Magic Academy's Bastard Instructor - Chapter 302: Coronal Radiance [2]

Astrid pushed her way through the crowd while the citizens gathered throughout the capital continued anxiously awaiting the Emperor’s appearance.

As of this moment, every faction that had previously been at each other’s throats had temporarily entered a ceasefire.

Even the streets themselves felt unnaturally tense, as though the entire Empire had collectively paused to hear whatever Franz Barielle Aetherion was about to say.

Which, truthfully, Astrid found strange.

According to the latest reports, outside forces had already begun entering Aetherion to support Irene’s side of the conflict. Zyphran had begun moving. The Celestine Hegemony was allegedly preparing support. Even the Theocracy had sent their clergy spies.

Yet despite all of that, everything had suddenly stopped for this speech.

As though even foreign nations understood that whatever Franz declared today would determine whether Aetherion remained an Empire or a battlefield.

In any case, Astrid did not particularly care who came.

They could all come. Heck, even the Sword Saint himself could stand before her.

And Astrid would still gladly stake everything she had to put them back in their place.

Because at this point, that was the only form of atonement she still had left to offer him.

“….”

At that moment, while the crowd continued anxiously wondering when the Emperor’s speech was finally going to begin, Astrid suddenly felt the cold sensation of blunt metal pressing against her back.

“Don’t move.”

The voice came from behind her.

Yet Astrid did not even flinch.

Truthfully, she barely paid attention to the weapon pressing against her in the first place.

Whether it was a knife, a sword, or merely some desperate fool trying to threaten her, her expression remained completely unchanged.

“Depending on how today goes,” the voice continued, “I’ll kill you right here, Princess.”

Astrid let out a faint breath through her nose.

“…And who exactly do you think you are?”

Slowly turning her head, Astrid glanced toward the person threatening her.

“…?”

She realized she did not recognize him at all.

The man appeared ordinary.

At first glance, he simply resembled another exhausted citizen blending into the crowd surrounding the Imperial Plaza.

“It doesn’t matter who I am,” the man said. “I already know how this will end.”

“….”

“I heard the Imperial Family is tearing itself apart.”

The man let out a bitter laugh.

“But deep down, I know it’s all just a front.”

“….”

“In the end, all of you will survive this somehow,” the man muttered. “The privileged always do. The Imperial Family will still be standing after everything is over, while people like us are left to bury the dead.”

“….”

“No matter how many ordinary people die, you people will always be the ones having the last laugh in the end.”

The crowd around them continued anxiously waiting for the Emperor’s appearance, completely oblivious to this hostility unfolding within their midst.

Meanwhile, the man’s voice gradually lowered further.

“So for the sake of my brother…” he said. “The brother the Emperor killed…”

At those words, Astrid’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly.

The man’s hatred was directed toward the Imperial Family as a whole, but more specifically toward the ones responsible for the campaign itself.

“…”

“My brother got dragged into that conflict because of His Majesty and that… Vanitas Astrea,” the man said. “Because the Empire needed more soldiers. Because Vanitas Astrea wanted to purge those so-called sinners…”

Astrid stared at him.

“So what exactly did Vanitas Astrea do wrong?” she asked. “Shouldn’t you be proud your brother died for what the Empire considered an honorable cause?”

“Honorable?” the man scoffed bitterly. “There was nothing honorable about any of it.”

His grip against the concealed blade tightened further.

“You think the people who followed Vanitas Astrea died glorious deaths?” he continued. “You think any of them were remembered properly?”

Astrid remained silent.

The man laughed, though there was no amusement in it whatsoever.

“When my mother and I went asking about my brother afterward, nobody even knew who he was anymore,” he muttered. “We went from office to office asking if anyone had information regarding Leon Meyer.”

He bit his lip.

“And every single time, we got the same response.”

The man’s voice lowered mockingly.

“’We’ll look into it.’”

“….”

“’Please wait for further reports.’”

“….”

“’Records are still being organized.’”

