Magic Academy's Bastard Instructor-Chapter 172: Wedding [2]

Traces, traces, traces. Elsa Hesse did not stop for a moment. She refused to rest until every professor kidnapped during the university attack was found.

Signs of dark magic had been scattered throughout the campus during the clean-up process, pointing signs to several dark-magic used. Which was obvious, already.

Elsa had buried herself in investigation after investigation, coordinating efforts with the Grimreapers and an Intelligence officer she trusted.

The inquiry spanned three weeks. Endless leads, dead ends, and sleepless nights, all of it finally pointed to a single place.

And, ironically, it left them speechless.

"This is… the place?" Elsa muttered, eyes narrowing as she gazed at the structure before her.

A church.

"Account statements indicate suspicious activity," replied the Intelligence officer, Birmingham, standing beside her. "I do not wish to be suspicious of a man of faith… but our contacts in the underworld all point to the High Priest of this church."

Elsa's lips pressed into a thin line. "Have we confirmed his whereabouts during the time of the attack?"

"We have," Birmingham said grimly. "And he was not where he claimed to be."

"This is… concerning."

If the suspicion proved true, it would spark a scandal that exposed corruption within the Church of the Holy Lumine.

Though the belief in the Goddess Lumine was the sole religion practiced in Aetherion, not all followed the faith devoutly. Some remained atheists.

Still, the Church of the Holy Lumine, which originated from the Theocracy, held immense sway. To implicate one of its priests without solid proof could be interpreted as an act of defiance against the Church, and ultimately, against the Theocracy itself.

If Elsa Hesse misplayed her hand, it could ignite a cold war between the Church and Aetherion.

And if that happened…

The Sword Saint, Aston Nietzsche, would draw his blade.

And it would be pointed at Aetherion.

"...."

Elsa clenched her fist. This was no longer a matter she could remain directly involved in.

Birmingham gently placed a hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry. If push comes to shove… there are unofficial channels entrusted with handling situations like this. But yes, just as you feared, your involvement ends here. You can't afford to be seen near this place again."

"Yes," Elsa murmured.

By "unofficial channels," he meant the underworld. Mercenaries who could take action where official hands could not. It was unethical in the public eye, certainly.

But Elsa was no stranger to walking those gray lines.

She had mediated with them before. And if it meant preserving the balance between faith and state, she would do so again.

Because, truth be told, the balance of power in Aetherion was growing increasingly unstable.

Parliament was slowly pushing to overthrow the Imperial Family's reign. With more voices from the common people now part of Parliament, it was only a matter of time before the Empire of Aetherion fully transitioned into a constitutional monarchy.

One where the Imperial Family's governing power would cease to exist, leaving them as mere symbolic figures.

A complete restructure of Aetherion's practiced principles.

In fact, some clergymen were already embedded within Parliament itself.

And Elsa… she had a hunch now.

But not enough to be certain.

"Truth be told, Elsa," Birmingham began, "even the church isn't clean. There have been priests implicated in the past in the Theocracy."

But in Aetherion, the church did not hold as much sway as it did in the Theocracy. Still, they were powerful in their own right, officially.

"I don't even know what's going on anymore," Elsa muttered. "The leylines are fluctuating constantly and due to this, Soliette's been buried in work. And whatever that damn cult is planning…"

She trailed off, a heaviness settling in her chest.

"I just have a bad feeling."

"....Yeah."

* * *

The youngest daughter of the Heinrich Duke Family, Olivia Heinrich, spun around as her eyes gleamed with delight while she admired her wedding dress.

"You look beautiful, my lady," said her personal maid, Dorothy, appointed by Franz himself to handle Olivia's well-being.

"Thank you, Dorothy," Olivia replied softly.

She turned to the mirror, taking in her reflection. The pure white gown was exquisite, adorned with fancy ornaments. Her long silver hair, tinged with a faint hue of purple, flowed in waves down her back. Though it hadn't yet been styled, it still looked elegant.

Her lemon-hued eyes reflectively sparkled on the mirror.

Just then, the door opened, drawing both their attention.

"....!"

Olivia stiffened as a wave of nervousness washing over her. She turned quickly and bowed her head.

"A-Ah! Y-Your Highness!"

"How many times have I told you to call me by name, Olivia?" Franz said with a gentle smile.

"Y-Yes. My apologies, it's just a habit I'm still trying to grow out of."

Coming from a noble background, Olivia had encountered the Imperial Prince many times during formal gatherings growing up.

Now twenty-five, she was preparing to marry the man who would soon ascend the throne, Franz Barielle Aetherion.

Franz stepped closer and gently took her hand, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. Dorothy, sensing the moment, quietly excused herself from the room.

"Are you ready for the big event?" Franz asked.

