Deus Necros

“What do you think of the students this year, Professor Vastion?” Professor Olim’s voice boomed through the colosseum, amplified by the microphone. His tone was light, almost playful, as he addressed the stern-faced professor beside him.

Vastion took a moment to consider the question, his sharp eyes scanning the massive projection of the trial grounds. “It seems we have some interesting fellows this year,” he said finally, his voice measured and deliberate. “Not to mention, many of last year’s students are showing decent progress in their respective paths.”

“I see,” Olim replied, nodding thoughtfully. When it became clear that Vastion had no further commentary, Olim turned to the other professor seated beside him. “Professor Cymoria, are you particularly interested in anyone’s progress this year?”

Cymoria, her expression calm but her eyes gleaming with pride, leaned forward slightly. “I am, actually. One of my personal students is participating—Vivian Storm. She’s showing remarkable progress in her charm-oriented magic.”

“Ah, Vivian,” Olim said, his tone warm. “As a third-year, that’s to be expected. She’s always been a standout.” He paused, then turned his attention to the imposing figure seated at the center of the panel. “But speaking of disciples, we have the Tower Master himself gracing us with his presence. Master Van Dijk, you rarely show your face at these competitions, yet this year, one of your own disciples is participating. What do you have to say about that?”

Van Dijk, his expression unreadable but his eyes sharp, leaned back in his chair. “You do realize he’s been my disciple for a little more than a month now,” he said, his voice calm but carrying an edge of amusement.

“Ah, surely you jest, Master Van Dijk,” Vastion interjected, his tone skeptical. “For one to be your disciple is anything but simple. Even a short month should show significant progress compared to his peers.”

Cymoria nodded in agreement. “I would have to concur. Ludwig, after all, is carrying not only his own weight but also the weight of being the Tower Master’s disciple. Although I shouldn’t expect much from someone who joined late, he should at least be good enough to pass this hurdle.”

Olim chuckled, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “One would think you’re all ganging up on the Tower Master,” he said, his tone light. “But I’m with Master Van Dijk on this one. Ludwig has indeed only been here for a short time.” With a wave of his hand, Olim directed the audience’s attention to the projection, where Ludwig was shown sprinting through the forest, seven raptors hot on his heels.

“What incredible endurance,” Olim remarked, his voice filled with genuine admiration. “He’s doing anything but fighting back.”

The audience, however, was less impressed. A wave of boos and laughter erupted from the stands as students mocked Ludwig’s “cowardly” act of avoiding combat. Only Van Dijk remained unfazed, a faint smile playing on his lips as if he alone understood the method to Ludwig’s actions and what could be perceived as madness.

“It seems Ludwig is adamant about not using magic,” Vastion observed, his tone tinged with disapproval. “He’s been running for quite some time now. Is this the disciple of the Tower Master?”

“At times, one should know when to fight and when to run,” Van Dijk replied, his voice calm but firm.

“Yes, but these are simple Velkryn,” Vastion countered. “Any mage worth their salt should be more than capable of taking them down.”

The projection shifted, showing Ludwig arriving at a small clearing where another student stood, visibly exhausted, surrounded by the corpses of three raptors. The student raised his wand, his face pale but determined.

“It seems he can team up with his peer to defeat the group of raptors,” Cymoria said, her tone hopeful. “I suppose he could use the help.”

“I doubt that,” Van Dijk said, his smile widening.

As if on cue, Ludwig cast a spell—Vow of Silence—sealing the other student’s mouth shut before the raptors pounced. The audience gasped, a mix of shock and amusement rippling through the stands as Ludwig used the distraction to make his escape.

“What a wicked kid,” Olim said, his tone a mix of amusement and admiration.

“Is it wickedness to use those around you to survive?” Van Dijk asked, his voice calm but challenging.

“It’s morally questionable,” Vastion replied, his tone stern.

“Morals mean nothing on a battlefield,” Van Dijk said, his words cutting through the air like a blade. “Honor has no value for the one who is dead.”

The projection shifted again, showing Ludwig’s ingenious method of dealing with the raptors—luring them to a cliff and using the terrain to his advantage. The audience watched in stunned silence as the creatures tumbled into the abyss, leaving Ludwig unscathed.

“I have to admit,” Olim said, his tone filled with newfound respect, “to defeat all seven of those creatures without wasting mana is far more impressive than spamming spells and leaving oneself exhausted.”

“Function over form,” Van Dijk said, his voice carrying a note of pride. “As long as it’s working, it doesn’t matter how one defeats their enemies or survives. Ludwig has always been a struggler. He struggles to find answers that many would deem dishonorable.”

“Many nobles would disagree with that,” Vastion said, his tone icy.

“They may,” Van Dijk replied, his gaze sweeping across the audience, “but they know deep down it’s true. For one who dies, honor brings no comfort, no sustenance, no salvation. Survive and struggle to survive—that’s what a Black Tower magician should be. We’ve been stuck at the bottom of the five towers because we’ve been too concerned with upholding face and honor. This mindset only serves to suppress the talents of the special cases who join this tower.”

The audience fell silent, the weight of Van Dijk’s words sinking in. The Black Tower Academy was known for its outcasts—problem children, rebels, and those deemed unfit for society. These students were often labeled as subpar, their potential stifled by the expectations and judgments of others. Ludwig, with his unorthodox methods and disregard for societal norms, was a living testament to the Tower Master’s philosophy.

“This is interesting,” Olim said, breaking the silence. The projection shifted once more, showing Ludwig standing at the edge of the cliff, his eyes locked on a massive creature emerging from the forest below. “It seems Ludwig has caught the attention of the first trial’s boss. This should be fun to watch.”

“Ah, that creature,” Cymoria said, her tone tinged with concern. “It was the reason more than half of the first-year students were eliminated last year. Do you think we’ll have a repeat of that, Master Van Dijk?”

“What happened last year,” Van Dijk replied, his voice calm but carrying an edge of anticipation, “was that everyone tried to run away from it. Only after more than half of them were eliminated did they realize they could only pass the trial by teaming up and defeating it. But look at that.”

The projection zoomed in on Ludwig, who, instead of retreating, sliced through one of the thick vines hanging from the trees. He tied one end to a sturdy branch and threw the other down the cliff. Without hesitation, he grabbed the vine and leaped off the edge, his trajectory aimed directly at the massive creature below.

The audience erupted into murmurs of disbelief and awe. The creature—a towering, reptilian monstrosity—roared as it noticed Ludwig’s approach. But what truly sent a chill through the crowd was the sight of Ludwig’s expression. His face was set in a determined grin, one that mirrored the faint smile on Van Dijk’s lips.

The Tower Master leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with pride. “Let’s see how far he can go.”