How to Teach a Hero at the Academy

Chapter 159: The Academy’s Great Sage (5)

<All right. This should be enough.>

For taking in the scenery, anyway,

Märchen muttered.

‘The capital of the Vianchiel Kingdom.’

Abel surveyed his surroundings.

Crowds dressed in classical attire drifted through the square. Judging from their distinctive ivory-toned skin, they appeared to belong to the race that had once comprised the majority of the Vianchiel Kingdom’s population.

Abel and Märchen halted in the plaza. The commoners’ houses were built of grass and timber, while at the far edge of the square rose a tiered, triangular stone palace. Crowning the palace was an enormous crystal—undoubtedly a mana stone.

‘…Time travel.’

Abel brushed his hair back.

At a glance, it felt as though they had reached the past, yet it was still an illusion. No matter what they did here, history would not change. Like peering into someone’s memories through a sensory stone, or experiencing events preserved within a divine domain such as the Lost Archive, this was merely the act of reliving what had already occurred.

<Right. We’re just seeing exactly what Lar-Prasriti observed.>

Märchen nodded, hovering low beside Abel.

<They say dragons can see the entire world at a glance. Maybe that’s why they can retreat without regret. Nest somewhere quiet underground and simply curl up—still, they’d grasp the movements of the entire world.>

Like the gods,

Märchen whispered at Abel’s ear.

“I know that all of this is nothing more than the product of memory.”

With a swish, Abel waved his hand, as if swatting away a fly—at Märchen.

“But it is strange.”

It is far too peaceful.

Abel thought as much.

They had asked to be shown the moment of the kingdom’s downfall. They had requested that Lar-Prasriti reveal the end of the Vianchiel Kingdom.

Yet all that lay before them was the scenery of a tranquil afternoon. The people of the old Vianchiel Kingdom strolled leisurely through the plaza, beneath a clear sky and amid the humid sprawl of tropical rainforest.

<Doesn’t it excite you?>

Märchen asked in a lively tone.

<Lar-Prasriti is showing us the moment a nation collapses. What on earth could happen? Right now, it’s impossible to guess.>

Abel crossed his arms.

Meanwhile, an old man came to stand beside him.

The old man did not perceive Abel’s presence. With an unhurried expression, he simply passed straight through Abel. I really do feel like a ghost, Abel thought as he watched the man go.

<You look a bit like me right now.>

Märchen said suddenly.

<How does it feel, having someone pass right through you?>

“It does not bother me.”

<Really? Doesn’t it make you feel like a ghost?>

“I am not sure. More importantly, answer me.”

Abel continued in an even tone.

“You must have witnessed it. After this kingdom fell, what became of its former territory. I know it turned into land unfit for habitation. And yet….”

<And yet people kept living there—that’s what caused the problem, right?>

Märchen shrugged.

<Just as you know. The land has long been buried in volcanic ash. Too hot during the day, too cold at night. Of course, I don’t have a body temperature right now, so I can’t be certain. Either way—evil spirits, monsters, and constant sandstorms. There’s a reason no nation lays claim to the former territory of the Vianchiel Kingdom. Unlike the past, it has been completely polluted.>

Abel nodded once.

As Märchen said, no nation attempted to claim the former lands of the Vianchiel Kingdom. They had effectively become land abandoned by the world. Not only humans, but even elves and orcs—races renowned for their resilience in nature—would be unable to endure there for long.

“Who could have known,”

Abel murmured indifferially,

“that apostates were surviving beneath that land?”

<I agree. It was a rather startling discovery.>

Black mages are always like that.

They are notoriously hard to eradicate.

After whispering so, Märchen continued.

<All I can say for certain is that their base is an underground city. I can’t estimate its scale. I only managed to reach the entrance. If I had to guess the location, it would be right here—the former capital of the Vianchiel Kingdom. It’s wrapped in an utterly bizarre barrier.>

“You could not pass through it?”

<Of course I could.>

At Abel’s question, Märchen smiled.

<There is no barrier I cannot dismantle. The only difference is whether it can be broken quietly, or whether it must be broken loudly. The barrier protecting the Phantasmic Faith’s base belonged to the latter.>

“If it is a barrier wrought of dark magic….”

Then it should be left to a saint, not you.

Abel murmured to himself.

“Iris could handle it without leaving a trace.”

<I won’t deny that.>

Märchen agreed readily.

<In any case, I couldn’t let the Phantasmic Faith become aware of my existence. So I simply withdrew. I had no desire to wage a full-scale war on my own. Confronting them is your role, and Iris’s.>

Abel nodded once.

The duty of the mage among the “Left Hand of the Mother God” was to prevent the extinction of spirits. According to prophecy, once the Demon King fully awakened, the spirits would perish. To prevent this, Märchen wandered the land, inspecting ley lines and striving to forge amicable relations with the Spirit Kings.