"Y-Yes," Olivia replied, her voice tinged with awe. "It all feels so… surreal."

Franz smiled. "You've been living in the palace for five months now, Olivia. I would've thought you'd be used to all this by now."

"I know," she said, turning slightly toward the mirror again. "And yet, it still hasn't sunk in. Every day I wake up wondering if it's a dream… and today, it feels even more so."

Olivia considered herself lucky.

The engagement proposal had arrived from the Imperial Family shortly after the coming-of-age celebration for the Marquess of Ludwig's youngest son. It was during that event that Franz had spoken with her, shared moments, danced, and grown unexpectedly close.

The news had taken aristocratic circles by storm.

That the Imperial Prince, who had long been thought to be emotionally bound to Alianna Borgia, his late fiancée, had chosen to move forward with someone else.

Many had believed Franz would never love again, and would never open his heart after Alianna's tragic death. But that assumption had proven false.

There were even rumors of the Prince frequenting clubs, engaging in illicit affairs and one-night flings. Yet none of it had ever been substantiated.

All of it, in the end, was gossip.

Nevertheless, the very existence of such rumors added to the pressure Olivia now felt.

Had she truly captured the heart of this man?

The thought overwhelmed her at times.

Though the Heinrichs were a prestigious Duke Family, there were no historical records of any direct engagements with members of the Imperial Family. This was unprecedented.

She was the first.

And she was about to become Empress.

"You've got that look again," Franz said, resting a gentle hand on her head. "Uncertainty doesn't suit you, Olivia. How ever will I put you at ease?"

Olivia lifted her gaze to meet his. His deep-crimson eyes held a warmth that often disarmed her.

"You have proven your love to me, Franz," she said softly. "That I cannot deny. But it's not your love I'm uncertain of… it's the reality surrounding us."

Franz smiled and leaned down, placing a delicate kiss on her forehead.

"Then allow me to remind you again," he whispered. "If anyone here is fortunate… it's me. Meeting you was never part of my plan, but it was the only part I wouldn't change."

"...."

Olivia's lips parted, but no words came out. Her heart was beginning to race, and a faint blush colored her cheeks.

Franz smiled gently. "You're beautiful. The dress is beautiful. And in just a few weeks, you'll be the most beautiful woman in the entire Empire."

Olivia lowered her gaze, trying to steady the warmth blooming in her chest.

"You're making it hard to breathe with words like that," she murmured.

They continued to converse with one another until suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Dorothy's voice called from behind it.

——My lady, it's almost time for the fitting to resume.

Olivia took a deep breath, smoothing the front of her gown. "I should go."

Franz gave a small nod and stepped back. But before he could fully retreat, Olivia leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.

"...."

As he exited the room, a blank expression took hold of his expression, replacing the gentle demeanor he had been exuding just now.

The trauma of losing Alianna eighteen years ago still haunted the back of his mind.

And truth be told, he feared this marriage.

He feared allowing his heart to grow soft again. He was terrified that if tragedy struck once more, it would destroy him entirely.

Olivia was a charming and loveable young woman. The very embodiment of grace and innocence. Perhaps the most genuine soul he had ever encountered.

She didn't deserve a man like him, someone who had engaged in fleeting affairs, who had numbed his grief through misdeeds that remained buried beneath the Empire's underworld.

But Olivia… she would suffice.

Because to him, this marriage was never about love.

It was about the throne.

To re-establish the Imperial Family's authority after the damage done under Emperor Decadien's reign, his father.

Franz would do whatever it took to secure that power.

And if that meant marrying a woman he had never truly love.

"Ah… I should probably cut ties with Celine," he muttered under his breath. "Or… maybe not. I haven't seen her in so long, anyway."

* * *

"What the hell…?"

Vanitas stood at the foot of the University Tower, eyes scanning the chaos before him.

The entire place was alive with election buzz—banners, booths, students handing out flyers. But as far as he remembered, the elections had already concluded weeks ago.

"Didn't this already happen?" he muttered.

Pamphlets littered the walkways, colorful printouts of smiling candidates vying for positions. One of them flew up in the wind and slapped against his face.

"..."

He peeled it off and glanced at it.

[Vote for Ezra Kaelus – Vice-President Candidate]

"Huh." He raised a brow. "So he hasn't dropped out, after all."

Without much thought, Vanitas crumpled the pamphlet into a ball and tossed it into a nearby bin. Then he stepped inside the University Tower.

The halls were bustling as students rushed about with flyers, posters, and makeshift booths. Their voices filled the air with excitement and competition.

Even those who weren't candidates were caught in the flurry of several campaigns.

——That's why Astrid Barielle Aetherion is my President!

——Jeanne Evergreen has the people's interests in mind! Not just the elites!

Vanitas walked through the chaos, ignoring the debates, the voices, and the occasional attempt to shove a flyer into his hand.

