Magic Academy's Bastard Instructor

"Two years. That's all I can tell you. As for why it's accelerated, I think you already know the reason."

"...."

Vanitas listened carefully, unbothered by his personal doctor Yves's words. He wasn't surprised at all. It was most likely the time he had spent in the Rivers of Fate that caused his terminal illness to progress this far.

"At this stage," Yves continued, his voice quieter now, "I can only advise you to live your life to the fullest."

There was a bitter edge to his tone, and his eyes carried a glint of regret—like someone who had already lost something irreplaceable.

Vanitas looked at him for a moment before speaking.

"You've been keeping things from me. I get it, and I respect that. I wouldn't want to antagonize you, Yves."

He paused.

"But now feels like the right time to ask... What was your relationship with my mother?"

There was a moment of silence.

Yves was caught off guard. He hadn't expected Vanitas to ask so directly, nor did he think the boy knew of the connection. But the surprise disappeared quickly as it appeared.

When he truly thought about it, the answer was simple.

Because he was Vanitas Astrea.

"Where should I start?" Yves murmured.

And with that, he began to speak, this time without holding anything back. Though he admitted there were still things he couldn't remember, he did his best to recount the truth.

"Clarice and I met back at the Silver University Tower. She was already close friends with Roxanne by then."

Roxanne, his wife.

There wasn't anything romantic about their beginnings, nor any fateful spark or love at first sight. It was simply that they shared many of the same lectures. They were all pursuing the same major, and through that, Yves naturally got to know Roxanne.

And knowing Roxanne inevitably meant becoming familiar with Clarice, Vanitas's mother.

"Through that connection, the three of us basically did everything together," Yves continued. "And it wasn't long before we became acquainted with our senior, Empress Julia."

"...."

Vanitas swallowed hard. Just hearing that name tugged at something deep within him. Something he didn't care to explain.

"We were offered an internship," Yves went on, "and that turned into our full-time job after graduation."

Vanitas nodded slowly, listening.

They had been brought into a research facility owned by Julia Barielle. At the time, she wasn't yet the Imperial Queen, though she was already engaged to Emperor Decadien. Even after their marriage, Julia continued her work at the facility for many years.

Yves spoke steadily, recounting every detail he could remember about Clarice.

"She was a beautiful woman. If I'd met her before my wife, I probably would've fallen for her instead."

"...."

Vanitas ignored the remark.

"Anyway, on certain days, she brought you to work," Yves added. "That usually happened when no one was home to watch over you."

"I presume that was every day?"

"Yes."

Vanitas looked up, eyes narrowing "Did any of you know about my biological father?"

Yves shook his head. "No, but we knew something was wrong with their marriage. As her friends, we tried to talk her into divorcing him… but it didn't go anywhere."

He paused.

"But in the end..."

"He died," Vanitas said flatly.

"...Yes."

"I killed him."

"...."

"Continue," Vanitas urged.

Yves took a breath. "After that, your mother fell into... depression, I'd say."

And with that, Yves continued, elaborating on what followed after Clarice's husband died.

Not long after his death, she began to fall into a deep depression. Whether it was some form of Stockholm syndrome or something else entirely, no one could say for certain. Not even Yves, despite being a certified doctor, could properly diagnose it.

"At one point, she even contemplated taking her own life," Yves said. "We talked her out of it. Reminded her of what would happen to you if she were gone."

Yves looked down.

"Don't resent your mother for it, but I felt you deserved the truth. When we brought up your name… she was suddenly… afraid."

"Is that so?"

There was no need for Yves to say anything more. He already knew that Clarice Astrea had never loved her son. Under Vanir's abuse, she had turned a blind eye, choosing instead to focus all her love and attention on Vanitas's half-sister, Charlotte.

And that truth no longer surprised him.

"To give her some space to breathe… Empress Julia sent her to the Dominion for work," Yves said. "She thought that perhaps, in that autocratic nation, Clarice might find some stability. A change of environment. Anything just to pull her out of that state."

Yves paused. Vanitas's eyes shimmered with a glint of amethyst as Yves eventually continued.

"And that's where she met Vanir Astrea."

"...."

Vanitas gave a small nod, already piecing the story together. "Do you have any idea what Vanir was doing there?"

Yves sighed. "I don't. The Astreas weren't any high-ranking nobles for normal people like me to pay too much attention to."

"Continue."

After Clarice eventually married into the Astrea family, something changed. She had started smiling again. Yves, Roxanne, Julia, and the rest of the researchers were genuinely surprised, especially when they learned she had given birth to Charlotte.

"But you, on the other hand… you didn't seem too happy," Yves said, watching him closely. "Did you dislike your new family?"

"To call it dislike is an understatement," Vanitas replied flatly.

"I see."

Yves didn't press any further. There was a pause before Vanitas spoke again.

"But Yves, you've never once told me what your work under Julia really entailed."

"You'd believe whatever I say, right?"

Vanitas gave a subtle, humorless smile. "I'm a dying man. If you choose to lie to my face, then you'll have to live with that guilt."

Yves let out a slow breath, his gaze turning toward the floor for a moment before returning to Vanitas.

"How well-versed are you in the concept of stigmatas?"

"Probably enough that it won't surprise me."

"Then let me ask, have you heard of artificial stigmatas?"

"I can't say I haven't."

"Good. That makes this easier." Yves paused. "Under Julia Barielle Aetherion, all of us researchers were assigned to a single, classified project."

He looked Vanitas directly in the eyes.

