Chapter Twelve: Meddling in Other People's Business

"I..." Hans opened his mouth, but before he could say a word, Lisa’s delicate fists were already raining down on him in a flurry of blows. As she hit him, she cursed, "Damn you, Bryan! You actually kissed me! My first kiss, taken by a lunatic—good heavens, this is horrifying! I’ll kill you!"

After kissing Lisa, Hans was equally flustered; it was her first time, but no less his own. Lisa’s frightened expression, combined with the injury on her hip, meant that her punches had no strength behind them. Hans felt nothing but a light tickle and made no move to resist, his mind racing to find a way to make Lisa drop the matter.

After a short while, Lisa seemed exhausted, her eyes a little red and swollen, but she still glared at Hans with fierce determination. After staring for a bit, she furrowed her brow and said coldly, "Bryan, if you answer one question, I’ll let you off for today."

Hans stared, dumbfounded. "What do you want to know?"

"Why has your strength increased so much lately? You used to be unable to dodge even a skeleton warrior, but now even zombie warriors can’t touch you. And the other day you taught that oaf Buck a lesson. This morning, Claude’s battle energy obviously hit you, yet you didn’t die on the spot. Why is that?" Lisa’s eyes were fixed intently on Hans as she questioned him.

Hans’ heart skipped a beat—this was bad. His body truly had grown stronger thanks to his practice of demonic arts, but he hadn’t expected Lisa to notice so quickly.

Thinking rapidly, Hans put on a foolish grin. "I... I don’t really know. I just ate some things recently, and I started to feel stronger."

As he spoke, he saw Lisa’s eyes flash with interest. She immediately leaned closer, her gaze sharp and expectant. "What did you eat? Tell me, and I’ll let today’s incident go."

"Mix a magic reagent with lizard tails and coyote teeth... soak them in warm water for a day, then drink it all. You’ll feel your strength increasing," Hans said, brow furrowed, after a moment’s careful thought, grinning sheepishly at Lisa.

Lisa listened with grave seriousness, repeating Hans’ words back to herself, then muttered, "Strange, who would have thought such disgusting things could have that effect when combined?"

Hans just continued to grin at her.

"Hmph! I’ll let you off for today, but next time I’ll use you for magic practice," Lisa declared. She tried to get up but yelped in pain, cursing, "Damn you, Bryan! You hit so hard! Why is it that every time I run into you lately, disaster follows?"

Muttering curses and rubbing her hip, Lisa limped out of the training ground. As soon as she was gone, Hans slipped out quietly as well, making sure no one saw him.

That night, when all was silent, Hans crept to the junkyard. He first tried to summon the little skeleton with his mental command, but, as before, received no response. Sighing, Hans braved the stench, rummaging through the refuse until he finally unearthed the little skeleton at the very bottom.

The little skeleton lay still, as if in a deep sleep, its chest ribs disjointed, giving it a battered and broken look. Yet, through their connection, Hans knew it wasn’t destroyed. Knowing the little skeleton had been injured carrying out his order to avenge Lisa, Hans felt a pang of guilt at the pitiful sight.

"Claude, Claude—just you wait, I’ll settle this with you one day!"

Scooping the little skeleton into his arms, Hans darted back toward the storeroom under cover of darkness. The loose ribs knocked together with a hollow clatter, making Hans’ heart ache with every step.

Once inside, Hans carefully closed the door and placed the little skeleton in the small wooden barrel. He found seven bone fragments, stuck them into the barrel, and, infusing his demonic energy, reactivated the "Shadow Demon Essence Formation," trying to heal the skeleton as one would a demonic artifact.

This time, after channeling energy into the barrel, Hans felt much less drained than before. It seemed that after his demonic energy had absorbed Claude’s battle aura that morning, it had grown stronger. The realization sparked new thoughts in Hans’ mind.

With the little skeleton settled, Hans pulled out the "Foundations of Necromancy" from under his cot and resumed his studies. Every night upon returning, he pored over this book without fail. Though it was only a beginner’s text, with no powerful spells, it remained daunting for a novice like Hans.

Tonight, as he compared it with the "Dictionary of Magic," Hans soon lost himself in study. Even with the dictionary, many of the terms eluded him.

