Chapter 83: Necro Archmagus Grimoire XI
The knight’s sword cleaved through the abomination at last, scattering it into shards of bone that clattered across the stone floor. Dust and marrow filled the air, the echo of its destruction still reverberating like a drumbeat of doom.
Aria collapsed forward on her hands, gasping, sweat and blood mingling at her lips. Her chest heaved as she spat out, "Damn it... damn it!"
Laxin’s face was pale, but his voice—tired, cracked—still found its way to humor. "Well... that went about as well as trying to hug a bear trap."
The Undead Knight turned, its crimson gaze locking on them. Step by step, it advanced—each stomp like thunder rolling down a mountainside.
Aria forced herself upright, shaking. "We’re... not done." She clenched her teeth, summoning a pair of skeletal mages from the shattered remains. They rose crooked, one missing a jaw, the other missing an arm—but their eye sockets burned with her will.
Laxin raised a trembling hand. "Seriously? That’s your grand play? Jawless Jerry and One-Armed Ollie?"
"They’ll buy us seconds!" she barked, forcing them forward.
The mages unleashed twin firebolts—crooked, weak, and desperate. The knight simply raised its shield, absorbing both without a hitch.
Laxin coughed into his hand, saw blood on his palm, and muttered, "Okay, so... Plan B?"
Aria’s jaw set. "No Plan B. We push until we break."
The knight raised its sword for the killing strike.
But before it could fall, the air froze.
Silver light snapped across the chamber, freezing the knight mid-swing. Its body locked, runes shimmering faintly as though pinned under invisible weight. The crimson glow in its skull flickered, dimmed.
Fenric lowered his hand, his grimoire still glowing faintly with silver fire. His gaze swept over them—sharp, cold, but not without a trace of recognition.
"Enough." His voice echoed like steel across stone.
The Undead Knight slowly sank to one knee, then dissolved into a pile of inert bones.
Silence.
Aria collapsed to her knees, her face pale, her body trembling as mana drained away like water through broken glass.
Laxin flopped on his back, wheezing, eyes wide at the ceiling. "...I think I just saw my life flash before my eyes. Spoiler—it was mostly naps and bread."
Fenric closed the grimoire, tucking it beneath his arm. "Pathetic," he said coldly. Then after a beat, his eyes lingered—just slightly—on both of them. "But... not hopeless."
Aria looked up, breathless, clutching her chest. "We... we held it off."
Fenric’s silver gaze was sharp as a blade. "Barely. And only because I intervened."
Laxin groaned, raising a limp hand. "Yeah, but we still get, like... half a victory point, right?"
Fenric did not smile. But for a fleeting moment, the corner of his mouth twitched—so subtle it could’ve been imagined.
"Rest," he commanded, turning away. Shadows coiled at his feet, curling toward the exit. "Tomorrow... you will face worse."
The torches dimmed with his departure, the chamber sinking back into stillness.
Aria slumped against Laxin, exhausted, but her lips pulled into the faintest of grins. "Worse... huh?"
Laxin wheezed a laugh. "Yeah. At this rate, next it’s gonna be a skeleton dragon with abs."
Despite herself, she chuckled weakly. "Shut up..."
And in the silence that followed, they both realized something terrifying.
They weren’t just surviving Fenric’s trials.
They were beginning to adapt.
The next day came far too quickly.
Aria’s body ached everywhere. Every nerve still throbbed from mana backlash, and she felt like her bones might crumble if she sneezed too hard. Laxin wasn’t doing much better—he limped into the training hall with his hair sticking up in six different directions, a blackened scorch mark still on his cheek from yesterday’s lightning recoil.
"Morning," he croaked. "I dreamed about bread, then woke up chewing my pillow."
Aria pinched the bridge of her nose. "You’re hopeless."
The torches flickered to life on their own, and the chamber thickened with shadows. Fenric stood in the center, already waiting, his silver eyes unreadable. The grimoire floated in front of him, pages turning as if blown by some unseen wind.
No greetings. No warnings.
With a single gesture, the floor cracked open.
This time, it wasn’t one monster. It wasn’t even a handful.
A dozen skeletons rose, but unlike the clumsy warriors they’d trained against before, these wore fragments of robes, staffs clutched in their bony hands. Faint runes burned on their foreheads, synchronized—like a chorus of the dead.
Aria’s stomach dropped. "...Skeletal mages."
Laxin groaned, slapping his forehead. "Nope. Nope. This is how it ends. I always knew I’d die in a magical group project."
The mages raised their staffs as one. Their voices—empty rattles of air and dust—chanted in eerie unison.
The first volley struck like a storm—fireballs, ice shards, arcs of shadow lightning all at once.
Aria yelped, throwing up a wall of bone shields. The barrage smashed it apart in seconds. She hit the ground hard, rolling out of the blast radius.
Laxin scrambled behind a fallen pillar, panting. "Okay, okay—think! Aria, how do you fight twelve spellcasters?!"
"Usually," she hissed, "with another twelve spellcasters!"
He peeked over the rubble just in time for an ice lance to smash into the stone, exploding it into shards. He ducked again, yelping, "Okay, okay, that checks out, but we don’t HAVE twelve spellcasters!"
