The moment Ezra stepped out of the lecture hall, he stopped.
A lone figure stood by the window with their arms crossed.
“You’re crazy…” they muttered.
It was Silas. His brow was furrowed as his gaze fixed on Ezra, a conflicted look on his face. Ezra returned a frown of his own.
Silas spoke again. “I get it. I understand your reasoning, but… Audelle didn’t do anything.”
“We’re both hypocrites, Silas.”
“…What?”
“Like how Charlotte didn’t do anything. Like how Audelle didn’t. Yet we both found reasons to do what we did,” Ezra said. “And I believe what I did was… necessary.”
Silas couldn’t find any words to refute.
Indeed, just a year ago, he had tried to kill Charlotte out of his resentment toward Vanitas Astrea. Ezra’s words weren’t wrong in that regard.
He had heard of Ezra’s past. His animosity toward the Imperial Prince. If he had completely abandoned his principles, then wouldn’t his next target be….
“Relax,” Ezra interjected, as if reading his thoughts. “I know my enemies.”
“Whew.” Silas breathed a sigh of relief. “I thought you’d go all psycho on me and ruin everything.”
“No good would come out of it.”
“…Still,” Silas muttered. “At least clean up your own mess.”
“It’s better this way,” Ezra said flatly. “Tragic lives lost in the chaos. To repay the unlucky, I’ll see my goals through to the end.”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” Silas sighed. “Let’s go. Before someone sees us here.”
Ezra glanced at him, then asked, “Weren’t you with the others? Did you come all the way here just to find me?”
“No,” Silas said, shaking his head. “I saw you head inside the lecture hall while I was moving through the tower. Figured I’d check what you were up to.”
“Wait.”
Ezra’s expression darkened.
“Didn’t you hear?” he said. “The Imperial Professor candidates are missing.”
Silas’s eyes widened. “Is that so? I figured their target was the Headmaster, but—wait.”
He stopped, as the realization dawned upon him, eyes widening as a result.
“….The girls.”
“Yeah,” Ezra said. “You messed up by leaving them. But Grand Knight Illenia and Headmaster Elsa are heading there.”
“….”
For some reason, Charlotte’s face flashed briefly in his mind before pushing that thought completely back.
“….Too dangerous.”
In the end, the two traversed the tower and joined the professors, clearing what was left of the roaming chimeras.
* * *
The plan, for the most part, had succeeded—and Eamon knew it.
They had taken five candidates. Vanitas Astrea was meant to be the final one, given the possibility that the Headmaster might have been nearby. After all, Vanitas was the last to be informed.
Eamon had successfully avoided the screening test altogether and had waited for the perfect moment to strike.
These Imperial Professor candidates, regarded as exceptionally impervious to mental influxes, were ideal subjects. Previous trials had all ended in failure. But these ones… these confirmed mentally resilient mages… they were made for this.
The experiments were a continuation of an abandoned project from years ago.
And now, Eamon was ready to bask in its fruition.
Yet, capturing Vanitas Astrea had proven to be the most difficult task. These girls, why did they cling to him so blindly?
What kind of professor inspired that level of loyalty? Eamon had formed close ties with a few students over the years, but nothing like this. Not to the point they’d throw themselves in harm’s way for his sake.
Several of his comrades had already retreated. The Fractal Dimension was beginning to dissolve. They had what they came for. Losing the biggest fish, Vanitas, would be unfortunate, but not a failure.
Eamon’s survival took priority. The Araxys would rise regardless, and Vanitas Astrea, as a high-priority target, could always be claimed later.
But….
“….”
There was no room for failure.
Not with him watching.
Just the thought made Eamon’s blood run cold. If he failed here, ‘he’ would kill him.
So even if he lost control—no, especially if he lost control—he would make sure this mission succeeded.
At that moment, he began to gather it.
———!
Dark magic.
But the biggest obstacle was Astrid Barielle Aetherion. The Princess.
Despite the blood trailing from her eyes, despite the toll it clearly took on her body, her magnetism still held strong. Strong enough that it bound the battlefield. Restricted his movement, as if warping gravity whole itself.
And then there was Charlotte Astrea.
“….”
Eamon gritted his teeth.
She was something else entirely. A prodigy in the spirit arts, and was already beyond most seasoned practitioners. If she had another year or two, she would undoubtedly surpass every professor in the University Tower who claimed mastery over spirits.
And right now, she was using that talent to its fullest.
While her magic bombarded him, her spirits acted as her second, third, and fourth set of eyes—flanking him, predicting movement, covering her blind spots.
A perfect all-around combatant.
———!
Their spells clashed in midair, sending out a forceful shockwave. Eamon skidded back just as a bolt of lightning, fired by one of her spirits—cracked down inches from his shoulder. The floor beneath him sizzled and sparked.
———!
