Raising Her Lies From the Dead

Do you want to resurrect Miche Aliancraft?

The sky was overcast and gray, and even the sunlight filtering through the stained glass was dim.

They stood in an old orthodox church, draped in cobwebs and abandoned by God.

The man in the coat spoke without so much as raising an eyebrow.

Ah . . . ?

A pathetic sound escaped my lips as I stared at the middle-aged man sitting with his knees drawn up.

I wondered if he'd lost his mind, but he continued.

In terms of good and evil, it's evil. In terms of reason, it's twisted. You'll never be able to live properly again, or die properly either. A lifetime of desecrating death and spreading slaughter. The payment you'll receive is nothing but pocket change compared to the overwhelming sin and punishment.

In the amber eyes behind his glasses, I could see my own reflection—tears that had long since dried.

I didn't understand what he was saying, but those eyes seemed to be speaking the truth.

Even so—

The man cast his gaze downward.

I followed his gaze—either I didn't want to look directly or because I couldn't bear to look away, I didn't know.

Without understanding my own feelings, I looked down. Lying there as if asleep, with her back against the pulpit was a black-haired girl I'd known since childhood.

There lay the corpse of my beloved childhood friend, Miche.

If you wish to reunite with her, even if it means casting your very soul into hell, I shall guide you to the underworld.

The man extended his rough right hand.

It was truly a devil's invitation.

Or perhaps the man was something even more abominable than a devil.

What will you do, William Zidlud?

I didn't hesitate to nod.

It's decided.

I glared into those amber eyes and spat out each word.

Even if it's a lie, even if it's a one-in-ten-thousand chance—if I can see Miche just one more time, that alone would give the rest of my life all the meaning it needs.

Very well.

The man murmured, his expression not changing in the slightest.

Versalius's deepest darkness and origin. The sinner who dwells in the depths of the magical arts. You too shall sink into the sin of us national necromancers.

I took the man's hand.

It was a path leading to forbidden sinners, beings more abominable and deeply steeped in corruption than any devil.

1

The cottage was too luxurious to be called a mountain lodge, with red carpets laid throughout and state-of-the-art gas stoves.

In the hall of a mansion built to withstand even the cold winds of Europa's northern mountains, two voices rang out in a cacophony.

Master! Is this some new form of torture? Being tied up and gawked at by these grimy old men is way more unpleasant than I thought!

Just stay quiet, Liney. You're being rude to these bandit gentlemen. They've gone to the trouble of kidnapping us so nicely.

I'm the one wearing mage-like robes, hands tied behind my back and bound to a pillar.

My traveling companion is the one dressed in a frilly black dress, bound to a long table.

In other words, we're in quite the predicament by any normal standard, and yet . . .

Damn it, shut the hell up! Can't you two be quiet for once?! Act scared like normal people, beg for your lives or something! You got a death wish?!

The first to lose his patience and shout was one of the men surrounding us.

He had beast-like eyes and wore an ill-fitting foreign military uniform. Expensive gold trinkets jangled from his person, and in one hand he held a serrated dagger carved with ominous patterns. His face was flushed red with anger.

He belonged to a notorious armed bandit group—great villains who commanded mythical beasts and committed every evil act across the entire nation.

This was none other than their leader, Rudler Tile himself.

Ah, my apologies. My partner here has such an attitude. I'll have a good talk with her about it.

You too! What's with that smug-ass look on your face?!

Here was this famous figure, screaming and ranting like a child throwing a tantrum.

The bandits standing around Rudler—who had probably been planning to start a drinking party with bottles and glasses in hand—were showing similar expressions of irritation. Probably because their poor victims, whose screams they'd been planning to enjoy as entertainment, were far too energetic for their liking. How unfortunate for them.

Boss! Let's just hurry up and kill the guy already!

The woman's got a great face and body, but she's too damn loud! Let's stuff some cloth in her mouth!

The bandits, having had enough, stood up and raised their scimitars and pistols.

Rudler must have agreed—he ordered his subordinates to prepare some torn cloth.

Thank you for the compliment! But you guys should really care more about your fashion game! Are you even taking proper baths?!

Just shut up already! Seriously!

Perhaps fearing that any more shouting would cause even their lust to evaporate from sheer anger, Rudler's subordinates proceeded to gag Liney with cloth scraps, veins bulging on their foreheads. Even after that, she continued shouting.

Mmph!!

Something or other. She's energetic.

With an exhausted expression, Rudler now turned toward me. I looked up at him.

So . . . I'm gonna kill you. Got any funny last words?

I do.

Oh?

I'd like to beg for my life. As you can see, I'm a wealthy young mage. I should be able to offer you something profitable.

Rudler snorted with a truly contemptuous expression.

Yeah? Better be something that makes money. Otherwise I'll make you suffer even more before I kill you, you damn runt.

I suppressed about a hundred different curses that were ready to spill from my mouth.

. . . Of course. It's a story worth a million gold pieces.

I'm average height. This bandit must have terrible eyesight to go with his terrible judgment and manners.

Still, I kept my voice steady and began to speak.

