Vanitas was well aware.
The bloodlust in the room was palpable, emanating from specific individuals with such intensity it pressed against his skin.
While the Sword Saint bore his trademark smile, Vanitas knew that smile was anything but kind. It was the kind of smile one wore before drawing a blade.
And then there was the man beside him, who didn’t even bother hiding his disdain.
Vanitas didn’t need to ask who he was.
Hughes Bolton, the Divine Archer.
The contempt in his eyes said everything. Vanitas knew exactly why this man looked at him with such disgust.
At one point, Hughes Bolton and Lance Ableton had been close. They had graduated together from the same University Tower. Though they drifted apart in the years that followed, the bond was still there.
“The Great Power matter can wait,” Aston Nietzsche said, stepping forward. “First, as per my duty as the Sword Saint, I want to confirm something. Prove the Church’s heretical misdeeds. Right here. Right now.”
“My pleasure.”
Vanitas strode forward, and the room instinctively parted around him. He made his way to the altar, standing beneath the grand cross. Tilting his head up, he stared at it for a long moment.
The distortion, while imperceptible to the naked eye, and even to most trained mages, was visible to him now through the spectacles.
“Sword Saint,” he called out without turning. “This process requires Holy Magic. I’ll need your cooperation.”
“How audacious—” Hughes Bolton scoffed. But before he could finish, Aston raised a hand and narrowed his eyes.
“Stand down,” he said. “This is beyond your discretion.”
“….”
Hughes clenched his jaw, swallowing hard. The Sword Saint was usually the most eccentric among the Great Powers, always smiling, always aloof, but at this moment, he knew he was serious.
Aston nodded and stepped forward, approaching the center of the cathedral.
“Where do I do it?” he asked.
Vanitas pointed toward specific spots across the floor.
“Here. Here. Here. Here… and here,” he said, marking five specific locations around the altar.
Aston followed his direction without question, moving to each point. As he did, his fingers began to glow a bright gold.
——!
One by one, he placed small sigils of light across the floor where Vanitas had indicated.
The moment the final sigil was placed, the air in the cathedral shifted.
“….”
Vanitas stepped back beneath the cross, adjusting the lenses on his spectacles. He raised his hand toward the altar, muttering an incantation under his breath.
The symbols began to pulse.
“You…”
“….”
And several of the Great Powers immediately reacted. Only two did not move, Soliette and Elsa. Unlike the others, their expressions reflected not fury, but more of shock.
“Never heard someone speak the demonic tongue before?” Vanitas asked, still facing the altar without bothering to turn.
Because to them, that’s exactly what it was, the Demon Language.
But to him, it was nothing but simple Korean.
Unfamiliar to this world, feared by those who did not understand it, and mistaken for something heretical, just as he had been.
——!
The symbols ignited in full. The light warped reality as the illusion of sanctity around the altar began to crack.
Holy magic served as the trigger for the sigils. However, the symbols that emerged required activation through the reading of the Demonic Tongue.
That was why cultists devoted themselves to studying it, because only through proper interpretation of the language could the seals be truly awakened.
“That alone confirms it!” Hughes Bolton roared. “Do you people really believe this farce?! That man is the heretic! A cultist! A devoted follower of Araxys!”
In other words, Vanitas must be leading them to a trap.
Spirits surged to his side, gathering with intensity as they formed into a brilliant bow. But this time, no one moved to stop him.
Not even the most composed among them, Friedrich Glade, who now reached slowly for the hilt of his sword.
But even with the rising tension, Aston Nietzsche, who stood beside Vanitas Astrea, simply broke the silence with a single question.
“Are you a cultist?”
“They killed my sister.”
“That grief alone,” Aston said, “is not enough to prove your innocence. That you have nothing to do with the cult. You speak their tongue. A demonic spirit emits from you. What do you have to say for that?”
“Then are you prepared to cut me down?”
“Are you strong enough to stop me?”
Vanitas exhaled slowly.
“I’m not here to convince you,” he said. “I’m here to show you the truth. And if that truth makes you want to kill me, then draw your sword.”
His voice didn’t even waver.
“Just know that it won’t just end with this cathedral collapsing. I’ll make sure it doesn’t.”
Aston raised a brow. “I see you didn’t come with insurance.”
“It’s why I’ve come this far.”
“Then let’s make a bet,” Aston said. “Survive their attacks, and I’ll willingly step into your trap. You can manage that much, can’t you, Great Power?”
Crackle—
In an instant, a blinding burst of light erupted from Hughes Bolton’s bow. A multitude of high-ranking spirits condensed into a single arrow, shot toward Vanitas.
At the same time, a figure dashed forward with astonishing speed, aiming directly for his neck.
Vanitas glanced down.
A Sovereign-level Ice Spell had already formed around his legs, locking him in place with a frost bordering on eternity.
“….”
He didn’t panic.
Instead, he turned to Aston.
———!
Dark energy exploded from Vanitas in the next breath, swallowing the spirit-condensed arrow entirely. It disintegrated in the air without a trace.
He recalled what Abyss had once told him. That she had always been with him. Because of that, any spirit other than her would be devoured without resistance.
She was the only spirit he had ever formed a contract with.
A contract that had been formed across three lifetimes.
A contract with his little sister from a different life.
And then, without uttering a single chant, a surge of spells gathered around Vanitas. They collided with the incoming attack, completely repelling the Wolf of the North, Friedrich Glade.
The Eternal Freeze still clung to his legs, but Vanitas responded with a counterspell of his own, Flame Gate.
Normally an Intermediate-tier spell, but with the amplification of his stigmata, its force surged to the level of a Sovereign Spell.
