Magic Academy's Bastard Instructor

Chapter 251: No Such Thing as Salvation [3]

Soliette felt an epiphany. The man who had taken over the Saintess’s body, Fyodor, was the very entity she had been hunting ever since she inherited the title of Archmage.

He was the only one who could summon the Black Dragon in full, the only one who possessed knowledge of the Dragon Bones’ true whereabouts. He was the key to everything she sought to prevent.

Yet facing him now, she understood something painfully clear.

If this were meant to be an easy fight, she would have denied it outright.

Because in truth, she was losing.

No, they were losing.

Crackle——!

The air split apart as another surge of black mana ripped through the sky. Soliette barely managed to erect a barrier before the shockwave slammed into her, sending tremors through her arms and rattling her bones. The barrier shattered almost instantly.

Below her, Iridelle was forced to leap back as the ground burst apart. Bolton fired arrow after arrow, yet every shot bent, shattered, or dissolved before reaching Fyodor. Elsa’s spells faltered under the overwhelming pressure of his mana alone.

Soliette steadied herself in the sky, the strands of hair whipping around her face.

’This is impossible…’

Fyodor moved through the battlefield like a calm storm.

Soliette grit her teeth and forced her mana to respond. More circles appeared around her, burning with enough power to level a mountain. But even then, doubt seeped into her thoughts.

’At this rate… no one will survive.’

But such doubts were unbecoming of an Archmage. It might’ve taken time to prepare, but at this moment, only Sovereign spells could shift the tide now.

“Bolton, cover me!” Soliette shouted.

“Got it!”

Bolton drew back his bowstring, spirit arrows forming in rapid succession around him. Each arrow shone with prismatic light as he fired one after another, creating a barrage thick enough to obscure the sky.

Iridelle flashed forward, detonating blast after blast to carve open space. Elsa, despite her battered state, layered protective magic around Soliette.

Soliette inhaled deeply and raised her staff.

Dozens of magic circles materialized into existence around her.

Then hundreds.

Then thousands.

Each one rotated at a different angle, creating a lattice of light that spread across the heavens like a second sky. The pressure of her gathering mana distorted even the air itself.

“Ah.” Fyodor let out a breath.

Distracted by the barrage of arrows, explosions, and elemental magic, he had only a split second to look at the sky, just long enough to see Soliette’s spell descending.

It quite literally looked like the end of the world, spanning acres upon acres, stitched together from thousands of luminous circles. Each layer was a Sovereign incantation on its own, and together they formed a storm capable of erasing nations.

With no room to evade, Fyodor gathered the Saintess’s mana around himself. Dark magic wrapped around him layer after layer, forming a cocoon of shadows.

The spell struck.

Crackle——!

The sky collapsed.

Light, heat, and magical force engulfed the battlefield, swallowing everything in a blinding, deafening blast. The earth cracked open beneath them, ripping through stone and soil. Buildings evaporated. Entire sections of the capital were flattened in an instant.

Even Vanitas felt the shockwave pass through him, blowing his coat back and scattering rubble across the ground.

Bolton crouched behind a barrier of light. Iridelle stuck to the remains of a collapsed pillar, shielding herself with hastily conjured flame spells. Elsa dug her heels into the ground, pouring everything she had into a defensive spell as the world turned white around them.

The bombardment felt endless, seconds stretching into an eternity.

Then, slowly, the light began to fade.

The storm receded.

What remained was a crater spanning the entire district, with smoke rising from molten cracks in the earth. The cathedral was gone. The surrounding structures were unrecognizable.

Soliette hovered above the devastation, her chest heaving as blood dripped from her forehead, staff trembling in her hand. She had poured nearly everything she had into that spell.

Below, the dust swirled as something moved.

Fyodor stepped out of the fading smoke. Just like Soliette, he had not escaped unscathed. burn marks ran across his arms as parts of the Saintess’s dress had been torn apart, and his breathing was slightly heavier than before.

But unlike Soliette, he still had an abundance of mana to spare.

He rolled his shoulders once, as if shaking off dust rather than surviving a continent-shaking impact.

With trembling hands, Soliette raised her staff toward him. Bolton notched another arrow. Iridelle softened Soliette’s fall and then aimed both palms forward, mana gathering around her gauntlets.

Elsa forced herself upright, forming another spell. Even wounded, exhausted, and overwhelmed, the Great Powers still stood against him.

