memory. It was a perfect blend of theoretical knowledge and practical insight.

As Ludwig finished writing his final answer, he felt the weight of Oda’Ruh Vastion’s gaze upon him. The professor was seething, his frustration barely concealed. Ludwig calmly stood, walking to the front of the room to hand in his paper.

“Thank you,” Ludwig said politely, holding the exam out to the professor.

Oda’Ruh’s hand clenched the paper tightly, crumpling one edge of it in his grip. His face was a mask of barely contained fury as he stared down at Ludwig. “Who taught you all of this?!” he demanded, his voice a dangerous growl.

“I’ve read a lot of books,” Ludwig replied evenly.

“LEAVE!” the professor barked, his voice echoing across the silent study hall.

Without a word, Ludwig gathered his things and turned to leave. As he reached the door, Vastion’s voice called out again, stopping him in his tracks.

“Halt.”

Ludwig turned back, meeting the professor’s narrowed eyes.

“You’re not required to attend my exam next week,” Vastion said, glaring at the paper in his hand. His teeth ground together as he added, “Perfect marks.”

Ludwig nodded, his expression betraying nothing, and walked out of the hall. But once he was outside, his non-existent heart felt as though it was thumping in his chest. Though he had no heart—being nothing more than a skeleton covered by a slime that acted as his skin—the sensation of anxiety still gripped him. It wasn’t fear exactly, but a lingering worry, a sense of having barely escaped danger.

Necros’s Blessing had almost exposed him, nearly giving away his identity. Fortunately, Oda’Ruh Vastion had not yet realized who had cast the spell. But Ludwig knew he had come perilously close to being caught.

As Ludwig passed through the academy’s corridors, he could feel the eyes of other students on him. They stared, confused and shocked, unable to comprehend how a student who had only arrived the day before had not only completed the professor’s grueling test but had also earned a perfect score.

The Dark Magic Academy was infamous for making exams nightmarish, and Oda’Ruh Vastion was one of its most challenging instructors. Yet Ludwig had defied all expectations.

However, the stunned faces of his peers quickly returned to focus on their own problems. The remainder of the exam still awaited them, and they had little time to spare on speculation about Ludwig.

With no obligations left for the day, Ludwig decided to head toward the academy’s training grounds, where the students practiced swordsmanship. He didn’t want to run into the same arrogant nobles from earlier that morning, so he carefully checked that the coast was clear before making his way to the open courtyard.

When he arrived, the same group of students from yesterday was still there, practicing the same technique over and over again. Ludwig took a seat a little distance away from them, not wanting to disturb their session. He watched silently, observing their movements. Most of them were decent, though some were too fast or too slow in their swings.

His attention was drawn to one student in particular—a tall, lanky boy positioned at the back of the group. The boy had a firm grip on his wooden sword and struck with a fluidity that stood out from the others. His swing was nearly perfect, smooth, and controlled. Ludwig’s eyes lingered on the boy’s form for longer than he realized.

“Are you interested in swordsmanship?”

The voice startled Ludwig. He turned to find a tall, muscular woman standing behind him. She wore tight shorts and a cropped shirt, exposing her chiseled abdomen. A long scar ran down the right side of her face, giving her an intimidating yet feral look, especially with the broad grin she wore—like a lion sizing up its next meal.

“A little bit,” Ludwig replied cautiously.

She looked him up and down, her gaze assessing. “With that scrawny body of yours, I’d be shocked if you could even swing a sword properly. You’re a mage, aren’t you?” she asked, her tone more curious than mocking.

“I’m learning,” Ludwig said simply.

“Join them,” she said, gesturing toward the training students. “Grab a wooden sword and show me what you’ve got.”

Ludwig hesitated. “I’m not part of the swordsmanship students.”

The woman shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I’m more interested in your eyes.” She stepped closer, tilting his chin up slightly with her fingers. “For a skeleton, you have pretty eyes.”

A shiver ran down Ludwig’s spine at her touch.

“Don’t worry,” she said with a playful slap on his back that sent a jolt through his body.

[-1 HP]

“The Headmaster told me about you. Bastos is weird like that, sending a skeleton to learn magic to fight against dark arts. But hey, that’s not even the strangest thing he’s done this year. Go on, grab a sword, and let’s see what you’ve got.”

Ludwig had a strong feeling that refusing her wasn’t an option. He nodded, reluctantly making his way to the weapon rack. His mind was racing, filled with thoughts—none of them good.

He grabbed the first weapon he could find.

[Wooden Sword]

Type: Sword

Durability: 100/100

Damage: 4-7

A brittle training sword. Quite useless for killing enemies, but sufficient for teaching one how to do so.

He mentally waved away the notification screen and took his place at the back of the group. Taking an unnecessary deep breath, Ludwig followed the movements of the other students and swung the wooden sword down, following the pattern of [Trace].

The moment he did, the teacher appeared next to him, seemingly out of nowhere. Her eyes were wide with surprise.

“How?!” she exclaimed, her voice sharp. “How did you do that?!”