**Chapter 21**
—
‘There are more people than I thought.’
For a city called the *Necropolis*, one might imagine a place shrouded in gloom and death.
Yet even with that reputation, the sea of people bustling beyond the carriage window was far from ordinary.
The reason was not difficult to guess.
Even in this world, *magic* was a rare and wondrous spectacle.
And during the period when the *Tower’s Trial* took place each year, the interior of the Tower was specially opened to the public for entertainment.
In a sense, it was not an exaggeration to call this the city’s grandest festival—
the *Festival of the Tower.*
After all, even the *Red Tower’s Trial* held in the Imperial Capital was one of the largest events in the entire Empire.
And in the case of the *Black Tower*, which had only begun opening its doors under the rule of the *Black Duke*, its attention and prestige were especially great.
And that could mean only one thing.
> “Many eyes will be watching you.”
It was Duke Saxen—Dale’s father—who spoke those words.
For the first time, Dale was about to reveal himself to the world of magic—and to society at large.
Up until now, his reputation had existed only as rumor and exaggeration spread by word of mouth.
But proving himself here, before the countless eyes watching this trial, was an entirely different matter.
And so was the meaning that act would carry.
> “Yes, I know.”
Of course Dale knew.
That was precisely why he had hurried to complete his *third circle* and volunteered for the *Tower’s Trial*.
Rattle.
At that moment, the carriage came to a gentle halt.
> “It seems we’ve arrived,”
> said the Black Duke calmly.
> “We pay our respects to His Excellency the Black Duke!”
> “Greetings to Your Grace!”
As father and son stepped down from the carriage, the elders of the Black Tower waiting before them bowed deeply.
> “Look! It’s Young Lord Dale!”
From a distance, countless gazes turned toward them—toward the prodigy of House Saxen.
> “He’s already a third-circle mage at that age…!”
> “They said he was an unprecedented genius in the Empire—was that true?”
> “No, I heard his swordsmanship rivals even the knights of the ducal household!”
‘How embarrassing,’ Dale thought, feeling his face flush.
In a sense, he was the main spectacle of this trial.
> “Young Lord Dale.”
Just then, a woman stepped forward through the line of elders.
> “Eris.”
> “I pay my respects, Tower Master.”
Eris—the *Black Proxy*.
A high-ranking elder of the Tower and the Chief Secretary who oversaw its affairs in the Black Duke’s absence.
> “It is an honor to serve you, Young Lord Dale.”
> “Please take care of me, Miss Eris.”
She was a sharp, cool-headed woman, her gray suit immaculate, her monocle gleaming faintly.
> “During the trial, she will assist you,” said the Duke.
> “Understood, Father.”
With that, the Duke strode ahead, elders following in his wake.
> “This way, please, Young Lord.”
Eris’s voice was cool and devoid of emotion. Dale followed.
> “The graduates from the Academy who will participate in the trial with you are waiting inside.”
Graduates—young third-circle necromancers.
They were to be Dale’s competitors, starting from the lowest floor of the Tower’s Trial.
Whether such novice mages could truly be called *competitors* was another question entirely.
—
—
‘What a monster…’
That was the only thought in the mind of Velic, a third-circle mage, upon facing the Duke’s prodigy—Dale von Saxen.
──*The Tower’s Trial, First Floor.*
**“Life Point Battle.”**
A battle royale.
Not an actual death match, of course.
Each examinee was given a *Life Point Necklace*—enchanted with a defensive shield spell.
They could raise corpses scattered around the field to guard or attack.
If struck with a blow equivalent to a lethal hit, the necklace would shatter, activating its shield and signaling elimination.
The one who dealt that *effective strike* would gain one Life Point from their victim.
Those who reached **+3 points or more** would qualify for the next floor.
In other words, aside from protecting one’s own life point, one had to seize two others.
A trial designed to swiftly and efficiently weed out the weak among dozens of applicants each year.
The “Life Point Battle” format was a familiar one, even among the Five-Colored Towers and the knights’ circles.
And the Black Tower’s first floor was no exception.
──Or at least, it *should* have been.
But when Dale entered the arena, most of the other necromancers had already formed teams, coordinating their undead to test his strength.
‘Just as I expected.’
At the center of all those wary, watchful gazes, Dale raised a single undead warrior—
coating its bones with a frigid, blue-white frost.
Then, in that overwhelming numerical disadvantage, battle erupted.
And soon after… a massacre—no, a *slaughter of bones*—began.
The sight was reminiscent of a sword master carving through enemy ranks alone.
Dale’s undead swung its blade of bone, and the frost that cloaked it flared like cold, blue fire.
*Clang!*
The moment the bone swords clashed, a rush of icy energy coursed along the blade and enveloped the opponent.
Crack—crackle.
They froze solid.
> “W–Water magic?!”
> “He can’t be using dual attributes, can he?!”
Before the opponents could even finish their astonishment, the frost surged, freezing them in place.
