Deus Necros

It was the same person who had sent them into this hellhole. The man who had casually thrown them into their very first trial—a survival challenge where life and death blurred like oil on water. The person they were supposed to trust, to look to for guidance and protection. The teacher.

Professor Olim.

Ludwig could barely suppress the venom in his tone as he rasped the name, his skeletal hand still clutching his detached arm.

“Oh my, look what we have here,” Olim said, his voice a smooth blend of amusement and mockery. His sharp eyes scanned Ludwig’s mangled form. “That arm of yours is in pretty bad shape. Tsk, tsk. What a shame. But, I must say, this is a delightful scene.” Olim’s lips curled into a grin, sharp as a knife.

The teacher’s gaze shifted, taking in the battered, mud-smeared students who had gathered around him. “You’ve all done splendidly. Watching you run around like headless chickens—now that was entertainment! But…” He turned to Bron, who was visibly fuming, “some of you did better than others.”

Bron’s face flushed red, his jaw clenched tight. Olim ignored him and clapped his hands together.

A loud crack resounded, and suddenly the entire class was no longer in the forest. The oppressive darkness of the dungeon was gone, replaced by the bright daylight outside the forest’s edge. The transition was so jarring that many stumbled, blinking and disoriented.

It took a moment for them to realize where they were.

The clearing.

The exact spot where they had begun this horrific trial.

A flicker of hope danced across Ludwig’s mind. For a brief, naive moment, he wondered if this had all been some sort of elaborate illusion, a magical test with no real stakes. After all, what kind of insane person would design a trial where students—teenagers—could actually die?

But that hope was crushed the moment he noticed the bodies.

Mangled. Crushed. Lifeless.

The corpses of several students lay sprawled across the clearing, their limbs twisted in unnatural angles, their faces frozen in expressions of terror.

Gasps and cries erupted among the survivors.

“No… no, this can’t be real,” one girl whispered, clutching her head in disbelief.

“YOU!” Bron’s voice roared above the chaos. His composure snapped like a brittle twig as he stormed toward Olim. “YOU SHOULD HAVE WARNED US! What kind of teacher throws their students into something like this without protection? Do you even understand how much we suffered? THREE NOBLES DIED! How are you going to explain—”

Bron’s tirade ended as abruptly as it began.

Olim moved faster than anyone could react, his fist colliding with Bron’s stomach in a devastatingly precise blow. The boy crumpled to his knees, gagging as bile and half-digested food splattered onto the ground.

The atmosphere shifted, heavy and suffocating. Olim no longer wore his amused smirk. His expression was now cold, clinical—a predator sizing up prey.

“I don’t take kindly to being lectured by children,” Olim said, his voice devoid of emotion. “Whoever told you about the content of this exam should have also told you to watch your tongue. Your family name means nothing to me, boy. Even your Steelheart clan would tremble before my shadow.”

Bron writhed on the ground, clutching his stomach, unable to respond.

The chilling silence that followed was shattered by a voice colder than death itself.

If there was anyone who Ludwig thought of as scarier than the current teacher talking…

[Fakery of Death has activated]

‘Speak of the Devil.’

“Now, now, Olim. Let’s not frighten the young ones too much.”

The temperature seemed to drop as the new figure stepped into view, his presence as commanding as it was terrifying. He wore flowing gothic robes adorned with intricate patterns that seemed to shift and writhe like living shadows. His pale face bore a calm, almost playful smile, but his hollow, piercing gaze sent shivers through everyone present.

Olim turned, and for the first time, his posture shifted to one of deference. “Tower Master Van Dijk. A pleasure, as always.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Professor Olim,” Van Dijk replied smoothly, his voice like silk draped over a steel blade. His eyes swept over the gathered students, lingering momentarily on Ludwig before he continued. “It seems this year’s batch has shown remarkable resilience. I must say, I’m impressed.”

Olim chuckled, his earlier menace melting away like mist. “Impressed, are you? Well, some of them have potential. Though I must admit, I had my doubts about a few.” He glanced pointedly at Bron, who was still struggling to regain his breath.

Van Dijk’s gaze locked onto Ludwig. “Speaking of potential… there’s my pupil. Though I must say, he’s looking a bit worse for wear.”

Olim’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, your disciple is here? Ludwig, right?”

Van Dijk tilted his head slightly. “How did you know?”

Olim’s grin returned, wider than ever. “How could I not? Who else would be insane enough to blow their own arm off inside the mouth of an enraged Lizardman? Especially after losing the other one already! Hah!”

Van Dijk’s smile didn’t falter, but his eyes narrowed.

Ludwig froze, his mind racing. The lantern embedded in his body had always cloaked his undead nature, making him appear human to anyone who didn’t know otherwise. But Olim’s sharp observation felt like it had come dangerously close to piercing that veil.

Olim continued, oblivious to the tension. “Not to mention,” he added, “he refused healing from his classmates, insisting on reattaching his arm instead. The kid’s got guts—or sheer madness. Either way, I like him!”

Van Dijk chuckled softly. “Indeed. Ludwig has always been… resourceful.”

Olim clapped his hands again, making the remaining students vanish in a flash of light. Only Ludwig and Van Dijk remained.

“Let’s get you to the infirmary,” Van Dijk said, his tone unusually gentle.

“Yes, that would be best,” Olim agreed. “The nobles might not complain if their kids die during a test, but if they survive only to perish afterward… well, let’s just say I’d rather avoid the paperwork. Besides, there’s something I need to discuss with your student.”

Van Dijk raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Olim turned to Ludwig, his gaze sharp as a dagger. “Tell me, Ludwig… how is it that you know how to use necromancy?”