Magic Academy's Bastard Instructor - Chapter 223

Chapter 223: String Theory [1]
“Admiral Vermillion, that child you’ve brought….”

“You mean Karina?”

“Yes, her. Have you noticed something odd?”

“Noticed what, exactly?”

The Wolf of the North, Duke Friedrich Glade, had once shared ties with a certain Empress. That connection stemmed from his late wife, Celeste Glade, who in her time had been close friends with Empress Julia Barielle.

“It’s not obvious at first glance,” Friedrich said. “But if you knew her personally, you’d recognize the similarities in their features.”

Iridelle tilted her head, feigning ignorance. “Just get to the point, Friedrich.”

“That girl bears an uncanny resemblance to the late Empress Julia Barielle.”

Hearing those words, a faint grin tugged at Iridelle’s lips.

“So, you have noticed,” Friedrich muttered.

It had to be said, Iridelle was of Aetherion descent. But after countless clashes with the Empire’s nobility, she, like Karina, had defected to the Dominion.

Perhaps that was why she found Karina’s journey so intriguing. In the girl’s path, she somehow saw an image of her younger self.

“And what of the Princess’s appearance? Did you know beforehand?” Friedrich asked.

“Not at all,” Iridelle replied. “What surprises me is how she doesn’t seem to realize it. Or rather… she refuses to see it.”

Friedrich’s eyes narrowed. “You think it’s willful denial?”

“Not entirely,” Iridelle said, resting her chin on her hand. “It’s a strange thing, but people who’ve been closest to someone rarely see those resemblances in others.”

When another bore uncanny similarities, the mind often resisted the comparison, clashing with what was already ingrained. Especially when that person was rooted deep in their hearts.

In truth, grief had two sides of the same coin.

For some, they saw images of their loved one in strangers, mistaking a gesture, a laugh, or a silhouette.

In simpler terms, projection.

But for others, the memory was too vivid to be replaced. The mind rejected any resemblance that would blur the boundary between reality and remembrance.

And so, when another reflected glimpses of those features, those left behind could not reconcile with it.

They dismissed it, consciously or not.

Not because they were blind, but because acknowledging it would wound them more than they had already endured.

“Do you believe in the concept of reincarnation?” Iridelle asked suddenly.

“Like the church’s teachings?” Friedrich tilted his head. “I know of the concept. But to say I’m a believer… no, not quite.”

“Nor am I,” Iridelle replied. “Still, there are times when the notion has its uses. To imagine a soul returning, reborn under a new name, a new identity, with no memory of its past life, yet bearing pieces of what it once was. A face, an expression, a mannerism… such ideas can be dangerous.”

“So you’re implying Karina’s resemblance to the late Empress is not a mere coincidence?”

Iridelle’s lips curved. “It would be a sound theory. But logically, it doesn’t hold. After all, both of them lived at the same time.”

With that, she drew out a set of documents and placed them on Friedrich’s desk.

“But this,” she continued, “is where a new theory comes in.”

Friedrich glanced at the papers briefly before returning his gaze back to her. “And what is it?”

“It’s called the String Theory.”

“…?”

Friedrich leaned forward and narrowed his eyes as he scanned the cover. His expression shifted the moment he caught sight of the pen name.

“…Vanitas Astrea?”

“Indeed.” Iridelle nodded. “That man… to come up with such bizarre ideas so quickly… It’s remarkable. But that isn’t the point.”

“This is… unpublished?” Friedrich asked, flipping through the pages.

“A draft,” Iridelle confirmed. “But well written, nonetheless.”

Friedrich’s eyes narrowed. “And where did you get your hands on it?”

“Where else? The Summit. Vanitas Astrea intends to present this thesis before the entire continent. As one of the overseers, even if I’m not a Scholar, I have access to the works submitted for review.”

Friedrich’s gaze dropped back to the pages, his brows furrowing deeper as he skimmed the contents.

It was, in many ways, a bizarre theory.

Iridelle gestured toward the papers. “In short, the String Theory suggests that the world is not bound to a single linear thread of time. Instead, countless strings stretch across dimensions, each one harboring its own variation of reality.”

