Capítulo 41: Cause and Effect [5]
Returning to one's home and finding it condemned was something no one would ever be prepared for.
Several people, adorned in light armor, were walking around the house, searching every nook and cranny.
"What the hell!?" Desmond screamed, catching everyone's attention.
"Are you Desmond Wyndale?" one of the men asked.
"That's right! The fuck are you bastards doing in my home!?"
"This estate is under investigation," the man explained. "It's restricted at the moment, even for you."
"Bullshit!" He screamed. "Where is my Father!?"
The man exchanged glances with a colleague before responding, "Lord Wyndale has been detained. He's currently under custody involving the possession of prohibited artifacts."
Desmond's chest heaved with rage.
"Prohibited artifacts? What are you talking about!? My father wouldn't—"
"Sir," the man interrupted. "Please step back. We've already explained the situation."
Desmond shook his head in disbelief. "This is my home! You can't just—"
"This is no longer your concern," the man cut in. "The Crusade has taken over."
Desmond continued protesting, but it all fell onto deaf ears as the armored figures resumed their search.
Harboring prohibited artifacts?
It didn't make sense. How could something so serious have happened without him knowing?
It felt like everything he thought he knew about his Father was a lie.
Was he so ignorant? Had he missed the signs? Or was his father hiding a secret life all along?
Nothing was making sense at all!
"...."
Magic power began to surge within Desmond. If they wouldn't listen, he'd make them.
But before he could even so much as open his mouth to chant, suddenly, a sharp force struck his back, knocking him to the ground.
"Ukh!"
Desmond groaned as pain shot through his body. He twisted his head, trying to see what had hit him.
"The hell—"
A heavy boot pressed against his back, pinning him down.
Above him stood a woman with snow-white hair. Her beautiful lavender eyes stared down at him coldly.
"Don't do something you're going to regret," she said.
Gritting his teeth, Desmond glared. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"
"Margaret Illenia," she said. "Head of the Fourth Crusade Order."
"...."
His stomach twisted.
She nodded to the soldiers nearby. "Get him out of here. His interference is no longer acceptable."
"Wait!" Desmond yelled, struggling under her boot. "This is my house! You can't—"
Margaret pressed her boot harder. "Your house is now under investigation. Don't make this harder on yourself."
Two soldiers stepped forward and grabbed Desmond by the arms. He thrashed against them, but their grip remained firm.
"You'll regret this!" he shouted as they dragged him away. "All of you will!"
***
A week had passed since the incident.
Lord Wyndale insisted he had no knowledge of the dark magic artifacts found in his estate.
But it was a tale as old as time. A line used countless times by those caught in similar circumstances.
And it didn't help his case.
The evidence was overwhelming. The artifacts, the forbidden parchments, and the sealed records all pointed to deliberate concealment.
The Council wasn't inclined to believe his claims of ignorance.
"The possession of such materials is a crime under Imperial Law," one of the judges stated during the hearing.
Nobles murmured among themselves. Some were in disbelief, while others were satisfied.
A powerful Marquess brought to trial? It was both a scandal and a sight to behold.
Even if Lord Wyndale's claims of ignorance were genuine, the aristocracy was a game of snakes.
None would want to miss the opportunity to strip power from a fellow aristocrat, especially one caught in such a compromising position.
Desmond, of course, had been present at the trial.
But the Council wasn't interested in defense. They were clearly here to make an example of the Wyndale name.
The head judge raised his gavel. "Lord Wyndale, the evidence against you is irrefutable. Your negligence, at best, or complicity, at worst, has brought disgrace upon your house and risked the safety of the Empire."
In the end, the gavel struck into a finality.
"You are hereby stripped of your title and holdings, effective immediately, and sentenced to confinement in Index."
Index—a fortress of ice and stone, located in the far north where temperatures remain freezing year-round.
Known as the worst prison on Earth, it was a place reserved for the most dangerous and notorious criminals.
With that single sentence, the Wyndale name lost everything in an instant.
Generations of influence and power were wiped away in an instant. Along with it, Desmond himself lost the status and privilege of being an aristocrat,
"...."
His heart sank.
Desmond shot to his feet. "You can't do this! My father is innocent!"
"Silence!" The head judge banged his gavel again. "Any further outbursts will result in removal from the chamber!"
As the guards moved to escort Lord Wyndale out of the chamber, he turned back toward his son.
Their eyes met, and in that brief instance, Desmond saw something he had never seen in his father before.
"...."
Resignation.
***
During the week of the trial, Desmond hadn't appeared at the University even once.
According to the University handbook, two consecutive weeks of unexcused absence would result in automatic expulsion.
But that didn't matter.
No one cared whether he would be kicked out or not.
Ever since that day, Charlotte and Cassandra's life had become easier.
Students began approaching them. Seniors no longer avoided them.
It became clear that the isolation had only existed because of Desmond's coercion.
Finally, Charlotte and Cassandra could finally live a normal university life.
But normal didn't mean easy.
