Download Chereads APP
Chereads App StoreGoogle Play
Chereads

Rising of the Necromancer King

🇦🇺William_Binder
--
chs / week
--
NOT RATINGS
502
Views
Synopsis
Follow Uramu as he journeys to become the king of the Luna kingdom.
VIEW MORE

Chapter 1 - Chapter 1: The Dawn of the Necromancer

The sun hung high in the azure sky, casting golden rays over the small village of Eldenwood. Dust floated through the air, glittering like tiny jewels in the light, while the distant sounds of laughter and bustling trades echoed from the main street. Yet, amidst this cheerful atmosphere, one could find a sense of impending fate; today was not just any ordinary day. Today was the day Uramu would receive his magic from the ancient Tree of Life.

Uramu sat cross-legged on the cracked floor of his family's meager dwelling, his thin frame accentuated by the loose shirt that hung from his shoulders. His unruly hair, the soft hue of chestnuts, hung over his expressive green eyes that flickered with a storm of apprehension and hope. He was sixteen, the age at which every child in Eldenwood sought the blessings of the Tree. Uramu's family, however, was not like others in the village; they were among the poorest, scraping by on meager harvests and odd jobs. His mother worked as a seamstress for the wealthier families while his father toiled in the fields, bent over from hard labor.

"Uramu!" a voice called from the adjoining room. It was his mother, her gentle tone tinged with worry. "Are you ready, dear? The ceremony is about to start!"

He swallowed hard, the weight of anticipation resting on his thin shoulders. The Tree of Life loomed large in every citizen's mind, a majestic giant draped in radiant green, its bark shimmering with ancient runes that held the magic of this world. Year after year, whispers spread of those who received gifts from the tree: the fire-wielding pyromancers, the gentle healers, and the shadowy illusionists. But what was Uramu to expect? The ranks of magical types were well-known, hierarchically distinguished from D-class, the most common, all the way to the coveted S-class, reserved only for royals who possessed a birthright to magic so potent that it could alter the fabric of reality itself.

With a heavy heart, Uramu slid open the creaking door and stepped out, the sunlight bathing him in warmth yet amplifying the chill of uncertainty in his gut. He joined a throng of villagers making their way to the hill where the Tree of Life stood, towering shadows stretching across the grassy meadow. Among the crowd, he could see familiar faces—friends, neighbors, a few noble children, their fine attire setting them apart like colorful flowers among withered weeds.

"Look! Uramu's here!" Sammo, a kid from his neighborhood, shouted with a grin. The tease was good-natured enough, though the unfriendly glances directed his way cut deep. Uramu felt a familiar sting of shame, but he shook it off. Everyone here was a friend, a family, filled with the same hope and trepidation.

The vibrant air crackled with energy as they finally reached a clearing beneath the great tree. Elders lined the perimeter, their faces sagging with age and wisdom, ready to oversee the ceremony. Uramu could see the Tree's immense trunk, its bark weathered and twisted, but there was something undeniably mesmerizing about it. The petals that fell from its vast canopy were luminescent, glowing in hues unheard of, giving a magical air to the entire scene.

"Come forth, candidates!" the village chief boomed, drawing attention to the group gathered at the tree's foot. One by one, children were called, stepping forward to touch the bark and receive their gifts. Gasps of awe and cheers echoed as several boys and girls emerged triumphant with various magics. Some came out with brilliant flames dancing at their fingertips, others glimmering leaves floating around them, and a few bore the radiant light of healing powers.

Uramu watched enviously as the noble children flaunted their talents, their laughter ringing with a sense of privilege he felt he could not quite grasp. Just as he began to lose hope, a strange calm washed over him as he remembered his mother's words: "Magic doesn't make a person. It's what you do with it that defines you."

"Uramu Yoshida, to the Tree," the chief called; the name echoed in the hollow air, pulling him out of his thoughts. He had no choice but to obey.

With every step toward the Tree, Uramu felt the weight of the world on his small shoulders—the murmurs of the crowd, the hopeful glances, all thrumming with a shared expectancy. As he approached the base of the enormous trunk, he could almost hear the whispers of ancient magic flowing through the bark like a river of possibility.

Taking a deep breath, Uramu placed his palm against the surface of the Tree. The bark was cool and soft under his touch, a hauntingly serene presence that made the noise of the crowd fade away. Suddenly, lights erupted from the Tree, swirling around him, vibrant and wild. He was engulfed in a cocoon of colors.

"What will it be?" he whispered to himself, his heartbeat echoing in the stillness. Thoughts raced through his mind—the flame of a pyromancer, the healing pulse of a medic. Would he be like the heroes from the stories his mother told him at night?

In an instant, the magic surged through him, overwhelming yet exhilarating. Visions struck him—a balance between worlds, shadows and whispers, life and death, all flowing together like a dark river under a moonlit sky. He gasped, feeling the change manifesting deep within. 

A hushed awe fell over the crowd as Uramu stumbled back, golden light pouring forth from his hand—the apparition of the now faded spirits floated around him, whispering secrets untold and names long forgotten. He could feel their weight, their sorrow, and their joy. He had not just received a magical ability—he was a Necromancer.

As he regained his footing, the world around him began to crackle with energy. Faces turned pale, shadows flickered ominously in the corners of his vision, and gasps echoed through the crowd. A powerful A-rank skill—almost unheard of for a child of the common folk. The elders lifted their hands, muttering words of judgment, shock filling their once solemn faces.

"You are marked, Uramu," the village chief declared. "With such power comes great responsibility. You have the ability to mend the past and forge the future. But beware—Necromancy is not a gift lightly wielded. It teaches its bearers of the thin veil between life and death, joy and sorrow."

A heavy silence settled over him. He stood there, feeling both exalted and terrified. As the weight of expectations pressed down upon his shoulders, Uramu understood that his life would never be the same again. While the swirl of spirits danced around him, he accepted the mantle of a Necromancer—a title that would shape his destiny forever.

With a trembling heart but a resolute spirit, Uramu stepped back from the Tree, the challenge ahead clearing in his mind. No longer would he be just a poor boy with dreams; he now had magic, a calling unlike any other. The path glimmered before him, a winding road that would lead through darkness, light, and the unknown. 

And so, Uramu embraced the mantle of his new life, with all its burdens and blessings, preparing to unlock the hidden secrets that awaited him in the shadows of eternity. His journey, he realized, had just begun.

Reviews