Villainous Instructor at the Academy
Chapter 133: Trouble has a map

Chapter 133: Trouble has a map

The taste of iron hadn’t left my mouth yet. I propped myself up against a tree as Julien handed me a lukewarm mana tonic that tasted like rotten fruit and regret. I drank it anyway.

"Professor, are you sure you’re okay? That thing almost carved you like a roast," Felix said, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

"That’s because you’re used to watching roasts instead of being one," I muttered, then winced as a flare of pain shot down my side. Whatever that ghost blade was made of, it left a mark. Maybe a curse. Maybe just ego damage.

Mira crouched nearby, scribbling into a worn notebook. "You moved like a madman, Professor. But your stance changed mid-fight. Something you learned from the pattern?"

I gave her a nod. "Not all lessons come from books. Some come from almost dying. Take notes. All of you."

Cassandra stood farther back, eyes narrowed. She hadn’t said a word since the duel ended. That... worried me. She always said something. Even if it was cryptic.

But I didn’t press.

Instead, I looked at my bleeding palm, the scarlet mixing with the soot from my Ignition Sword.

The forest was quiet now.

Too quiet.

"Alright, pack it in," I ordered. "If any of you get killed before we make it back, I’m not filing the paperwork."

Wallace raised a hand. "Can we take a sample of whatever shadow residue that thing left behind? For science."

I stared at him. "If you want to get haunted, be my guest. Just don’t bring it back into the academy. I’ve had enough ghosts for one week."

Garrick slung his axe back over his shoulder and grunted. "I liked it better when training was just running laps."

"Congratulations," I said. "You’ve leveled up from meat shield to shadow bait. Progress."

As we headed back, the Grimoire pulsed faintly.

The pattern wasn’t complete.

But I was closer.

And something—someone—was watching again.

Not the Phantom Duelist.

Someone worse.

The staff office reeked of ink, dust, and the faint trace of someone’s failed perfume experiment. I sat slouched in a wooden chair, a dozen parchment scrolls piled up before me like the paper grave of my last hour’s sanity.

One of the assistant clerks, some junior staffer with more ambition than common sense, dropped yet another scroll in front of me with a cheerful, "Here’s the latest batch, Professor Drelmont!"

I gave him a look. The kind of look that promised future suffering in the form of pop quizzes and pushups.

He scurried away.

"What the hell is this?" I muttered, unrolling the new scroll. "Why do I need to sign thirty different authorizations for a single field trip?"

Apparently, the academy was serious about these outdoor assignments. Each student needed a permission seal, a health waiver, and an enchantment compatibility report. And then there was my paperwork—route approvals, mission sign-offs, hazard documentation, logistics reports, and meal arrangements. Meal arrangements, because of course, one of these idiots might die if he didn’t get his afternoon snack.

I dipped my quill and scribbled something vaguely legible. This was the price of not getting expelled, I supposed.

I glanced out the arched window. The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows over the training fields. I could barely make out Class C, scattered across the grounds like unsupervised children at a weapon expo. Which, to be fair, they basically were.

I sighed and leaned back in my chair. Just a few more scrolls and I’d be free to give them their next assignment.

I found them later huddled near the front gates, clearly plotting some chaotic nonsense.

Julien was holding what looked like a half-broken map. Wallace had a small alchemy kit strapped to his back, leaking something suspicious. Garrick was doing push-ups for no reason, and Leo was pacing in circles mumbling, "We’re gonna die, we’re gonna die, we’re so screwed."

Felix was... somehow already stuck in a tree. How?

"Alright, degenerates," I called out, "gather up before one of you causes a diplomatic incident."

They turned to me with various levels of guilt.

"You’re all cleared for outdoor missions," I said, handing Julien the rolled-up briefing. "Yes, this is real. No, I didn’t forge it—though I was tempted just to avoid the paperwork."

Mira and Cassandra arrived just in time, both raising an eyebrow at the group. Mira leaned in and whispered something to Cassandra, who simply gave me one of her unreadable stares.

Great. She was probably judging me again.

"Professor," Mira said, "are we seriously doing this? With them?"

"Yes," I replied. "Because apparently, I’m being punished for crimes I don’t remember committing."

"Still not as bad as being in Class B," Julien quipped.

"I can fix that," I said. "Say one more word and I’ll promote you to Class D. Which doesn’t exist. You’ll just sit in a field and cry."

He wisely shut up.

I tossed them each a badge. "These are your mission IDs. Don’t lose them. If someone asks who sent you, tell them I did—and that I hate them."

Leo raised a hand. "What kind of missions are these exactly?"