The joint training exercise between the Crusade and Magic department had begun.
Shattered Dimension.
A separate space in time, created over 600 years ago by one of the Great Powers, Zen the Archmage.
It was said to be his sanctuary, created after he sealed the Black Dragon and sustained grievous injuries in a battle surrounded by countless demons.
Over time, theories began to form.
Some believed Zen still lived there. Others speculated that the Shattered Dimension was his grave.
But none of these claims were ever confirmed.
What was certain, however, was the Shattered Dimension's unique properties.
It was a realm where the natural laws of reality were warped.
Gravity could be altered, time flowed irregularly, and the terrain itself was unstable.
Initially, the Shattered Dimension was thought to be beyond human reach, thinking it was a spell that only the Archmage himself could cast.
However, centuries of study and breakthroughs in mana manipulation changed that.
Scholars discovered a way to replicate the spell using an incredibly powerful mana core as a medium.
While it was pretty evident these replicated versions weren't as vast or powerful as the original, they were more than sufficient for use.
Over time, the spellformula for the Shattered Dimension became widespread among the magical elite, particularly for training and combat exercises.
The replicated Shattered Dimensions were now used in prestigious institutions like Silver University Tower for high-stakes training.
"Duck!"
"Fuck?"
"What!?" Charlotte exclaimed, baffled by the Crusader's sudden statement.
Before anyone could process the confusion, a jagged shard was hurtled toward them.
Narrowing his eyes, the Crusader, Oliver Horn's figure streaked and the shard shattered upon contact with his blade.
The rules of the exercise were simple.
Each pair, consisting of one Mage and one Crusader, was tasked with accumulating points within a strict two-hour time frame.
Of course, points varied depending on the monsters they defeated.
Smaller, weaker creatures awarded fewer points, while larger, more dangerous ones offered higher rewards.
To pass, each team had to amass at least 100 points by the end of the session.
The setup typically mimicked real combat scenarios.
In the face of demons, beasts, and other monstrosities, Mages typically acted as bishops, supporting from the backline with spells.
Crusaders, on the other hand, functioned as the knights.
To engage enemies directly and shield their Mage partners from harm.
Their team so far, had accumulated 46 points.
*
Meanwhile, Ezra and his partner, Lorraine Aisenwald, were tearing through the competition with ease.
Kracka! Kracka!
Bolts of jagged lightning erupted from Ezra's fingertips, striking the creatures with immense force.
Lorraine followed up quickly, cutting down the ones Ezra's lightning failed to kill.
"Good work."
"Thank you for the assistance, Lord Ezra."
"L–Lord?" Ezra stammered, his face turning red. "W–What…. Just call me Ezra!"
Lorraine was undoubtedly beautiful. She had an air of calm aloofness that made her easy to work with. Ezra couldn't help but feel slightly bashful in her presence.
Unlike a certain Princess whose name he still couldn't remember.
Currently, their team was leading by 74 points.
*
"...."
Boom—!
A sudden explosion erupted in a golden glow.
Astrid narrowed her eyes calmly, though an inexplicable irritation emerged beneath the surface.
For some reason, she had an overwhelming urge to kill someone.
Unlike the other pairs in the training exercise, hers was…. unconventional.
If one were to observe from the sidelines, it would be difficult to tell which one was the Crusader and which one was the Mage.
Astrid's magic alone was enough to handle both offense and defense.
Her partner, Eren, stood at the side. He had barely unsheathed his sword the entire time.
"Uh, should I—"
"Hm?" Astrid said, launching another fiery blast toward a group of charging monsters.
"....Nevermind."
He wanted to voice his complaints, but how could he? She was the Princess!
Her team followed behind Ezra with 54 points.
***
The exercise quickly concluded.
Ezra and Lorraine dominated the leaderboard with an impressive 189 points.
Trailing behind them, Charlotte and Oliver secured second place with 127 points.
Despite their initial coordination struggles, they had rallied toward the end.
Surprisingly, Cassandra and her Crusade partner, Artoria, landed in third place with 114 points.
Astrid, meanwhile, ended up in 8th place with 92 points.
For someone of her stature and reputation, the result was unexpected.
"Eighth place?!" Astrid exclaimed, staring at the results board, feeling irritated.
Eren, her partner, coughed awkwardly beside her.
"Well, to be fair, Princess, you didn't really let me do much…."
"Huh? What do you mean? I clearly set up the monsters for you."
"Well…. you obliterated most of them before I could even draw my sword…."
"...."
Astrid paused, her mouth opening to retort, but no words came out.
Instead, she awkwardly scratched the back of her neck.
"I–Is that so…? Haha~"
She trailed off from there. Her focus during the exercise had been less on teamwork and more on experimenting with her spells.
She only realized it now….
"Well, eighth isn't…. terrible," she mumbled, more to herself than anyone else.
***
Vanitas stood up from his desk and stretched his limbs, feeling the exhaustion of just having finished his paperwork.
