Magic Academy's Bastard Instructor

Chapter 209: Monster [3]

To the public, Zelliel had been a respected doctor, a renowned researcher in the medical field, once hailed as the Hand of Miracles. He was also Karina’s biological father.

That was who he had been, before the day he became known as the murderer of the Imperial Queen.

For someone who had achieved accolades that most in the medical world could only dream of, Vanitas could never fully understand what had driven Zelliel to do the things he had done.

Which could only mean that there was a larger piece of the puzzle still missing.

The reason why Zelliel had become Zelliel.

“Fuck is this smell?”

The stench hit him the moment he stepped inside. It was foul and indescribable. Something between decay and mold with a tinge of chemical undertone. Vanitas couldn’t place it exactly, but it was enough to wrinkle his nose.

Still, he stepped over broken floor tiles and discarded medical equipment.

According to the locals, this place had become something of a haunted site. Not quite a landmark, but infamous all the same. An eerie, derelict clinic owned by one of Aetherion’s most notorious criminals.

He doubted there would be anything significant left. Anything dangerous or confidential would’ve long been confiscated by now.

And yet, a place known to be haunted… had to have ghosts.

That was what Vanitas was counting on.

“Eunah, let me borrow your power,” he whispered.

There was no response.

Abyss, who, according to her, had followed him in every lifetime, was ultimately like that. Not a companion, but a spirit that left behind faint trails that marked their connection.

“Eunah… just this once.”

He knew the spirits abhorred him. They hated his presence, the scent of Abyss that emanated from him, that unnatural bind to something no spirit dared touch.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t call on them.

The wind rustled. A sudden gust swept through the abandoned clinic, and with it, distant voices began to echo throughout the halls.

——I’ve done all you asked! Please, just leave me alone!

A desperate, and trembling voice. Though he couldn’t recall the memory, the timbre was undoubtedly Zelliel’s.

Vanitas slowly walked toward the source of the voices.

Tak. Tak——!

——Just one more job, and we’ll let you go.

Other voices followed. They were unfamiliar, but clear enough to confirm that something ominous had been at play, causing a disbelieving smile to form on his lips.

——You’ve already crossed the line, doctor. What’s one more job going to hurt? Unless… you want to pay the price?

——Leave my daughter and wife alone!

“….”

Hearing that, Vanitas stopped in his tracks. Daughter? Zeliell was undoubtedly talking about Karina.

——Because you bastards…

——This is why we admire you, doctor. That tenacity… to protect your ex-wife, who’s run off with another man, and a daughter who’s never even seen her own father’s face.

Whoosh—

He just stood there as the cold wind brushed past the collar of his coat.

Vanitas had a lingering suspicion that this was the case. But hearing these voices from a distant past confirming it still took him aback in many ways.

——I had to leave them because of you damned cultists!

“Hah…” A breath escaped his lungs.

The next moment, he stepped into the room from which the voices had come. It was a rundown clinic office, with dust on every surface and cracked tiles lining the floor underneath scattered papers and broken glass.

His eyes swept across the room slowly.

As the voices continued speaking, Vanitas approached the desk. Most of the documents were illegible and smudged beyond recognition.

——You people… if it all goes to hell, it’ll be over for me! Y-You d-don’t want that, do you? I-I still have my uses…

——It won’t, doctor. Just do as you always have. Keep treating the Queen, and—

Vanitas’s hand curled into a fist.

——Steal her research.

The voices trailed off, but the silence that followed was louder than the words themselves.

“In the end… it all leads back to Araxys.”

Vanitas turned toward the shattered window, where the pale light of the moon spilled through the cracks.

“Eunah… if what you said is true, then all the tears shed in this world… were because of you. But I don’t understand.”

His voice was quiet.

“How? Why did you become Araxys? Who am I, really… Vanitas Astrea? Chae Eunwoo? Why have our souls merged?”

He shook his head.

“….All roads lead to Archmage Zen.”

A whisper escaped his lips.

“Even my past self… had already accounted for the entire existence of Vanitas Astrea.”

Whoosh—

The wind brushed past him like a passing ghost and in the next moment, he froze.

A voice echoed all around him.

——I heard you were the doctor responsible for overseeing the Queen’s health.

Vanitas turned upon realizing the identity of the voice.

——Let me help you. I want to save her too.

It was his voice, Vanitas Astrea.

A younger, more naive Vanitas Astrea, who had once offered his help to a doctor. The very same doctor who would later take the life of the woman he’d wanted to protect.

Bang——!

The sound of a bullet rang out, echoing through the clinic. It nearly struck him, but a wind barrier convulsed around his body. The spell shuddered as the projectile tore through its outer layers until the final shield of condensed air pushed it back with force, deflecting it to the side.

A magic bullet.

Vanitas’s eyes snapped toward the door. A shadowy figure turned and ran the instant their attempt had failed.

Without hesitation, Vanitas gave chase.

Bullets tore through the air, but he didn’t need to lift a finger. The wind moved on its own to shield him. Spells followed next, a chant muttered by the fleeing assailant and a barrage of magic rained down upon Vanitas.

Yet Vanitas met each one effortlessly, dodging, rolling, and sidestepping, dispelling the more persistent attacks with nothing more than subtle gestures.

Then, with a twitch of his fingers, lightning surged.