They had no choice.

Fyodor watched them indulgently, admiring their persistence.

——I’ll join you.

A single voice carried across the ruined expanse. Everyone turned toward the source. Vanitas Astrea stepped forward from the dust and rubble, hands casually in his pockets, moving with the same ease one would have on a morning stroll.

“Smart choice,” Fyodor said, smiling as Vanitas approached. “As you can see, this is all the Great Powers are capable of.”

Bolton’s eyes widened.

Iridelle grit her teeth. “Don’t you dare…!”

Elsa, barely standing, tried to extend a hand toward him. “Wait, Vanitas, don’t—”

Soliette, blood staining her lips, stared at him in disbelief. “You… can’t be serious…”

Vanitas ignored all of them.

Bits of shattered stone crumbled under his boots. Smoke and light streaked across his coat as he walked straight past the Great Powers, not sparing any of them so much as a glance.

Fyodor opened his arms slightly, welcoming him. “Yes. You can abandon this world of fools and stand in the new age. Together, we—”

Vanitas stopped a few paces in front of him and lifted his hand.

“Who said that I would bow to you?”

Fyodor blinked. A tense silence fell over the battlefield.

Vanitas continued. “I said I’d join you. Not bow to you. If this is a partnership, then we stand as equals.”

“And in turn,” Vanitas added, “I will request something from you.”

Fyodor raised a brow. “Request?”

“Spare their lives.”

The Great Powers froze.

Bolton lowered his bow slightly, confusion and shock flashing across his face. Iridelle’s jaw tightened as she bit back a retort. Elsa’s spell fizzled in her hands. Soliette stared while breathing hard. They were clearly being underestimated by Vanitas, but they couldn’t deny it either.

“Haha.” Fyodor laughed, low and delighted. “Now this is interesting. Equals, you say. But tell me… what exactly is in it for me?”

“Something you’ve always wanted.”

Fyodor arched a brow. “Yes?”

Vanitas looked him dead in the eyes and spoke a single word.

“번역가.”

“….”

Fyodor’s eyes widened. That was not a language of mortals. It was the demonic tongue itself that even he, who had lived for centuries upon centuries, could never decipher.

“That’s right,” Vanitas continued. “The final piece you’ve been missing this entire time… is me. Someone who can read the demonic language. Someone who can unseal the seals binding the Dragon Bones.”

The revelation shook even Fyodor.

For centuries, Fyodor had wandered the world, attempting to decipher the demonic tongue. He had used brute force, divine text, corruption, and stolen bodies, yet the key piece had always eluded him.

Until now.

“Impossible…” Fyodor whispered.

“Test me, if you doubt it.”

“Vanitas, there’s no need—”

Soliette’s voice barely left her lips before Vanitas closed his fist. Wind gathered around her in a spiral, wrapping her frail, exhausted body. She gasped, convulsing as the pressure overtook her, and within seconds, she slumped down and lost consciousness.

The sudden attack sent the remaining Great Powers into alarm. Bolton raised his bow, Iridelle’s mana surged, Elsa’s hands glowed. For the briefest instant, all weapons and spells were aimed squarely at Vanitas.

Wind unfurled from him from his automated barrier. In a single breath, Iridelle fell. Bolton collapsed. Elsa hit the ground. Their mana fizzled out as darkness claimed them one by one.

Vanitas stood alone at the center of the fallen Great Powers, the breeze circling him.

He turned his gaze back to Fyodor.

“Now do you understand?”

Fyodor let out a low laugh. “From the very start, you were truly an odd one. A villain hiding amongst the fakes.But that darkness… I could never ignore it. You were born to stand with Araxys. Your mana is the very essence of Araxys itself.”

“….”

It was most likely Abyss within him, leaking just enough for someone like Fyodor to mistake it for Araxys’s touch. That, more than anything, explained the prophet’s fixation.

“Very well. I will spare them,” Fyodor said. “But if they ever stand in my way, I will not hesitate, Vanitas. In return, we unseal the Dragon Bones together.”

“That is the agreement.”

“And if you desire influence,” Fyodor added, “the cult will obey your word. I can assign one of my executives to act under your command.”

“I don’t need them,” Vanitas replied. “I have no intention of using those pests.”

Fyodor chuckled. “A sentiment I understand far too well.”