Crackle—
The ice shattered in an instant.
“…!”
“…!”
“…!”
One by one, the Great Powers looked at him with wide eyes, disbeliefs crossing their expressions.
In just 0.8 seconds, Vanitas had deflected every attack, casting multiple spells simultaneously at a speed not even the current Archmage herself, Soliette, could rival.
“….”
And he hadn’t even moved a single step.
“Are you next, Sword Saint?” he asked, as if disinterested by the entire play.
“I’ve seen enough,” Aston replied with a scoff.
“Vanitas!”
It was Soliette.
The only one in the room who truly, truly couldn’t believe what she had just witnessed.
“Just how—?”
“I’ve seen it myself before, Soliette,” Elsa interrupted, gently placing a hand on her shoulder to calm her down. “It’s as you thought.”
Soliette turned slightly, still searching Vanitas’s expression for answers. But he didn’t look back, nor did he acknowledge her gaze.
So instead, explained it to everyone in the room.
“Incantation-less magic.”
She drew a breath.
“That is Vanitas Astrea’s true power.”
Disbelief washed over everyone in the room. Everyone muttered the same thing. That it was impossible. That it was unbelievable. But no amount of doubt could change what they had just seen.
To Soliette, it was almost impossible to believe. She had taught Vanitas when he was still a child. Back then, he had never shown anything close to that kind of ability he had just displayed.
But what Vanitas had done defied reason.
And yet, it happened right before her eyes.
Clap, clap—
A slow clap echoed through the cathedral. All eyes turned toward Vanitas’s wide back.
“Are we all done?” he asked. “If so, I’d like to move forward with this.”
“Go ahead,” Aston replied, nodding.
In the next instant, space itself warped.
And then, they were elsewhere.
“….”
Crumbling walls filled with cracks suddenly surrounded them.
“This is where I believe the kidnapped professors were taken,” Vanitas said. “Elsa Hesse, this is your missing link.”
Elsa turned to him. “How do you know all this?”
“I have my ways. You weren’t the only one investigating. They were my fellow colleagues, too.”
“….”
Elsa fell silent.
“But if you knew… then why did you keep it to yourself?”
“Isn’t it obvious?!” Hughes Bolton cut in. “Because he’s part of them! This must be his—”
“Are you still wet behind the ears, old man?” Vanitas interrupted coldly. “What part of investigation do you not understand? Or do you really want to fight me?”
“….”
It immediately shut Hughes Bolton up.
Because Vanitas wasn’t lying.
Before the attack on the cathedral, he had already noticed it during the mass. Hidden sigils engraved across the holy cross of Lumine. In plain sight, yet only visible to those who knew what to look for.
Vanitas, being a player, had seen and realized them instantly.
“This is what that Cardinal in Aetherion has been up to, Sword Saint,” Vanitas said. “And I believe he’s not the clergyman involved.”
Everyone took a good look around the ruined facility. Ritual markings etched into the cracked walls, broken instruments, shattered glass containers, and the scent of blood and mana.
“…Chimeras,” Soliette muttered.
“Then those believers…” Iridelle trailed off, jaw clenching. “They’re being turned into chimeras. That’s fucking crazy…”
No one corrected her.
Because they all knew she was right.
Eyes wide with panic, Soliette rushed toward Vanitas and grabbed him by the shoulders.
“Vanitas, what else?!” she pleaded. “What else do you know?! Please, tell me!”
Among everyone present, Soliette was the most shaken.
Because as the Archmage, it was her sworn duty to prevent the resurrection of Araxys.
And seeing this, she knew.
She was running out of time.
No, everyone was.
“I don’t know everything.”
Because it was never the same twice.
“But to everyone in this room,” he continued. “As of this moment, your highest priority is to protect the Saintess.”
“….”
Aston’s eyes narrowed and a wave of bloodlust radiated from him.
“…Elaborate,” he demanded.
Vanitas faced them all and began to speak.
“Saintess Selena is a vessel candidate for Araxys.”
“….”
No one could utter a response.
Questions poured in one after another, overlapping with each other. Such as how he came to learn the demonic tongue, when not even historians and scholars were able to decipher it accurately. Vanitas answered each one calmly.
“Because I’m Vanitas Astrea.”
Then, a voice broke through the barrage.
“Your information broker,” said Friedrich Glade, who had remained silent until now. “Just who is it?”
“You’ll know soon enough.”
After surveying the area, they found traces of dried chimera blood, spellwork, broken chains and shattered restraints. Elsa wore a bitter expression as she knelt beside one of the markings, but she nodded.
It was a lead. The first real clue toward finding the missing professors.
When it was finally time to leave, as the group exited the ruined facility, Friedrich leaned in close and muttered to Aston.
“What do you think? Could you beat him?”
Aston glanced ahead.
Vanitas was walking beside Soliette, speaking quietly with her.
Aston rubbed his elbow, still wrapped in armor, feeling a burning sensation from Vanitas’s spell that wasn’t even directed toward him.
He didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he asked, “What about you?”
“Can’t tell. I couldn’t even see where the spell came from,” Friedrich replied. “That incantation-less magic… the speed is no joke.”
“Is that so?”
Aston’s gaze lingered a little longer on Vanitas Astrea.
As the group eventually parted ways, each returning to their respective duties and thoughts, Vanitas was finally left alone.
The moment he was out of sight, his legs gave out slightly. He stumbled and caught himself against a nearby post to keep himself from collapsing.
“Fuck…”
Drip. Drip…!
Blood trickled from the corner of his left eye.