The first preliminary rounds were a clean sweep. Vanitas, who was known in the underworld by his alias, James Moriarty, had already begun to establish himself as a competent and formidable player.
“I believe this is the first time we’ve met?”
A man approached and extended a hand toward him. Vanitas recognized him immediately.
A man who worked in Irene’s intelligence department. More importantly, a lunatic with a dangerous obsession toward Aetherion’s first princess.
“I’m Leonard Gustav. A pleasure to make your acquaintance…?”
“James Moriarty,” Vanitas responded and accepted the handshake.
Though Leonard wore a courteous smile, Vanitas could read between the lines. He could tell Leonard didn’t like him one bit.
And it wasn’t hard to guess why.
His recent and increasingly visible relationship with Irene had likely stoked more than a few flames of jealousy.
‘Then you should’ve played better last year.’
Still, none of that mattered right now. As long as Leonard remained unaware that James Moriarty and Vanitas Astrea were one and the same, the man’s hatred would be misdirected.
Because if there was anyone Leonard Gustav truly despised from the depths of his soul… it would be Vanitas Astrea.
But at the moment, Vanitas wore a different face.
“Princess Irene has instructed me to give you this. Do your best to study it,” Leonard said, handing over a thick file to Vanitas.
“Yes.”
Vanitas accepted it and began skimming through the pages.
Each sheet contained faces, names, and detailed profiles. Age, occupation, affiliated organizations, and most importantly, behavioral patterns during League of Spirits matches.
Some entries were marked in red. Meaning, suspected cheaters from previous years.
“Memorize it like your life depends on it,” Leonard said. “It’s best you don’t disappoint the Princess. No, you absolutely mustn’t.”
“….”
Vanitas didn’t respond. He simply flipped to another page.
Leonard frowned at the silence.
“Hey. Is that any way to speak to a superior? You might be good at the game, but your manners are sorely lacking.”
Then, as if catching himself, he chuckled.
“But I suppose that’s fine. It is your first job, after all.”
Vanitas didn’t look up from the documents as he replied coolly, “For what reason do you serve the Princess, Mr. Gustav?”
Leonard went still for a moment. The question seemed to have caught him off guard.
“For what reason?” he repeated. “Because Princess Irene is… Princess Irene.”
“That’s really vague.”
Leonard’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t rise to the bait.
“I’ve been serving the Princess for nearly eight years,” he said evenly. “I believe that says enough.”
“….”
Vanitas raised a brow, still thumbing through the file without truly looking at it now.
* * *
A week later, Vanitas made his way to the Scholars’ Institute.
He had completed the necessary requirements for the final phase of the Imperial Professor test.
Upon entering, he approached the designated scholar in charge of him and submitted his research, an in-depth dissection of the Sovereign spell, Wind Monarch.
The scholar eyed the thick file, then glanced up at him.
“Please proceed,” he said with a nod.
Vanitas gave a respectful bow in return and was promptly guided to a formal chamber. Inside, everything was already prepared with seated panelists awaiting his arrival.
He had sent a letter a day in advance, formally stating his readiness to undergo the defense phase.
As he stepped through the heavy doors, one of the panelists looked up and offered a faint smile.
“Professor Vanitas Astrea. I’ve heard much about you.”
“And I, of you, Professor Deborah,” Vanitas replied.
He shifted his gaze to the other figures seated around the polished wooden table.
“A pleasure to make your acquaintances, Professor Rudolf, Professor Glenda, and Professor Aglaea.”
Each panelist gave a polite nod in return. All were respected figures in the academic world. Along with his research, Vanitas had studied every potential panelist beforehand.
All to ensure a perfect presentation.
“Then please, begin,” Deborah said, folding her hands over her notes.
Vanitas nodded.
He began with Professor Glenda in mind. A scholar renowned for valuing integrity, discipline, and clarity of purpose. She appreciated well-structured arguments and strong first impressions.
Vanitas had lost sleep over this paper. A full month dedicated to dissecting Wind Monarch.
“As we all know,” Vanitas began, “the Zephyr essence is often regarded as intangible. The structure is meek, yet definitive. In contrast to Aqua and Gaia, which can be molded freely with intent, Zephyr favors coordination over flexibility.”