Do you know what necromancy is? Binding the souls of the dead, raising them, controlling them. For thousands of years it's existed only in legends—"the most impossible magic in this world"—and yes, it is impossible. Outside this country, anyway.

Magic—the great art that harnesses the magical energy filling our world and creates supernatural phenomena. It's the foundation of all learning, humanity's greatest tool. And necromancy stands at its ultimate peak, a legend that should be impossible.

He must have smelled money. Rudler frowned but gestured with his chin for me to continue.

With the dagger pressed against my throat, I spoke.

This country has had two major turning points in history. The first was the Dawning three hundred years ago, when a small frontier nation suddenly expanded and consumed the central region of Europa. The second was the revolution twenty years ago that toppled the corrupt imperial system and established our republic. Both periods were crucial for "us" as well.

A history lesson was probably the last thing these hotheaded bandits wanted to hear.

But they didn't move a muscle.

Not even a twitch.

That small magical nation eventually reached the deepest secrets of magic. In the coup that raged for ten days and ten nights, immortal heroes cut down the emperor's forces like wheat. And now "we" serve the Grand Council that rules the country in the emperor's place. We've been stuck with the dirty work of cleaning up foolish terrorists like yourselves.

Rudler and the other bandits broke out in cold sweats, completely unable to move.

Around their necks, wrists, torsos, and ankles . . .

Pale blue threads had slowly appeared, binding them tight.

Though our work has changed, our nature as necromancers hasn't. We never appear on history's grand stage, always hidden with the state's full protection. Since the day the first few discovered necromancy, we've been the foundation working behind the scenes of this country—Versalius. You've heard rumors about necromancers like us, haven't you?

The tension reached its breaking point.

The bandits were held by magical threads, I was bound by rope, and not a single living soul could move.

Which is exactly why . . .

Oh, sorry to interrupt while you're all frozen like that. But that girl you've surrounded, the one you're planning to have your fun with—are you absolutely certain she's actually alive?

The girl sneered.

Several of the bandits finally snapped out of their fear, realizing from the eerie atmosphere that this was no time to be cowering, and began struggling desperately.

Gah, ahhh!

What the hell is this, damn it . . . ?!

These guys are from the Council?!

The magical restraints weren't that tight. Each person was bound by maybe one limb, or around the neck or torso—nothing more.

So several of the armed bandits tried to stab the girl nearby.

She casually swatted them away with the palm of her hand.

One of the bandits vanished.

Something whooshed through the air. A crushing sound thundered out. A human-sized hole burst open in the cottage's thick wall.

Huh?

Wha?

The remaining bandits stared in shock, unable to process what they'd just seen, but she showed them no mercy.

The girl sprang to her feet. Her restraints tore apart along with the long table. She swung her arms and swept with her legs, moving so fast her motions were barely visible, sending bandits flying left and right like they weighed nothing.

Don't . . . don't screw with us!

Damn it, it's the Grand Council's hounds!

Kill them!

The bandits finally understood what they were dealing with and frantically started swinging scimitars and spears throughout the hall. Some even pulled out pistols. But no matter what weapons they used, it didn't matter.

Because they couldn't hit her.

What?!

Gah . . . !

Eek!

Ow, damn it!

She knocked the pistol from a middle-aged bandit's hands and kicked him to the floor.

She snapped a scar-faced bandit's neck with a chop before he could swing his scimitar.

She dodged a young bandit's spear thrust and kicked him up into the ceiling beam.

Mmph—

The girl's violence continued, almost casually, like she was tidying up a messy room.

She showed no hint of her overwhelming power as she systematically annihilated the notorious bandit group.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!

One bandit, panicking from the incomprehensible carnage, ran toward me instead of the girl. Maybe he was trying to take a hostage—a smart move under the circumstances.

Too bad for him.

I freed myself from the ropes ages ago.

Gah . . . !

A single gunshot rang out. While I'd been watching the girl's inevitable victory, I retrieved my shotgun and put a round through the approaching bandit.

By the time the poor bastard hit the floor, only two figures were still moving in the cottage—myself and one other.

Mmph—pah! Geez!

"Rip."

She tore the cloth gag from her mouth with a single finger.

The Dead girl, Liney, glared at me with an expression that clearly said she had complaints.

2

The bandits' mansion was now a complete wreck—so thoroughly destroyed it could serve as its own tombstone. Gaping holes punctured the walls, the floorboards were smashed through, and ceiling beams hung broken and splintered. Scattered throughout the carnage lay the mangled corpses of the men who had caused all this destruction.

Yet standing in the middle of all that devastation, the girl without so much as a scratch was yelling at the top of her lungs.

Master! You should've taken them out way faster!

Predatory amber eyes and a face that still held traces of girlish charm. Her pale skin was flawless, and her glossy black hair was done up in twin pigtails. She wore an elaborate dress of ruffled black fabric adorned with white trim.

But her loud words, dramatic gestures, and expressive face completely shattered any cute impression.

I was about to be violated by those savages!

If there were criminals here capable of violating you, the Council State would have been destroyed long ago.

She puffed out her cheeks and started pulling faces right in front of me.

Casually brushing off Liney's loud complaints, I rubbed my chafed wrists where the rope marks still showed.