With a sigh, Hans set the books aside, reminding himself that it had only been ten days since he’d started learning magic. If he could understand everything already, there’d be no reason for Babylon Academy to exist. He resolved to use his position to eavesdrop on necromancy lectures.

Calming his mind, Hans entered meditation, seizing every moment to strengthen his spirit. Before he knew it, it was late at night and he drifted into restful sleep.

At dawn, Hans awoke refreshed, feeling an abundance of energy. In the barrel by his bed, the little skeleton lay motionless, but around the seven inserted bone fragments, seven tiny vortices shimmered with dark light. Upon closer inspection, the ribs that had been scattered across its chest were now neatly back in place, and in the hollow eye sockets, a faint black glow flickered—eerie and unsettling.

Through his spiritual link, Hans sensed the skeleton’s joy, as though it had been reborn. Sharing in its happiness, Hans smiled and murmured, "Little skeleton, you’re lucky to have me, Hans. As long as my demonic essence is strong enough, I’ll keep refining you, making you stronger and stronger. One day, that brat Claude will suffer for this."

Since the skeleton was still recuperating in the barrel, Hans got up alone, took out the previous day’s trash, washed with cold water, then energetically set about his chores—polishing the statues, finishing his assignments, collecting his ration of black bread, and then, broom in hand, hurried off to the Necromancy classroom.

"If you want to cast magic perfectly, incantations and gestures must work together. If the words are wrong or the gestures are off, the spell won’t succeed. Magic is a mysterious force. Through spiritual power and arcane incantations, one can borrow elemental power from sky and earth, then use gestures to direct the magic to its target..."

The necromancy students listened to Teacher Jean—some attentive, others slouching. Outside, Hans listened intently through several windows, his broom dragging unconsciously over the ground.

Jean, like Fanny, was a senior necromancer and an instructor in the department. He mainly lectured on magical theory and fundamentals, helping students with difficult concepts. Fanny, on the other hand, taught practical offensive and auxiliary spells and led the students in field trials.

At Babylon Academy, other departments boasted not only senior magicians but also learned, powerful archmages. But since necromancy had so few students, there were only two teachers—both merely senior magicians. There was little reason to allocate more resources to such a dwindling field, and necromancy had fallen from grace; archmages in the discipline were rare.

At the academy, any student who passed the advanced magician trials could graduate. Those who wished to study further could stay. In larger departments, students were split into apprentice, junior, and intermediate classes, but necromancy had so few students that all learned together.

Hans, completely absorbed, stood with head bowed, a faint smile on his lips. In just this short time, Jean’s lecture had clarified several puzzles he’d long struggled with. Jean’s dry voice, to Hans, was now as melodious as a choir, and he was wholly entranced.

Suddenly, a thud—a student in mage’s robes fell in front of Hans, his rear in the air, face pressed to the white stone floor. Grimacing, the student scrambled up, shot Hans a glare, and barked, "Bryan, you tripped me with your broom!"

"Ah, I... I was just sweeping!" Hans stammered, startled to see it was Fitch.

Fitch stood about five foot nine, with pale blue hair, a gaunt frame, and oversized robes that made him resemble a stick wrapped in cloth. He was an intermediate necromancer, who had repeatedly attempted and failed the advanced trials. Rumor had it he’d just returned from another unsuccessful attempt.

Hans had been so absorbed by Jean’s lecture that his broom had wandered aimlessly, so Fitch’s fall was not surprising.

"Ah, Fitch, you’re back! Failed the trials again, did you? Looks like you’ll need to keep working if you want to become an advanced magician. The teacher is always happy to welcome you back. And Bryan, I’m sure it was an accident—don’t take it to heart!" Jean’s voice drifted out, lightly teasing.

Yet Hans felt anything but grateful. Instead, he cursed Jean for meddling.

Fitch wasn’t a bad sort, only somewhat irritable. Though he’d failed the advanced trials many times, his passion for necromancy drove him to try again and again. He was Buck’s leader, but rarely bullied the likes of Bryan.

However, both Fitch and Jean harbored feelings for Fanny. Fitch was determined to become an advanced magician, largely because of Fanny’s words: "I’ll consider it when you’re an advanced magician."

For this reason, teacher and student often clashed. Had Jean not spoken up, Hans might have avoided trouble, but now, with Jean’s intervention, things were bound to get worse.