Validating such an absurd theory that was supported by unverified statements, unpublished research, and sources from unfamiliar names, seemed blatantly unreasonable.
However, when all those uncertainties were compiled into a single document, it became clear just how much time and effort had gone into the research.
Finding information that was practically nonexistent, buried beyond even the deepest archives, was no easy task.
Which meant it wasn’t something to be dismissed lightly, especially when it came from Vanitas Astrea, someone who took work very seriously.
“So, what will you do with this information now, Elder Tristan?” Vanitas asked.
He had finished drafting the research.
No, calling it a draft would be an understatement.
There were no revisions, nor were there any second versions. Every word had been carefully written, and every mistake had been ensured.
The first output was already the final output itself.
“If this is true,” Elder Tristan began. “Then I have to ask—if you’ve been working on this all this time, why present it now, when time is running out?”
“Because I’ve only finished it now.”
That was, more or less, the truth.
Of course, the document itself was dated a month prior—a small lie. But no one needed to know that.
Truth be told, Elder Tristan was hesitant as well. But Vanitas Astrea was a young scholar he had been watching closely. In fact, he was the only scholar he was actively investing in.
And now, that investment was about to be tested.
Challenging established knowledge was never easy. Academia didn’t move forward just because someone introduced a new truth.
It resisted, forcing those who sought change to prove themselves over and over again.
That was the nature of scholarship.
Only those who could withstand scrutiny, doubt, and opposition would be acknowledged.
Vanitas’s previous thesis had earned him recognition. But this second one?
It would decide whether he was just a promising scholar with a single great idea, or something else entirely.
“Do not worry, Elder Tristan. I will take full responsibility.”
“You’re asking me to validate this and put my name behind it. Do you understand what that means?” Tristan exhaled, rubbing his temples. “If I support this absurdity, I’ll face backlash all the same.”
“I do.” Vanitas said. “And I wouldn’t be asking if I weren’t certain.”
Tristan glanced at the document in his hands. The research was bordering on obsessive. The logic was sound, and the data was thoroughly compiled, but that didn’t mean it would be accepted.
“If I disseminate this, you realize what comes next?”
Vanitas nodded. “Scrutiny. Cross-verification. Arguments. Skeptics tearing apart every word.”
“At least you’re aware.”
* * *
The Theocracy.
“Thirteen Eclipses, huh?” A scholar from the Theocracy’s Scholars Institute branch muttered, flipping through the document.
Like every empire on the continent, the Theocracy had long struggled with the Red Moon.
“Is it unfounded?”
“No.”
“What makes you think so?”
“Read it.”
“I don’t have time, Elder. I have to train the reinforcements.”
“Just this one paragraph.”
The knight sighed but took the document from the elder’s hand. He skimmed through it, his expression shifting as he read.
“….”
His brows furrowed at first. Then slowly, his eyes widened in surprise.
“….Doesn’t this cite your name?”
“Yes.” The elder nodded. “A half-finished study I conducted two decades ago.”
The knight glanced back at him. “You wrote about this before?”
The elder exhaled. “At the time, I had suspicions that there were more than seven eclipses. My research pointed to inconsistencies. I’ve noticed mana fluctuations that didn’t align with the known cycle.”
The knight frowned. “Then why was it rejected?”
The elder let out a chuckle. “Because speculation isn’t enough. Without concrete proof, theories like mine were dismissed as ‘academic overreach.’ The Scholars Institute only acknowledges research that follows a strict verification process. And back then, I had no means to prove what I suspected.”
The knight tapped the document. “And now?”
The elder’s gaze lingered on the paper.
“Now, I believe someone else has found the proof I couldn’t.”
The knight rubbed his chin, thinking for a moment. Then, he frowned.
“But how did he cite you if your research was basically unknown?”
“That’s the question.” The scholar leaned back, deep in thought. “How?”
He drummed his fingers against the table.
“My research was never officially published. Yet, somehow, Vanitas Astrea managed to dig it up.”
