Magic Academy's Bastard Instructor - Chapter 119

Chapter 119: Dullahan [1]
The Theocracy.

“I still can’t believe you did that, Zia.”

“I only did as you asked, Lady Irene. But as I’ve said before, I strongly believe you shouldn’t meet him.”

“If you were any other servant, I would’ve had your head served on a silver platter.”

Irene swirled the wine in her goblet as she gazed at the crimson moon above.

The Red Moon of Autumn was a major inconvenience for those involved, which drained resources, time, and manpower. But for others, it was just a rare event where the moon turned red and the nights grew longer.

As a princess, she knew it was a serious blow to Aetherion. But Irene had long distanced herself from her family’s affairs. Now, in the Theocracy, she enjoyed her freedom, meeting nobles, growing her businesses, and expanding her influence.

“Now what am I supposed to do?” Irene exhaled, setting her goblet down. “He may have said he were to meet me, but wasn’t that just a pretense to get rid of you?”

At the time, Irene had instructed Zia to formally invite Vanitas Astrea to meet her.

Instead, Zia had taken it upon herself to threaten him with a dagger—all while extending the invitation with “perfect” politeness.

Yes, she had followed orders, but not in the way Irene had intended.

Zia’s excuse?

She had simply been “following instructions” while acting on her own agenda.

She refused to let Irene meet a man who, in her words, hid behind a mask—not just from others, but even from his own sister.

“Still, his initiatives are interesting,” Irene mused. “Not sure how they would benefit Aetherion… but the Theocracy has no need for such absurdity.”

The Red Moon’s glow filtered through the window, casting a streak of crimson across Irene’s face.

“By the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, an Empire that stands as the bane of all demons does not bend its faith so easily.”

Why would they?

When a single man could hold the borders against demons alone?

The Sword Saint, Aston Nietzsche.

Otherwise known as Cardinal Nietzsche.

The man Irene desperately wanted by her side—at any cost.

Even if it meant betraying her own roots.

* * *

“Another boring year.”

Amidst the battlefield, surrounded by piles of demon corpses, stood a man with ivory hair and eyes like lapis lazuli.

His sword gleamed under the crimson sky. His white cape billowed in the breeze against the black and white of his cardinal robes.

He pulled the holy cross from around his neck, raising it to his lips as he muttered, “I offer this victory to you, Saintess Selena.”

Then, as if a switch had flipped, his expression softened. His tone shifted to something almost innocent.

——Stop yapping and get moving already. You’ve been deployed to the western border. If you really want to see the Saintess, then hurry up!

His lips moved, but the words weren’t his own. They belonged to the spirit within him. Some called it a split personality. He called it his partner.

“Must you always ruin the mood, Cardinal Izza?” he sighed.

——What? The Lady Saintess is waiting for us. Are you going to keep her waiting?

A smirk tugged at his lips. “You’re right.”

——The sooner we clear this wave, the faster we go home.

“Yeah, yeah, now stop talking. I—”

His senses flared.

Swoosh—!

He flicked his head to the side and swung his sword in a crescent arc. A moment later, the sound of blood splattering filled the air.

“Guess I missed one.”

——Nah, that was my bad. Got too preoccupied…. And wasn’t that a Dullahan?

“I think so? Not like it matters. You don’t have to apologize for everything, Cardinal Izza. We’ve been partners for long enough.”

——Proper conduct must be upheld no matter what generation one is from. I am but a fragment of the past. Right now, you are the Sword Saint, not me, Cardinal Aston.

Aston scoffed. “I still don’t get your sentiments, but whatever. Now stop. People are already looking at me like I’m insane.”

He turned, his gaze sweeping over the gathered paladins.

They had struggled to hold back the wave. It was understandable, considering the presence of a Dullahan, a powerful Archdemon that had never been sighted in this region before.

“I’ll leave the cleanup to all of you. Surely, you can handle whatever follows next.”

He turned away.

“And remember, it was the Holy Saintess Selena who saved your lives today.”

With that, Aston walked into the distance, the Red Moon’s glow casting its crimson light over the blood-soaked battlefield.

Tak. Tak——!

A battlefield he had wiped clean within thirty minutes of his arrival.

* * *

A common misconception was that all Great Powers were formidable figures, but that wasn’t entirely true.

While each possessed remarkable abilities, their title came from their influence in their generation, not just their strength.

Take Lance Abelton, the Scholar of Wisdom, for example.

He had mastered powerful spells and could cast them without a bead of sweat forming.

Yet, on a battlefield, he was nothing more than artillery. A skilled mage who was trained for battle could easily defeat a glass cannon like him.

What truly earned him the title of Great Power wasn’t his magic, but his contributions to knowledge. He had completed and published countless unfinished theses from the past and solidified his legacy today.

Of course, that wasn’t the case for everyone.

Soliette Dominique, known as the Archmage, earned her title purely through her ability to cast numerous Sovereign spells and her unmatched mastery of magic in this generation.

