Magic Academy's Bastard Instructor

Chapter 252: Cthulhu [1]

The most catastrophic event of the century had shaken the entire continent.

By all reports, the Theocracy’s capital had been completely erased. Nothing remained of it but ruin and ash. The estimated death toll had already surpassed thirty thousand, with over seven thousand still missing, and the number continued to rise as search efforts continued.

To those who had witnessed the disaster from afar, the event had seemed unreal. All they saw were blinding flashes of light in the sky, followed by explosions that shook the horizon.

Before anyone could comprehend what was happening, the capital had already been reduced to rubble.

The incident did not just spread fear. It ignited rage across the Theocracy. Among its clerically brainwashed citizens and the surviving branches of the clergy scattered throughout the nation, fury burned far hotter than terror.

The reason was simple.

Among the countless dead, their supreme ruler, the Pope himself, had perished. And more than that, the Cathedral, an institution that had long been established before the rise of the other Empires, had been completely destroyed.

It was, by every definition of the word, a continental war crime.

And the implications pointed directly at the Great Powers. These beings, who were meant to remain neutral, had instead taken a stand against the oldest concept humanity had ever known.

Religion itself.

——Burn them! The Great Powers! Put them on the stake!

——Give me back my daughter!”

Grief-stricken families flooded the plazas and avenues that had once led to the Theocracy’s heart. Some wept as they clutched photographs and torn clothing recovered from the ruins. Others screamed themselves hoarse.

——They said they were protectors!

——My son believed in the Great Powers! And now he’s gone!

——Drag the Archmage out! Let her answer for this!

——They destroyed our home!

——They killed our god!

——Blood for blood!

What had started as mourning turned into collective madness. Priests who escaped the capital were seized in nearby provinces and forced to speak before mobs. Entire congregations demanded retribution. Shrines were overturned. Statues were defaced.

Faith itself was wavering under the unanswered loss.

Their Goddess, Lumine, the one who had promised justice and salvation, had failed to respond. Their Pope, the Goddess’s chosen messenger, had died along with the capital.

The people waited for punishment from the heavens. They waited for miracles, for signs, for divine wrath, but none came.

What, then, was the point of religion?

Had it always been a lie? A story told to keep the masses kneeling? There was no divine retribution. Only ruins and corpses.

Doubt spread faster than fire ever could.

Temples were abandoned. Prayers went unanswered. Even the most devout began to hesitate before clasping their hands. Some stuck to their faith out of fear. Others tore it from their hearts entirely, unable to forgive a god that had watched and done nothing.

“Did you foresee this coming, too?”

Soliette lay injured on the hospital bed with bandages wrapped around her torso and arm as she turned her head toward Vanitas. He sat beside her, calmly reading a book.

Vanitas didn’t look up. “How could I? Do you actually think I’m omniscient, Archmage?”

“You were the closest to the Saintess,” Soliette said. “There’s no way someone like you wouldn’t have noticed something was amiss.”

“….”

Vanitas’s fingers paused against the edge of the page.

Indeed, sometimes, competence was a problem. To make even a single mistake was enough to invite doubt.

“Please, stop talking, Archmage. Don’t make me hate you, too.”

“….”

Soliette fell silent, thinking she had mispoken.

Vanitas kept his eyes on the book in his hands, but he wasn’t reading anymore. The words on the page had long since lost their meaning.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Seeing the expression on his face, Soliette understood. Perhaps, in the time they had spent together, Vanitas had projected something onto the Saintess without even realizing it.

Most likely, it was his deceased sister, Charlotte.

“I’m sorry,” Soliette said.

Vanitas returned his gaze to the book in his hands. If he ignored the other bed across the room, the hospital chamber almost appeared peaceful.

“….”

….Almost.

Because Elsa still hadn’t woken up.

Perhaps he had hit her too hard. Or perhaps she had burned through most of her strength during the fight against Fyodor.

After all, the one who had been thrown around the most was Elsa, not Soliette. Soliette had confronted Fyodor head-on, but Elsa had endured the brunt of his attacks, over and over again.

“Where are Iridelle and Bolton?” Soliette asked, choosing not to entertain the thought that any of this might have been Vanitas’s doing.

“By the time I arrived, Bolton had already left,” Vanitas said. “As for Iridelle Vermillion… she has no time to rest.”

“What do you mean?”

“Fyodor is making his move in Zyphran.”

“….”

Aetherion, the place where Fyodor had lost his foothold thanks to Vanitas. Then the Theocracy, where he had succeeded in destroying the faith of those devoted to Lumine. And now Zyphran, the nation he had been quietly cultivating behind the scenes all this time.

“Then shouldn’t we—” Soliette began, but stopped as she felt the atmosphere in the room shift.

She stared at her trembling hands. Then she looked at Vanitas.

“I see,” she murmured.

Vanitas closed his book.

Only then did Soliette fully realize the reality of the situation.

“So you really have joined the other side.”

Her pupils subtly darted around the room, searching for her staff. But it was nowhere in sight. She tried not to panic as she began to gather mana into her palms.

“Don’t even try to think about it, Archmage.”

Vanitas moved before she could finish forming the spell.

“Vani—”

And then everything went dark as he knocked her out once again.

* * *

“Keep her sedated, Yves. It’s a good thing I was there the moment she woke up. Make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

“Yes,” Yves replied with a nod.

If Soliette were to awaken now, she would only rush straight back into danger out of duty as the Archmage. But recent events had proven that the Archmage was powerless against the Prophet.

No matter what she did, the outcome would not change. For now, there was no reason to let Soliette roam freely and endanger her.

