(Ryuta POV)
There is not even the slightest bit of a trace left of that damn undead dragon. You'd think something of such a mass of foul flesh would leave a permanent stench everywhere it went.
Worse yet, the monster doesn't require things a regular creature does. No need for consumption or even water. It's already dead to begin with.
But there is a deciding factor that could allow me to lighten my workload a little bit.
The Asura Kingdom itself.
Previously, before departing to intercept the firs wave, I've made contact with North Emperor Sandor, aka North God Kalman II, since he's, according to Orsted, the most trustworthy and least likely to be an apostle.
Whether he will listen to me will depend on how much of what I wrote about his son's involvement in the King Dragon dilemma.
But before that, I was asked by Perugius to visit him on his castle.
Seems as though Nanahoshi had been asking him if he could send out Arumanfi to go search for me, but Perugius declined, saying that since this a political matter between Asura and King Dragon, he will not take action.
The only time he helped was about informing me about the Red Dragon overflow and the results of my culling.
If he didn't already clarified it to me that he won't be aiding anyone until the return of Laplace, I would be upset. But given his history with the Demon God, it can be somewhat understandable.
***
We passed through one last corridor, the heavy silence of stone giving way to the gentle rush of wind. The doors opened, and the Sky Castle's inner garden sprawled out before me.
Even after several visits, the sight never lost its weight.
A patch of impossible greenery suspended in the sky, nourished by no soil I could name. Flowers too vivid for the mortal realm lined the paths, their colors shifting subtly when caught by the light. Above, the protective dome shimmered faintly, keeping the unyielding currents of the heavens at bay.
And at the center, beneath a silver-limbed tree whose branches spread like starlight, sat a round table.
Perugius.
His long, pale hair draped elegantly over his shoulders, his golden eyes sharp yet utterly composed. Around him, seated or standing in measured positions, were his eleven spirit familiars. Each one carried an aura distinct enough to press against my chest, yet they all bowed ever so slightly the moment my presence entered the garden.
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.
Perugius did not rise, nor did he need to. His gaze alone was enough to pin me in place.
The garden was as breathtaking as ever, but it was the round table at its heart that held my focus. Perugius sat there in all his unshakable dignity, his eleven familiars arrayed around him like living heralds. Their presence alone was enough to crush the unprepared, yet Perugius' gaze held something I didn't expect.
Approval.
"Ryuta," his voice rang out, sharp yet not unkind, "you continue to surprise me."
I blinked, thrown off before I could even open my mouth. "Surprise you? …I'm not sure I follow. Unless this is about my last laundry tool delivery—"
A faint chuckle rippled among the familiars, but Perugius' expression didn't so much as twitch. His golden eyes pierced through me as he clarified:
"Not your trifling devices. Your spirit fiend. Its success is… curious. Even I did not anticipate such a result."
My breath caught for a moment before the realization hit. Of course. That's what he meant. The long months of tinkering, trial after trial, binding and unbinding mana, weaving chantless structures that had no precedent—it hadn't been in vain.
Perugius leaned back slightly, his robe flowing as if stirred by unseen currents. "It lives. It functions. It does more than serve as a shell—it adapts. That, Ryuta, is what impresses me."
Understanding settled in my chest, a strange mix of pride and unease.
Perugius gestured to the empty chair across from him. "Sit. I would hear everything about this creation of yours. Leave nothing unsaid."
The familiars' gazes weighed on me as I moved to the chair, their stares like a silent chorus demanding answers. I lowered myself into the seat, feeling the distance between us close with a quiet gravity.
"All right," I said, resting my hands on the table. "I'll tell you everything I can about the spirit fiend."
***
It continued with Perugius asking about certain parts of the formations of Magic Circles I've used.
He would put in some advice for improvement here and there, or think of possible modifications. He is a God tier user of Summoning Magic after all.
This feels like he's the genius tech millionaire, and I'm the new aspiring engineer.
"It is quite a shame I won't be seeing the specimen you've created. But given your opponents, it was bound to happen to such a newly created creature."
He was right. Had I known who I would be going up against, then I would have been more cautious. Then again, he was quite a nifty guy.
With the help of his Gravity Magic Longsword, he utilized some of my Earth Magic projectiles as leverage to get closer to me or employ acrobatic skills to dodge them mid-air, ultimately using my attacks to create unpredictable patterns. The other four were clowns compared to him.
