Magic Academy's Bastard Instructor - Chapter 290: Archmage Zen [2]

Those features were distinctly Korean, yet paired with an English name. The contradiction alone was enough to catch Vanitas off guard.

Now that he thought about it, it made sense.

Back then, when he had first heard their voices while trapped in that loop to save Margaret, they had been speaking in Korean. And yet, the names they used had been distinctly English.

The inconsistency had been there from the start.

“….”

Archmage Zen.

A figure recorded only through epics, credited as the origin of mana and the first to wield it.

If Vanitas had to describe it, it was no different from the Epic of Gilgamesh, a tale of a king said to have ruled Uruk, preserved through history yet lacking any direct contemporary evidence of his existence.

The same applied here.

The only proof of Archmage Zen lay in texts written long after he was gone. Most of what was known was likely exaggerated, shaped by interpretation rather than fact.

None of it could be taken as reliable evidence.

Because Vanitas already knew.

Archmage Zen had not been the first to wield mana. There had been someone else before him who had taught him magic. His teacher, a woman Vanitas had come to believe was more than just that.

And yet, for some reason, there were no records or any mentions of this woman.

History had been written as if Zen alone had been the one to turn mana into magic, as if everything had begun with him.

——Straighten your back, Zen!

——Yes, Jihyeon Noona!

——I thought I told you to call me teacher?!

“….”

At this point, it was no longer surprising.

Chae Eunwoo and Kim Minjeong. Vanitas Astrea and Julia Barielle. And now, Archmage Zen and his teacher, Jihyeon. The pattern was too consistent to ignore.

It was as if the cycle had been repeating itself, as if the past continued to align with whatever reality he now existed in.

Nevertheless, Vanitas continued deciphering the seal. The more he read, the more the past began to reveal itself.

It was clear that Archmage Zen had left this message with intent, knowing that his future self would one day uncover it.

That only he could access it.

——Every person has a bit of mana in their body. You just need to learn how to shape it. Unfortunately for you, Zen, you seem to have an abundance of it. So you’re obligated to learn.

From what Vanitas could see, this Jihyeon person was teaching Zen magic. But what stood out was the location. It looked to be a small hut, tucked away in an isolated forest.

Vanitas turned his gaze toward the window. As far as the eye could see, there were only trees, stretching endlessly, with the sound of a river flowing somewhere ahead.

——…Yeah. But what if I get outed as a shaman?

——Then don’t go around using magic outside like an idiot. Besides, it’s not like you’ll be singled out so easily. What are you, some court official under the King?

——Didn’t they just drag one away from the village last month? The mudang by the river?

——That was different. She was performing rites in broad daylight, in front of half the town.

——Still, they called it heresy.

——They call everything heresy when it doesn’t fit their rules.

“….”

Vanitas narrowed his eyes. This seemed to be from a period when shamanism was still prevalent during the Joseon era, a time when political purges were often justified under accusations of sorcery or witchcraft.

From what he knew, practices tied to mudang and folk rituals had been widespread among the common people, yet constantly suppressed by the court, especially under the influence of Neo-Confucian ideals.

Those accused were often used as scapegoats, removed not necessarily because of what they practiced, but because of what they represented.

At least, that was how history had framed it.

But now… those accounts no longer felt like mere exaggerations or convenient fabrications.

If this truly was the past connected to the modern world, he existed then, there was a possibility he had not considered before.

That those so-called rumors, those records dismissed as superstition, might have held some truth.

That magic had not been something that appeared suddenly.

At that moment, the door slid open, and footsteps followed.

A girl stepped in, carrying a small bundle wrapped in cloth, bits of herbs and dried roots peeking out from the edges.

——You sure took your time.

—Hey. There were patrols near the lower path. I had to go around.

She set the bundle down with a thud and stretched her arms.

——And you? Did you actually listen for once, or did you just sit here and stare at nothing again?

——Hey, I was practicing.

——Practicing what? Daydreaming?

—….

Zen scratched the back of his head before glancing at her.

——Yuna.

——Don’t call me that. I thought we agreed I’m Melissa now?

“….”

So it was her own preference.

Even so, it did not make sense.