Friedrich frowned. “I’m not following.”

After all, Friedrich was a Crusader, not a Scholar.

The only thesis he had ever written was during his university days, and even then, it was for his final exam on the theory of warfare.

It was hardly comparable to the metaphysical jargons laid out in Vanitas Astrea’s draft.

Seeing his confusion, Iridelle elaborated, “Think of it like this. Imagine the world not as a single road, but as thousands of roads running side by side. Each one is a universe, having its own version of us.”

The theory implied that what appeared as reincarnation was not a cycle of death and rebirth at all, but an entanglement of selves scattered across multiple threads.

A person might live in one string as a queen, and in another as a soldier, or a commoner.

And moreover, souls were not confined to one world alone.

They could be “reborn” into another universe without ever having died in the first. That meant a person could exist twice, or more, across different threads.

Sometimes, those threads ran so close together that the same soul could manifest in two lives simultaneously.

Iridelle tapped the paper again.

“So when we speak of reincarnation, it might not be death and rebirth in the same world at all. It could be resonance across two strings. Karina and the late Empress Julia may both exist at the same time, not because one was reborn into the other, but because their souls occupy parallel threads that lie too close together.”

“….”

“But then again, it’s only a theory. It’s interesting, yes, and it explains much when compared to cases recorded in the past.”

In the past, there had been cases of individuals who bore uncanny similarities to others. Sometimes across nations, sometimes even within the same generation.

Doppelgängers, the commonfolk called them.

Yet there were times when resemblance alone could not account for the strange parallels, such as identical habits, voices, or memories of a life they claimed to have lived that surfaced without reason.

Cases dismissed as coincidence, or, in some rare instances, branded heresy.

Friedrich’s brows furrowed. “…Genius truly is madness.”

“Indeed, the smarter they are, the crazier they get.”

* * *

“What a joke.”

“I’ve said what I needed to say, Princess.”

“And am I supposed to just believe that the Professor, someone my mother deeply cherished, was involved in her death?! Do you even hear yourself?!”

Astrid’s anger was seething. Karina’s accusations were absurd and just utterly insulting.

It didn’t make sense.

First of all, Vanitas had cherished her mother as much as her mother had cherished him. Astrid knew this. And while the Professor was undeniably a cunning man who knew his way in the nobility political circles, he was not the sort of person who would scheme murder.

The idea of Vanitas Astrea conspiring with that deranged doctor responsible for her mother’s death was unthinkable.

No matter how Karina tried to spin it, the pieces of her so-called ‘investigation’ refused to align.

“Ask him yourself.”

“How disrespectful—”

“If it’s you, perhaps he’ll tell you the truth.”

“….”

Astrid’s lips parted, but no words came. The thought alone made her chest tighten. To confront Vanitas directly… to demand an answer she wasn’t sure she wanted.

“You can keep dismissing my words, but deep down, you’ve already started to doubt him. Haven’t you?”

“….”

Astrid’s fingers curled at her sides.

She wanted to deny it. To shout that she trusted Vanitas completely. But thinking of his irreparable relationship with Karina, the conviction in Karina’s voice when she claimed her father had been murdered by him, and the fact that Vanitas himself had never outright denied it…

“As I’ve said,” Karina continued, “my father was a journalist.”

Karina pressed a document against Astrid’s chest. Astrid glanced down and immediately recognized the markings of a publishing company.

While it would need to be double-checked, she knew Karina well enough to understand she wouldn’t hand it over so confidently if it could be easily disproven.

After all, Karina had once been Vanitas’s assistant professor.

“Follow him inside the structure,” Karina said. “If it’s true the souls of the dead reside there, then…”

She left the rest unsaid.

“I’ll go inside as well,” Karina added after a pause. “I want to see my father.”

With that, she turned to leave. But just before walking away completely, she glanced back over her shoulder.

“You want to see your mother too, don’t you?”

“….”

Astrid remained where she stood, a shadow casting on her face.

* * *

It had to be noted that among the scholars who entered the hotel were professors from their respective universities, some even former colleagues of Vanitas from the Silver University Tower.

Not all had come under the pretense of pure discovery or breakthrough.