“….”

His expression twisted with restrained anger.

“But there were no records.”

The crowd around them remained focused entirely on the Imperial Palace while the man quietly continued speaking through clenched teeth.

“They didn’t even return his body to us.”

“….”

“We couldn’t even bury him properly.”

“….”

“Not even damn fucking insignia proving he was a knight who served the Empire.”

“….”

“Nothing.”

“….”

“Not a single fucking thing at all.”

“….”

“His name wasn’t even listed among the knights who supposedly fought during Vanitas Astrea’s crusade.”

Astrid swallowed deeply.

“He died for the Empire,” the man muttered. “But the Empire couldn’t even prove he existed.”

Silence settled between them afterward.

Because Astrid understood exactly what he was implying.

The campaign under Vanitas Astrea had been so catastrophic, so violent, and so politically unstable that countless casualties had simply disappeared amidst the chaos.

Some bodies were never recovered. Some names were lost entirely. And some soldiers became nothing more than forgotten numbers under classified reports and military secrecy.

To the Empire, those losses were unfortunate statistics.

But to families left behind, they became endless uncertainty.

The inability to even properly mourn.

“…My mother still thinks he might come home someday,” the man said. “That maybe there was some mistake.”

“….”

“But I already know the truth.”

The concealed blade pressed harder against Astrid’s back.

“In this Empire, people like my brother were never treated as humans to begin with.”

“…”

“What exactly do you people expect from us?”

“….”

“Are we supposed to just accept it? Are we supposed to smile, bow our heads, and endure every injustice thrown at us simply because people born above us decided that was the natural order of things?”

Astrid remained silent.

“People like you talk about honor and sacrifice all the time,” the man continued. “But the ones sacrificing everything are never the nobles.”

“….”

“It’s always people like us dying in your wars and starving in your cities while the privileged continue living comfortably behind palace walls.”

“….”

“So tell me honestly, Princess,” he muttered. “What exactly are ordinary people supposed to do when the Empire itself treats them like dogs?”

The Empire truly had been built upon sacrifice.

And more often than not, those sacrifices came from people who had the least ability to refuse.

“I…”

Just as Astrid was about to say something…

———!

A sudden commotion erupted throughout the plaza.

A loud explosive sound rang out from somewhere within the crowd, immediately followed by terrified screaming as people instinctively ducked or stumbled backward in confusion.

Almost simultaneously, another sharp metallic sound echoed through the air as though something had collided mid-flight before being deflected away.

And then another.

Bang——!

Another.

Bang——!

And another.

Within mere seconds, at least four separate assassination attempts unfolded almost simultaneously from different directions surrounding the Imperial Palace.

One assailant had concealed a long-range firearm within the upper districts overlooking the plaza.

Another had attempted to launch an enchanted projectile directly toward the balcony itself.

A third had hidden amongst the crowd below, carrying a compressed magic device intended to detonate near the palace gates.

Meanwhile, the fourth, the one closest to succeeding, had apparently infiltrated the palace staff itself before attempting to strike during Franz’s appearance upon the balcony.

But all four attempts failed almost instantly.

The Crusade Order moved efficiently throughout the chaos, intercepting attacks before most citizens could even properly comprehend what had happened.

Defensive barriers were activated across the palace grounds while hidden guards emerged from positions previously unnoticed by the public.

Some assassins were subdued immediately, and others died on the spot before they could even retreat.

And amidst all of that chaos, Franz Barielle Aetherion himself never even flinched.

Standing atop the balcony overlooking the capital, the Emperor merely continued staring down upon the Empire below him as though assassination attempts had long since become an expected part of his daily life.

Which, truthfully, they probably had.

The crowd throughout the plaza descended into panic shortly afterward. Citizens scrambled away from one another in fear while rumors immediately spread through the masses regarding additional hidden assassins amongst the people.

———!

Meanwhile, Astrid grabbed the wrist of the man threatening her before twisting it downward hard enough to force the concealed blade from his grasp.