Despite the mess and lack of proper cleanup, their hideout was built with impressive luxury. Illegal Mythical Beast Commanders were top-tier criminals who could freely command the power of mythical beasts—each one a walking disaster. They'd clearly lived well, enjoying all the perks and indulging in every comfort.

But as payment for their extravagant lifestyle, this motley crew of bandits had been reduced to a pathetic end, their blood and gore now staining the opulent room. Not exactly something to envy.

Besides, you're the one who finished off most of these guys anyway.

Liney, dressed in her frilly Gothic Lolita outfit, looked spotless—not a drop of blood on her despite her clothes being slightly rumpled.

But that was only because she could afford to worry about blood spatter. There was no doubt the girl standing before me was responsible for this massacre—this overwhelming victory.

It's the principle of the thing! Besides, Master, you got one of them too!

Liney said this while sniffing the gunpowder smell from the short-barreled shotgun in my right hand.

Just one.

It was true. But it was practically a rounding error.

Liney puffed out her cheeks.

Anyway, it's all that animal-eared girl's fault for taking forever. If she'd been faster, I wouldn't have had to worry about my virtue being compromised.

I think your virtue was perfectly safe, but you're right about the delay. Making small talk just to kill time was pretty annoying. Right, Lia?

A voice answered from outside, responding to my call to thin air.

. . . Hey, complain all you want, but I was actually moving quickly for once, you know, Will?

A moment later, tremors and thunderous noise struck—violent enough to shatter and collapse the entire building.

No, that wasn't a metaphor.

As I watched, a massive white pillar crashed down, crushing about a third of the room. The pillar stirred up clouds of dust as it magnificently destroyed the Mythical Beast Commander's mansion—or rather, the bandit group's hideout.

Looking more closely, I realized the pillar was actually one leg of an enormous creature.

Thick white scales rippled over powerful muscles. The pure white claws pressing down on the pile of rubble they'd created could easily topple even the most magnificent castle walls.

Or would you two amateurs prefer to handle negotiations that could destroy the entire country if they fail?

The young girl who'd just half-destroyed the mansion looked down at Liney and me from high above.

High above—standing on the back of a massive white dragon—she was even backlit by a halo from the morning sun rising behind her. Her snow-white hair and beast ears formed a silhouette, radiating the dignity of a legendary saint commanding an evil dragon.

Lia Zizz. A young descendant of a beastkin clan with beast blood.

And a necromancer—in other words, my colleague.

Ah, ahaha . . . it's nothing at all! Tee-hee!

Quickly caving to the young girl's authority—or more likely, terrified of being crushed by the dragon's foot—Liney completely changed her tune and started groveling.

A pure white dragon so massive you had to crane your neck just to see all of it.

This dragon was exactly what had transformed them from a simple bandit group into a major threat to the state, forcing both Lia and me—two full necromancers—to be assigned to this job.

From the half-destroyed stone hideout, you could see steep mountains stretching endlessly into the distance.

The bandit group had built their hideout in the mountainous region of northern Versalius Council State, using the white dragon to launch repeated attacks throughout the region.

Even after taking them down, I still couldn't understand how these criminals—who were clearly nothing more than common thugs—had managed to discover and control a legendary dragon.

Ah, I actually figured that out. Which is why the negotiation wasn't really so difficult after all.

As she spoke, Lia jumped down from the dragon's back, gripping a long, bladeless sword.

The sword had the shape of an elongated stake, with intricate patterns carved across its entire surface. A green gemstone pulsing with magical energy was embedded in the center of the hilt.

It looks like a sword, but it's actually a binding artifact that works more like a ritual needle—and a very powerful one. Once you're bound by a contract through this kind of object, breaking free is nearly impossible. By finding an opening to stab it under his throat—right beneath the reverse scale that controls his rage—they could control such a mighty dragon despite being complete amateurs.

She delivered her explanation with scholarly precision.

Even though we're both necromancers, Lia and I have completely different specialties. While I focus on necromancy for human applications, Lia specializes in commanding the spirits of mythical beasts and animals.

That's exactly why she was assigned to this mission—her skills as a Mythical Beast Commander made her perfect for the job. But apparently this time it was simply a matter of removing the cursed stake.

Then you could have shown up earlier.

Getting the dragon to break ties with the bandits was the easy part. He'd been used and abused for so long that he'd built up quite a bit of resentment. If I'd carelessly dissolved the contract, his rage could have burned down not just us, but the entire Council State and neighboring countries. Calming him down was the real challenge.

Lia let out a weary sigh.

She really had completed a major job, so it didn't seem right to give her any more grief.

Besides, the only damage was a tired tongue from all the talking—hardly worth comparing to the risk of turning the entire country into a wasteland.

After all, if our employer nation disappeared, both Lia and I would be out of work tomorrow.

That would be a problem. Being a government employee is quite convenient and flexible.

Especially the salary.

As if to make her point, Lia put on an exasperated expression.

Besides, you didn't even need to use that trump card of yours, did you? You're actually acting like a proper necromancer for once.

Don't be ridiculous. There's no such thing as a proper necromancer.

As we chatted, Lia glanced around as if something had just occurred to her.