Many were drawn by the prestige of being part of Vanitas Astrea’s project. Within the Scholars Institute, he was not merely admired as a noble proficient in magic and research, but he was also revered as someone who had elevated his knowledge into unmatched magical prowess, earning the rank of a Great Power.

Of course, history had seen a few achieve such a feat.

In this era, the most notable was Elsa Hesse, the Silver University Tower’s Headmaster.

But the stark difference lay in their age. Vanitas Astrea had accomplished all of this by the age of twenty-seven.

What scholar would pass the chance to witness his methods firsthand?

Certainly not Vincent.

“They look human, but you can certainly tell they aren’t,” Vanitas remarked, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized the figures moving through the hall.

Vincent, trailing close behind, scribbled into his notebook to record every detail. After a moment, he glanced up and noticed Vanitas’s hands were empty.

“Do you not take notes, Sir Astrea?”

Vanitas shook his head. “No. Writing slows me down. I keep everything here.” He tapped his temple. “Observation is worthless if it cannot be committed to memory.”

The truth was, the Spectacles recorded his observations automatically in real time.

But Vincent didn’t need to know that.

“Sir Astrea, over there!” Vincent pointed ahead.

Vanitas followed his gesture. At the far end of the corridor, one of the figures had stopped moving and tilted its head unnaturally as if it had noticed them.

“It seems to be one of the guests,” Vanitas observed.

——Aaaaaaah!

The next moment, a scream rang out from across the hall. Vanitas’s gaze snapped toward the sound, then flicked to Vincent. Without a word, the two rushed toward the source.

The figure at the far end of the hall remained perfectly still. Its twisted neck followed their movement, but it made no effort to intervene.

Vanitas pushed his way through the cluster of Scholars. “What’s wrong—”

He stopped mid-step as his eyes fell on the gruesome sight before him. A body sprawled across the floor with its skin pale and drained of color.

“A-Ah, Sir Astrea!” one of the Scholars rushed toward him, relief flashing across his face at Vanitas’s arrival. “Thank goodness you’re here!”

Vanitas’s gaze shifted from the corpse back to the panicked Scholar. “Who is this? And what happened?”

The man swallowed hard, his hands trembling as he gestured toward the body.

“S-Scholar Henrick. He—he just collapsed. One moment he was speaking to us, the next… this.”

Vanitas regarded the Scholar for a long moment before giving a curt nod.

“Did he break any of the rules?”

“I—I don’t know!”

Vanitas’s gaze swept over the others gathered in the corridor. “Think carefully. Did anyone see him speak to the phantoms? Did he try to leave the hotel before his stay was finished?”

The Scholars looked among each other with uneasy expressions, but none offered an answer.

Vincent stepped forward hesitantly. “Sir Astrea… if it truly was a broken rule, then does this mean the hotel itself—”

“Yes. The Lily of the Valley enforces its own law. Was it not drilled into your head by the receptionist the moment you crossed the threshold?”

“We… we thought perhaps the rules were symbolic. A psychological test meant to unsettle us before observation. After all, in every documented anomaly, the environment often plays tricks to exploit the mind. We assumed this was no different.”

Another Scholar adjusted his glasses, nodding. “Exactly. We considered the warnings a mechanism to instill discipline, not an actual binding law. The logic was that, if the palace is a construct of mana, then its rules should be illusions as well.”

Vanitas’s gaze hardened. “And here lies your proof that they are not.”

The group fell quiet, though another voice rose from the back.

“We are not idiots, Marquess. We reasoned within the bounds of what knowledge we had. But this…” His eyes turned to the corpse. “This defies recorded precedent. No Scholar worth his ink would assume a metaphor could kill.”

Vanitas regarded them coldly, but inwardly, he understood.

They had tried to rationalize what they could not comprehend, and in doing so, they had underestimated the anomaly.

“Then consider this your first lesson,” he said flatly. “Here, metaphors are reality. And reality is death.”

In that instant, the Scholars understood the reality of their situation.

This was no expedition built on the promise of research and discovery.

It was a death trap.

“T-This is absurd!”

And Vanitas Astrea had led them straight into it.