His tone was calm, and more importantly, his delivery was rich, yet accessible enough for even a person with no professional knowledge in this field, to grasp the core concepts.
It was a balancing act. And it was working.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Professor Glenda lean forward ever so slightly.
“But what is Zephyr, really?” he continued. “Is it merely a classification of elemental mana? A substructure of a wind-based phenomenon? Or is it something more intrinsic? Like an essence that exists not just to move but to resist being grasped?”
He allowed the silence to linger for a moment.
“Zephyr, by nature, is elusive. Unlike Gaia, which anchors itself, or Aqua, which molds to containment, Zephyr rebels against control.”
He moved to the center of the room, adjusting his coat coolly as if he had rehearsed his lines more times than anyone could count.
But of course, there was a subtle truth.
The spectacles.
A script, which no one else could see, was laid out before his eyes. But that didn’t mean he didn’t practice. Reading from a script and mastering the delivery were two different things.
Next came Professor Rudolf.
He was known for his aggressive approach, often ruthless in exposing any weakness in a presentation. It didn’t matter if his points made sense or not. His method was designed to shake the presenter and test their composure as much as their intellect.
But Vanitas had anticipated this.
He had ensured there were no holes, no shaky theories, or vague numbers that Rudolf could latch onto. If the professor wanted to challenge him, the only way through would be to grasp at straws.
And that, Vanitas was ready for.
Clap—!
The room echoed as Vanitas clapped his hands once.
The projection lit up behind him, displaying a refined visual summary of his findings.
There were key diagrams, annotated spell formulas, elemental convergence models, and most importantly, the mathematical framework.
The figures transitioned cleanly from page to page, showing exactly how he derived each value and its correlation to the spell structure of Wind Monarch.
It was clarity made visual.
“If I may ask a question, Professor Astrea,” Rudolf said, his fingers interlaced.
Vanitas paused. His lips curved slightly. It seemed like professor Rudolf took the bait.
“Please,” he replied.
Rudolf leaned forward, eyes flicking briefly to the projection.
“While I understand the application of Python’s Rudimentary Theory in stabilizing the first spiral nodes, don’t you think the mana sequence in your third compression loop violates the foundational principles of the Parallel Flow Theory?”
He sat back, lips pursed smugly, as if certain he’d found a weak spot.
Vanitas didn’t flinch. He didn’t even need to glance at the projection or return to a certain slide.
“Not if you revise the parallel flow’s secondary pivot from a three-point frame to a four-point layered function,” he replied calmly.
He then gestured toward a highlighted section on the diagram.
“I mentioned this briefly on slide sixteen. The fourth anchor redirects the parallel flow through a temporal stasis window for 0.8 seconds, just long enough to bypass mana interference.”
Professor Aglaea raised an eyebrow. Glenda blinked.
“And this window doesn’t destabilize the upper core?” Rudolf asked, frowning.
“It would,” Vanitas said. “If the upper core was directly connected to the compression loop. But as you can see here—”
He zoomed into a specific formula on the projection.
“I redirected the flow through an auxiliary bridge circuit using a warp integration. The stasis holds, every time.”
Rudolf’s mouth opened slightly, then closed. Then, to Vanitas’s quiet satisfaction, he gave a small nod.
Taking the moment, Vanitas continued his explanation. From the first layer to the second, each theoretical foundation and practical application passed scrutiny. There were no rebuttals or any interruptions.
The panel listened intently as they flipped through the pages, eyes moving across diagrams and formulas as Vanitas spoke.
But the silence didn’t last long.
Professor Aglaea, easily the most difficult of the four, finally raised her hand. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she fixed her gaze on the projection.
Vanitas had expected this.
Professor Aglaea was known for not wasting words, and she didn’t pose questions unless there was genuine fault or potential inconsistency.
Her critiques were never petty, but only devastating if proven accurate.
“I do have a concern,” she began. “You applied a warp integration through a layered stasis using a temporal vortex window. But isn’t there a theoretical contradiction between a wrap ingegrations’s volatility and Zephyr’s instability under artificial time suspension?”
Vanitas didn’t respond immediately. He took a moment to glance at his own projection, then nodded.
