Magic Academy's Bastard Instructor - Chapter 247

Chapter 247: Youthful Beautiful [2]

In the Sanctis Theocracy, the Church had maintained absolute authoritarian power for centuries. It was not merely through doctrine or tradition, nor through faith alone. The true reason was due to the existence of beings known as Paladins.

These colossal titans served as the pillars of the Theocracy’s authority. They represented protection and divine strength, the very weapons that kept the entire nation obedient.

To the citizens, the Paladins were a blessing. To criminals, they were the death sentence. To the nobility and clergy, they were a symbol of reassurance, a reminder that rebellion was pointless.

These towering figures were not ordinary statues, but vessels containing powerful spirits, bound and embedded within the stone by the founding Pope himself.

As long as the Church existed, the Paladins would remain active guardians and capable of wiping out entire districts if commanded.

Because of them, the crime rate in the Theocracy had always been abnormally low. Criminal syndicates never grew bold. Disobedience never gathered enough strength to spark a revolution.

The people did not rise up because they feared what would awaken if they tried.

Thump!

Soliette struck her staff against the ground. Muttering a brief chant, in the next instant, a dome expanded outward, locking the Great Powers inside a barrier that absorbed every incoming strike from the Paladins. Stone blades crashed against its surface. Each impact shook the earth, yet none broke through the surface.

“Go,” she said, gesturing toward the cathedral entrance.

Soliette kept one hand pressed against the barrier to maintain its integrity as Vanitas, Iridelle, Elsa, and Bolton prepared to advance. The path she created for them would not remain open for long, and everyone understood that.

The Paladins were already gathering more force for the next wave of attacks.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Step——

A single figure stepped forward. Vanitas emerged from the barrier as if the situation around him posed no threat at all.

“Go?” he repeated in amusement. “Are you really the Archmage?”

The sky answered before anyone could. The clouds thickened, drawing together as the wind tightened into a vicious current. The pressure instantly rose as if a storm was gathering around a single man.

Crackle——!

A bolt of thunder descended downward. Vanitas lowered his hand, and the lightning bent to his will, crashing down on a Paladin and dropping the titan to one knee. It wasn’t destroyed, but it was forced to the ground.

Vanitas looked over his shoulder at the Great Powers. Their expressions were in disbelief, watching him casually step beyond Soliette’s barrier.

Around him, the sky continued to bend, shaping itself into an absolute hurricane that churned higher and higher.

Another Paladin brought its blade down with enough force to crack the stone beneath its feet. Vanitas did not bother turning to face it.

Boom——!

He flicked two fingers, and the titan’s arm exploded into debris as a vortex of purple fire, and lightning tore it apart, shards of stone scattering on the ground.

“I refuse to let my time be squandered,” he said. “If any of you falter, I will kill all of you. If you tarnish the title of Great Power with incompetence, I will kill all of you. And if you take even a minute longer than necessary to bring these Paladins down…”

His eyes narrowed coldly as he cast a brief glance over his shoulder, purple flames surrounding him like a living mantle.

“I will kill every single one of you.”

The heat of the flames rose with his irritation.

“To save your mana for a decisive moment? Spare me. Waste every drop of it right now as if your life depends on it. Surely that much isn’t beyond you, is it? Or are your titles nothing more than ornaments you wear to feel important?”

Crackle——!

Vanitas stood at the center of the storm he had summoned. The winds bent around him in a spiraling vortex. The pressure was thick enough that even the air became difficult to breathe.

Another Paladin lunged forward. Vanitas didn’t bother to look. The storm answered in his stead. Lightning shot downward, shattering the stone titan’s wrist and sending the sword skidding across the courtyard in fragments.

In the next instant, the Great Powers understood exactly what Vanitas demanded of them and moved at once.

They had no choice but to pour out everything they had in this single moment. None of them could afford to waste time or create even the smallest opening where they could be picked off one by one.

They needed to move together, without the arrogance of relying on their individual strength, without the complacency that came from knowing they were powerful enough to bend a nation on their own.

Only by acting in unison could they meet the standard he had expected of them. Ironically, it was the newest and youngest member to had forced them like this.

Bolton unleashed his spirit arrows in full force without holding back anything he thought he should conserve for later. Iridelle’s flames melted through the stone plates of a Paladin’s armor. Soliette reinforced the ground beneath them with layered spells, stabilizing the field so none of them would fall out of rhythm.

