After Nephthys left, Simon found himself swept up in the busiest week of his life.
Even his usually laid-back father, Richard, began to act like a man possessed.
With his icy stare and sharp, tense demeanor, any childish whining like "Do I really have to go to Kizen?" died on Simon's lips before they were fully spoken.
Richard cast a spell on Simon's body. He called it "core formation," but to Simon, it was just pain. Pure, mind-numbing pain.
For three days and nights, he endured without sleep. And when the grueling process finally ended, Simon found himself riding in a carriage with his father.
The carriage was enormous—far too extravagant for their territory's modest means. Simon's jaw dropped at the plush cushions, the likes of which he'd never experienced before.
"Be safe, Simon."
Anna, misty-eyed, waved from the side, having packed two weeks' worth of lunch boxes into the back of the carriage.
"If it ever becomes too much, don't hesitate to come back to Leshill."
Richard, known for his deep love for his wife, frowned at her words. "What kind of thing is that to say to a boy just setting out?"
Simon had never witnessed his parents argue before. That moment made him realize, with startling clarity—his life was truly changing.
"We're ready to depart."
The coachman tugged the reins, and the wheels began to turn.
And so, Simon's lifelong world—confined to the borders of Leshill—began to expand.
But the journey wasn't peaceful.
Inside the swaying carriage, Richard began cramming the fundamentals of dark magic into Simon's head.
"Now, breathe."
He didn't mean ordinary breathing. He was referring to the breathing technique he'd taught Simon earlier.
Simon took a deep breath, drawing the magic energy from the air into his body. It was something he'd practiced countless times already.
"Now, guide your mana slowly through the core."
Richard placed his hand on Simon's chest to help. Carefully, Simon directed the flowing mana down toward the core beneath his heart.
Something felt different this time. The once-fluid mana had thickened—more viscous, more solid.
"Now channel it through your arm. Yes… now push it out through your palm."
As if a clogged artery had burst open—
A black droplet seeped out from Simon's palm like a bead of sweat.
Simon blinked, staring at it. Richard smiled warmly.
"Well done, Simon. That's Ebonshade—the source of a necromancer's power."
According to Richard, there was once a time when knights and mages ruled the continent.
But now, necromancers were the dominant force. Knights couldn't keep up with their overwhelming numbers. Mages, on the other hand, fell short in both casting speed and destructive force.
"The biggest difference between a mage and a necromancer lies in Ebonshade," Richard explained.
He held out his left hand. Wisps of blue mana shimmered in his palm like a mirage.
"Mana is gaseous by nature. It has low density, disperses easily, and is hard to bind."
Then he extended his right hand. A thick, black liquid oozed out like a spring and trickled down his fingers.
"Ebonshade, on the other hand, is closer to a liquid—or even a solid. It's formed of dense magical energy, easy to bind and capable of transforming into various forms."
The viscous black ooze suddenly surged upward. It twisted in midair into a blooming flower, then morphed into waves, a flickering snake, and even a spinning windmill.
"Whoa…"
Simon couldn't help but exclaim as the impromptu performance continued.
Then, the Ebonshade shifted shape again, forming a complex magical circle brimming with arcane runes. A red glow leaked from the center like a bomb about to explode.
Chills ran down Simon's spine. Something enormous was about to happen—
CRACK!
Richard clenched his fist, and the magic circle shattered. The falling ashes dissolved before they could touch the floor.
"Those who wield power through Ebonshade… we call them necromancers."
Simon nodded, as if in a trance.
"There's not much time left, so I can't teach you everything. For now, just focus on drawing Ebonshade from your core."
"Yes, Father!"
As it turned out, practicing Ebonshade was surprisingly fun.
At first, it barely formed a single drop. But with each passing day, the amount grew. He even started to manipulate its shape.
Seeing clear progress fueled Simon's motivation. He trained non-stop. Richard, proud but careful not to show too much, guided his son with a steady hand.
'...This is monstrous.'
Richard kept a calm face, but inside, he was stunned.
From basic projection to shape transformation… in just three days.
That was not normal.
Most average talents took six months to two years just to achieve shape manipulation. If someone said Simon had been born solely to wield Ebonshade, they wouldn't be far off.
He'd known Simon was gifted for a long time. That's why he hadn't helped him form a core until now. Power awakened too early, before the mind was ready, could be a curse.
Richard knew that better than anyone—he'd lived it.
But now, Simon was ready. His talent was blooming. And soon, the entire continent would know his name.