But all around us were only the collapsed cottage and the bandits' corpses.

Worry creased her brow.

Um, are there any survivors from the bandit group? To calm the dragon down, I told him he could take all the revenge he wanted on the bandits.

That's . . . hard to say. Are there any, Liney?

Huh?! You should have told me that earlier. I didn't hold back at all, you know?

Liney pouted.

Then it's hopeless.

I sighed in resignation.

The secret art inherited by the Versalius Council State—necromancy.

Magic that draws enormous power from the souls of the dead and converts it into immortal bodies and tremendous strength.

The dead revived through necromancy are called Dead. My partner Liney is one of them.

I couldn't imagine any human surviving Liney's monstrous strength when she went all out—not with the power of the Dead backing her. Professional warriors might stand a chance, but our opponents were just street thugs who liked to fight—complete amateurs.

I was thinking we'd need to come up with some other excuse to appease the dragon.

A door in the corner of the hall opened with a grating screech—the building's foundation must have warped from the dragon's damage. It was a hidden door, concealed behind a tapestry depicting battle scenes.

A single bandit was hiding inside.

. . . Rudler?

Looking closer, it was indeed the leader Rudler himself, who had been strutting around just minutes ago.

Since he was nowhere to be seen earlier, I'd assumed Liney had turned him into a gruesome mess along with the rest. Apparently he'd hidden away in the chaos while his subordinates bravely fought to the end.

I had no intention of condemning him for it.

Necromancers ourselves are nothing but the worst kind of scoundrels, collectively violating dozens of ethical taboos.

The fact that we're now devoted to eliminating villains comes down to "an eye for an eye, evil for evil." So I'm not about to judge someone for abandoning their comrades—that would be hypocritical.

However.

This is perfect. I was wondering what we'd do if no one was left alive, but it looks like we saved the best for last.

Lia looked relieved.

Rather than relief about finishing the job, she was probably relieved that she wouldn't have to break her promise to the white dragon.

With beast blood running through her veins and skills in commanding beasts, the young girl had a natural fondness for animals.

That said, just because I command human spirits doesn't mean I'm particularly fond of humans.

Humans come in all varieties. Some work hard and live honest lives, while others would use a controlled dragon to tear such people apart just to steal their wealth.

Above all.

A foul, humid wind swept through the half-destroyed hideout.

Looking up, I could see the silver dragon peering down at us through the collapsed ceiling.

Seeing those blazing eyes fixed on the cowering Rudler, even a child could tell the dragon was furious.

H-Hiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeek!

Rudler had been trembling ever since the hidden door opened, but faced with the dragon's fury, he finally let out a pathetic scream. Tears welled up in his eyes.

But no one felt sympathy.

In the name of state necromancers William Zidlud and Lia Zizz, representatives of the Central Grand Council of the Versalius Council State, I hereby declare the following judgment: One hundred nineteen counts of murder, assault, rape, theft, robbery, disturbing the peace, crimes against faith, and twenty-seven additional violations of Council law. Based on these charges, we hereby designate leader Rudler Tile and his twenty-one subordinates as targets under Special Law, to be executed by any means necessary and without delay. This constitutes official notification from the Grand Council. In accordance with the Third Charter, we will now carry out the execution.

The Grand Council recommends making formal proclamations like this, but we rarely bother with such formalities in the field. If we had the luxury of doing so face-to-face, they wouldn't need to call in necromancers in the first place.

This time, however, it felt appropriate to do so.

There's one advantage to having villains judge other villains: no matter how ruthless your methods for cornering criminals, you don't have to worry about compromising your own morals.

H-help me . . . !

Now, now.

With cold eyes, I stared at the leader who had tears pathetically welling up in the corners of his eyes.

To be this stubborn even in the face of death—he really was a third-rate villain.

Cold spring winds flowed into the hideout built deep within the mountain range. Just as wind would snuff out a candle's flame, the fate of this doomed villain was equally inevitable.

You should know better than anyone what happens when you beg criminals for mercy, shouldn't you?

And so, that day came to an end.

A mountain peak in the northern range of the Versalius Council State was consumed by silver flames.

3

A steam whistle echoed through the air, followed by the sharp clang-clang-clang of metal striking metal. Urged on by the sound, passengers poured out of the train in droves.

Blending into the crowd, the three of us—Liney, Lia, and I—stepped down onto the platform.

Lia and I wore the deep blue robes of state mages. Liney was dressed in a Gothic Lolita outfit designed by a famous designer who was said to be at least a century ahead of his time.

The existence of necromancers is supposedly kept secret, but necromancers' faces aren't well-known to begin with, so there's little risk of drawing attention. The Grand Council devotes considerable energy to concealment operations, so individual necromancers don't need to be particularly cautious.

However, beastkin are fairly rare in urban areas, and the sight of one accompanying just a boy and a girl might naturally attract interest even from people who know nothing about us.

Some acting would probably be necessary to avoid suspicion.

Though Liney was taking things a bit too far.

Okay, everyone! Little brother and half-sister, make sure you stay close to big sister so you don't get lost!

Who's the little brother?

Who's the half-sister? Just because you're a little taller doesn't mean you can act all superior.