<More importantly, Abel.>

Look, Märchen whispered—and at that moment,

THUD.

A drumbeat echoed from somewhere.

<It looks like it’s begun.>

Abel fixed his gaze in the direction of the sound.

A crowd cloaked in black robes advanced into the plaza in orderly ranks.

They were apostates, without a doubt. Abel had no difficulty discerning their nature. After all, murky liquid flowed along the ground in the wake of the five figures at the head of the procession.

‘Ectoplasm.’

Abel frowned.

The magical substance wielded by apostates—ectoplasm—should have formed spherical masses, yet here it flowed shapelessly beneath their feet. Ectoplasm was created from the souls of those imbued with divine power. How many souls must they have harvested, for it to fail to retain its form?

<It must be them, right? The former cardinals.>

Märchen whispered at Abel’s side.

“…It must be.”

Abel affirmed without hesitation.

Their faces were hidden beneath robes, but their builds were familiar. He had seen their former appearances through knowledge contained in the Lost Archive.

Thus, Märchen and Abel observed in silence.

THUD, THUD, THUD—the apostates marched to the rhythm of the drums.

There must be several hundred at least. Abel estimated their numbers. By now, their ranks would have grown even larger. Humans, elves, dwarves, orcs, trolls—apostates of all five races were intermingled. The townsfolk strolling through the plaza watched the procession with curiosity, and soon the apostates came to a halt at the center of the square.

“Behold,” one apostate proclaimed.

“And listen.”

Abel’s eyes narrowed.

THUD, THUD, THUD—the drums beat with the steady rhythm of a heart.

The five figures identified as former cardinals moved. Standing at the front of the formation, they raised their arms. Apostates of lower rank brought forth something shrouded in ectoplasm. Judging by its size, it was roughly the shape of a human body.

“──Heraclitus of Fire speaks. We have come to impart our teachings unto you.”

One former cardinal spoke, and Abel discerned the object concealed by ectoplasm. As the viscous magic peeled away, a coffin was revealed. A crude wooden coffin was set behind the former cardinals.

“──Gorgias of Wood declares. You shall witness the power of a new god.”

One former cardinal spoke, and Märchen pursed her lips. She could not see what lay within the coffin. Though they were merely viewing a past observed by Lar-Prasriti, even so, penetrating it should have been easy.

“──Paracelsus of Water proclaims. Praise us, and behold a miracle.”

One former cardinal spoke, and the guards began to move. From afar came shouted orders as guards rushed toward the plaza. The townsfolk looked around in alarm, murmuring among themselves—

“──Mumford of Earth will tell you this. Pain is but a moment, and you shall join a magnificent journey.”

One former cardinal spoke, and the apostates encircling the former cardinals moved in unison. They raised ectoplasm into the air, confronting the guards. A moment of silence settled over the plaza—

“──Kierkegaard of Iron proclaims. Here and now, the providence of a new world shall be completed.”

One former cardinal spoke, and with a dull crack, the coffin was opened.

The moment its lid lifted, pure white radiance flooded the plaza, as though color itself had opened its jaws to devour the scene.

“That is….”

Abel spoke, just before the light dissolved everything around them.

He had recognized what lay within the coffin.

<…A corpse.>

Märchen murmured as well.

Naturally, a body lay inside the coffin.

Yet Märchen suspected, and Abel knew for certain, whose corpse it was.

“Lilith Problem.”

Abel remembered her.

The saint he had seen in the Lost Archive, executed by the former cardinals. A saint of a bygone era, falsely accused of witchcraft and beheaded in the plaza—Lilith Problem.

“They defiled a saint’s remains.”

Abel muttered, and the scenery began to bleach away. White swallowed everything, until nothing could be seen.

<After tainting divine power with dark magic…>

Märchen murmured, as the light that had washed the scene gathered into a single point. It coalesced into a massive sphere hovering above the former cardinals’ heads.

“…They fashioned it from ectoplasm.”

The townsfolk in the plaza, and the guards as well, stared up at the sphere as if entranced—

A roar.

A roar, a roar, a roar.

An indescribable thunderous noise tore into Abel’s ears.

The earth collapsed as flames erupted; rivers overflowed, and forests rotted away. Molten metal poured down like rain, and the colossal mana stone suspended atop the stone palace came crashing down.

One mana stone shattered, and mana surged back.

The mana stones scattered throughout the city shattered, and mana surged back.

Soon, the mana stones buried deep within the land shattered, and mana surged back.

It was not enough to extinguish the world, but more than sufficient to annihilate a single nation.

That explosion bloomed in full.

Thus, the Vianchiel Kingdom fell.