The weapon clattered against the stone.

Yet even then, the man still attempted to reach for another hidden weapon concealed beneath his coat.

Before he could properly draw it, Astrid immediately struck him down, forcing him harshly onto the ground while restraining his arm behind his back.

The surrounding crowd remained too consumed by the larger panic to even notice the struggle occurring between them.

“…I’m sorry.”

Astrid’s voice came out quieter than expected.

The man beneath her widened his eyes slightly in disbelief, as though he genuinely had not expected those words to come from someone like her.

But Astrid simply lowered her gaze.

She had nothing she could say to soothe his anger.

Because at the end of the day, the Empire truly had failed people like him.

And Astrid knew that better than anyone else.

* * *

Inside a confessional booth, Ezra sat in silence while the overseeing priest waited patiently on the other side of the partition.

The faint scent of candle wax and old wood entered his senses, accompanied only by the distant echoes of quiet prayers coming from elsewhere within the cathedral.

Truthfully, Ezra had never been a particularly religious person.

He had never been the type to regularly attend sermons or kneel in prayer seeking salvation.

To him, faith had always felt like something people relied upon when reality became too unbearable to face alone.

And perhaps that was exactly why he found himself here now.

Because recently, he had begun wondering if there truly was a god listening somewhere beyond all of this madness.

Or perhaps, more honestly, he wanted there to be one.

The priest on the other side of the booth remained silent for several moments before finally speaking in a practiced voice.

“My son,” the old priest began, “what burdens your heart enough to bring you before the Lord today?”

Ezra lowered his gaze. For a moment, he almost laughed at the question.

Because where exactly was he supposed to begin?

“…I’m not really sure how this works,” Ezra admitted.

The priest let out a chuckle. “That is alright. Confession is about honesty. As long as it comes from the heart, the Lord will heed your prayers.”

“….”

“Why have you come here today?”

Ezra slowly leaned back against the wooden booth before letting out an exhale through his nose.

“…I’ve taken many lives.”

The chapel fell silent afterward.

After several moments, the priest finally spoke again.

“…Do you regret it, my son?”

“I don’t.”

“…I see.”

“I thought I would,” Ezra said. “When I was younger, I always assumed taking a life would haunt me forever.”

“….”

“But after the first few…”

The words gradually trailed off.

“At some point, people just started feeling like objectives instead of humans,” Ezra continued. “I stopped seeing enemies. I stopped thinking about whether they had families waiting for them somewhere.”

The priest listened silently.

“And the worst part is… most of the time… I still think what I did was necessary…”

Because in his pursuit of the truth and in his pursuit of vengeance, Ezra had taken many lives throughout the past year. Noblemen. Noblewomen. Officials. People directly involved in corruption, exploitation, and crimes all around the Empire’s polished exterior.

And yet despite all of that, recently, he had begun thinking less about the people he killed and more about the ones left behind afterward.

The sons who lost fathers.

The daughters who lost mothers.

The parents who lost children.

Even if the people he killed were corrupt, did that truly justify destroying every life connected to them as well?

Ever since killing his former senior, Audelle Pittsburg, Ezra’s sense of morality had gradually begun breaking piece by piece. Every day since then, he found himself questioning the same things over and over again.

Why had he done it?

Why had he crossed that line?

Why had he killed people whose only crime was sharing blood with the guilty?

At the time, it had felt justified, necessary even.

He had convinced himself that corruption spread through bloodlines, influence, and inherited power. That leaving connections behind would only allow the same cycle to continue repeating itself in the future.

But now… now that the anger had gradually cooled.

Ezra could no longer tell whether those thoughts had truly been justice or merely hatred disguised as righteousness.

And perhaps that was what terrified him most.

Not the killings themselves.

But how easy it had been to justify them in the moment.

How frighteningly simple it was for human beings to convince themselves that cruelty became acceptable so long as they believed they stood on the morally correct side of history.

Because justification itself was meaningless.

Every murderer in history had a reason behind them.