Heh heh. Well, I suppose I could let you play the big sister role once you get taller than me. Though that'll be quite a while from now, won't it?

What! I-I'll overtake you in no time! In about three years!

We'll see about that.

Liney laughed as she teased Lia, while Lia got increasingly worked up from being toyed with.

To any outsider, they really did look like sisters who fought because they were so close.

Incidentally—and this is completely irrelevant—my height is almost exactly the same as Liney's. It might be on the short side for the average guy my age, but that doesn't give Liney any right to make fun of me for it. Completely irrelevant, of course.

With my two chattering companions in tow, I made my way through the grand station building.

Central City, the capital of the Versalius Council State, still preserves its historic streetscapes from the imperial era—architecture that survived even the revolution twenty years ago. The culture and buildings that took root when the former emperor divided the country into seven districts and established Central City at its heart have endured as living traditions.

And as any capital should, it balances its storied past with a vibrant present.

Horse-drawn carriages, magic cars, and the occasional automobile imported from the neighboring Noctrant Industrial Empire to the west flowed down the main boulevard in steady streams. The sidewalks bustled with even larger crowds, and shops had sprung up along every available stretch, eager to capitalize on all that foot traffic.

Oh, doesn't that shop's cake look delicious? Look at all that cream!

No no, that confectionery over there makes wonderful candied violets. We should definitely stop by.

. . . By the way.

Ignoring the girls' animated discussion, I stopped in front of a restaurant. Both of them blinked in surprise.

I looked at the younger girl and spoke up to remind her of recent events.

Lia, do you remember that thing?

That thing . . . ? Wh-what thing?

No need to play dumb. You were the one who came asking for help, saying that handling both the dragon and the bandit group alone would be quite the challenge. I gave up my vacation to travel all the way out to the Fifth Sector for work, took on the role of bait, and even had bandits pointing blades at me. Now, I'm not saying I didn't want to help. As colleagues—classmates, even—it's only natural for us to support each other when things get tough, right?

Y-yes. Thank you very much for—

Speaking of which, all this travel has worked up quite an appetite. Unfortunately, I'm a bit short on funds at the moment. What a predicament—if only there were some generous colleague around to help me out.

W-what!

Not that I'm talking about you specifically, Lia. You shouldn't push yourself too hard. Even if the burden comes back to bite you later, there's no guarantee the other person will return the favor, after all. Oh my, I still have rope marks on my wrists from being tied up. These might not fade for quite a while.

Gr-gr-grrrr . . . !

Lia was groaning with her ears perked straight up, having fallen victim to what seemed roundabout but was actually incredibly direct extortion. Beside her, Liney was pulling a face that screamed yikes.

I was well aware of my own meanness. Actually, conversations between necromancers are ninety percent spite. The remaining ten percent is greed.

That said, debts should ideally be repaid sooner rather than later, and given my relationship with her, this approach suited us better than politely exchanging pleasantries.

The fact that she was about six years younger than me and looked like a complete child was something I should probably overlook for now.

F-f-fine! As thanks for all your help, please let me treat you to a meal at that restaurant! Is that good enough?!

Now, now, why are you getting so worked up? But if you insist that much, I suppose I can't refuse outright. Well, I really don't need any thanks, but we are equal partners after all. Perhaps accepting would be the polite thing to do. In that case, let's take you up on that offer, Liney.

Liney was staring at Will with an extremely eloquent expression that practically screamed Wait, is this guy seriously extorting a little girl and then trying to make her pay for my portion too? Is he some kind of hardcore scoundrel? It was hardly the look one should give their master.

However, since Liney eating meant the cost would inevitably come out of my wallet anyway, there was no room for argument. Ignoring my strangely conscientious partner who usually teases me plenty herself, I decided to head straight into the restaurant.

Glancing back, I saw Liney placing a comforting hand on Lia's shoulder as she trembled with her ears perked straight up. They got along well. They might actually become real sisters at this rate.

The restaurant had quite pleasant Old Town District-style décor, and the food centered on meat and grains was satisfyingly prepared. Since I don't like to linger over meals, within half an hour the table was lined with empty plates.

For the sake of Lia's honor, I should clarify that her reluctance earlier wasn't due to any unwillingness to fulfill her obligations or miserliness with small change. Necromancers are fundamentally well-paid, after all. Normally, treating someone to lunch once or twice wouldn't make a dent in one's finances.

Normally.

. . . Phew, thank you for the meal.

After setting down my fork and knife and wiping my mouth, Lia was trembling violently in front of me. Liney was looking away in embarrassment with an expression that seemed to say "I'm so sorry."

As for why they were reacting so dramatically, even I understand. Or rather, I understand because it's about myself. I've always struggled with having quite the appetite, but today when I counted the empty plates in front of me, there were thirteen large plates. A new record.

Th-thirteen plates . . . ! Thirteen whole plates—just where in that body of yours did they all go?! And you even polished off the salmon foil bake that the panicked cook brought out still undercooked, when they said they'd replace it . . . !

I'm not a picky eater.

How convenient for you!

Since my appetite costs a fortune, at least my taste buds are cheap.

Grr . . . !

