Chapter Two: The Perils of Ignorance

The Babylonian Academy of Magic and Martial Arts in the Lancelot Empire sprawled across an enormous expanse, enjoying a resounding reputation throughout the empire as the foremost cradle of magicians and knights. Within the academy, the School of Magic was divided into distinct disciplines: Light, Dark, Fire, Water, Wind, Earth, Thunder, Summoning, and Space. Each discipline boasted its own teaching building, library, laboratory, training ground, and residential area, making the entire institution resemble a small city.

Bryan, who served as a menial laborer in the Necromancy Division—a mere offshoot of the Dark Department—was relegated to the lowest rung. Dealing with skeletons and corpses as part of his duties, and given that necromancy had long since fallen out of favor, this branch was not only the weakest but also the most despised among all. Even other students within the Dark Department looked down upon necromancers, refusing to associate with them.

For six long years, Bryan endured a life of drudgery and humiliation as a menial in the Babylonian Academy, ostracized and bullied daily for belonging to the weakest and least respected discipline. His job—hauling corpses and bones—only made him a greater target of scorn. Not a single day passed without suffering.

Following Bryan’s memories, Han Shuo returned to the academy late at night via a secluded path at the back of the school, entering through the small gate reserved for menials. The night was deep; all the students had retired early. Han Shuo’s route was so out of the way that he didn’t encounter a soul. Along the way, he observed that the academy’s architecture resembled that of Western European countries on Earth.

Soon, Han Shuo reached the Necromancy Division. Bryan’s quarters were nothing more than a cluttered storeroom—a fitting reflection of his menial status. The storeroom was crammed with all manner of discarded items, mostly refuse or abandoned materials from failed experiments. Much of it awaited disposal; students would toss unwanted objects through the window for Bryan to deal with. The storeroom itself was cramped, filled with rubbish, and contained only a small wooden bed. Even this low bed was often buried under heaps of trash tossed carelessly by others.

Each night, after finishing his work, Bryan’s first task was to clear the garbage from his little bed, sorting and tidying it before dawn, when he would discreetly dispose of the most pressing refuse before anyone else awoke.

Standing in this squalid room, Han Shuo’s nose stung with the foul, stagnant air. Even opening the window did little to dispel the reek, as the stench clung to every abandoned item. The bed was still piled high with trash; even after Bryan’s death, others continued to treat the place as a dumping ground.

Weary to the bone, Han Shuo struggled through the clutter to reach the bed, intending, as Bryan had done, to tidy it before finally enjoying a well-deserved rest. Yet Han Shuo was not Bryan. Midway through cleaning, a ripple of anger stirred within him, at first faint, but as a trace of magic energy surged in his body, his indignation grew like a spark catching fire.

At last, Han Shuo threw down what he was holding and snarled, “I am not Bryan—I won’t endure this any longer! Bryan, since I now inhabit your body, let me help you settle the score with that little witch, Lisa!”

Han Shuo did not realize that, in his previous life, although he might have harbored such thoughts, he would never have acted so impulsively—he had often entertained wicked ideas, but never possessed the courage to carry them out.

Leaving the storeroom, Han Shuo made his way stealthily toward the female students’ dormitory. As Bryan had often cleaned there, he was intimately familiar with the place and knew exactly where Lisa lived.

The number of male and female students in the Necromancy Division was far fewer than in other branches, so each girl enjoyed her own spacious, well-appointed room—a paradise compared to Bryan’s squalid storeroom.

Lisa’s room was on the second floor, inaccessible at night—except that, conveniently, a large tree grew behind her window. Han Shuo, nimble as a monkey, climbed up using both hands and feet until he could peer into her window.

The window was open. Delighted, Han Shuo tiptoed closer, his skinny figure pressed against the sill. Peering inside, he saw that Lisa’s room was decorated in pink, exuding a charming cuteness, with plush toys adorning the desk and walls.

A faint, sweet fragrance drifted to Han Shuo’s nose. He wrinkled it, surprised that the ruthless and vicious Lisa would keep such an adorable room.

He knew he stood no chance in a fight, so he simply drew closer for another look. In the corner, a pink, translucent canopy could be seen—Lisa’s bed.

From his pouch, Han Shuo took a small vial of experimental blood, smearing it around his eyes, nostrils, and the corners of his mouth. He glanced into a broken, discarded mirror Bryan had picked up, mussed his brown hair into wild disarray, and checked his reflection: a gaunt, terrifying face, streaked with blood, stared back at him.

“Heh—if I can’t beat you, I’ll scare you out of your wits!”

Satisfied with his ghastly appearance, Han Shuo nodded, suppressed a sinister chuckle, and, steadying himself on a branch, edged closer to Lisa’s window. With skeletal fingers, he rapped on the glass.

“Knock, knock… knock, knock…”

Lisa was apparently still dreaming. The tapping woke her; she sleepily parted the pink canopy and stepped out, barefoot.

The carpet was pink as well. Her feet, white as jade, pressed into the plush rug, her toes blushing under the gentle moonlight—adorable and delicate.

Lisa was even younger than Bryan, a noble’s daughter and, setting aside her cruelty toward Bryan, a true little beauty: long, golden hair, a slender frame just a touch taller than Bryan, finely arched brows, a straight nose, and lips like fresh cherries.

Clad in pink pajamas, Lisa seemed not yet fully awake. Emerging from her bed, she instinctively looked toward the source of the sound.

There, swaying at her window, hung a familiar face smeared with blood—streaks around the eyes, nostrils, and lips—gaunt and ghastly, eyes hollow and lifeless, the figure weightless as a specter.

A shriek of terror, enough to wake the dead, echoed through the women’s dormitory.

Han Shuo grinned darkly. Whether or not he scared her to death, he was certainly determined to frighten her unconscious. He rolled his eyes skyward, showing only the whites, and swung more wildly on the branch.

Unable to see Lisa with his eyes rolled back, Han Shuo continued his act, growing ever more terrifying. After one blood-curdling scream, the room fell silent.

She must have fainted, Han Shuo thought. Hearing curses from other female necromancy students nearby, he decided it was time to retreat—getting caught would be a disaster.

Just as he was about to escape, pain exploded across his nose and then his head. He lost his grip and tumbled from the tree, landing in a heap, stunned and aching.

A barrage of blows rained down on him, punctuated by a voice cursing, “Bryan, I never thought you had it in you! You survived last time, but now your brain’s addled, isn’t it? I, Miss Lisa, practice necromancy—I spend every day with skeletons and zombies, and you, you idiot, try to scare me by pretending to be a corpse! Your stupidity is truly impressive! Do you really think that Lisa, future Grand Necromancer, can’t tell whether a soul’s in a body or not?”

The pain in his body was nothing compared to the sting in his heart. This fool Bryan had spent six years as a menial in the Necromancy Division and still didn’t grasp such basic facts. His first attempt at mischief had ended in utter humiliation.

Necromancy—such wondrous magic! To think it could detect something like this. Clearly, he had much to learn in this unfamiliar world; otherwise, disasters like tonight’s would be the least of his worries.

As the pain intensified, Han Shuo moaned and mused bitterly. The Demonic Arts of Chu Cangming carried the word “demon,” and necromancy, by its very name, was no wholesome path. If he were to study both, would they conflict—or might he become even stronger?