Every tyrant believed themselves necessary.

Every war had been fought under banners claiming righteousness.

And no matter how much someone attempted to morally justify their actions afterward, the dead remained dead regardless.

“I started wondering whether I killed her because it was necessary… or because I wanted someone to blame for everything wrong in my life…”

The priest quietly listened.

“And then it got worse,” Ezra admitted. “Once I crossed that line, it became easier every time afterward.”

“….”

“At some point, I stopped caring whether someone was truly guilty,” Ezra continued bitterly. “All I needed was enough justification to convince myself I wasn’t the villain.”

“You are afraid.”

Ezra frowned. “…Of what?”

“That you may no longer know the difference between justice and vengeance.”

“….”

“Hatred is dangerous because it disguises itself as righteousness. The more pain someone carries, the easier it becomes to convince themselves that cruelty is necessary.”

Ezra slowly closed his eyes. “I thought I was better than them.”

“Most people who commit terrible acts do.”

“….”

“You speak as though evil people knowingly choose evil,” the priest continued. “But reality is often more tragic than that. Most people simply convince themselves their actions are justified.”

“….”

“Faith is not about pretending your sins never happened. It is about deciding what kind of person you will continue being afterward.”

“….”

“Tell me honestly,” the priest asked. “If given the chance… would you still kill again?”

The question was one to ponder, prompting a very long silence.

“…Yes.”

The answer came easily.

Because Ezra already knew there were still people he was willing to kill.

And perhaps that alone already answered the kind of person he truly was.

The priest remained silent, allowing him to continue.

“Today,” Ezra said. “I’m going to kill a man.”

“…And who is this man?”

“The Emperor.”

“Today, during his speech… I’m going to assassinate him.”

For the first time since the confession began, the priest did not immediately respond.

Because this was no longer merely the confession of a grieving man burdened by guilt.

This was the confession of someone about to change the course of an entire Empire.

“…Why?” the priest asked.

Ezra slowly closed his eyes.

“Because if he lives, nothing changes.”

His voice gradually lowered further.

“The Empire will continue rotting from the inside. More people will die. More families will lose everything while the people responsible continue sitting safely above them.”

The priest listened silently.

“But that’s not the real reason, is it?” he asked.

At those words, Ezra’s fingers tightened.

Because deep down, he already knew it himself.

This was not solely about justice anymore.

“…No.”

Ezra finally spoke the truth he had been avoiding, even within his own thoughts.

“In order to do this… I’ll also have to betray someone…”

The priest remained quiet.

“The only person who ever truly believed in me…”

Ezra slowly lowered his head.

“Vanitas Astrea.”

Saying the name aloud caused something uncomfortable to tighten painfully within his chest.

Because, despite everything people said about Vanitas, he was still the only person who had extended his hand toward Ezra when nobody else had.

He had trusted him.

He had believed in him.

He had given him purpose when Ezra himself no longer knew what he was supposed to become.

And now, Ezra was preparing to betray that trust with his own hands.

It was not as if he was against Vanitas.

It was not as though Ezra held any hatred toward Vanitas himself.

If anything, Vanitas was one of the very few people Ezra genuinely respected.

But the source of so much suffering within the Empire had always traced back to the Imperial Family in one way or another. All of it ultimately existed because the throne itself continued standing above everyone else.

And Franz Barielle Aetherion sat upon that throne.

Perhaps it was hypocritical of Ezra.

After all, despite everything, he found himself unable to direct the same hatred toward Astrid.

Whether because of her sinceritY or simply because she did not carry herself like the rest of the nobility, Ezra could never fully blame her the same way he blamed Franz.

But human beings were creatures of bias.

It was easier to point the dagger toward the figure already stained with infamy.

And Franz… he had taken lives.

Too many lives.

Ezra hated the nobility.

Franz was of nobility.

Therefore, Ezra did not like Franz.

And most importantly, the Imperial Family had destroyed his own family.

There was not much more to think about beyond that.