Glancing at the clock, he noted the time: 9:48 P.M.
Karina had left over an hour ago, but Vanitas had stayed behind to finalize some adjustments to the documents.
With a sigh, he switched off the lights and moved to leave his office.
He had told his butler, Evan, earlier that there was no need to fetch him tonight.
As he opened the door, however, he froze.
Standing directly in front of him, as if waiting, was a girl.
"Yes?" he asked. "Do you need something?"
It was Cassandra.
Vanitas glanced around to see if there were other people with her. When he realized there were none, his gaze returned to Cassandra.
"How long have you been waiting here for?"
"Professor," she said, ignoring his question.
Vanitas studied her for a moment. The news had spread quickly today: the Wyndales were finished. Desmond was on the verge of expulsion.
It wasn't hard to guess why Cassandra was here.
"...."
She stood there silently, her gaze fixed somewhere near his shoes, as if refusing to meet his eyes.
"If there's nothing, I'll—" he began and took a step forward.
"....Thank you," she whispered suddenly.
Vanitas paused, blinking in surprise. "Thank you? For what?"
While he had orchestrated the Wyndales' downfall, to the public eye, Vanitas Astrea had no connection to the case whatsoever.
Cassandra hesitated for a moment before speaking.
"For…. everything."
Vanitas tilted his head. "I didn't do anything. If you're thanking me for something, I think you're mistaken."
"No," Cassandra shook her head. "You can deny it all you want, Professor, but in my mind, I know what you did for me."
"...."
She seemed to have painted a scenario in her mind of what exactly happened. But in reality, he really hadn't done much. At least, not in the way she imagined.
Vanitas sighed, running a hand through his hair before turning away.
"If that's what you believe, then fine," he said. "But it's late. You shouldn't be wandering the hallways at this hour. Go back to your dorm."
Just as he took a step forward, he froze.
"...."
Something soft and warm wrapped around him.
"What—"
It was Cassandra. She had stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him in an embrace from behind.
'Shit. What is she doing? This looks bad! If someone sees this, I'll be labeled a criminal!'
He was just about to pry her off when he paused.
"...."
Her shoulders were trembling.
While muffled, soft sobs escaped her.
"...."
Vanitas stayed still, unsure of what to do.
"I—I thought…." Cassandra's voice cracked. "I thought you'd ignore me. Like the other Professors did. Like I didn't matter. Like I was just a nuisance…."
Her words hit him harder than he expected.
But he told himself. He hadn't done much. Nothing worth thanking him for at all.
In the first place, the situation would've been resolved if she had just approached the Princess directly.
At least, that's what he thought.
Vanitas sighed again and reached down to gently loosen her grip.
"Cassandra—" he began, but her hold tightened.
"Thank you," she whispered. "From the bottom of my heart. Thank you, Professor."
"...."
Vanitas paused, staring at the dimly lit hallway ahead.
He wasn't sure what to say. Gratitude like this wasn't something he was used to, especially for something he felt was undeserved.
Clearing his throat, he carefully pried her arms away.
"Alright," he said. "It's late. Go back to your dorm. You need rest."
Cassandra hesitated and looked at him with a mix of lingering gratitude and something else—perhaps guilt, perhaps hope.
But eventually, she nodded. "I will."
As she turned to leave, Vanitas called out, stopping her in her tracks.
"Cassandra."
She glanced over her shoulder. "Yes?"
"Be a good friend to Charlotte."
Her eyes widened slightly before she nodded again.
"Un!"
Cassandra turned and began to walk away, but after a few steps, she paused.
Spinning on her heel, she looked back at him with a small, genuine smile.
"Goodnight, Professor!" she called out before hurrying off down the dimly lit hallway.
Vanitas watched her retreating figure until she disappeared down the hallway. He leaned back against the doorframe with a heavy sigh.
Shoving his hands into his pockets, Vanitas turned and began walking down the dark corridor.
The University grounds were vast. Vanitas took in the sight of the moonlight, bathing his figure in an ethereal glow.
"Good work today, Professor."
"You too."
The University guards bowed deeply as Vanitas stepped through the gates. The cool night air greeted him, and he found himself craving something simple.
Instant ramyeon. Vanitas always preferred simple cheap meals over noble cuisines.
"Some soju would pair nicely with it."
As he strolled along the quiet pavement, the soft glow of streetlights illuminated his path. But suddenly, a flicker of movement behind him made him stop in his tracks.
"....!"
On high alert, Vanitas turned around. But before he could react further, something cold pressed against his forehead, halting him completely.
"...."
Standing before him was a hooded figure.
Their presence had been masked with what seemed to be artifacts—just enough to evade his perception until they were practically close to him.
Vanitas's gaze flicked up, meeting the figure's eyes. His breath hitched.
"...."
His blood ran cold.
It was Desmond.
The once-proud noble looked disheveled. In his trembling hand, he held a revolver, pressing the barrel against Vanitas's temple.
"Good evening, Professor," he said.
"...."
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