He spun, muttered a chant, and launched a barrage of earth spikes to the mist, but they were frozen, intercepted, by ice magic.
Cassandra.
From the other side of the corridor, she’d begun supporting Charlotte, covering her with optimal elemental spells.
“….!”
A sudden pull yanked him off balance. His leg dragged across the floor, feeling his entire body convulse, as if trying to break his bones.
Magnetism.
Astrid again.
She stood pale and shaking, but her golden gaze was locked on him. Her arm trembled, but she lifted it again.
“….!”
Another pulse.
Crash—!
Eamon crashed into the far wall, hard enough to fracture the stone, causing him to cough up blood.
They were overwhelming him.
But even as his body screamed in pain, his mind spiraled into something darker.
Sinister thoughts twisted into action. His staff pulsed, not with mana, but the complete opposite of its purity.
Dark magic.
Unlike mana, it required no chant. Just sheer will.
With a flick, the shadows snapped into whips and lashed out all at once.
The first target was Astrid, the most insufferable of the three. She had barely found her footing when the blow smashed into her.
The force hurled her backward, slamming her against the wall. Blood spattered from a jagged tear across her abdomen as her breath choked in her throat.
“Astrid!” Cassandra shrieked, but before she could move, another whip lashed out, completely silencing her.
Charlotte’s spirits surged on instinct. Two of them moved to intercept the next barrage of dark lashes. One disintegrated on impact, and the other blazed weakly.
Eamon stepped forth with his breathing ragged, black veins pulsing across the whites of his eyes and staining his forehead.
His onslaught intensified further. Dark bolts, flames, shards of ice, snapping whips—all crashed into Charlotte’s spells. She barely held on, until a whip seized her leg and wrenched her off balance.
With her guard broken, she was forced to endure a barrage of dark bolts.
“….”
Cassandra’s breath caught as she watched Charlotte collapse under Eamon’s assault.
Searing arcs of darkness crackled across the stone floor, carving ragged lines in the tiles as they struck. Sparks of fiery light flared in Charlotte’s wand, but each spell was cut short by yet another lash or bolt.
Summoning what courage she had, Cassandra darted to Astrid’s side. A trembling hand pressed against the wound on Astrid’s abdomen. She could feel the warm slick of blood threatening to spill faster than she could stop it.
“Help… her,” Astrid choked weakly. “I can… heal… myself.”
Cassandra hesitated for only a moment before nodding and turning away, hurling a barrage of ice spells at Eamon.
Amid the chaos, Charlotte crumpled to the ground, and after a fierce battle, Cassandra blanked out, blood staining her figure.
That left only Astrid, who was already barely standing. She stretched out a hand, exerting her magnetism over Eamon.
Blood streamed from her eyes, nose, and lips. Gritting her teeth, she focused on one final, desperate attempt to crush him under her power.
———!
A thunderous groan echoed through the chamber as Astrid’s magnetism coiled around Eamon’s body. For an instant, he staggered at the immense pressure bearing down on him.
“Akh…!”
Astrid felt as though her entire body would split in two under the strain, yet she pressed on.
“Fall,” Astrid whispered as blood spattered the floor at her feet.
Eamon let out a strangled howl, then unleashed a midnight-hued blast at the ceiling, stone shards raining down.
But a second surge of magnetism gripped him tighter, almost driving him to his knees.
“….”
Astrid’s vision dimmed. She was close to collapsing, and she knew it.
It was then.
———!
A streak of lavender light flashed at the edge of her vision. For a moment, it felt like the world had frozen.
“Don’t stop, Princess!” a voice shouted.
Margaret Illenia, garbed in the Crusade Order’s armor, charged forward. She skillfully swung her blade and slashed through the dark whips, forcing her way toward Eamon.
Astrid mustered what little magic remained as she stared ahead. Dark sparks tangled with the lavender glimmer of Margaret’s blade. Astrid’s eyes could barely follow the battle now, but she could hear the ringing clash of steel against searing bolts.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
The corridor reverberated with each strike. Astrid forced herself to remain conscious, grinding her teeth together as she fought to keep Eamon pinned beneath her magnetism.
However, the blood seeping from her injuries threatened to pull her under at any moment.
“I’m… sorry… Grand… Knight…” she rasped, her grip on the magnetism faltering.
Clutching her abdomen where her wounds were most severe, she summoned what remained of her Aether essence and whispered a chant.
She had no choice. Sealing the worst of her wound was the only way to stave off a fatal blood loss.
White-hot agony tore through Astrid as her magic forced the torn flesh to knit back together. The pain was so intense that Astrid’s vision went white around the edges.
Thud!
She collapsed to her knees, but her desperate healing had kept the wound from becoming fatal.
Through the haze, she caught a final glimpse of shimmering lavender light clashing with dark sparks.
“Haa….”
Then, her gaze drifted to where the professor lay unharmed.