Even her most heartfelt sarcasm bounced right off him, and Lia gritted her teeth in frustration.

This was a restaurant in the capital of one of the world's great powers, so even a single dish cost a pretty penny. By the time we settled the bill and stepped out onto the street, Lia had tears welling up in the corners of her eyes.

This month's candy money . . . my food tours . . .

She muttered under her breath.

Even a villain—I mean, even I feel guilty when I've made a young girl cry.

With an apologetic wince, I pointed across the street.

Lia, I'm sorry. I got a bit carried away and ate too much. Let me buy you some candy from that shop as an apology. You like sweets, don't you?

W-Will . . . I won't be fooled! You're just playing both sides, aren't you?! And besides, I clearly paid way more than you did!

This is what they call adult wisdom. You learned something today.

There you go again, treating me like a child only when it's convenient for you! Grr!

Even Lia, who usually acts like a cool, intellectual lone wolf, looked her age in moments like this.

Everyone looks childish when they're angry, and it was entirely my fault.

4

Honestly, Will is just hopeless.

The paper bag Lia held contained flower petals and fruits that had been soaked in sugar and dried, giving them a soft texture and deep sweetness. She walked along eating the candied violets, strawberries, and peaches from the bag, and seemed to have cheered up considerably. Her snow wolf ears swayed back and forth.

I worry that this animal-eared girl might get kidnapped by bad adults who lure her with candy someday . . .

Liney cast a pitying look toward Lia, whose anger had so easily melted away after being tempted by sweets.

The road we were walking on was certainly busy, but looking ahead, we could see quite far into the distance.

The main street was lined with restaurants, clothing stores, furniture shops, clock shops, bladesmiths, gun shops, magic bookstores, magic tool shops, as well as salons for the upper class, police boxes, and several government offices on both sides.

More organized than any mesh network, the main streets connect in a strict grid pattern. This is characteristic of Central City as a planned city, and you can see at a glance how the most important buildings are concentrated toward its center.

Passing gentlemen and ladies, wealthy couples, and boys who appeared to be workshop apprentices carrying large loads, the three of us walked toward the center of Central City.

At the center of the main streets extending in all directions stands the largest and most magnificent building in Central City: the Palace, where the imperial court was located during the Imperial Era. It's currently used as a parliament building for the Grand Council, and areas of the grounds not used for government business, such as the gardens, are open to the public.

Around the Palace, where the central spire was replaced with a glass dome during post-revolution renovations, citizens of all social standings were chatting on the grass. Since part of the Palace also serves as a research facility for national mages, Will and Lia in their mage robes don't stand out.

After stepping into the vast stone Palace and distancing ourselves from the chatting citizens, Liney let out a deflated sigh.

Glancing back at the citizens peacefully enjoying their day of rest in the gardens, William winked.

Opening the Palace to citizens, providing facilities to regular mages, and all that. This is all to keep necromancers and the Dead from being exposed, right? It seems overly elaborate, or rather, I think it would make things harder instead.

That's just how much the old men of the Grand Council can't stop worrying about us. After all, necromancers are indispensable to this country's history and even the current Grand Council system. Even though it can't be made public, this country is undeniably a nation of necromancers, which is why they've even prepared sleeping quarters in the Palace basement as cheap lodging for us.

Turning right from the main entrance, we descended the stairs that opened quietly and inconspicuously to the underground levels. Neutralizing several defensive spells placed on the underground stairs with our passes, we stood before a door at the bottom of the stairwell.

Without needing to knock, and without needing to turn the doorknob, the door opened by itself.

Beyond the door stood a single maid.

I have been waiting for you. Welcome back, Master.

As pale as a corpse, she spoke these words and bowed at the waist.

Agalia, the report is compiled here. I sent the Testimony on a separate train, so it should arrive this afternoon. Please receive it.

Understood, Master.

The woman dressed as a servant, wearing white gloves, took the typewritten report in her hands and stepped aside from the entrance to the carpeted parlor.

. . . It sounds like Will handled all the work, but I'm the one who persuaded the dragon and wrote the report, you know? Don't get any funny ideas, Agalia.

I understand, Master.

Also, why "Master"? You always do this.

The blue-haired woman in servant's attire maintained her slightly bowed posture without changing expression, even in response to Lia's anxious corrections and pointed remarks.

Housekeeper—Agalia Lept.

She oversees all household matters in the Palace's necromancer dormitory and serves as a faithful housekeeper to all necromancers, addressing each of them as Master.

What is known about this woman, whose background and entire past remain secret, is only that she is an excellent housekeeper and caretaker to all the most trusted necromancers under the Grand Council that rules the Council State.

That and one other thing.

Her baked goods are exquisite.

What about refreshments?

They are prepared. Please enjoy them and relax if you would like.

Then I'll have some. I was just getting a bit peckish.

Huh, wait, Will? Where exactly did my month's worth of candy money disappear to?

Dealer sometimes becomes less human than me, doesn't he? Mainly when it comes to his stomach.

Ignoring the complaints and exasperation from both sides, I walked through the parlor door and into the heated room beyond.

Though winter was drawing to a close, it was still too chilly to call it spring. I felt my stiff fingers relax as the fireplace's warmth gradually seeped in.