Magic circles ignited across the courtyard. Explosions burst from every direction. The clash of power filled the air as spells collided with stone. Paladins fell one after another, only to rise again as their shattered forms reassembled.

The spirits embedded within them dragged broken debris back into place, reforging limbs and armor.

But the Great Powers moved simultaneously. Their spells overlapped, chaining together into a tempo that went higher and higher. Each Paladin brought down was immediately targeted again before it could fully recover.

The cathedral courtyard was slowly being reduced to a wasteland.

Yet despite the overwhelming destruction, the Paladins pressed forward. Their recovery was relentless, and their strength did not diminish. Every time a titan crumbled, the spirit within it screamed and knitted the body anew.

“Stand back,” Soliette commanded.

Moments later, the sky answered her call.

A massive magic circle ignited above them, expanding outward before splitting into countless intricate layers that spun and aligned accordingly. More circles formed, interlocking into an overwhelming geometric structure.

Then the strike fell.

Boom——!

A pillar of magical destruction crashed down from the heavens with a roar that drowned out even the thunderstorm swirling around Vanitas. The impact melted through the first paladin instantly, reducing its stone and steel frame into liquefied rubble.

The light continued carving through the courtyard, erasing several more titans before they could regenerate. The spirits embedded inside them wailed as their anchors were destroyed, retreating in confusion before the structure combusted entirely.

Soliette lowered her staff, her blue eyes gleaming. For that brief moment, everyone was reminded why she held the title of Archmage. There were many powerful mages across the continent, yet only one person stood at the absolute peak of modern magic.

And as the courtyard shook amidst the aftermath of her spell, not a single person could deny that it was Soliette Dominique.

“….”

Vanitas walked through a trail of purple flames, sparing Soliette only a brief glance before entering the cathedral. A few seconds later, the other Great Powers followed him.

What remained in their wake was nothing short of absolute devastation.

The courtyard was left in ruins. The stone was torn apart by overwhelming magic, and the Paladins were reduced to crumbling debris.

The clergy who tried to interfere were swept aside without a second thought. Their spells were useless against the overwhelming strength of the Great Powers, and in the havoc, they died without anyone sparing them even a glance.

The battle had moved on, and whatever stood in the way was nothing more than collateral.

* * *

Selena descended the spiral staircase. The steps, which she had walked countless times since her youth, now felt wider than ever. Each turn of the stairway brought back memories of the simple days when she was still a little Saintess in training, when these halls felt warm.

She could still picture the small version of herself running down these very steps, while Father Telos, not yet the Pope, called after her to slow down.

Back then, the cathedral had been her safe space, a place she had believed would always protect her, a sanctuary she never imagined would one day become the heart of a nightmare.

Those simple days, when Aston, long before he earned the title of Sword Saint, would take her side whenever any priest scolded her. He would place a hand on her head, speak on her behalf, and take responsibility for whatever childish trouble she had caused.

Back then, she relied on him the way a younger sibling relied on an older brother, her hero, the one who ensured every dark corner was safe to walk through.

Those simple days when…

“Ukh…!”

Selena stopped mid-step. Her hand flew to her temple as she stumbled against the stone wall. A sharp pulse of pain shot through her head. She tried to breathe through it, but the sensation only grew heavier, as if something inside her mind was being forcibly pushed aside.

For some reason, she understood the shape of the memories. She knew the context and the emotions that used to fill these stairs when she was young. Yet every image was hazy and distorted, as though someone had pressed a thumb against her memories and smudged everything important.

“….”

Selena gritted her teeth and forced herself to move again.

These past few weeks, she had felt something was wrong, as if her heart was hollowing in ways she couldn’t fully understand.

It was a sensation she had no words for. No matter how she tried to grasp what she had lost, her mind could only offer glimpses whenever she reached for them.

“What… is… happening—”

A voice echoed from somewhere below.

——Don’t come, Saintess!

The moment she heard it, Selena froze. She knew that voice. Her heart lurched, and she immediately rushed down the remaining stairs.

“Aston!”

She pushed through the doorway at the bottom and entered a narrow chamber. Beyond the threshold was a single cell. Inside, bound by chains, was Aston. His chest was bare, and there were no wounds on his skin, yet the exhaustion in his eyes told a different story.

He was thinner than the last time Selena had seen him, as if he had been purposely starved, and his lips were cracked and pale, a clear sign that he had been deprived of water for too long.

“Saintess, you…”

“Welcome, Saintess.”

Selena turned abruptly. From the shadows, a familiar figure emerged, and at once, a wave of conflicting emotions churned inside her.