Someone actually tried, only to freeze mid-motion upon realizing it was Professor Vanitas himself. The student flinched and quickly sped off without another word.

"...."

Truth be told, Vanitas didn't particularly care who won the elections.

Though… he did wish his sister had taken on a leadership role. If she had, she would've had his full support.

He spent the day conducting his lectures, though most students were far too preoccupied with extracurriculars and campaign duties to attend properly.

Even Astrid hadn't found time to greet him upon his return.

Once his business at the University Tower was concluded, Vanitas made his way straight to the Scholars Institute, where he handed in an evaluation report which bore the name of none other than Lawine Rothsfield.

"Wow… a perfect grade? That's surprising coming from you, Professor Astrea. But I have to ask—"

"He's gone," Vanitas cut in.

".…The family has my condolences."

Vanitas nodded silently in response.

The evaluator then began explaining that each commission assigned to Imperial Professor candidates came with its own unique challenges and conditions. Rather than completing all of them, candidates were only required to successfully accomplish one.

Out of the current batch, at least two had failed, while the rest had passed and advanced to the next phase.

Vanitas, having completed his, proceeded to the third phase.

This phase centered around participation in academic thesis defenses, where candidates served as panelists to evaluate and challenge the work of graduating students.

Vanitas was sent to a partnered university, where he performed the task flawlessly, completely dismantling flawed arguments and demonstrating the depth of his academic capabilities.

Upon passing that stage, he was cleared for the final phase, the conduction of complex magic.

Each candidate was assigned a specific Sovereign-class spell to research, dissect, and, if possible, cast.

Given Vanitas's well-known specialty in wind-based magic, particularly the Zephyr Essence, he was given one of the most complex spells from that branch.

Truth be told, it was a headache.

But actual casting wasn't the only measure of success.

The evaluation focused more on the candidate's methodology, their research approach, theoretical dissection, strategic reasoning, progress tracking, and how they handled the intricacies of Sovereign-level magic.

Still, it was a headache.

Vanitas had temporarily set it aside upon receiving a particular invitation.

"So, what about you?" the man seated across from him asked, swirling the drink in his hand. "When are you getting married?"

It was none other than Franz Barielle Aetherion, who had invited Vanitas out for a drink that evening.

"I don't know," Vanitas replied. "I don't think I'm as popular with the ladies as you are, Lord Franz."

"Are you serious?" Franz frowned, cheeks already tinged red from the alcohol. "There are several noble daughters who've been eyeing! You're telling me you've never received any engagement proposals?"

"Nope."

It was a lie, but Franz didn't need to know that.

"Ha!" Franz scoffed, slamming his glass down. "I doubt that. Are you a eunuch, then?"

Vanitas raised an eyebrow. "Huh?"

"Haha~!" Franz burst out laughing. "That look could kill me right now. I'm just saying, Vanitas, your lineage would be wasted if you don't secure an heir soon. Come on, let me introduce you to someone. In fact, how about I make you my brother-in-law?"

"...."

Vanitas stared at him, unable to form a coherent response to whatever bullshit Franz was spouting now.

"I meant Irene! Haha!" Franz clarified, grinning like a fool.

Vanitas sighed. "It's a generous offer worth considering. But I don't think Her Highness Irene is even searching for a marriage prospect in the first place."

"Oh? That sounded like you were actually considering it." Franz leaned in, smirking. "Interesting. But you're right. Irene would only bring you trouble."

He took another sip of his drink. "Then…. what about Astrid—"

"No."

"Haha! You're so stiff, my friend. Come on, relax! It's a long night!" Franz chuckled. "Seriously, how are you not even drunk yet?"

"If I get drunk here, then who's going to bring you home again?" Vanitas replied dryly.

"Don't worry. I've got that all covered now. I swear!" Franz waved it off with a grin.

It wasn't their first time drinking together. Over the past few months, the two had grown surprisingly close, enough to be considered true friends.

Franz leaned in, his voice dropping into something more serious.

"Right, Vanitas… once I ascend the throne, there's going to be a lot of reform. I hope you're ready for that. I might not be able to grant you a dukedom right away, but I need people I can trust. I hope you'll keep supporting me."

"Of course," Vanitas said, lifting his glass slightly. A faint smirk pulled at his lips. "That's what friends are for."

They clinked glasses with a soft chime. As the conversation continued, the atmosphere shifted when someone else finally arrived.

Vanitas frowned.

"...."

The newcomer frowned back.

"Vanitas."

This sort of tension wasn't unusual whenever Franz invited Vanitas out, especially when he showed up.

"Your Highness," the man greeted with a respectful nod.

"Yes, yes. Come, sit, Nicolas!" Franz waved him over casually, clearly used to the dynamic.