"Low risk," I said, waving a hand. "Patrols, supply runs, maybe a bandit scare or two. Basic adventurer stuff."

Wallace perked up. "So, we can take requests from local towns?"

"Within limits. I still have to approve them," I replied.

"What if we find a secret dungeon filled with gold and ancient magic?" Julien asked.

"Then you will not touch anything, you will not enter anything, and you will not die dramatically in front of a hidden boss. Am I clear?"

They all nodded. Except Felix. He was still stuck in the damn tree.

That night, as I finally got a moment of peace in my quarters, I pulled out the Grimoire of Patterns and flipped it open. No new spells stored. Not yet. But soon. The field missions were more than busywork—they were testing grounds. And I had a hunch the system wasn’t done playing with me.

I leaned back, eyes scanning the ceiling.

Only a 20% chance for things to go horribly wrong. That’s what I remembered from the game.

But I had a rule: always assume you’re in the 20%.

And this time, if things went south, I’d be ready.

The gates of Noctis Ardentis creaked open, not with the grandeur of a heroic march, but with the collective groan of a dozen hungover hinges. Class C stood at the threshold like confused tourists on their first group expedition, backpacks awkwardly slung, weapons in varying states of readiness, and expressions ranging from giddy to downright doomed.

"Alright," I said, flipping open the mission board scroll. "Your first assignment is simple: escort a caravan of alchemical supplies from Midharrow village to Crowfen outpost. Light bandit activity, occasional beast sightings, and the caravan master’s an insufferable prick. Try not to kill him unless he asks nicely."

Garrick raised his hand. "What do we do if we get attacked?"

"You hit back. Unless it’s a dragon. In which case, run and scream. Preferably in that order."

Julien grinned. "So we’re finally real adventurers now?"

"No," I deadpanned. "You’re children with sharp objects and just enough arrogance to attract fatal attention."

"Aw, Professor, I’m touched."

"I can make you touched... in the head," I offered. "Hard. With a brick."

Felix coughed nervously. "I think I left my boots. In my room. And my backup boots. And my will."

"You’ll be buried in the mud with honor," I assured him. "Now move."

The road started off quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that made you paranoid after years of playing games with invisible ambush triggers.

Mira walked beside me, arms folded. "This isn’t going to stay this boring, is it?"

"No," I said. "But we should enjoy the boring while it lasts."

Cassandra trailed behind us, silent as always, eyes scanning the treeline. I didn’t like how serious she looked. She wasn’t the type to spook easily.

"Professor," she said, voice low. "Someone’s watching."

"Someone always is," I muttered, then added louder, "Julien, stop dancing in the wagon bed. You’re not a bard."

"It’s called ’battle enthusiasm,’" he shot back.

"Get off before I ’enthuse’ my boot into your spine."

The caravan master, a squat man named Borick, kept grumbling about students and their "lack of discipline." I nodded along while imagining several creative ways to turn him into a toad.

We camped near the river bend that night. Garrick took first watch, Mira set up alarms, Wallace tried to cook—tried being the key word—and I stayed half-awake reading through mission documents.

The fire crackled. Cassandra sat across from me, sharpening her dagger without ever breaking eye contact with the shadows.

"Professor," she finally said, "you knew this would happen."

"Roughly twenty percent chance," I replied. "But fate likes to gamble."

She tossed a pebble into the flames. "Then what do we do when it shows up?"

I closed the scroll and looked her dead in the eye. "We kill it."

It happened just past noon the next day.

The caravan had just crossed an old stone bridge—one of those worn-out relics that looked like a stiff breeze could collapse it—when Borick the Caravan Master screamed bloody murder from the front wagon.

"WE’RE BEING ROBBED!"

"No, you’re being dramatic," I muttered.

Then the arrows started flying.

"Positions!" I barked, already drawing my blade.

Class C scattered—some impressively, some like startled pigeons. Garrick stood firm, catching an arrow mid-air with his shield. Julien dodged and countered like a showoff. Felix tripped over a root and flailed straight into a bush. Predictable.

Bandits—about a dozen—emerged from the trees, wearing mismatched armor and smug faces. Their leader, a wiry man with too many knives and not enough teeth, stepped forward.

"Hand over the goods," he said, "and we won’t have to—"

I threw a stone. It hit him in the eye.

"AHHHHH!"

"Never let the enemy monologue," I sighed. "Julien, Garrick—take the left flank. Mira, Wallace—trap spells, now. Cassandra, with me."

Felix screamed something unintelligible as he ran the wrong way.

Chaos exploded.

Julien clashed with two bandits at once, grinning like a lunatic. Garrick plowed through a third like a warhorse with a grudge. Wallace set off a flash rune that blinded the entire left side, including himself.