No, it wasn’t just his research.
It was every study, every small piece of theory suggesting more than seven Red Moon Eclipses from scholars all over the world, known or unknown, that pointed toward the same possibility.
Vanitas had gathered them all.
It was quite a feat.
The knight let out a low whistle. “That’s not something just anyone could do.”
The elder nodded. “No, it isn’t. Piecing together scattered research from different scholars, across different generations…. That takes time, effort, and access to sources most wouldn’t even think to look for.”
He glanced back at the document, tapping a finger against the paper.
“And if he did find all of this, then that means…”
The knight finished his thought. “It means this theory might not be so absurd after all.”
Silence.
* * *
“Professor, I’m worried for you,” Karina said.
It had been two days since the Thirteen Eclipse Theory was proposed. The scholar’s purpose was just to disseminate information and return home.
But instead, he had done far more.
“Why are you doing all this? I don’t understand….”
To Karina, everything seemed too risky. This could easily backfire on Vanitas.
“It’s simple,” Vanitas said as they walked through the halls. “Prestige.”
“….”
That wasn’t the answer she expected.
Vanitas continued. “I’ve heard some scholars rejected my proposition. Some fortresses have refused to adopt my strategies. Do you know why, Karina?”
She didn’t respond, but the reason was obvious.
“Absurdism aside, my reputation also plays a part in it.”
Karina nodded. She had noticed the strange tension between the professor and that Crusade knight—Clevius.
“Then why are you so sure about this, professor?” Karina asked. “You could be—”
“When have I ever been wrong?”
“….”
Karina licked her lips. He had a point. The professor had never been wrong before. He never said anything reckless, especially when it came to his work.
And that was what scared her.
If he was right this time, then….
“Everyone else already doubts me. I don’t need that from you, Karina.”
He looked at her. Karina swallowed, feeling her chest tighten.
“When the whole world questions me, I just want to know that at least some people will believe in me no matter what. I need you to believe in me, Karina.”
“….”
Karina’s lips parted, but no words came out. She pulled the coat tighter around herself. It wasn’t hers. It was the professor’s. The same man who had always looked after her since the day they met.
She lowered her gaze, her fingers tightening around the fabric.
Then, slowly, she nodded.
“….Okay.”
Vanitas chuckled softly before turning away. Prestige was one thing, but there was something far more important at play.
———「Event Act」———
◆ Red Moon of Autumn.
Prevent the fall of Amesticross.
「Rewards:」
◆ Understanding: +25%
◆ Purification: +10%
◆ Unlock — Traits
————————————
Traits.
A branching system that allowed players to develop different traits based on their choices. In the game, it allowed customization according to the player’s decisions. Similar to a stigmata, but more on the aspects itself, rather than a usable skill.
But this wasn’t a game anymore.
And yet, as the story moved closer to the main act, more and more mechanics from the game slowly resurfaced. More and more options to grow stronger beyond just studying magic.
“So, what will you do, Karina?” Vanitas asked. “Go home or stay here with me?”
“Ah…?”
“I’m not leaving. I’m joining the demon suppression effort.”
“Wait, what?” Karina’s eyes widened. That wasn’t their job at all.
“You heard me.” Vanitas’s voice was calm. “If you want to leave, I won’t hold it against you. In fact, I’d advise it. Go home. Focus on your studies.”
“….”
Karina fell silent, deep in thought.
Vanitas watched her closely. She seemed to hesitate. With a sigh, he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. Karina looked up, meeting his gaze.
“Go home,” Vanitas said.
Karina lowered her head.
———!
At that moment, a sudden commotion erupted. A sword flew in from outside the training grounds.
“….!”
Vanitas moved without thinking. He pulled Karina close, and the blade missed her by mere inches as it struck the ground behind them with a heavy thud.
His gaze snapped toward the source.
“….”
A group of knights in training stood frozen, their faces pale as they realized what had just happened.
Vanitas glared. “Who threw that?”
The knights stiffened.