With trembling fingers, she reached over and entwined her hand in his.
“….”
….Then everything went dark.
* * *
Margaret pressed her attacks relentlessly. She knew exactly who she was up against.
Eamon, a professor in the Magic Department.
His betrayal of the university, embracing dark magic and endangering the students, ignited a fury in her heart that she could barely contain.
But what fueled her rage the most was the sight of Charlotte Astrea’s severe injuries. Margaret’s brows drew together at the thought.
Because she had already come to a decision.
There could be no deeper disgrace for a Knight, sworn to protect those in their charge, than to fail before ever truly beginning.
Yet here she was, watching the young lady she was meant to safeguard lying on the brink of death.
Her blades became an extension of her will, slashing against the overwhelming threat of dark magic.
Dark lashes tore at her armor, leaving shallow wounds in their wake, but she moved skillfully, turning what might have been mortal blows into mere scratches.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
“You have committed a grave sin, Professor Eamon,” she declared.
However, Eamon offered no reply. His eyes had turned completely black, as if driven by a monstrous instinct rather than any human thought.
The staff he normally carried lay discarded, and Margaret noticed his left arm flailing uselessly, likely shattered. Bloodstains marred his form, no doubt the result of the combined efforts of the now-collapsed girls around them.
Whatever humanity once guided him had long since withered under the corrupting influence of dark magic.
Swoosh—!
She raised her blade and carefully kept her balance on the debris-littered ground.
He lunged, flinging a toxic swirl of dark energy at Margaret. She slashed across it with her sword, cutting through the darkness in a burst of lavender sparks.
He reeled back, momentarily off-balance, and she seized the opening.
Margaret lunged forward, slamming her boot into his midsection. Eamon doubled over, air rushing from his lungs in a wheeze. A hoarse growl rumbled from his throat, but he didn’t go down.
His right hand launched a desperate bolt of magic directly at Margaret’s face.
She threw herself to the side, landing hard on her shoulder. The bolt crashed into the wall behind her, blowing a fist-sized chunk of stone free.
Choking dust rose in a cloud, and she coughed, trying to clear her lungs. A single moment of exposure was all Eamon needed to regain his stance.
But Margaret was quicker. She swept her sword up, knocking aside the next bolt just as it launched, sparks flying from the collision.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Inch by inch, she pushed Eamon back, forcing him away from her injured comrades.
“Yield!” Margaret barked, though she knew it was futile. The dark energy that animated him wouldn’t let him stop until his body gave out or the magic was forcibly purged.
His response came in the form of a guttural roar. Cracks spread like spiderwebs along the stone under his feet as he drew upon the last dregs of his power.
“….”
Margaret braced herself, feeling the oppressive weight of dark magic pressing in.
In that instant, she was like a cherry blossom tree in full bloom. Each slash of her blade was as graceful as the drifting petals.
In the end.
Slash—!
With one fluid stroke, Eamon’s head fell cleanly from his shoulders.
“Ukh…!” Margaret hissed in pain as the recoil of her final strike tore through her already battered body.
Though her wounds were grievous, they paled in comparison to Astrid’s.
Even so, she forced herself onward. Walking through the debris of shattered stones, she stopped before the collapsed Charlotte Astrea.
Margaret drove her sword into the rubble-strewn floor and sank to one knee, gently cradling the unconscious Charlotte in her arms.
After that, Margaret gathered the rest of the injured. Cassandra, Charlotte, Vanitas, and Astrid, now laid side by side.
“….”
She uncorked several healing potions from her bag and administered them to Charlotte, Cassandra, and Astrid. Vanitas was uninjured, so she left him be.
Yet as she tended to their wounds as best she could, Margaret’s gaze lingered on the Astrea siblings.
In that solemn moment, she made her vow.
“I, Margaret Illenia, Knight-Commander of the Illenia Order, swear upon my blade and my life.”
“That I shall stand between the Astrea name and any threat.”
“That I shall raise my sword in the name of their honor.”
“That I shall place their safety and well-being above all else, even above my own.”
“With the honor of a knight, I pledge myself to protect them, so long as I draw breath.”
….Because saying these words in front of a conscious Vanitas felt rather embarrassing.
* * *
Elsa Hesse found herself in an epiphany.
She had been forcing her way upward, when someone stepped forward to bar her path.
It was only one person, yet somehow, they held her off with disconcerting ease.
Even in her weakened state, Elsa sensed that defeating this masked adversary would be no simple task, even if she were at full strength.
“It seems like time is up,” the masked figure said.
Elsa couldn’t summon a reply. Smoke poured into the air, and by the time it cleared, the stranger had vanished without a trace.
Shaken, Elsa realized there were only few capable of matching her power as the Calamity Witch.
To discover such an adversary on the opposing side chilled her to the core.
“….”
A tremor coursed through her, and she sank to her knees, unable to find the strength to stand.