Magic Academy's Bastard Instructor - Chapter 217

Chapter 217: Thunderbird [2]

Despite the lack of expectations upon him, Sigmund never allowed it to trouble his mind. After all, there were no other siblings to compete for the position of Glade heir.

The responsibility was his alone, and so rather than sink into self-deprecation, he resolved to at least rise to the standards his father had, whether directly or indirectly, set before him.

Still, it was not pressure that drove him, but conviction. If the Glade bloodline was his to inherit, then he would do so without fail. If duty demanded sacrifice, then he would bear it.

In truth, there had been no path for him other than this one. And so, in his mind, the only choice left was to walk it without complaints, for to waver was to shame not just himself, but the Glade family.

And so, for that very reason, Sigmund devoted himself to studying everything a nobleman ought to master. From etiquette to diplomacy, from the art of conversation to politics, he immersed himself fully.

He trained his body as much as his mind, for a Glade heir was expected not only to hold his ground in debate but also on the battlefield if the time came.

For that reason, despite the shuddering cold, Sigmund Glade willingly immersed himself in the snow, honing both his swordsmanship and the endurance of his mind and body.

It was said to be the natural blessing of the Glade lineage that they possessed a high tolerance to the cold.

“Huh?”

While Sigmund was in the midst of training, movement at the edge of his vision made him pause. From the estate gates, a figure stepped out into the cold expanse.

“Sir Vanitas?”

It was none other than Marquess Vanitas Astrea, who was leaving the estate grounds alone.

Curious, Sigmund chose to follow.

In recent years, there had been no new figures recognized as one of the Great Powers. The last had been Soliette, the youngest of them all, whose rise had shaken the continent.

And yet, all of a sudden, another name had been acknowledged by every Great Power, Vanitas Astrea.

This was the man who had defeated a Great Power that had defected to the enemy, all by himself,

“Where is he going?”

At this hour, and in this kind of weather, it bordered on suicide for any northerner to step outside.

The cold was merciless. And beyond that, the farther one ventured, the darker the world became, as only the aurora skies’ glow remained overhead. In this climate, when night fell hardest, creatures that thrived in the frost emerged from the darkness.

For the safety of the Northern duke family’s guest, Sigmund tightened his grip on his sword and followed after the Marquess, keeping his distance so as not to be noticed.

From the patterns a northerner was familiar with, Sigmund recognized the signs of monsters prowling nearby. His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword, ready to draw and strike.

But before he could even reveal himself, Vanitas Astrea had already acted.

“….”

He truly did belong among the Great Powers.

* * *

It had been a different route. Perhaps, an even faster one. The snow gave way to a wide clearing, and the moment it opened up before him, Sigmund realized exactly where the Marquess was heading.

“The leyline….” he whispered.

Even without the senses of a mage, Sigmund could feel it. The raw density of mana was overwhelming, so heavy it pressed against his lungs and weighed down his limbs.

And then it happened.

——!

A calamity he had only ever read about in books manifested before his very eyes. It was the kind of disaster known to plague barren deserts, where the balance of mana was perpetually unstable.

Phenomena like these arose from magical imbalances where their very nature tied to the composition of electrostatic discharges occurring through the atmosphere, resulting in an explosive reaction between two heavily charged regions.

In simpler terms, it was the storm of a desert given form.

The kind of place where lightning split the skies daily and storms raged year-round.

Yet here it was, not in some arid wasteland, but in the frozen heart of the north.

The Thunderbird.

“….”

Sigmund’s eyes widened. This was no natural occurrence. Whatever had taken root in the leyline had birthed a calamity that did not belong to these lands. And standing at its center was Marquess Vanitas Astrea.

“Marque—”

Boom——!

Sigmund was just about to rush in and lend his sword, when a sudden surge of magic launched from Vanitas Astrea. The spell tore through the air, streaking directly toward the Thunderbird.

The blast struck with devastating force, scattering snow and shaking the frozen ground beneath their feet. The brilliance of the mana flared so intensely that it reflected in Sigmund’s eyes, forcing him to narrow them against the light.