Because of this, a National Weapon like Soliette Dominique was sent to the region with the highest concentration of demonic energy—far beyond the Aetherion Empire, outside the borders of the four great empires.

Profanus.

Her mission was to stop powerful demons from emerging from the thick demonic miasma before they could spread destruction across the four empires.

After all, demons were born from the very essence of that miasma.

Demonic miasma—otherwise known as the Black Dragon’s traces.

As long as demonic miasma remained prevalent, demons would continue to appear. And that meant the Black Dragon’s seal was still out there.

That being said, Soliette Dominique pressed on with her mission, leading the suppression effort alongside mages who could keep up with her.

“Scatter.”

Meanwhile, other Great Powers had been deployed across the continent. As National Powers, they operated autonomously.

Except for one.

The Sword Saint.

Unlike the others, his allegiance belonged to the Theocracy. No one could change that.

After all, who would dare command a man who could erase an entire Kingdom with nothing but a sword?

* * *

November 24.

Exactly eight days had passed since the start of the Red Moon of Autumn.

Despite Vanitas and the others’ careful preparations, supplies had run dangerously low. It was expected. This always happened during the Red Moon.

Generous amounts would arrive in the following days, but the quality would gradually decline. And soon enough, there wouldn’t be enough to feed everyone.

Lives were lost. Others were injured. That, too, was expected. There was no such thing as a perfect plan. But for those who had been assigned to Amesticross before, one thing was certain—

This year had the lowest casualty count in over five decades.

And they all knew why.

Their eyes turned to the man in the corner, drinking water instead of eating.

Vanitas Astrea.

“Here.”

Margaret appeared beside him, holding out a piece of bread.

“It’s fine,” Vanitas said. “The knights need food more than the mages. There isn’t enough for everyone to have even two meals a day.”

“You haven’t eaten anything in three days.”

“I’m managing. Circulating my mana suppresses the feeling of hunger.”

“That doesn’t replace actual nutrients.”

Margaret frowned, pushing the bread toward him.

“At least eat this. No one’s going to blame you for taking a single meal.”

Vanitas exhaled quietly but didn’t take it. “If I eat, someone else eats less. It’s simple math.”

“That’s ridiculous,” she said. “You’re the reason this place is still standing. People survived because of you. Everyone admits that at this point.”

Vanitas didn’t respond. Instead, he muttered a chant, casting a water spell to fill his cup.

At least water was never a problem.

He glanced around, noticing no particular looks of gratitude or admiration, despite Margaret’s words.

And it made sense. Two days ago, a letter had arrived, instructing them to retreat and let Amesticross fall. Yet Vanitas had refused, insisting they stand their ground.

For that reason, Amesticross’s supply shortage was obvious. Their provisions were being cut off on purpose.

After every Red Moon, inflation was inevitable as resources become scarce. If Amesticross fell, it would be one less burden on the Empire’s resources.

Vanitas wasn’t well-versed in such matters, but he suspected this wasn’t the first time Amesticross was abandoned.

Maybe this border was regularly sacrificed when the Red Moon event neared its end.

He had heard of a certain strategy where some borders were left to fall so the monsters could be driven deeper into the territory and eliminated there.

But Vanitas wouldn’t allow it.

Even if supplies dwindled by the day, he tapped into his own finances to keep everyone fed.

Commander Albrecht had mentioned this was the first time in history that Amesticross had held out so long.

If Vanitas succeeded, his reputation, and thus his “market value,” would skyrocket, likely drawing the attention of Emperor Decadien.

“I merely gave out orders. I have never even stepped foot onto the battlefield. It’s only natural that the resources get allocated this way,” he said.

“….”

Margaret fell silent.

That wasn’t entirely true at all.

Vanitas may have remained atop the walls, but his presence had been felt on the battlefield. The spells he had embedded in advance had supported the knights and kept the demons at bay.

“….”

Even so, Margaret didn’t push any further. She simply watched as he walked away. If this was what he wanted, who was she to force him?

——That’s all the provisions for today! We ask that you rest and endure until nightfall! There’s a chance it could be the last!

The announcement echoed through the camp, carried by a weary officer standing atop a supply crate.

Meanwhile, Vanitas adjusted his collar and pulled his coat tighter. The air was colder than usual today.

Stepping outside the fortress, he exhaled, watching his breath dissipate into the cold.

“Hoo….”

He walked forward as his gaze swept over the lifeless demon corpses strewn across the ground.

“….”

Eventually, he stopped at a particular spot.

“I’ve failed some of you,” he murmured. “But for those still alive. For those who remained and continue to fight despite my selfishness, you will all have my favor once I become Duke.”

Raising a hand, he traced invisible patterns in the air, forming spellformulas as he moved.

“So persist. Persist for me. I will not apologize for the dead, but I will not abandon the living.”

Flick—!