And what Perugius said about Sumizome does fit. He was more 'creature' than 'man.'
But that begs the question.
"If my familiar is considered a creature, what would that make Arumanfi and the rest of your spirits?"
Saying this question out loud earned me an intense glare from said spirits.
Perugius, on the other hand, didn't look the least bit angered. Instead, there was a slight smirk at the corners of his mouth.
"If we are talking about adaptability to a spirit's environment and given task, then yours comes on top, thanks to its monstrous side. Even more so since you've chosen a Fenris Wolf as the fiend."
For a fleeting moment, I felt proud. My spirit fiend—Sumizome—wasn't just a tool. It had been alive in its own way, adapting and learning mid-battle.
But then, an itch crept in the back of my mind.
Perugius' words, his approval, they carried weight… but what was the difference, really? I'd stitched together mana, instinct, and form into a creature. The necromancers who used me as an energy source had done something eerily similar—forcing life where it shouldn't exist, twisting corpses into engines of survival.
A shiver crawled up my spine.
Was my creation only respectable because it was born from Summoning Magic instead of necromancy? If someone looked at Sumizome… would they see something monstrous too?
I clenched my fists under the table, forcing the thought down. No. Mine was creation. Theirs was desecration. But the line between the two felt thinner than I wanted to admit.
"Are you saying that because your spirit lacks the thinking of a being made out of flesh and blood, they can't understand things faster?"
"It has more to do with the fear of death," he corrected me. "A living being not fearing death is prone to reckless actions. Demons like Atofe who carry the blood of immortals do not know that fear."
That's true. That Demon Lord did seem like she was going around consequences-free, like her actions were coming from a totally free-spirited place.
But what Perugius says about adaptability has some truth.
The fear of death is a strong factor when it comes to the will of survival, if not for the most cases, the main factor.
I'm unsure what my own thoughts on dying right at this moment are. I died already once, and at that time, I was under the impression it was the end of my story.
Getting reincarnated into a world of swords and magic like in a light novel? What are the chances of that happening?
Death. Speaking of that, it makes me think of that three-headed Black Dragon.
The way it lingered even after being slain. The grotesque semblance of life forced into something that had no right to exist.
I shifted in my chair, the thought pressing too hard to ignore.
"Lord Perugius," I said carefully, "what do you know about… necromancy?"
For the first time since I'd entered the Sky Castle's garden, Perugius' composure wavered. His golden eyes, which normally carried that same unshakable dignity, flickered—just once, like a spark snapping from a frayed wire.
It wasn't anger. It wasn't even disgust. It was something heavier. Something I'd never expected to see etched into the legendary summoner's face.
"Tell me, Ryuta… do you intend to research that corrupted art?"
I raised both hands instinctively. "No. Nothing like that."
His stare did not soften. If anything, the weight behind it pressed even harder, like the whole garden had just turned against me.
I exhaled and forced the words out. "My curiosity comes from… an incident. Recently. A creature was raised—animated—by someone using that kind of magic."
The faint shimmering of the protective dome overhead seemed to still. Even the wind that brushed through the silver-limbed tree slowed, as though the Sky Castle itself was holding its breath.
Perugius leaned forward, and the space between us collapsed into something suffocating. His golden eyes flared, burning through me like twin suns.
"Are you saying," his voice thundered, stripped of all its earlier composure, "that necromancy has already been used? Here. In this age."
The raw severity in his tone startled me. I had thought I'd seen every shade of his arrogance, his dismissive amusement, his cold authority. But this—this was something else entirely.
"Yes," I answered quietly, but firmly. "It has."
The round table seemed to grow heavier between us.
Perugius's hand clenched against the polished surface. His familiars had all but abandoned their calm facades; Arumanfi's radiant form flickered more intensely, and others whispered in sharp tones too low for me to catch.
Perugius' next words cracked through the garden like a lightning strike:
"Then you will tell me everything about this incident. Every detail. Leave nothing out."
The sudden, absolute seriousness in his voice sent a chill running down my spine.
I hadn't expected him to react like this. Not Perugius. Not the so-called Sky Lord who never budged for politics, armies, or kings.
And yet, necromancy… had rattled him.
***
So, I told him everything.