Still rooted in place, Sigmund was torn between whether he should intervene and risk becoming a burden or step back and watch the Marquess’s overwhelming power at work.

“Move away, Sir Glade!”

“Huh—”

But Vanitas’s voice suddenly resounded in his ears.

———!

In the next second, the world turned silent. Before Sigmund could even react, the nerves in his body went numb.

The world’s gravity suddenly reversed in that instant.

No, it wasn’t the world.

It was him.

Thud!

…Sigmund Glade’s head had been severed cleanly from his neck before he could even register it.

* * *

“…Fuck.”

It had been a split-second too late for Vanitas to register Sigmund’s presence.

Knights, after all, were extensively trained to conceal their signatures when facing mages, and in this atmosphere, where mana spiraled wildly from head to toe, it was nearly impossible for Vanitas to distinguish another presence down until the final second.

But that was the least of his concerns now.

“Why did he have to follow me—”

Bang!

Sigmund had never been anyone powerful. He was not a prodigy of sword or magic, nor one whose power rivaled the great names of the continent.

But from what Vanitas could remember, the name Sigmund Glade had been an exceptional leader in the events yet to come.

———!

Vanitas recoiled, throwing himself back as a barrier spell flared to life before him. The Thunderbird’s strike slammed into it with sparks scattering across the snow.

Not only were its attacks brutally heavy, but the shitty bird was faster than anything of its size had any right to be. And more than that, lightning erupted from its body naturally as if it were an extension of itself.

Vanitas clenched his fist, summoning an intense gust of wind to pin the Thunderbird down. The beast thrashed wildly with its wings sparking in arcs of lightning, but the crushing pressure forced it to the ground with a heavy slam.

Boom——!

Stomping his foot down, Vanitas poured more mana into the spell. The wind pressed down harder and harder to keep the Thunderbird from recovering. Snow blasted outward in waves as the ground split beneath the strain of the bird’s massive form and Vanitas’s imperceptible attack.

“….!”

But the cost was immediate. His mana drained rapidly under the continuous high output. Veins pulsed at his temple, and he felt his head starting to feel light.

Nevertheless, the Thunderbird screeched in pain. Every muscle in its frame strained to break free as a few of its bones began to crack.

——Keep it pinned down, Marquess Astrea!

At that moment, a command rang out, and a streak of silver flashed before Vanitas’s eyes. In the next instant, blood sprayed into the snow as steel tore into the Thunderbird’s flesh.

Friedrich Glade had entered the battle.

The duke moved in close, hacking relentlessly at the Thunderbird’s vulnerable points, aimed only where the creature’s defenses were weakest.

Despite the crushing winds Vanitas maintained, Friedrich moved with remarkable skill, moving through the gaps in the wind pressure.

The Thunderbird shrieked. Lightning bolted from its feathers, sparking out in wild bursts. Each slash of Friedrich’s blade forced the beast further into submission.

“….”

Vanitas’s pupils shifted to Sigmund Glade, before turning back to the duke.

The gears in his head were already spinning on how he could even begin to explain how his son had died.

“Release your magic!”

The command snapped him from his thoughts. Vanitas gave a short nod and let the winds fade away. The crushing pressure lifted, and in that moment, his body staggered from overexerting his mana before managing to hold onto a nearby tree.

From where he stood, he watched as Friedrich Glade closed the battle. With limbs severed and mobility stripped away, the Thunderbird’s struggle ended before the Great Power, the Wolf of the North’s blade.

It was a sight that left little room for doubt. Friedrich Glade’s reputation was not undeserved. By all measures, had the Sword Saint not been a living cheat, Friedrich would undoubtedly be the greatest swordsman on the continent.

——….Brother.

And once more, the voice reached him, forcing Vanitas’s hear to skip a beat as a chill ran down his spine.

He didn’t need to question where it came from. The direction was clear.

“….”

It was coming from the leyline.

* * *

“I’m not sure how to process this….”