A second later, Dale’s skeletal warrior struck.
*Shatter!*
The enemy shattered into glittering shards, scattering like crystal glass.
> “One.”
Dale murmured calmly as the shards swirled back toward his undead—
not to freeze another enemy, but to form armor and shield.
**Frozen Armor. Rapid Freezing.**
Dale alternated seamlessly between them—offense and defense perfectly unified.
It was nothing short of artistry.
> “Two.”
*Crash!* Another undead fell apart under a single strike.
> “Three.”
Before anyone could even counter, the battle had already ended.
> “Using water magic should be forbidden! This is a test of necromancy alone—!”
A panicked shout rose from one of the examinees.
Indeed, this battlefield was meant to test necromantic ability—
limited strictly to the arts of summoning and reinforcing the dead.
Any other magic was banned.
> “There’s no rule saying I have to use *only* dark-element mana to strengthen my undead,”
> Dale replied, his voice calm.
> “Even if that strength comes in the form of *living ice armor*, don’t you think?”
A cunning argument—but not an incorrect one.
And since the examiners made no move to stop him, their silence spoke volumes.
An unspoken approval.
> “Looks like,” Dale said evenly,
> “you’ll all have to work together from here.”
He smiled—one could not tell whether it was the smile of a boy, or something far older.
> “Wouldn’t you agree?”
The rules of the battle royale were simple.
But here and now, there was only one common enemy—and those uniting to bring him down.
A ten-year-old boy stood alone against dozens of necromancers and their undead armies.
No one had the luxury to feel shame or self-pity anymore.
> “Seal that undead and hit the summoner directly!”
> “He’s just one target—overwhelm him!”
Their opponent was, after all, *the Black Duke’s son.*
Before long, they forgot this was supposed to be a competition.
Every mage on the field moved with one purpose—to bring Dale down.
No matter how invincible his undead seemed, the *Life Point Necklace* belonged to Dale himself.
Dozens of undead surrounded his lone warrior, while others rushed in to attack through the opening.
The enemy had become an organized undead *army.*
‘…Ah.’
Watching them, Dale clicked his tongue—not in panic, but in mild annoyance.
‘Right. Artifacts are banned, aren’t they?’
Artifacts and grimoires were prohibited on the lower floors.
That meant he couldn’t use the power of his *Shadow Cloak*.
And since only necromancy was allowed, even his water-element magic was restricted.
Realizing this, Dale fixed his gaze on the undead horde once more.
‘Then I’ll just do it the normal way.’
Nothing changed.
It was merely going to be a bit more tedious.
Dale kicked off the ground, charging *straight into* the ranks of the undead—
an act that would have been suicidal for any ordinary mage.
He slipped past a sweeping bone blade by a hair’s breadth, then caught the attacker’s wrist—
snapping it in one clean motion.
From the shattered arm, he wrenched out the sharpened *bone sword*—a weapon created by manipulating the skeleton’s own structure—
and turned, deflecting a strike from behind.
In his hands, the white bone blade moved fluidly,
his body flowing between martial and magical precision with seamless grace.
He had become, not a mage, but a *swordsman*—
facing a dozen undead single-handedly.
After all, no rule forbade swordsmanship or physical combat.
> “He can fight with a sword too?!”
> “That’s the Black Duke’s son for you…”
The audience that filled the coliseum-like hall murmured in awe,
having come to witness the prodigy’s rumored genius with their own eyes.
> “They weren’t exaggerating—he really is the Empire’s greatest genius!”
> “As expected of Young Lord Dale!”
The awe—*reverent fear*—was shared both by his opponents and the spectators alike.
Dale’s undead tore through enemies like a storm,
and Dale himself dismantled them one by one—
striking precisely at the magical threads linking necromancer and undead.
It was an act possible only because of his overwhelming skill—and their lack of it.
And without using his *Shadow Parasite*, his undead were not automatic puppets.
Maintaining both his swordplay and necromancy simultaneously required impossible focus.
To those who practiced the same art, his concentration was terrifying to behold.
At that point, the outcome was beyond doubt.
When the last of the skeletons and corpses had been shattered,
and the battlefield fell silent—
Dale advanced with his lone undead beside him.
> “H–Hiiik!”
*Slash.*
A blade swept down.
The shield spell flared—then broke.
Another necklace shattered, awarding Dale another Life Point.
It was no longer a *battle*.
It was a *harvest.*
> “P–Please, Young Lord! Spare me—!”
> “Come now, it’s not like you’ll really die,” Dale said lightly.
Harvest? No.
It was *domination.*
A massacre.
Step by step, he claimed the others’ life points—swinging his bone blade without a moment’s hesitation.
And at last, when only one examinee remained standing before him—
‘What a monster…’
The bone sword cut through the air toward him.
And in that instant—
That was the sole, unfiltered thought of Velic, the third-circle necromancer,
as he faced the prodigy of House Saxen—**Dale.**
