“We don’t take spineless kids. See yourself out.”
“A-Ah… yes.”
The boy gave a stiff bow and hurried out, nearly tripping over his own feet. The door slammed shut behind him.
Inside a plain but imposing office, the recruitment process for the Bundesritter was underway. A long line of hopefuls had come and gone. Some had been accepted with cold nods, others were dismissed with brutal honesty.
“Next!”
The door creaked open, and a young woman stepped inside.
The recruitment officer barely glanced up as his eyes scanned the document laid before him. He stopped at a particular section, and his brows knitted in irritation.
“….”
“Rejected. Nex—”
“I’m Karina Maeril.”
The officer’s eyes slowly rose to meet hers. “I know. I read your file.”
“….”
Karina stood straight without a single trace of fear shown in her expression.
“No affiliation. No notable records. You’ve never trained in any sanctioned academy. You’re not even from this Empire.”
“….”
Karina didn’t respond.
“So tell me. What makes you think you belong among the Bundesritter?”
Silence followed.
“….”
Karina didn’t answer right away. Instead, she calmly reached into her satchel and pulled out a small, timeworn item. She placed it on the desk without a word.
The officer’s brows drew together as he leaned forward.
“You…,”
His eyes locked onto the worn medallion resting on his desk. Though rusted around the edges, the crest engraved on its surface was unmistakably the insignia of the Neuschwan Military Family.
It was old, but authentic. The moment he laid eyes on it, he knew.
“Where did you get this—?”
But before he could finish his sentence, Karina was already turning toward the door.
“Wait!” he barked. “Stop right there.”
Karina paused, hand on the door handle, but didn’t turn around.
“Yes? Is there anything else you need, sir?” she asked, feigning ignorance. “I was rejected, wasn’t I?”
“….”
The officer stared at the medallion on his desk. Whatever edge had been in his voice earlier had vanished entirely.
“….Were you sent by the Neuschwan Family?” he asked.
He couldn’t be sure. Was she a retainer raised by their house? A hidden candidate? Either way, the moment she laid that insignia down, the officer’s instincts were on high alert.
Karina turned her head slightly, just enough for her voice to carry back to him.
“I’m not obliged to answer, sir,” she said coolly, a hint of provocation laced in her tone. “I came here as a foreigner. Was rejected outright. So now I suppose I’ll need to find a new career path. Shame, really. All that time. All that travel. All… wasted.”
“….”
The officer’s lips twitched in discomfort. Rejecting an ordinary applicant was routine. But rejecting someone potentially tied to House Neuschwan? That could bring consequences. Especially from the higher-ups.
His tone changed immediately.
“Ah, wait. Hold on. Your enlistment. Yes, it’s been approved. Welcome aboard.” Then, hesitating, he added, “If you don’t mind me asking… what’s your relation to Vice Admiral Neuschwan?”
Karina paused. Then, slowly, she turned her head just enough to meet his eyes.
“He’s.…”
Her voice was quiet, but clear as she spoke, causing the officer’s eyes to widen.
“….My uncle.”
* * *
The Underworld.
A lawless district located deep within Aetherion. In recent months, fear had stricken even the most hardened criminals and syndicate leaders.
A series of gruesome murders had left the underworld shaken. Each of the victims were prominent figures in the underworld, and each death was more brutal than the last.
The calling card?
A grotesque art piece crafted in blood; a star-shaped formation etched within a perfect circle was always left at every crime scene. At first, the killings were spaced months apart.
But then the pattern changed.
A month turned into a week. A week into days. And most recently, two murders, back-to-back, one day after another.
At first, rumors speculated it was an imitation. But the precision of the star-cross was too distinct to be faked. It had a pattern only the original killer could replicate.
Therefore, investigators, enforcers, even underground syndicates unknowingly reached the same conclusion.
It was the same person.
And that person had earned a name due to the pattern of their killings.
The Ripper.
The killings had grown so brazen, so persistent, that even the Parliament and the Council of High Nobles could no longer ignore them. A bounty was officially declared for the arrest or confirmed death of the Ripper.
And on a certain night…
“H-Hieeek—!”
Tak. Tak. Tak—!
A man bolted through the rain-drenched alleys, his breath ragged, his soaked clothes clinging to his trembling frame. Each frantic step splashed against puddles as he ran blindly through the moonless night.
And behind him were footsteps.
“Shit. Shit. Shit, why?!”
The man glanced over his shoulder, and froze in terror.
Through the curtain of rain, a silhouette emerged. A tall figure, dressed in black with a fedora casting a long shadow over their face.
And from beneath that brim were….
“….”
Eyes.
Glowing like emerald fire in the night.