Friedrich Glade found himself speechless as he gazed at the headless body of his son.

After Vanitas had left the manor, Friedrich had realized the Marquess had been gone for far too long. Driven by both caution and instinct, he had gone out himself. Along the way, he felt the rise of mana in the air, and so, he braced himself for a battle against something formidable.

But this… this was not what he had expected.

What awaited him was not just a fight, but the lifeless form of his only child.

Friedrich’s hand trembled slightly as his blade, still dripping with the Thunderbird’s blood, hung by his side. His eyes, however, refused to leave Sigmund’s body, as if staring long enough could undo what had been done.

“….”

A silence heavier than the snow pressed down on the clearing. Words failed him, not because he had nothing to say, but because none seemed capable of reaching the depth of what had been taken from him.

Vanitas, trying to ease the grim atmosphere, placed a hand firmly on the duke’s shoulder.

“It was my fault,” he said. “The young duke followed me out, and in my incompetence… I failed to protect him.”

Friedrich’s gaze did not leave his son’s body. “There’s nothing to be done. I failed to educate my son properly. And because I didn’t push him hard enough, he was unable to protect himself.”

Snow continued to fall. Vanitas’s mind turned over what Friedrich had said, and he understood the meaning behind it.

“This is the kind of world we live in, Duke Glade.”

“Indeed, it is.”

There was no mourning, nor was there time for any procession. The Duke’s men moved quickly for the cleanup.

Many of them were visibly shaken by what had transpired beyond their notice. To think that the young duke, the very man they had spoken to only that morning, who had sparred with them in the courtyard and joined them for hunts not long ago, was now gone just like that.

Vanitas and Friedrich stood before the leyline. Without the Thunderbird’s storm to shield it, the occasional sparks had diminished significantly.

“What I don’t understand is,” Friedrich said, “why the Thunderbird chose to act now. My men have long kept this clearing under watch, ensuring no civilians ever wandered near. And yet… it chose to make its move now.”

Vanitas folded his arms, considering the thought carefully. “The Thunderbird was not simply drawn here. It was tied to the leyline itself, birthed from it, rather. And if that’s the case, then this anomaly is a wound. And like all wounds, it festers, drawing predators to feed on it.”

Friedrich’s lips pressed into a hard line. “If what you say is true, then the Thunderbird won’t be the last. More will come. Worse will come.”

“I’d like to deny your statement,” Vanitas replied, “but at this rate, I can’t even begin to imagine what might happen. It’s best to prepare for the worst-case scenario.”

“…Marquess, your nose.” Friedrich pointed with the edge of his hand.

“Ah.”

Vanitas touched his face, feeling the warmth of liquid against his fingers. Once more, blood was trickling down his nose. He quickly wiped it away, brushing it aside as though it were nothing.

“Overexhaustion. It’s not easy maintaining a spell of that magnitude for so long.”

Friedrich regarded him for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. “That seems to be the case.”

Vanitas nodded. It seemed Friedrich had accepted his lies without question. Extending his hand toward the leyline, Vanitas closed his eyes, channeling his focus inward.

Within its bounds, the distorted flow of mana became perceptible.

From behind, Friedrich turned his gaze toward a shifting disturbance in the air. His men noticed it as well, pausing in their tracks as the atmosphere thickened.

“What’s happening now—” Friedrich began, only to cut himself short when he caught sight of Vanitas’s concentration.

So instead, Friedrich looked back at the anomaly.

Slowly, from the chaos of colors and light, a form began to manifest. Walls structured themselves in place where moments ago there had been nothing but open space.

———!

Assembling from nothing into something was no mere illusion. It was a building, as though it had always belonged to the clearing.

“Is that…”

It was a palace, born from the heart of the leyline.

——….Friedrich.

And from the confines of its doors, the voice of his wife echoed. The next moment, a gust of wind fluttered. Friedrich looked down upon noticing a ripped piece of cloth on the ground.

“….”

By its color, it certainly didn’t belong to the Marquess, making it oddly out of place.