The gentle piano music echoing through the room suggested someone with time on their hands was playing.

. . . You're back, Hunter, Snow Wolf.

We were greeted by that voice along with the rich aroma of roasted coffee beans.

The parlor serves as the underground dormitory's lounge, and after several renovations, it now has the spaciousness of a hotel lobby. It contains a fireplace, sofas, and a large table, along with potted plants with round leaves, a dartboard and billiard table that see little use, and a grand piano producing melodies.

Various paintings—both large and small, all needlessly expensive-looking—also hang on the walls.

An elaborate bar counter stands at the center of it all, and the source of that rich coffee aroma was someone tirelessly grinding beans behind it.

We're back, Owner. Babysitting my colleagues was quite the ordeal.

We're home. Owner, please give this lying colleague of mine an extremely bitter cup of coffee.

Make mine with lots of sugar and milk, Professor Whiskers!

Owner was a middle-aged man with slicked-back brown hair, glasses, and a white shirt.

While Agalia sometimes uses the fully equipped bar counter—complete with cooking utensils and coffee grinder—for baking and light meals, it's basically his domain. Though he's a proper necromancer rather than a barista, his skill at coaxing flavor from coffee beans surpasses even Agalia's.

He's also a battle-hardened veteran necromancer and something of a mentor to Lia and me, so we can't act casually around him. Yet we still call him by a nickname rather than his real name—it's a necromancer tradition.

The Jester's performance is always enchanting to listen to. Such delicacy—you'd never think it was being played by that frivolous fool.

Owner handed Lia coffee with even more milk than Liney's, and she expressed her admiration while filling her cheeks with Agalia's baked goods from the table.

The one playing the grand piano in the corner of the underground parlor was a masked young man.

Beside the one called Jester stood a translucent, pale blue ghostly girl. Granted matter-phasing magic, she too was one of the Dead—proof that the Jester was a necromancer.

Owner and Jester were their nicknames.

And Hunter and Snow Wolf were ours.

All nicknames that necromancers who don't wish to call each other by their real names have made traditional.

And as for why they dislike real names . . .

. . . Forest Guard died, apparently.

Owner calmly announced the name of one of their comrades while pouring coffee into a cup.

No one was surprised.

Where?

The Eastern Seventh District. He was dispatched to handle civil unrest, but apparently foreign spies were behind it. He eliminated all the enemies but got poisoned—treatment didn't make it in time.

Forest Guard was skilled at using forest ecosystem Dead and had deep knowledge of poisons, too. He went down that easily?

Maybe they used some of those new cyanide compounds. The more confident you are in a field, the more vulnerable you become when something unfamiliar gets thrown at you.

Ugh, what a scary story. I'm glad I'm already dead!

That's the end of it.

Necromancers are those who desecrate the dead, venture into forbidden territory, and carry out missions without regard for good or evil at the Grand Council's command. Naturally, the risks are immense, and resolve is essential.

Because they know they've fallen from grace the moment they take on the title of necromancer, they don't mourn the deaths of their comrades. Perhaps mourning would be an insult—they understand that no matter how gruesome the death, it's a path they too will one day walk.

The more accustomed you become to calling someone by name, the more affection develops.

Never knowing when they might die and occupying a place where death is honorable, necromancers have made it customary to call each other by nicknames rather than real names.

We'd better be careful of poison, Lia. By the way, haven't you lost your appetite for that pie?

Ha ha ha, you jest. Aren't you the one who's getting tired of eating by now, Will?

They laugh together and eye the baked goods on each other's plates.

In other words, for those who lack even a shred of subtlety, they don't even bother worrying about things like names.

Liney and Owner look at Will and Lia with exasperation.

You two really do get along well.

Indeed.

5

That night, in a corner of the Palace—or rather, beneath the glass dome that formed its innermost sanctum.

The large chamber on the top floor offered a view of the night sky through its transparent skylight. Countless candelabras were scattered throughout the spacious room, yet it remained dimly lit. The temple-like space used even this half-darkness to enhance its mystique.

A raised dais of several steps stood at the center of the floor, with a pure white throne placed at its summit. Architecturally, there was no structural need to elevate this section of the floor. The elevation was purely artificial, serving only political and religious purposes.

So, did you find out anything?

The girl seated on the white throne still had youthful features. She wore a veil over her shimmering golden hair and was clothed in white ceremonial robes.

Before the dais stood an elderly man. He wore robes and emanated an aura of seasoned maturity.

The old man answered.

No, unfortunately. I believe you've read the report, but we haven't learned anything beyond that yet.

Why not? Hasn't the Testimony already arrived?

No, you see . . .

The old man let out a weary sigh. Though he wore robes, they weren't those of a mage. Green lining with gold embroidery, made from hard, wrinkle-resistant fabric that emphasized visual steadiness and dignity over practicality—the ceremonial cloak that marked his position as Chairman of the Grand Council.

The more authority the old man possessed, the more it revealed how extraordinary the girl on the dais truly was—she treated him almost like a distinguished servant.

The old man continued.

The Testimony. Even necromancy's secret art—the ability to make the dead speak—cannot force those who knew nothing to reveal secrets.