Korea had only begun receiving Western influence much later, toward the late 19th century, around the 1800s, when foreign contact gradually increased.

Yet this setting, from what Vanitas could tell, belonged to an earlier period of the Joseon era, a time when such influences should not have been present at all.

“I’m so confused…”

Perhaps he had been overthinking things. It would be better to look at this with an open mind.

———!

Once more, the scenery shifted. The voidlike space broke apart, and Vanitas found himself back where he was, standing before the dragon bones as he continued deciphering the seals left behind by Archmage Zen.

As if time itself hadn’t passed at all, Fyodor returned. This time, however, there was a child with him.

Vanitas narrowed his eyes. A child with pale-blue hair that was nearly fading into gray, and crimson eyes that seemed devoid of life. Paired with his already aloof expression, the child didn’t seem childlike at all.

“Who’s the boy?” Vanitas asked.

Fyodor leaned in with a smile, clasping his hands behind his back. Once again, it was disgusting.

“Do you remember the Sword Saint?”

“I remember a fool who killed himself.”

“If you aren’t aware, once a Sword Saint dies, his blessings do not disappear. They pass on. I’ve spent quite some time tracking where those blessings went.”

Vanitas’s gaze lowered.

“Then you’re saying…”

Fyodor nodded.

“Mhm. Behold, Vanitas. The next Sword Saint.”

Vanitas narrowed his eyes, staring intently at the boy. But the child didn’t even meet his gaze, nor did he show any fear.

It was as if he was just… there. As if he had never been alive to begin with.

A creepy child. That was the only way Vanitas could describe him.

“But you know what’s amusing?” Fyodor continued. “This child has no talent for the sword at all. The Sword Saint’s blessings reside within him, yet he has no means to wield them.”

Fyodor patted the boy’s back. The boy didn’t even respond.

“Go on. Introduce yourself.”

The child stepped forward, finally meeting Vanitas’s gaze for the first time.

“I’m… Kafka Rossweisse…”

Vanitas didn’t even look at him. His attention remained on Fyodor.

“I don’t give a shit who the next Sword Saint is,” he said. “Get out. We’re wasting enough time as it is.”

Fyodor only smiled. “Oh, but I think you’ll find this interesting, Vanitas.”

“Hm?”

“Use your magic on him.”

“…?”

Vanitas frowned. He couldn’t see where this was going or what Fyodor was implying. The man had just said it himself. The child had no talent with the sword. A defective Sword Saint.

Nevertheless, Vanitas summoned his mana.

“Not like that,” Fyodor added. “Attack him as if you intend to kill him.”

“You’ve gone mad. If I kill him, you’ll just have to search for the next one again.”

A slight smirk appeared on Fyodor’s lips. “Just try it.”

Vanitas frowned, then sighed, before turning to the boy, Kafka, and extended a hand. At that moment, mana surged from his fingertips.

Fyodor cheered from the side. “Seeing your incantationless magic never gets old. Haha…”

Vanitas frowned, then sighed, before turning to the boy, Kafka, and extending a hand.

At that moment, mana surged from his fingertips, gathering with enough force that could erase the boy from existence without leaving even a trace.

———!

His magic shot forward. The space shook from the destructive force that would undoubtedly leave no room for survival.

But the moment it made contact…

“….”

It disappeared.

It should have consumed Kafka instantly, reduced him to nothing, and erased any proof that he had ever been there. And yet for some inexplicable reason, the spell simply ceased to exist, as if it had never been cast to begin with.

Kafka stood exactly where he was, his expression just as empty as before.

Vanitas’s brows knitted instantly as he lowered his hand.

“Explain,” he said, turning to Fyodor.

“Surprised?” Fyodor let out a quiet chuckle. “The boy appears to possess the ability to erase mana entirely. I can’t say whether it’s tied to the Sword Saint’s blessing, especially since that fool never exhibited anything like this. Even so, he’s quite the rare find, isn’t he?”

Vanitas didn’t answer, turning his gaze back to Kafka.

A child who could erase magic…

“Give him to me.”

“I knew you’d say that. That’s why I brought him here in the first place.”

He had to exploit this power at all costs.