"WALLACE!"

"IT WAS A TEST!"

Meanwhile, Cassandra danced between blades, cold and efficient. I had to admit, watching her move was like watching the wind grow a knife.

I caught the leader trying to crawl away after regaining his eyesight.

"Going somewhere?" I asked, sword pointed at his neck.

He gulped. "I—uh—you’re a teacher! You can’t kill me!"

"Wrong academy, genius." I kicked him in the ribs and knocked him out.

Mira approached, brushing dust off her coat. "Well, that was mildly entertaining."

"You think that was bad?" I said, nodding at Felix, who had somehow ended up suspended upside-down from a low-hanging tree. "We haven’t even hit the halfway mark."

By evening, the caravan was moving again, albeit slower and a bit scorched.

We made camp earlier than planned, and I gathered Class C around the fire.

"You all did better than expected," I admitted. "Which is to say, no one died, and Felix only got impaled by a twig."

Felix whimpered from his spot near the fire. "It was sharp..."

"I know," I said kindly. "Like your choices."

Julien leaned back on a log, satisfied. "So what’s next, Professor? More bandits? Maybe a cursed cave?"

I didn’t answer. Because at that moment, a new scroll shimmered into existence in my satchel, marked with the seal of Noctis Ardentis.

A second mission?

No. I unrolled it and frowned.

Unregistered arcane activity detected near Crowfen. Investigation required. Instructor presence mandatory.

"Great," I muttered.

Cassandra leaned over. "What now?"

I held up the scroll. "The game’s decided we’re not allowed to be bored."

She tilted her head. "Doesn’t it usually get worse from here?"

"Yes," I said, tossing the scroll into the fire. "Much, much worse."

We reached Crowfen by midday the next day—an old trading post that hadn’t seen real trade in decades. Half the buildings were leaning, the other half were abandoned, and the only sign of life was the thick smell of wet hay and hopelessness.

"Charming," Julien said, stepping over a dead chicken.

Felix gagged. "Why does it smell like something died here?"

I gave him a flat look. "Because something probably did. Keep your voices down. We’re here to investigate magical interference, not win hearts and minds."

"Still feels like a trap," Mira muttered, her eyes scanning the alleys.

She wasn’t wrong. The mission had come down from the academy’s External Affairs division—a directive to monitor a flare of magical activity from this area. Normally, that wouldn’t raise eyebrows.

Except Crowfen was supposed to be magically dead. No ley lines, no mana roots, no nothing.

And yet, here we were.

Wallace fiddled with a small device that beeped softly and occasionally sparked.

"Got anything useful?" I asked.

"Depends. If we’re measuring disappointment, this thing’s already overloaded."

I sighed. "Split into pairs. Check the area, but stay in shouting range. If you smell something magical or vaguely cursed, don’t lick it. And Felix—"

"I won’t touch anything, I swear."

"You always swear," I said. "And yet, last week, you managed to glue your hands to a lightning rune."

"That was an accident!"

"That was stupidity in full bloom."

He pouted as the others chuckled.

Pairs broke off—Julien and Garrick took the west side, Mira and Wallace went east, and I kept Felix with me to minimize damage to the rest of the town.

Not five minutes into our search, Felix stepped on something squishy.

"I think I found a—oh gods, that’s a spleen!"

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "That’s a potato, you coward."

"Oh..."

I walked past a row of collapsed houses, senses on edge. I could feel something, like a faint static under my skin. Not strong, but definitely present.

That’s when Cassandra appeared around the corner, her expression as unreadable as ever.

"Found anything?" I asked.

She held up a broken mirror, runes scrawled faintly along its frame. Faded, old... but definitely magical.

"It pulsed once when I touched it," she said. "Then went dead."

I examined it, the grime and cracks masking a familiar pattern—Rune Family: Obfuscation.

This wasn’t just ambient magic. Someone had left something behind. Something meant to hide something else.

"Alright," I said, raising my voice to gather the others. "New plan."

They filtered in, wary and confused.

"This isn’t just a scouting mission anymore. Whoever left this behind wanted it to be forgotten. Which means it’s either dangerous, cursed, or both."

Wallace grinned. "Sounds like us, really."

"Exactly," I said. "So we’re the perfect idiots for the job."

Julien cracked his knuckles. "What’s the play, Professor?"

"We dig. Carefully. We’re not just dealing with leftover magic. We’re dealing with intent. Someone buried something here. I want to know what—and I want it before anyone else finds it first."

Felix raised a hand slowly. "Uh... do we get hazard pay?"

"No," I said. "You get trauma and lifelong suspicion of antique furniture."

He groaned. "Again?"

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