One of them hesitantly stepped forward. “P-Professor, it was an accident—”
“An accident?”
The knight swallowed hard. “We were practicing our form… I—I didn’t mean for the sword to—”
“If you can’t even manage a simple drill, you shouldn’t be wielding a sword at all.”
“I….”
The knights lowered their heads, unable to meet his gaze.
One of the senior instructors rushed over. “Professor Vanitas, I apologize for this. It won’t happen again.”
“It better not.”
With that settled, he finally looked down at Karina. She was still pressed against his chest. Her eyes were wide, and her face was so red it nearly matched the autumn leaves outside.
Despite knowing Karina for five months, he only just noticed—had she always been this short? 5’3? No, maybe 5’1? Whatever the case, she was definitely shorter than Charlotte.
Vanitas blinked.
“Ah.… sorry.” He released her immediately, stepping back.
Karina quickly averted her gaze, gripping her sleeves. “A-ah…. no.”
An awkward silence settled between them.
——Move it!
——Where should we put this?
Thankfully, it didn’t take long as a sudden commotion broke out within the fortress.
“What’s going on?” Karina asked.
“Supplies seemed to have arrived,” Vanitas said.
But that wasn’t the only reason for the disturbance.
With how absurd his theory sounded, it was only a matter of time before scholars from the institute decided they needed to hear it for themselves.
And now, they had come to Amesticross in person.
———!
The fortress gates creaked open as a group of robed scholars stepped inside.
“Professor, they request your presence.”
A voice spoke from behind. It was Adrienne.
Vanitas turned to her and nodded. “Lead the way.”
Karina looked at him with a mix of curiosity and concern but stayed silent, following closely as they approached the scholars.
One of them, a middle-aged man, stepped forward, holding out a document.
“Professor Vanitas,” he began. “We came under direct orders to investigate. How did you even come up with this? And more importantly….”
His grip on the document tightened.
“How did the Imperial Family approve of it?!”
* * *
Predictions. Probabilities.
They were all attempts to grasp the unknown and mold it into something measurable.
No, perhaps attempt at something comprehensible.
Yet, at their core, both were guesses.
Predictions relied on knowledge, experience, and patterns of the past. Probabilities accounted for variation, randomness, and likelihood.
One was built on insight, the other on calculated uncertainty.
But neither guaranteed the truth.
A prediction could be wrong. A probability could betray expectations.
And yet, they were necessary.
Thus, a gamble began. Whether Vanitas’s proposed strategy would succeed or if the established methods would prove superior.
Regardless, influence reached far and wide. It didn’t take much to send a formal handwritten letter to Imperial Prince Franz himself.
“Ah.”
——
To His Highness, Imperial Prince Franz Barielle Aetherion,
The approaching Red Moon of Autumn brings with it the same threat as always. However, new findings suggest a deviation from past patterns.
If this deviation is not addressed, it could lead to unforeseen complications, leading to unnecessary expenditure of resources.
However, I have formulated an adaptive approach that will ensure stability and control over the rising demonic activity.
I do not seek blind faith. Only the willingness to embrace necessary change for the Empire’s continued dominance.
Should this proposal be accepted, I will personally oversee its execution.
However, let it be clear.
Any faction, commander, or province that refuses to adopt these protocols shall bear full responsibility for the consequences that follow.
I will not be held accountable for their negligence, nor will I expend resources on those who choose to remain stagnant.
.
.
Professor Vanitas Constantine Astrea
Silver University Tower
——
The letter was long and eloquent. It was a clear sign of the careful thought put into it.
“Interesting.”
Franz set the letter down, a smirk playing on his lips.
He had already heard about it from his spies in the Institute. Vanitas Astrea had put in a great deal of effort into this. The risks were high, and whether or not Vanitas truly intended to take responsibility, he had put his name on the line.
That alone was respectable.
“Announce it,” Franz instructed his servants. “I, Franz Barielle Aetherion, officially approve Professor Vanitas Astrea’s proposal.”
Thus, Franz too, put his name on the line.