"Artificial stigmatas."

"Stigmatas are connected to the soul," Vanitas replied. "So to create artificial ones, you'd need to work with the very foundation of souls themselves. Are you telling me what I think you're trying to tell me?"

"No," Yves said quickly. "It wasn't what you're imagining."

He leaned back slightly.

"To put it simply, it was more like engineering spirits. Creating them synthetically, then binding them to hosts to simulate a soul-like bond. That bond was then condensed until it took the shape of a stigmata."

Vanitas narrowed his eyes.

"So, reverse-engineering the connection between spirit and vessel."

"Exactly," Yves confirmed. "We attempted to imitate it. But even imitation has its cost."

"...."

"We failed more than we succeeded. Most of the time, the host couldn't handle it. Soul instability, mental degradation, mana system collapse. Some would go insane. Others…"

"Who were the test subjects?" Vanitas asked.

"At first, it was criminals on death row."

"At first?"

"...."

Vanitas's voice rose. "Aside from criminals, who else did you use as lab rats?"

Yves hesitated, then answered. "You know her. Astrid. Julia's own daughter."

"...."

Vanitas's fists clenched. For the first time since their conversation began, irritation surged within him.

He remembered that Astrid had frequently visited the facility as a toddler. And he had been the one who kept her company, playing with her, and watching over her.

"And what came out of it?" Vanitas asked.

"At first… failure," Yves said. "We nearly killed that child, Vanitas. Not once. Not twice. I've lost count."

"...."

"But eventually… we succeeded. Though it came at a cost."

"Succeeded, huh?" Vanitas's tone was cold.

That explained Astrid's powerful, and unexplainable stigmata unlike any other. Among all those he had encountered, hers was the most destructive. Even more so than Margaret's or Ezra's in terms of devastating power.

"The facility didn't survive," Yves continued. "When it finally manifested, the radiation from her stigmata contaminated everything. The researchers, the equipment, Julia, even my wife and… your mother."

"And me."

"...Yes."

Vanitas stared at him. "What about you?"

"I wasn't there," Yves replied. "I had an appointment with a patient that day. Everything I've recounted to you came from Roxanne."

He lowered his gaze.

"And from what little the survivors remembered before the facility was wiped from existence."

It didn't need to be said. Everyone who had been present that day had died months, sometimes years later, depending on how close they had been to the epicenter of the radiation.

All of them passed unaware, never realizing they had been slowly dying from exposure.

And now, Vanitas understood.

"Astrid is the origin source of Mana Core Degeneration Syndrome."

"Yes," Yves replied.

And it all made sense.

Because of Julia Barielle's political power and influence, she had silenced everyone who tried to speak out, everyone who dared attempt to reveal the truth, fabricating the actual origins of the terminal illness.

"Did you know that was going to be the outcome?" Vanitas asked quietly.

"No," Yves admitted. "Truthfully, I didn't. We were... persuaded, so to speak. Astrid was a frail girl back then. And given my expertise, I was naturally assigned as her doctor during her early years."

He paused.

"That little girl didn't have many years to live."

Vanitas narrowed his eyes. "So that experiment…?"

"Was Julia's way of saving her daughter."

Astrid Barielle Aetherion, the child saved at the cost of many.

* * *

Araxys.

The cult was named after the Black Dragon himself, Araxys.

It was an organization built around the worship of a supposed deity, led by a prophet who claimed to have been chosen by Araxys. That man had performed miracles, saved lives, taken others, and spread terror in equal measure.

But in the end, he was nothing more than another follower.

To resurrect Araxys meant finding a suitable vessel. Those who truly understood the legend knew that Araxys was not a god, but a spirit.

In the past, that spirit had possessed a vessel, an individual whose body and soul were overtaken, transforming them into the entity known as Araxys.

And that vessel had been sealed away long ago by none other than the Archmage Zen himself.

But to seal a spirit did not mean to banish it. Spirits would never truly cease to exist. They whispered and haunted like phantoms lurking behind the curtain of an opera, playing cruel games with the hearts and minds of people.

To those who followed Araxys, there was no greater authority than the prophet known as Fyodor. To them, his words were the law. Every cultist referred to him as the Chosen Messiah, the one who spoke on behalf of the Black Dragon's will.

And Fyodor, in turn, regarded them all as his children.

"It always pains me," Fyodor said, "to see a child severed from their roots."

He stood before the congregation, eyes closed as if in mourning.

"A sapling cut before it can blossom. A branch lopped off before it bears fruit. That was what he was... my dear Lance."

His tone rose ever so slightly.

"Lance Ableton, he was one of my finest. Raised in the shade of the great tree. And now, he has returned to the soil."

He opened his eyes then, a pale, luminescent hue in shades of gray. His long hair that could be mistaken as a woman's fluttered in the breeze.

"To the one who clipped him from our garden..." He raised a hand, curling his fingers into a fist. "May the roots of Araxys wrap around you in time. May you see the truth when your own leaves begin to fall."

The gathered acolytes knelt deeper as Fyodor's gaze swept over them.

"Soon, my children. Araxys shall return."

For years, their experiments had progressed. Countless lives had been lost in pursuit of this goal. But now, finally, their work was bearing fruit.

They had not only replicated a stigmatas, but they had refined it, multiplied it, embedded it into vessels created from chimeras. Constructs made from demons, spirits, beasts, and unwilling humans.

"We have come far. Too far to fail now. The roots we've planted in blood and bone have grown into something far too sacred."