With a snap of his fingers, the spell formulas embedded themselves into the ground, forming a magic circuit. Without hesitation, he moved to the next location, repeating the process.

Each circuit had a fixed diameter and spacing, ensuring mana was used efficiently while covering as much ground as possible.

After nine hours of repeating the process, Vanitas returned to the fortress.

It was already 11:13 P.M.

As he walked through the halls, a commotion from the war room caught his attention.

——He’s clearly proven himself! So why would you leave now, after coming this far? Can’t you see the rewards that’ll come from this?

——Grand Knight, it’s just not feasible anymore. I can’t survive on one meal a day. Aura burns through my metabolism too fast.

——You think it’s any different for the rest of us?!

Margaret was arguing with a group of knights. Some wanted to leave, despite the high chance that this would be the final night.

In truth, a few knights and mages had already abandoned their posts. But it hardly made a difference. Vanitas had discreetly filled the gaps they left behind at a little cost of more mana.

“Boo.”

“….?”

Vanitas turned, unimpressed by the poor attempt to surprise him. Standing there was Adrienne, tilting her head at him.

“We finished our investigations earlier,” she said. “There’s a high chance a Dullahan will appear tonight. That’s why they’re restless.”

“Is that so?”

The Grimreapers were responsible for tracking demonic miasma fluctuations. It was something Vanitas had no control over, no matter how much he wanted to predict them himself.

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

“Is that even a question?”

Adrienne smirked. “I figured you’d say that. Then, shall I take care of the mages who are thinking of deserting?”

“Do whatever you want,” Vanitas said, already walking past her. “As long as they don’t get in my way.”

Vanitas made entered the war room, where Margaret, Commander Albrecht and several high-ranking officers were already gathered around a large map of the region.

“….”

The tension in the room was palpable.

“The reports are consistent,” a Grimreaper Inspector said. “The demonic miasma is concentrating near the western outpost. If a Dullahan manifests, it’ll be there.”

Albrecht let out a heavy sigh, crossing his arms. “Of all times, it had to be now. This is the first time in a decade that a Dullahan has appeared in Amesticross.”

“Change of plans,” Vanitas said as he stepped into the room.

All heads turned toward him.

“We’ll form an elite unit to intercept the Dullahan before it reaches the border. The rest will hold their positions and defend against the ongoing wave. A Dullahan is easier to deal with when it’s isolated.”

A murmur spread among the officers.

“If that thing reaches the main battlefield, it’ll force everyone to shift their focus to it,” Vanitas explained. “And when that happens, the other demons will take advantage of the opening. We’ll suffer unnecessary losses.”

Albrecht nodded, rubbing his chin. “So, you want to lure it away before it fully manifests?”

“Yes. If we keep it from reaching the border, we avoid a situation where our forces are overwhelmed on two fronts.”

The officers exchanged glances, pondering on the strategy.

“But professor, we don’t have enough men to send an entire squad after a Dullahan,” one knight argued.

“I’ll evaluate the candidates myself,” Vanitas replied.

A silence fell over the room before Albrecht finally spoke. “Then who are you taking?”

Vanitas didn’t hesitate. “Margaret, Adrienne, Clevius, Johanna, and Leon.”

“Wait…. so you’re coming along, Professor?” someone asked. “Then what about the traps you set? And… who will lead us?”

Vanitas glanced at Albrecht. “Who else? Your commander. I’ll stay within range to activate the traps and provide support while assisting in the fight against the Dullahan.”

“That seems…. unreasonable. A Grimreaper would suffice. We can’t afford to lose you on the wall, Professor.”

Vanitas chuckled. It was surprising how some people’s attitudes toward him had changed. “Don’t worry, I—”

Before he could finish, his body suddenly gave out.

“Professor!”

“Vanitas!”

“…?”

Vanitas blinked, feeling disoriented. The world seemed to spin around him.

“Ah, your nose.…” Margaret’s voice held clear concern.

He touched beneath his nostrils and raised a brow at what he saw.

“….”

Blood.

Quickly, he wiped it away with his sleeve and tried steadying his vision.

“Vanitas, you need to rest,” Margaret insisted, stepping closer.

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” Margaret said, arms crossed. “You haven’t eaten in days, and you’ve been overusing your mana. I don’t think I’ve even seen you sleep. Have you been preparing traps all the time? It’s catching up to you.”

The room remained silent as all eyes fixed on him. Even Albrecht looked concerned.

Vanitas exhaled slowly. “Just give me a second.”

He straightened and steadied himself.

“There’s no time for this. The Dullahan is our priority.”

Margaret looked unconvinced, but she didn’t argue. Instead, Albrecht cleared his throat.

“Then let’s not waste time.”

With that, the discussion ended, and everyone returned to their positions.

The knights stood ready below. Some mounted, others on foot. Horses had become scarce, but Vanitas’s strategic compromises had kept them alive thus far.

Vanitas rubbed his temple before stepping forward, his gaze sweeping over the area.

“On my signal.”