The purpose behind the first wave, the truth I'd pieced together from scraps of evidence and the half-broken words of my captors. How I'd been taken alive, chained up like livestock, my body reduced to nothing more than a vessel. They had forced my mana out of me in a steady stream, twisting it into a fuel source for their blasphemous ritual.
How I'd fought against it at first, until the sedatives had burned through me like molten lead. I remember my body going limp, my mind slipping, awareness blurring into black.
I woke to destruction. Fire. Screams. The facility torn apart, its leader—the king of the King Dragon Kingdom—gone with it. And with him, the last coherent lead I had to the truth.
The three-headed Black Dragon had been revived. That much was certain. But when I tried to hunt it down… nothing. No tracks. No aura. Not even the stench of rot. It had vanished into the world like smoke through fingers.
When I finally leaned back in my seat, words spent, the silence pressed down on me.
Perugius hadn't interrupted me once. He hadn't asked for clarification, hadn't scoffed, hadn't even scolded me for recklessness. He had just listened, grimly, his golden eyes fixed on me in an unbroken stare.
When I finished, he shifted at last. Slowly, deliberately, he turned his head to the side, gaze unfocused, as if caught in a memory far older than anything I could imagine.
What was it about necromancy that could make someone like him—a man who mocked kings, ignored kingdoms, and spat on politics—wear that expression?
The silence stretched long enough that I wondered if he'd forgotten I was there. Then, without a word, he stood. His robe flowed like liquid starlight around him.
"Arumanfi," Perugius commanded, his voice as sharp as a blade.
The radiant familiar stepped forward instantly, his form already shimmering brighter.
"Go to the Asura Kingdom. Deliver a warning of this danger, and instruct them not to act in mindless haste. If they stir blindly, the consequences will be catastrophic."
"Yes, Lord Perugius." Arumanfi bowed, his form scattering into countless motes of light before vanishing completely.
I blinked, taken aback. My mouth moved before I could stop myself. "Wait—what's the deal? Why such a—"
Perugius' gaze cut back to me, and the words died in my throat.
"Rest," he simply said. "You've gone through much, and yet you still walk. That alone is enough. The rest is not for you to bear tonight."
For a moment, I almost considered it. A night in the Sky Castle, safer than anywhere else.
But I shook my head. "I appreciate the offer, Lord Perugius, but I can't. Not while an unpredictable danger lurks within who knows where."
His gaze weighed on me, sharp as ever, then eased into something almost approving. "Very well. But remember—resolve without rest becomes recklessness."
He turned slightly, his robe shifting like flowing starlight. "Sylvaril. Guide him to the Teleportation Circle."
She stepped forward and bowed. "At once, Lord Perugius."
I exhaled and followed, the garden's impossible colors fading as the corridors closed around us.
I rose from my seat and followed Sylvaril, our footsteps echoing faintly along the long, ornate corridor. For a while, neither of us spoke.
But the question clawed at me, refusing to be smothered.
Finally, I asked, "Sylvaril… has there ever been something—some event—that made Perugius react like this? About necromancy, I mean."
Her stride faltered. Almost imperceptibly—but enough.
When she spoke, her tone dropped, as though the walls themselves might be listening.
"Necromancy is not merely a forbidden art… it is a curse upon the living world. During the Laplace War, there was one—just one—lowborn demon who refined it. At first, he seemed insignificant, a scavenger among armies of giants. But his creations… they resisted Divine Strike Magic itself. What should have been a means to their end became useless."
Her eyes narrowed, her voice sharpening as if naming a horror better left unspoken.
"When the right parts were used… those abominations grew powerful enough to surpass even the monsters they were made out of. The only reason they were purged from the books is that Laplace himself banished the one who birthed them."
Sylvaril stopped walking altogether, turning her head slightly toward me, her expression carved with unease.
"Understand this, Ryuta. For Perugius to hear that word from your mouth… and for him to waver… that should terrify you more than the dragon you speak of."
I stopped dead in my tracks. "...You're serious?"
She gave a slow nod, her expression grave.
"Not only that, but when the right parts were used… those abominations grew powerful enough to rival dragons. Had it not been for Laplace himself disposing of the inventor, the war may have taken a very different course. Perhaps even the world itself."
I couldn't breathe for a moment. My mind reeled.
Laplace. Of all people. It took Demon God Laplace to stop it?
Something that overpowered had already been here before. Something erased, forgotten, deliberately stamped out of existence. And now it was back.
The thought made my skin crawl.
///