The newcomer took his seat. It was none other than Nicolas Machiavelli.

Now, at this table sat three individuals, each from vastly different standings and raised under different circumstances.

And yet, what they shared in common… was something only Vanitas fully understood.

"So," Nicolas began with a sly grin, "how's your new life with Margaret, Vanitas?"

"Fuck off, Nicolas."

"Oh? Margaret? As in Margaret Illenia?" Franz blinked, his curiosity piqued. "I did hear you finally established your own knight faction under the Astrea banner, but what's this about her?"

"...."

Vanitas said nothing, letting his silence serve as a shield.

Because seated at this table were no ordinary men.

They were all mid-game bosses in the original game.

Vanitas Astrea. Franz Barielle Aetherion. Nicolas Machiavelli.

* * *

Vanitas returned home in a noticeably drunken state.

Even with his Vessel trait, there was no resisting the effects of alcohol, not without the aid of Aether essence, and that was something Vanitas had never been able to manage.

Two knights met him at the gate and supported an arm as they guided him through the manor's entrance.

Margaret, still awake despite the late hour, approached the moment she saw them.

"I'll take him," she said, gently relieving the knights of their burden.

They gave a respectful nod and quietly departed the manor.

With Vanitas's arm draped around her shoulders, he murmured, "Why are you… up?"

"I was with Lady Charlotte today," Margaret replied, adjusting his weight. "We visited the vineyard and went shopping, and—"

"Alright…."

Margaret glanced at him but said nothing as she helped guide him through the quiet halls of the manor.

They reached his room, and she gently eased him onto the edge of the bed.

But then, Vanitas suddenly spoke.

"Why are you… so nice to me?" he asked.

"Y-Yes?" Margaret blinked, taken aback. "Because… we're friends?"

Vanitas looked up at her.

"I didn't do anything for you. I've never done anything for you," he said. "And yet you, someone I've done nothing for, keep helping me. Why?"

"What are you talking about?" Margaret said, her brows furrowing. "You've helped me more times than I can count. Even now, back then… and even when I was just a child."

"A child, huh?" Vanitas murmured, his head swaying slightly. "Helped? How? Have you met me before?"

He had a vague idea. But in his drunken state, the thoughts refused to connect.

Margaret's voice softened. "During the fall of Illenia… you saved me. I've told you this before, but you didn't believe me."

"That wasn't me," Vanitas replied flatly.

"You're drunk, Vanitas," she said, rising to her feet. "Please, go to sleep. We can talk about this tomorrow, okay?"

She turned to leave.

But just as she did, Vanitas's head dipped forward dizzily, and suddenly, he grabbed her wrist.

"That wasn't me," he said again, voice rough. "Everything you believe about me, it wasn't me. I didn't save you. I didn't do anything. So why?"

His eyes met hers.

"Why do you stay? Why do you believe in me? Is Vanitas Astrea really that much better than… me?"

"W-What are you saying…" Margaret tried to pull away, only to feel his grip tighten. He was much stronger than he looked in that moment.

"I've done so much just to secure my place," Vanitas said. "And yet… the closer I get to success, the more it feels like I'm sinking."

His head slowly dipped forward, coming to rest against Margaret's hip.

"It's like everything's building up," he whispered, "just to come crashing down."

In that moment, he was anxious.

Though he was reluctant to admit it, even to himself, he kept convincing himself he was in control. But it felt like he was trapped in a never-ending maze, one where the only end waiting for him was death.

And still, he kept climbing.

To secure his position. To protect what mattered.

The higher he rose, the more clearly he could see the drop.

Getting close to Franz, to Irene, to Astrid, people who had every right to kill him, he knew the moment they discovered the truth, they wouldn't hesitate to do so.

And yet, he needed them.

He couldn't avoid those connections, simply because they were relevant in stopping the world's collapse.

He could run. He wanted to run. But doing so would leave behind a life not worth living.

He didn't want to abandon Charlotte.

He didn't want Astrid to become a genocidal villainess.

He didn't want the Black Dragon to return.

He didn't want the world to crumble into ruin.

That was why he worked so hard.

Why he had traced every piece of recorded lore surrounding the Black Dragon and the Araxys within the spectacles.

Why he had chased down every lead, no matter how trivial, that pointed to the Araxys and their hidden movements.

And still, the anxiety never left.

"Sleep," Margaret said softly, breaking the silence.

"If I close my eyes now, I'll die."

"You're being overdramatic."

"That's no way to speak to your employer."

"Sleep," she repeated.

There was a pause.

"You'll stay by my side until the end, won't you?" he asked.

"It's my duty," Margaret replied.

"Then stay here," he whispered, his eyes slowly fluttering shut, "until I fall asleep."

Margaret was silent for a moment.

"That's not my duty…."