The man stumbled, falling to his knees. Rain splattered against his face, mixing with tears and mud.
“P-Please!” he cried, voice cracking. “I have a family…!”
But the figure didn’t stop.
He only tilted his head slightly.
“….”
….And smiled.
“W-What do you want from me—?!”
The man stumbled back, only to find himself cornered by a wall. Panic overwhelmed him as he looked frantically for escape, but there was none.
The figure stepped forward, completely unbothered by the pouring rain. In his hand, he casually flipped a green dagger, spinning and spinning.
Then, at last, he spoke.
“Zedrick Nuren. Heir to the Nuren Viscount Family—”
“Y-Yes! Yes, that’s me! I’m… I’m nobility! If you know who I am, then you—”
“A member of the promised nobility system meant to protect the weak and unfortunate,” the figure interrupted coldly. “But you, who took bribes from radicals and opened secret routes for their escape… need I say more?”
Zedrick’s face drained of color.
“….!”
“A dog licking the scraps of his master,” the Ripper continued. “Trash that’s not even worth being called filth.”
“I—I had no choice!” Zedrick stammered. “They… they would’ve killed me!”
“And they are?”
“A-Araxys…”
The Ripper crouched down slowly, bringing himself level with Zedrick. The blade of the dagger hovered inches from his throat as rain trickled down both their faces.
“See, I might let you live,” the Ripper whispered. “Depending on what you tell me.”
Zedrick’s lips quivered. “They threatened me! They said they’d kill my fiancée! I had no choice!”
But the Ripper didn’t blink. “That’s not what I asked.”
The dagger pressed gently against Zedrick’s neck, enough to draw a bead of blood.
“….!”
“You know what happens when you lie, don’t you?” the Ripper murmured. “You think your family will avenge you? I’ll kill them too. All of them.”
“Ukh…! I—I don’t know anything! I was just a pawn—!”
Slash—!
A single, clean motion. The dagger slid across his throat in one smooth stroke.
Zedrick collapsed. Blood poured into the puddles beneath him, turning the rainwater crimson.
The only sound left was the patter of rain, alongside the rhythmic whistle of the dagger spinning and spinning in the Ripper’s hand.
“Because of clowns like you,” he muttered, flicking the blood off the blade, “I had to work overtime.”
His thoughts drifted elsewhere.
Particularly, to the university tower.
There had been an exhausting string of clean-ups ever since the incident.
Nobility had ruthlessly flocked like vultures after the incident, demanding reparations for their injured heirs, as if the fault lay solely with the university.
Their entitlement was staggering, as if the professors themselves had orchestrated the attacks. It was a miracle anyone still believed in the tower’s purpose.
“….”
Vanitas crouched beside the body and dipped two fingers in the pooling blood.
It didn’t take long before he drew the star-cross symbol, embedding it with magic so it wouldn’t wash away under the rain.
He took a step back and adjusted his fedora, and inspected the crimson mark one last time.
There was no real need for this. But he wanted to leave something that was associated with the Ripper moniker.
And if anyone dared to imitate it?
He’d press intellectual property claims.
“….”
With blood.
Tak. Tak. Tak.
Tucking the dagger away, Vanitas turned and disappeared into the rain.
* * *
“Sigh… Are there still no leads?” Irene asked, frustration lacing her tone.
“None,” Vanitas replied flatly. “And I don’t have enough information on those truly involved.”
Irene eyed him for a moment, then stood without a word. She picked up a towel from the nearby stand and walked over to him.
Without asking, she began gently drying his rain-drenched hair.
Vanitas frowned and instinctively moved his head away. “What are you doing?”
Irene didn’t stop. She adjusted her stance and continued wiping.
“You’re soaked. You’ll catch a cold.”
“I can dry myself.”
“I’m aware,” Irene replied evenly, continuing to towel off his hair. “But you won’t. Just pretend this is part of our collaboration agreement.”
Vanitas opened his mouth to argue but found himself lacking a response.
“I’m 27 now,” he muttered.
“So what?” Irene raised an eyebrow. “To me, you’re still that toddler who once puked on my shoulder.”
“….”
Vanitas sighed, taking the towel from her hands and drying his own hair. There was no point in arguing. Not with Irene.
And truthfully, he didn’t want to.
She didn’t know what had happened. She didn’t know how Astrid had thrown herself into the fire to save him.
And it was better that way.
Irene smirked as she settled into a nearby chair. “Still, Vanitas. Isn’t this getting a little too dangerous? Even the Sword Saint is after you. The Ripper name is spreading like wildfire. It won’t be long before you can’t use the name Moriarty anymore.”
Moriarty.