Next was his treatment. To at least delay what little lifespan he had left, and to suppress the ever-encroaching symptoms, Vanitas once again submitted himself to the procedure under Yves’s guidance.

He removed his shirt and glanced at the doctor. “Aren’t you afraid of me?”

“Only the ignorant would fear you right now, Vanitas Astrea.”

Yves powered on the machine as he checked the clipboard in his hand.

“I’ve treated many terminal patients,” Yves continued. “Most choose to spend their final days in solitude, or on some philosophical journey to find the ’meaning of life,’ whatever that means. But I’ve never seen one volunteer to become a martyr the way you have.”

Vanitas lay back against the treatment table as the machine’s restraints shut around his arms.

“Martyr?” he asked. “You exaggerate. Am I not just trying to make this world a living hell… the same way it did to both of us?”

Yves paused for a moment before pressing the activation sequence.

“You tell yourself that,” Yves said. “But people who only seek revenge do not walk straight into their own deaths with open eyes.”

Thin conduits slid into position around Vanitas. The machine began drawing out the corrosive vessels corrupting within him, replacing them with a stabilizer that burned through his veins like fire.

Vanitas gritted his teeth but did not make a sound.

Yves adjusted the output, watching the readings with focused eyes.

“Because of you,” Yves said, “research that should have taken centuries will be accomplished sooner than we thought. Because of you, future victims may actually have a chance to receive proper treatment. It’s just unfortunate that chance won’t come in time for you.”

He paused, lowering the clipboard.

“But I can only be thankful to you, Vanitas Astrea.”

Vanitas’s muscles tightened as waves of pain spread through him, but he didn’t react.

“Not everyone might understand what you’re doing now,” Yves continued. “And perhaps they never will. Perhaps this world, once you’re gone, will only paint you as a villain.”

“….”

“But there are people like me, Vanitas Astrea,” Yves continued. “People who will know.”

* * *

“Hold the parameters!”

“Yes, Colonel!”

Amidst the open sea, waves crashed against the fleet’s metal frame like living beasts. The storm above roared, making even seasoned sailors grip the rails tightly. Thunder rolled across the sky, drowning out the sound of engines as the Zyphran fleet fought to maintain formation.

Spray crashed over the deck. The metal resounded under the assault of the towering swells. Officers shouted orders against the wind.

“Stabilize the bow! We’re drifting off course!”

“Starboard turbines at full output! Keep her steady!”

Lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the surroundings in a blinding flash. The flagship heaved upward before slamming back down, sending a tremor through every beam and rivet.

Major Karina Maeril braced herself against the railing. Her eyes remained fixed on the horizon.

“Colonel!” she screamed. “Mana readings are spiking again!”

“Adjust the wards! Get the barrier mages forward, now!”

A dozen ice mages hurried across the slick deck, planting their staves along the forecastle. Their chants resounded in a collective as cold mist began to wrap around their hands. Layer by layer, magic circles spread out over the raging sea, attempting to mold the water’s movement.

The waves resisted.

The storm pushed back.

Crackle——!

Sheets of ice formed across the surface, only to be shattered by the next towering swell. Shards of ice were thrown into the air like broken glass.

“We need stronger reinforcement!” one of the mages shouted. “The current is too unstable!”

“Colonel!” another voice called from the bridge. “Enemy signatures detected, closing fast!”

Colonel Erhart turned toward the horizon, where the storm clouds briefly parted. For a moment, the raging sea calmed enough to reveal dark silhouettes riding atop the waves.

On land, they were called Demons.

But on the sea, they were known as Cthulhus.

The sight sent a chill through every soul on deck. Massive figures rose and fell with the tide. Their forms were only half-visible through the rain and mist. Some had bulging, irregular frames. Others were long and serpentine.

Below them, bioluminescent glows emitted under the surface of the water, outlining teeth, eyes, and limbs that should not have existed.

“They’re closing in!” another shouted.

Colonel Erhart’s jaw clenched. “All cannons to the fore. Mages, keep the wards up. Do not let them reach the hull!”

The ice mages attacked harder as thicker layers of frost surged across the ocean’s surface. The waves slowed. The water froze under their control.

Then the sea broke.

A colossal mass surged upward, shattering the ice in an instant. A towering Cthulhu erupted from under the water surface, its body wrapped in slick black flesh and countless writhing tendrils.

“Fire!”

Cannons resounded.

Explosions burst across the creature’s body, ripping apart chunks of flesh and spraying dark blood across the waves. It recoiled only slightly before slamming one massive limb against the side of the flagship. The entire vessel lurched, tossing sailors across the deck before landing on the frosted ocean sheet.

“Stabilize the ship!”

“Emergency repairs on the port side!”

“We’re taking on water!”

Another silhouette surged beneath the surface.

Then another.

Then another.

The sea itself began to move.

Thump!

Karina brought her staff down. The atmosphere answered at once. Frost bloomed outward from the point of impact, spreading in widening rings across the raging water.

Layer after layer of ice formed in rapid succession, stitching over the ocean’s surface as if the sea itself were being sealed by glass. The storm howled above, but below it, the waves were forced into solitude.

Before them, a towering Cthulhu rose from the frozen expanse.

Its massive form loomed over the battlefield. Its tendrils writhed as dark water dripped from its body.

The Bundesritter Navy made their move.

Grappling lines fired. Armor-clad soldiers leapt from the deck of the warship onto the newly formed ice, forming ranks atop the frost-covered ocean.

“Forward!”

The frozen battlefield became a war zone in an instant.