Truthfully, even Fyodor found his “children” insufferable. He called them followers under the guise of guidance, but many of them had simply flocked to him during his centuries of wandering, appearing out of nowhere whenever he performed so-called miracles or preached Araxys’s will.

He had never intended for the cult to grow this large, nor for it to sink its claws into the Theocracy, to nearly breach the Dominion, and to embed itself so deeply within Aetherion itself.

It had become a monster of its own making. And these days, he could barely manage it anymore.

“Then, I will see you at the appointed time.”

With those final words, Fyodor vanished into the distance, leaving nothing but the faint trace of dark magic behind.

Vanitas remained standing for a moment, as if the world itself had paused around him. Then his expression hardened. A frown pulled at his face as he clenched his fist.

“Goddamn it!”

He kicked a chunk of rubble, sending it skidding across the ruined ground. Everything he had held back crashed into him all at once. The entire situation had spiraled out of control, and amidst the chaos was the bitter truth he couldn’t shake.

He had lost Selena.

No matter how he tried to reason with it, no matter how much he wanted to deny it, the Saintess he knew had ceased long before he ever realized it.

Vanitas crouched down and dragged both hands over his face, pressing his palms into his eyes as he let out an exhausted breath.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck…!”

If this were still the game he remembered, then the difficulty had just spiked into something abnormally impossible.

Calming himself, Vanitas turned his gaze toward the collapsed Elsa and Soliette.

“I apologize,” he whispered. “I never meant to doubt either of you. But there was no other choice.”

If Soliette, with all her pride and power as the Archmage, couldn’t stop him, then Vanitas was a far cry from capable of doing it head-on. The only path left was the one he took.

Because if he hadn’t, Fyodor would have killed them all.

* * *

That evening, Vanitas returned to the Council of Owls as promised. It was the third day. Vanitas Astrea was never the type to intentionally break his promises, and he would not begin now.

But the moment he stepped into the hall, he immediately noticed that more than half of the individuals who had been present three days ago were gone, with only a handful remaining.

One of the masked owls hurried forward. “M-Marquess Astrea!”

Vanitas frowned. “Take off that ridiculous mask.”

“Y-Yes!”

The noble obliged at once, revealing a pale, nervous face underneath the mask.

Vanitas’s gaze swept across the nearly empty chamber. “Where is everyone?”

“T-They… they left, Marquess,” the man replied. “After hearing what transpired in the Theocracy, many grew frightened. Some fled the capital outright. Others resigned from the Council entirely.”

“So, you did not purge them?”

“I-I apologize. We managed to uncover a few traitors, but we’re still unsure how many remain.”

“Don’t worry.”

“Pardon?”

Vanitas turned his head slightly. “Come out. As you heard from the Prophet, I’m taking over management now.”

Footsteps echoed from the shadows. Several owl-masked figures emerged. The remaining nobles flinched at the voluntary revelation.

Vanitas walked toward the center of the chamber with his hands casually tucked into his pockets. Without waiting for permission, he sat on the central seat reserved for the presiding authority of the Council.

“For all those who belong to Araxys,” Vanitas said, crossing legs, “the last one standing becomes my right hand. You may begin whenever you like. I’ll be watching.”

The next moment.

Screams resounded across the venue as the cultists immediately turned on one another. Blades flashed, magic ignited, bodies collided. Blood sprayed across the floors while the nobles of Aetherion backed away in horror, realizing they had become unwilling witnesses to a massacre.

“Blind faith truly is a curse.”

Vanitas rested his elbow on the armrest with his chin against his knuckles as he watched the entire scene unfold with bored eyes.

To him, this was nothing more than housekeeping.

It didn’t take long.

In mere minutes, the chaotic killing narrowed into a brutal duel between two surviving cultists. They clashed desperately, each trying to tear the other apart under Vanitas’s indifferent gaze. Eventually, one managed to slit the throat of the other before collapsing to his knees.

Vanitas yawned.

“Good,” he said. “Stand up. I’ll give you your orders next.”

“Yes, Marque—”

“I order you to die.”

The cultist’s eyes widened for a brief instant before his body collapsed lifelessly onto the blood-soaked floor.

Just like that, the final remnant of Araxys within the Council was gone.

Vanitas rose from his seat and faced the remaining members of the Council of Owls. Their faces had drained of color. Not a single one dared speak.

“That,” Vanitas said, dusting his sleeves as if nothing had happened, “is how you establish control.”