Over the past few months, Vanitas had cultivated two distinct identities in the underworld.
As Ripper, he left behind a trail of corpses.
As James Moriarty, he embedded himself with the influential and powerful syndicates, posing as herbalist with specialization in alchemy and medicine.
To some, he was already regarded as Professor Moriarty.
“Don’t worry, Princess,” Vanitas said, eyes half-lidded. “I know how to cover my tracks.”
Irene snorted. “Sure. And what good will that do if the Sword Saint takes your head?”
“He won’t.”
“Sigh… your stubbornness hasn’t changed one bit.”
Vanitas closed his eyes briefly, arms crossed, then shifted the topic. “What about your side? Any leads on that… matter?”
Irene’s smirk faded. “No. I don’t have many contacts in Zyphran. And even if I did, it’s hard to enter the Dominion these days, even as a tourist.”
“I see.”
Vanitas’s thoughts lingered on Karina.
He had a growing suspicion that she had sought refuge in Zyphran. Given the lack of rumors regarding his alleged dark magic, ghostwriting, or plagiarism, it was clear she hadn’t said a word.
Of course, only one of those accusations had been true, considering the original Vanitas’s deeds.
In any case, Karina was more rational than he had given her credit for.
And if she had left Aetherion, Zyphran was the most likely place. It wasn’t hard to piece the puzzle together. Romulus Neuschwan’s surname alone suggested Zyphranian origin. The naming conventions fit the Dominion’s cultural patterns almost too well.
“Ah, but speaking of Neuschwan,” Irene added, “I do have some news.”
She crossed one leg over the other, settling into a more relaxed posture.
“Zyphran doesn’t have a traditional nobility system. Instead, families earn status through military service. And the Neuschwan family comes from a long-standing military lineage.”
“Is that so?” Vanitas replied, though he already knew Zyphran’s system.
But still, if the Neuschwans were a military family, it begged the question.
What the hell was Romulus Neuschwan doing in Aetherion as a journalist?
Was it a cover? A long-term assignment? A spy?
The entire ordeal screamed espionage to him.
And suddenly, it all started to make sense.
He glanced at the corner of his spectacles, where the interface hovered before him.
――「Tutorial」――
◆ Objective: Prevent upcoming allegations and avoid losing your teaching profession at all costs.
[Rewards:]
◆ Understanding: +400%
―――――――――――――――
It had still remained stagnant. However, with the quest still being active, it was more or less a confirmation that Karina was still alive out there somewhere.
If she had indeed gone to Zyphran, then perhaps things were even more favorable than expected. The Zyphran Dominion was an unforgiving militaristic empire, and was slowly being infiltrated by Araxys.
Karina wouldn’t survive long there. He didn’t even need to lift a finger.
And yet, Vanitas couldn’t help but feel a lingering sense of unease. For someone as seemingly harmless as Karina to be tied to a quest with such staggering rewards, there had to be more to her than met the eye.
It didn’t add up. Perhaps she had stumbled across evidence of his dealings. Or maybe she would, in time.
Either way, Vanitas had already decided.
“You have that look on your face again….” Irene muttered, concern evident in her tone.
….Karina Maeril had to die.
* * *
The Ainsley Marquess Estate.
Ever since the incident several months ago, the Ainsley family had come under intense public scrutiny, particularly from the working class.
And yet, despite the pressure, the family’s prestige and holdings remained intact.
Thanks only to the efforts and personal appeals of Astrid Barielle Aetherion, the Ainsleys had avoided total collapse. The estate was now overseen by Silas Ainsley, the newly appointed Head despite being regarded as underqualified for the role.
But due to Vanitas Astrea’s protection, it made it impossible for rival families to apply too much pressure on the young Marquess. The nobility couldn’t take advantage of him, for now.
Still, Silas Ainsley had made a decisive move and had severed all ties with his extended family, most notably the once-powerful Esmeralda Family, whose fall from Dukedom had left them desperate and destitute.
They came to his gates monthly and shamelessly pleaded for support, for recognition, for a sliver of what they once had.
Silas never responded.
He let them rot at the gates.
To him, they were nothing but shameless tyrants who didn’t deserve pity or acknowledgment.
He cared little for his relatives. Even less for his parents. There was a cold, almost unnatural disconnection between Silas and his bloodline.
Many would call him ungrateful, and perhaps that wasn’t entirely wrong. After all, Silas had never truly known hardship. He had been born into comfort and had been raised in luxury.
And yet, none of that mattered.
Whether it was disillusionment or greed, he believed in one simple truth.
Sometimes it took a lesser evil to destroy a greater one.
And Silas Ainsley was perfectly willing to be that lesser evil.