Crackle—

It erupted across the decrepit clinic, crackling from the floor to the ceiling and bouncing from the broken tiles before lashing out at the shadowed figure. They barely managed to dodge by twisting mid-air with acrobatic reflexes.

But they weren’t fast enough.

A Windblade struck.

“Akh..!”

It caught them clean, sending the figure crashing against the far wall. Vanitas clenched his fists and rocks erupted from the broken ground, latching onto the figure’s limbs.

Vanitas quickly approached and when he reached them, he pulled the hood back.

“You—”

His words stopped short.

The face underneath was deformed, bloated, and swelling fast.

Bloating….

His eyes widened. A suicide bomber. Realization struck him a second too late. Vanitas instinctively let go and leapt back, but the explosion erupted before he could finish the motion.

Boom——!

Flames swallowed the space around the figure, and Vanitas was caught in the shockwave. The heat seared through his coat, scorching his sleeves and burning his forearms as he was hurled backward into the wall.

“Cough…! Cough!”

The impact knocked the breath out of him, leaving him coughing amidst dust and smoke. He braced himself against the scorched floor, blinking through the haze. As his vision cleared, several more figures emerged from the shadows.

Vanitas narrowed his eyes.

The dust settled slowly, revealing a circle of hooded figures closing in around him.

“We’ve been watching you, Vanitas Astrea,” one of them spoke, voice cold and unwavering.

Vanitas didn’t respond immediately. His eyes scanned the room, checking corners, debris, high ground, any possible route of escape. But every exit had already been sealed. They had come prepared.

He looked up at the one who had spoken and scoffed.

“Took you bastards long enough to show yourselves,” he muttered. “Crawling out of your holes like rats.”

“You’ve been a thorn in everything we’ve set in motion,” the figure said. “Therefore, our Messiah has commanded us to erase your blasphemy.”

“Blasphemy this, blasphemy that…” Vanitas stood slowly, brushing ash from his shoulders. “Am I a sinner in every farce written in this world?”

The figures didn’t answer. Instead, they began to spread out, surrounding him in a tighter formation.

Vanitas exhaled and steadied himself.

So this was how they wanted to do it.

“I hope you understand,” one of the figures said “your death will not be meaningless. It is a necessary offering for the age to come.”

Vanitas gave a half-laugh, brushing a bloodied thumb across his lip.

“An age built on corpses always demands more,” he said. “I wonder how many of you will be left standing once I’m gone.”

“You misunderstand. You’re not walking away from this.”

“Such ignorant fools,” Vanitas muttered. “You don’t even know who the god you’re worshipping is.”

The moment the words left his mouth, his mana surged, reacting to the fury welling within him. They dared invoke the name of Araxys.

They were desecrating her.

They were staining her name, and for that, they would burn.

Swoosh—!

Wind exploded outward in a sudden blast, kicking up shattered tile and broken glass.

He raised his hand and lightning began dancing along his fingers. His coat fluttered in the growing storm.

The magic circles surrounding him ignited all at once.

Spells rained down from all sides. Blades of fire, shards of ice, threads of dark magic, but Vanitas moved. The first wave passed through wind as his real body was already soaring overhead.

He landed, crouched low, then launched forward like a bullet.

Two cultists tried to intercept him, one chanting, the other drawing a dagger, but both were too slow. A sweep of his arm sent a concussive wave of air that shattered bones and flung them into opposite walls.

Vanitas’s coat was torn, blood streaked down his temple, and burns scorched one sleeve, but they were barely negligible.

“You worship her in name.” His voice rose as more enemies fell before him. “But you know nothing of who she was. Nothing of what she wanted. Nothing of what she died for.”

A magic circle flared behind him. He spun and swatted away the spell with a thick wind barrier before it could fully reach him.

“You insult her memory,” Vanitas continued. “You claim devotion, but all you do is defile.”

And when he raised his hand once more, a storm began to coalesce above them.

“My sister never wanted any of this!”

As the cultists retaliated, confusion began to settle in their ranks, uncertain of the things Vanitas was saying. The words he shouted meant nothing to them.

Was it just madness? Delirium born from overwhelming power? It had to be. That was the only answer that made sense. They convinced themselves of it, stubborn in their faith.

After all…

“Charlotte Astrea is dead,” one of the cultists said. “Are you deluded? As the Messiah teaches, a madman who believes himself a prophet is still just a madman.”

Vanitas stood silently for a moment, his hand clenched tightly around the throat of one of the cultists, lifting the man off the ground like a shield of flesh and bone.

A low, bitter chuckle escaped his lips.

“Haha…”

And then, he laughed bitterly.

“Right… Even now, I always end up losing what’s dear to me.”

The cultists looked on in confusion, unable to decipher the cryptic pain in his voice.

“It’s funny, isn’t it? I lost my sister because of my sister… from another life I don’t even remember.”

Thud! Thud! Thud!

One by one, the cultists dropped around him like flies.

“I see,” the cultist muttered under his breath, even as the air around him trembled. “So this is not the day you die.”

A split-second later, a Windblade cleaved through him. As the two halves of his body collapsed to the ground, his voice echoed.

“I wonder… what Araxys has left in store for you.”

“….”

Vanitas remained still, surrounded by corpses and blood.

That arrogance. The way they spoke. As if they understood something. As if they were in control. As if they knew her.

But they didn’t know anything about Araxys, about her, about the god they worshipped.

….About Chae Eun-ah.