Aria growled, forcing her focus into the scraps of bones scattered around. "We’ll make do. Cover me!"
"Cover you with WHAT?!" Laxin shrieked, but he still hurled a hasty Bone Lance at the nearest mage. It missed by a good three feet, but at least drew its attention.
Aria’s hands shook as she pulled bones together, weaving them fast. Not knights. Not warriors. Not even abominations. This time, she forced the mana to twist into crude copies of the enemy—four skeletal mages of her own. Their bones rattled weakly, sparks of unstable energy crackling at their fingertips.
"Go!" she shouted.
Her mages unleashed crooked firebolts and shadow blasts, colliding with the enemy barrage in midair. The chamber lit up like a storm of sparks and flame, explosions shaking the floor.
Laxin’s jaw dropped. "You made... skeletons that make skeleton spells. This is so stupid I love it!"
"Focus!" Aria snapped.
But already, the enemy mages were adjusting—splitting into two groups, weaving spells in tandem. A perfect formation.
Her own summoned mages cracked under the pressure, their bones splintering as fire tore them apart.
Aria gasped, struggling to hold the bindings. Sweat poured down her face.
Laxin gritted his teeth. "Alright, enough defense. Time for something reckless!"
Before she could stop him, he charged into the open, both hands glowing with unstable mana.
"Laxin, NO—!"
He thrust his palms out, unleashing a wild storm of bone shards—hundreds of jagged pieces flung like a shotgun blast. They scattered across the chamber, stabbing into walls, ceiling, and enemy alike.
Three of the skeletal mages fell, their runes sputtering as their bones cracked apart.
Aria’s eyes widened. "...It worked?"
Laxin blinked at his hands, stunned. "...It worked." Then his arms started smoking, bones in his forearms glowing red from backlash. "Oh gods—it worked too much!"
He dropped to his knees, groaning, clutching his arms as cracks ran up his skin like glowing veins.
Aria rushed to him, half-shielding them both with the scraps of her magic as another barrage rained down.
Fenric stood in silence, silver eyes gleaming, watching their struggle with cold patience.
"Not enough," he murmured.
The enemy mages raised their staffs again.
Aria’s lips trembled. Her mana was almost gone. Laxin could barely move.
And still, Fenric’s voice cut the chamber like a blade.
"Adapt. Or be erased."
The mages unleashed their next storm.
The storm of spells came like a flood.
Aria’s shields cracked instantly, the wave of fire and ice slamming her back against the wall. Dust and ash filled her lungs. Her vision blurred—but through the haze she saw Laxin, still kneeling, hands trembling as if his own bones would split apart.
She grit her teeth. No. Not like this.
Her mana was gone, her summons broken—but bones still littered the floor. Hundreds of them. Every piece shattered by every failure they’d endured.
Her hand pressed flat to the stone, voice raw.
"Rise."
The bones rattled.
Laxin coughed blood and lifted his head. "Aria...? You don’t have enough—"
"Then I’ll take more," she whispered, her eyes glowing faint blue. The bones surged—not as neat knights or careful mages, but as a storm. Jagged ribs, splintered femurs, cracked skulls—all pulling together into a whirling mass.
The skeletal mages unleashed another barrage—bolts of fire and lightning lashing forward.
But the bone storm ate it. The spells struck, shattered bones scattering and rejoining, swirling faster and faster until it became a howling cyclone.
The shockwave blasted outward, slamming into the enemy mages. Three were torn apart instantly, their glowing runes snuffed out like candles. The others staggered, struggling to hold formation.
Aria staggered too, her nose bleeding, body shaking from the overload. "I... I can’t hold it long."
Laxin wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His grin came through the blood. "Then let me make it count."
He forced himself upright, throwing both arms wide. What was left of his mana flared, unstable, sparking like lightning.
"Bone storm plus lightning storm... let’s make this suicidal!" he yelled.
Aria wanted to shout at him, but there was no time. He poured everything he had into her whirling cyclone of bones—blue-white lightning lanced through it, igniting the storm into a roaring tempest.
It crashed into the enemy like a living beast, devouring them in a crackling hurricane of bone and thunder.
One by one, the skeletal mages shattered. Runes burst like dying stars. Silence fell at last, broken only by the rattle of falling fragments.
Aria collapsed forward, panting, barely able to keep her eyes open. Laxin flopped onto the floor beside her, smoke rising from his arms, grinning like an idiot.
"...We lived," he wheezed.
"Barely," she whispered, her whole body trembling.
The chamber was silent—until the sound of a book closing echoed.
Fenric stood with the grimoire in hand, his expression unreadable. His silver eyes swept over them—Aria, bleeding but unbroken, and Laxin, still smiling despite his pain.
Finally, he spoke, voice low.
"...Acceptable."
Aria blinked weakly. "That’s it? Acceptable?"
Laxin groaned. "We just unleashed a skeleton hurricane and he grades us like a school essay."
Fenric’s lips curved—so faintly it might have been imagined.
"Rest. Tomorrow... you face more."