“Ordinarily, yes,” he said. “But I accounted for the warp integration’s fluctuation during a temporal vortex by isolating its field interaction within a containment loop, derived from Glassen’s binding method.”
He flicked his hand. The projection shifted to a simplified version of the sequence, highlighting the containment array.
Vanitas resumed his explanation as professor Aglaea studied the diagram for a long moment.
“The solution, did you develop that modification yourself?” she asked.
“I did,” Vanitas replied. “It’s a hybrid derived from the core structures used in gravitational equilibrium spells, with an added twist from acoustic resonance runes.”
The panel was silent again.
Professor Glenda leaned back in her seat, visibly impressed. Professor Rudolf scribbled something down. Meanwhile, Deborah remained quiet.
And from that point forward, everything was smooth sailing.
Vanitas Astrea had demonstrated complete mastery over the subject matter, to the point where they were convinced that his understanding of Wind Monarch was almost mechanical.
He had shown mastery of topic, dedication to research, a clear and digestible presentation style, measured tonality and rhythm in speech, strong critical thinking, real-time adaptability, and the ability to preempt and parry even the most difficult questions.
He was, in every sense of the word, a true educator.
There were even comments among the observers that new professors these days should follow Vanitas Astrea’s example.
But Vanitas himself paid the praise no mind and continued.
“And now,” Vanitas said, pausing as he scanned the room, “a final question that’s likely been on everyone’s mind since the beginning.”
He extended a hand slightly.
“Can I cast this spell?”
The room tensed. What was asked of the candidates was only to dissect and present the spell. Casting it was voluntary.
“Show us, Professor Astrea.”
Vanitas smiled faintly.
“With pleasure.”
* * *
Sovereign-class spells were known to be highly destructive.
Their casting times were extensive, which was why spells ranked above Master were rarely used in real combat scenarios since they were too impractical.
Truth be told, not many mages could cast Sovereign spells with any level of ease. Most barely reached Grandmaster tier, and even then, the casting process was slow.
To put things in perspective, the best application for such spells was in large-scale warfare, acting as artillery to flatten armies or reshape battlefields.
Now, Vanitas stood at the edge of the Scholars Institute, and spectators held in anticipation.
It had to be said, the Scholars Institute itself was perched high in the sky. It was a floating island suspended high above the air.
From its marble balustrades, one could gaze down upon the clouds far below, as if standing on the edge of heaven itself. Which was why the place was regarded as Heavensfall.
Vanitas stepped forward.
He raised his hand and a sleek, black metallic gauntlet underneath the clear rays of the sun.
The gauntlet itself immediately drew attention.
The idea of using a gauntlet as a casting medium wasn’t new. There had been several precedents. A handful of mages had experimented with it, and some had even succeeded.
But still, the design sparked intrigue. There was a line of tradition most mages followed like wands, then staffs, then artifacts.
Naturally, the transition from wand to staff was seamless. But transitioning to something like a gauntlet was a different story entirely.
It required relearning the fundamentals like how to channel mana through one’s limbs, how to focus it to the fingertips without an extended focus point.
So on and so forth.
And not everyone was willing to undergo such an arduous process.
It was then.
Vanitas’s mouth parted open and began a chant.
The incantation was long and complex.
Four minutes passed.
That was the average casting time for a Sovereign spell. And this one, Wind Monarch, wasn’t even considered the most complex of the tier.
It spoke volumes of the Archmage Soliette’s capabilities, who was said to be able to cast some Sovereign-class spells in under ten seconds.
And at last, with a final breath, he raised his gauntlet to the sky.
“Wind Monarch.”
The words rang out like a decree.
Whoosh——!
The world howled.
A vortex exploded outward from his gauntlet. The winds roared with divine intensity. The skies above churned, the clouds below tore apart in spirals. Mana moved like pulsating waves, distorting the air and even shifting the edges of the floating platform.
It was a storm made manifest.
Whoosh——!
The audience instinctively shielded their faces from the shockwave. Hair and robes flailed wildly as the sheer pressure of the spell reverberated through the entire floating island.
Down below, the clouds parted.
Not from the wind itself, but from Vanitas Astrea’s authority.
——Ah.
——Holy fuck…!
And from that day onward, Vanitas Astrea had ascended to the official title of an Imperial Professor.