It was then.
——Lord Silas!
A knock came at the door of the Head’s office, breaking the silence as Silas pored over paper and textbooks. The voice of a servant followed urgently through the door.
——Lord Astrea is here!
“….”
Silas froze for a moment, then promptly set his papers aside. He stood and straightened his coat before making his way toward the grand living room.
There, seated on the velvet sofa as he sipped the tea from a porcelain cup, was none other than Vanitas Astrea, his professor, personal mentor, and the man responsible for his continued position.
“Professor,” Silas greeted, bowing slightly.
Vanitas glanced up. “How have things been, Silas?”
Silas regarded him for a moment before taking the seat across from him.
“It’s been… rather hectic. Several intelligence officers showed up at my door. They demanded a full account of the University incident. But—” he paused, “as you advised, I said nothing.”
Vanitas gave a single approving nod.
“Good. What happened at the University… stays within the University. It’s not for outsiders to pick apart. If they want statements, they can go to the Headmaster herself.”
Silas nodded silently. Vanitas set his teacup down gently, then shifted the conversation.
“So… where’s Arwen?” he asked.
Silas turned toward a maid standing silently in the corner of the room.
“She’s in the garden, my Lord,” the maid replied with a slight bow.
Without another word, Silas shifted his gaze to Vanitas. The two stood and left the living room as they made their way through the corridors of the estate.
The air grew lighter as they stepped into the garden path, where sunlight beamed through the leaves.
There, beneath the shade of a flowering pergola, Arwen Ainsley sat at a small table. A delicate breeze stirred the hem of her dress, and butterflies fluttered around her. An untouched plate of snacks rested on the table beside a book she hadn’t opened.
The entire scene was ethereal.
Vanitas approached her.
Arwen turned at the sound of footsteps, a butterfly balanced delicately on her fingertip. Her eyes met his, not directly, but distant, like she was looking at something beyond him, and yet still seeing him all the same.
“Professor…” Her voice was soft, gentle as petals, and warm as sunlight. “You came to see me…”
Vanitas offered a rare, tender smile as he approached. Without hesitation, he took a knee before her and gently pressed his lips to the back of her hand.
“Arwen. Of course I would.”
Silas, who had followed quietly, watched the scene unfold for a moment before taking a seat on a nearby bench without saying a word. His feelings toward Arwen were not what they used to be.
If something was to grow between Vanitas and Arwen again, then so be it. He wouldn’t stop it. He didn’t have the right to.
Arwen tilted her head slightly, looking at Vanitas with her calm, faraway gaze.
“Are you… tired, Professor?”
“A little,” he admitted. “But it’s all better now that I’ve seen you.”
Arwen let out a light and graceful chuckle, like the breeze brushing through the garden.
She brought a finger gently to her lips.
“Is that so? I’ve heard about what happened at the University Tower… I hope you’re alright.”
“Never been better,” Vanitas replied, settling into the seat beside her. His shoulder brushed gently against hers. “Actually, I’ve advanced to the second stage of the Imperial Professor test.”
Arwen’s eyes lit up. “Oh, my. That’s wonderful.”
She reached out, her fingers lightly grazing his sleeve.
“You were never one to care about achievements… but this one matters to you, doesn’t it?”
Vanitas nodded. “Yes. This position will elevate me further. It’ll give me the authority I need to protect my name, and my family’s place.”
Arwen leaned in, gently resting her head against his shoulder. Vanitas responded in kind, raising a hand to softly caress her hair.
“So I hope you’ll root for me, Arwen,” he said.
She smiled. A small, serene, and deeply genuine smile.
“I always have.”
They remained under the shaded pergola, conversing quietly in the garden. Arwen would occasionally laugh softly like the butterflies that fluttered around her. And Vanitas, who so often wore an expression of indifference, allowed himself to relax.
“….”
A look that Silas still wasn’t used to.
It wasn’t the same unguarded expression Vanitas gave Charlotte. No, this was something else entirely. Something softer, or perhaps, more vulnerable.
Like he had finally found a moment he didn’t need to run from.
Because that was the truth.
This woman, Arwen Ainsley, who had once destroyed herself for Vanitas Astrea, was perhaps one of the only people in the world with whom he could truly breathe. With whom he could drop the mask.
A woman who looked at him with no hostility.
A pure, beautiful woman this cruel world did not deserve.
“Did you know, Professor?” Arwen said suddenly with a playful smile. “Silas received a marriage proposal recently…”
“Eh?” Vanitas blinked, then shifted his gaze across the table toward Silas. “Is that true?”
Silas frowned, arms crossing.
“Why do you look so surprised?”