It was the face of a father she had once loved, the man who had raised her, guided her, and shaped her into the person she was today. A man she owed her life to, a debt she could never repay, even if she fulfilled every duty expected of a Saintess.

It was Pope Telos Alexander IX.

But Selena knew immediately that the one standing before her was not the Pope. The body was his, but someone else was wearing him like a shell.

The thing inside him smiled kindly. “It has truly been a while.”

A cold shiver crawled down Selena’s spine. She could feel every muscle in her body tightening at the sound of that voice coming out of that familiar face.

Behind her, Aston thrashed against his chains.

“Bastard! What did you do to the Saintess?! Where is the Saintess?!” His voice was nearly breaking into tears. “Where is… where is Selena?!”

Selena frowned in confusion. “I’m here… Aston…”

“Don’t you dare speak like that in her voice, you piece of shit!”

Selena’s expression furrowed further. “Aston… what are you talking about? It’s me.”

Aston’s eyes widened with terror, bordering on hysterical. “Shut up. You are not the Saintess. You are not Selena. I know her voice. I know her heart. I know her mana signature. You are not her!”

“….”

Selena froze. For the first time, she wondered if Aston was delirious, drugged, or tortured to the point of losing his senses. The thought remained for a brief moment, yet something in his eyes made her rethink it.

It was as if he was seeing something she wasn’t.

———!

In the next instant, steel flashed. An unseen force shoved the Pope’s body backward, and before Selena could even register the movement, Friedrich emerged from the shadows. Dark magic surged from the Pope in response, clashing with Friedrich’s killing intent, the impact shaking the confined space.

“Saintess, can you free the Sword Saint?!” Friedrich shouted, never taking his eyes off his opponent.

“D-Duke Glade! Yes!” Selena rushed inside the cell, shattering the metal with her magic before fumbling for the chains.

“Stay away from me!” Aston shouted as he thrashed against the chains, recoiling the moment she stepped closer. “Glade, kill them both. Quickly.”

Selena flinched and drew her hand back, startled by the sheer terror in his eyes.

“Aston, it’s me. What are you talking about? We don’t have time for this. You need to calm down so we can—”

“Shut up!” Aston snapped. His free leg lashed forward and struck her in the stomach, forcing a gasp out of her as she stumbled back. “Glade, ignore that thing and deal with the Saintess first!”

Friedrich narrowed his eyes. He had been the first to sense that something about the Saintess felt wrong.

However, he had pushed aside all thoughts the moment Vanitas dispelled his doubts with an explanation that, at the time, seemed irrefutable.

Yet now, hearing Aston’s desperate reaction mirror the one Friedrich himself once had toward the Saintess, that buried suspicion resurfaced.

Even so, hierarchy dictated his actions, and above all else, he held absolute trust in Vanitas.

Bang——!

Friedrich did not spare Aston a single glance. He continued his assault on the Pope, the clash of steel and dark mana igniting through the sanctum as the two figures collided again.

The Pope staggered back from Friedrich’s first strike. Black mana surged through his arms, forming a jagged barrier that barely held against Friedrich’s second blow. Sparks scattered across the stone floor as the Duke pressed forward.

“Duke Glade,” the Pope murmured. “I had hoped you would arrive. As for all of you, Great Powers. Everything has been prepared accordingly.”

Friedrich cut through the air with enough force to shake the chains on the walls. The Pope slid aside, leaving a smear of dark mana in the air where the blade had passed.

The Duke spoke through the spirits’ channels that connected him and Hughes Bolton.

“Bolton. Send my message to Astrea. They’ve been expecting us.”

In the next moment, the atmosphere suddenly shifted as every trace of magic in the room detonated at once, converging from every direction toward a single point.

The surge was so sudden that even Aston, who had been thrashing and shouting moments before, froze mid-breath.

“Glade! I told you—”

———!

It came from the Saintess.

A single pillar of light erupted from her body, expanding outward in a blinding sweep that swallowed the entire chamber. The stone floor groaned under the pressure, the air was reduced into light, and every chain, wall, and shadow shook before the sudden force that radiated from her.

Friedrich raised his blade to brace himself, gritting his teeth as the wave pressed against him like a rising tide.

The pillar widened further, consuming the room in a brilliance that felt nothing like Selena at all.

The Pope stumbled back with a grin.

“Welcome back.”

A smile tugged at Selena’s lips as the Pope continued.

“Prophet Fyodor.”