The thought sent shivers through Richard's body. He could barely sit still.
"Father! Look at this!"
Simon conjured a flame-like swirl of Ebonshade above his palm. Richard watched with a solemn expression.
"Dark azure… a rare and beautiful shade of Ebonshade."
"Is that… good? Am I special? Talented?"
"It's just cool, that's all."
"..."
Simon pouted and resumed his practice. Richard turned his head to hide his growing smile.
'Controlling my expression is getting harder…'
Time flew by.
To Simon, it felt like mere moments had passed.
And then—
"This is where I leave you, Simon."
Richard's sudden announcement made Simon's heart sink.
"I thought you were taking me all the way to Kizen."
"I wish I could, but… I'm not allowed to set foot in the Kingdom of Dresden. From here, you'll have to make your own choices."
A heavy pressure settled on Simon's chest. He'd lived all 17 years of his life in Leshill. To say he wasn't scared would be a lie.
Then Richard gripped his hand tightly.
"I promise you, son. You'll do well. Better than anyone."
He smiled.
"And I'm proud of you. Truly."
For the first time in his life, Simon heard his father's genuine praise—and it made something deep in his chest swell with emotion.
"I'll make you proud, Father."
And with that, Simon rode alone in the spacious carriage.
He didn't waste a moment. He trained with Ebonshade, again and again.
One more week passed.
And finally…
"Wow…"
He arrived in Langestine—the capital of the Dresden Kingdom.
Simon had never seen a city this big. Towering buildings, bustling carriages crossing the roads, swarms of people. It was overwhelming.
"Move! Outta the way!"
Simon jumped back just in time to avoid a massive carriage rumbling down a steep slope—pulled by skeletal horses.
Undead!
Undead wandered the streets like it was perfectly normal.
Some pulled rickshaws or wagons, others handed out flyers in public squares.
It was the age of necromancers, after all.
Focus, Simon.
He slapped his cheeks lightly and unfolded a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket.
239 Camellord, Langestine. SL1E 6AJ.Guide waiting.
'So I just have to find this address.'
People were people, whether in Langestine or Leshill. Find the guide, get to Kizen. Easy enough.
Though, in truth, he had no idea where to begin.
He approached a woman with long, flowing blonde hair.
"E-Excuse me, ma'am… May I ask you something?"
She turned, and Simon's eyes nearly popped out of his head.
One of her eyes was dangling out of its socket.
"What is it, dear?"
"..."
Don't scream. Don't panic.
Forcing a smile, Simon held up the paper.
"I… I'm looking for this address…"
"Let's see."
Her dangling eyeball stretched out unnaturally and scanned the paper. Simon felt cold sweat run down his back. He bit his lip to stop from gasping.
"Ah, Camellord? That's a famous area. Head up to the plaza, then take the path to the right—you'll see an alley with golden tiles."
"Th-thank you so much!"
Simon bowed deeply in gratitude.
The woman laughed behind her fan.
"What a polite young man. May fortune smile on you here in Langestine."
Things were looking up!
Simon thanked her again and made his way toward the plaza with a spring in his step.
But just moments later—
A man watching the entire scene unfold quietly stepped forward and spoke to the woman.
Finally. Camellord.
It had taken Simon nearly twenty minutes of wandering, but he'd made it. Just like the woman said, golden tiles lined the alleyways.
"239, 239…"
He checked the building numbers one by one, squinting at his crumpled note—
"Excuse me!"
A bald man appeared in front of him, sweating slightly. He wiped his brow and asked politely,
"Would you happen to be heading to 239 Camellord—specifically, SL1E 6AJ?"
Simon's eyes widened.
How did he know the full address?
"Oh! Are you the guide sent by Mr. Howl?!"
The man nodded.
"Yes, I am. I was worried you might've gotten lost, so I came looking."
Simon let out a breath of relief.
"Finally! I'm Simon Pollentia."
"I'm Raulie, your Langestine guide. Come, let me show you to your lodging. I'm sure you must be tired."
Simon nodded and followed him.
"It'll be about a 15-minute walk. I'll take the fastest route."
"Alright!"
As they wound through the narrow alleyways, Simon couldn't stop looking around in awe.
Houses. Everywhere he turned. So tightly packed, it seemed like not an inch of space was wasted.
This city alone probably had more people than the entire Leshill territory.
"I was worried, truly," Raulie said with a chuckle. "Wandering Langestine without a guide? Very risky."
"People have their noses cut off before they even notice," he added casually.