Even after resurrecting them, they simply didn't know to begin with?

Yes. None of that bandit group, not even their leader, seemed to accurately grasp the situation. They had only minimal contact with whoever sent them the binding artifact and white dragon. That was exactly what their handler intended, of course.

If they have a purpose worth handing over a dragon to common criminals, it's natural they'd conceal themselves . . . What was the payment? What did the mastermind demand from the bandits?

Magic stones, apparently. While they were pillaging towns and stealing gold and silver, they were also made to steal large quantities of magic stones.

Concentrated magic power sources? They're too versatile—we won't be able to narrow down their intended use.

The girl didn't sigh, but she lowered her eyelids and looked down slightly.

Though intelligent, she still lacked the experience her position demanded. Understanding the weight of her role, she couldn't afford the luxury of acting like an unfettered dictator.

Maybe out of consideration for the girl, the old man facing her suddenly changed the subject.

. . . However, looking up at this angle is getting hard on my neck. It's quite a strain on these creaking old bones.

Caught off guard by him suddenly pointing out the height difference with the dais, the girl blinked in surprise.

The girl maintained the expressionless poker face her position required, but if you looked closely, her eyes had widened just slightly. Without breaking into an outright smile, she rustled her ceremonial robes—woven from silk so fine that the word "expensive" couldn't do it justice—and lightened the atmosphere as she responded to the old man's jest.

This throne has supposedly been lowered from the one used in Imperial times. More importantly, you're the one who placed me in this position, Chairman Ligaus.

Ha ha. When you put it that way, I have nothing to say in return, Archbishop.

Alday Neg Ligaus, Seventh Chairman of the Central Grand Council of the Versalius Council State.

Ceres Tritonis Quartzia, Archbishop of the Versalius State Church and necromancer.

The two undisputed supreme authorities of the nation were engaged in a nighttime conference at the heart of the Palace.

That said, Archbishop. Though I am chairman, I'm merely a single member of parliament. I hold only one vote in the Grand Council, and when my term ends, I can be replaced at any time. I cannot compare to your irreplaceable position.

. . . I am nothing more than a piece to efficiently spread the Grand Council's decisions throughout the Council State. Simply because my talents as a mage and necromancer are rare. My personal will holds little value, doesn't it?

That's not—

The Archbishop's poker face remained as unshakeable as ever. The only sign of her restrained anger was a slight narrowing of her eyes. Even that alone carried enough intensity to unsettle Ligaus, a politician who had survived countless trials and tribulations.

The Archbishop.

Versalius's religious leader and a necromancer in an extremely political position.

Her role was to emphasize and spread the teaching that "God resurrects people through miracles," establishing a foundation within the Council State for accepting necromancy.

Or to visit plague-stricken regions and perform countless "miracles" to stop epidemics.

Or on battlefields, to create heroes through "divine miracles" and guarantee absolute victory through champions who never die.

A role central to the Versalius State Church, the Grand Council, and indeed the entire Council State system itself. All of this was divine work possible only because she was a transcendent necromancer.

Of this great nation built through necromancy, she was likely the most prominent example.

The supreme necromancer tossed her head, her hair shimmering like spun gold, and spoke.

I don't mind. If it means saving even one more unredeemed soul, I have no problem being elevated or used as a tool. From the day I accepted the burden of being a necromancer, I've been prepared to be reviled as evil and condemned to burn in purgatory. Use me however you see fit. But there's no need to voice such empty platitudes, even in a place like this. Your flattery, Chairman of the Grand Council or not, makes my skin crawl.

. . . Yes. My apologies—my tasteless jest went too far. We are both rulers and slaves, servants who have devoted our lives to people who are not gods. Let us refrain from meaningless flattery.

I would appreciate that.

The Archbishop closed her eyes briefly, deliberately shifting the atmosphere.

In politics, casual conversation and government business must always be kept separate.

When she opened her eyes again, she had already regained her composed, calm demeanor.

So, what will we do?

Indeed. An entity capable of commanding dragons. Whether individual or organization, we cannot simply leave them be.

Any ideas?

What about using the Hunter? I hear he volunteered for this recent mission.

According to him, it was because his inexperienced colleague relied on him.

Excellent, excellent. Such enthusiasm is most appreciated.

. . . Though I'm reluctant to rely too heavily on him, given that he's a survivor of the Nightmare of Chesterrod.

Ho ho. National politics is a den of demons. One must become a villain more heartless than necromancers, or it simply cannot be done.

I see. You may be right.

Hmm, then . . .

I assign this matter to Hunter, William Zidlud.

Understood. We'll also arrange for a Regal Knight to appear in the public reports.

Regal Knights. Ligaus had mentioned those who serve as counterparts to Versalius's national necromancers.

The Archbishop paused briefly to consider.

While the Council State operates with knights working openly and necromancers working in the shadows, I'm hearing that more knights are becoming dissatisfied with their position. Chairman Ligaus, I expect you to manage this situation properly.

Ligaus bowed his head, and the Archbishop gave a small nod.

Soon, their voices fell silent.

The nighttime conference—one of countless such meetings—came to an end once again.