Villainous Instructor at the Academy
Chapter 174: Return to academy

Chapter 174: Return to academy

There are moments where time becomes thick—like walking through molasses. That moment, blade in hand, Echo rising, Felix unconscious behind me—that was one of them.

The thing that formed from the altar didn’t walk. It drifted, shoulders bowed under invisible chains, its face a crude imitation of a man long dead. Eyes hollow. Mouth sewn shut with threads made of ancestral guilt.

"Echo Binding: Stage Two," the Grimoire whispered from my side. "Manifestation confirmed. Warning: This spirit predates recorded rituals. Estimate—High risk. Proceed with deviation."

Thanks for the vote of confidence.

The Echo lunged.

I met it.

Steel shrieked against spectral weight. My body jolted from the impact, ribs threatening to buckle. But I held. The Severance Blade—a construct formed from intent and magic—glowed dimly in my grip. I willed it sharper. Meaner.

I didn’t need finesse. I needed to cut.

"Back off!" Mira shouted. Purple curses arced from her fingertips, exploding around the Echo’s edges. The spirit hissed, flinching back. Not in pain—more like annoyance.

It turned to her.

"No, no, no—eyes on me, asshole."

I carved a crescent arc through its side. The spirit recoiled, form fraying. Good. The Severance Blade worked on patterns. Spirits were nothing but patterns—memories trapped in emotional feedback.

That meant I could kill it.

If I lasted long enough.

The Echo recovered fast. It screeched, a sound like rusted gates dragging across stone. It hit me with a backhand that shattered a nearby pillar and sent me skidding across the shrine floor. My ears rang.

"Lucian!" Mira called, but I waved her off.

I forced myself up. My left shoulder ached—probably bruised or cracked. The blade’s glow dimmed. My mana was draining.

Not sustainable.

I glanced back at Felix.

He was twitching. His fingers scraped against stone. Still alive.

Still reachable.

The Echo drew itself tall, and for a moment—it spoke.

Not aloud.

Into my mind.

"He is ours. You are not blood."

I spit blood. "Good. Because your bloodline sucks."

And then I charged.

I didn’t fight like a swordsman. Not here. Not now.

I fought like a teacher trying to keep his dumbass student alive.

Every strike I made had purpose. Every feint bought Mira time. Every curse she cast left burn marks across the Echo’s body, shredding its stability. The shrine trembled. The ground cracked.

And then—Felix moved.

He rose, swaying.

"Professor...?"

"Don’t move!" I barked, dodging another strike.

But he did.

He walked toward the Echo.

The spirit turned, tilting its broken head. Recognizing its host.

"Felix!" Mira screamed. "You’re walking into it!"

But the boy didn’t stop.

He faced the Echo, barely keeping upright, and whispered:

"I’m not sorry for who I am."

Silence.

Then—

"I’m sorry I was afraid to be."

The shrine pulsed. The Echo froze.

A light—green, pale, familial—bloomed from Felix’s chest. It wrapped around the spirit like a blanket made of memory and forgiveness.

The Echo let out one last breath.

And shattered.

All at once, the pressure vanished.

I dropped to one knee, gasping. The blade in my hand disintegrated into motes of light. Mira ran to Felix, catching him just as he collapsed again.

I exhaled.

The Grimoire buzzed faintly.

"Ancestral Echo resolved. Curse lifted. Emotional anchor stabilized."

I didn’t move for a long time.

We made it back to the surface before dawn.

Julien met us first. "You look like someone dropped a cathedral on you."

"I feel like someone missed and hit my pride instead," I muttered.

Leo and Garrick arrived soon after. Garrick carried Felix on his back without complaint. Leo just muttered about haunted mud and cursed estates.

No one laughed.

Too tired.

Too shaken.

We camped at the edge of the Dorne grounds. The estate loomed behind us, silent now. Empty.

I sat alone near the fire.

Cassandra approached and handed me a cup of bitter tea. She didn’t say anything. Just sat beside me.

After a while, I asked, "You knew something was going to happen, didn’t you?"

"I knew the blood remembered," she said softly. "I didn’t know if he’d survive it."

"Would you have stopped him?"

"No. Some things can’t be stopped. Only witnessed."

I stared into the fire.

Tomorrow, we’d head back to the Academy. I’d have to write a report full of lies. Cover what really happened. Protect Felix’s dignity. Pretend I didn’t threaten an ancestral horror with a sword made of metaphor.

But tonight?

Tonight, I sat beside a girl who saw ghosts and a boy who’d almost become one.

And for the first time in a long time—I felt like I was doing something right.

The road back to Noctis Ardentis felt longer than I remembered.

Maybe it was the silence. Maybe it was the weight of what we’d left behind—old ghosts, literal and otherwise. Or maybe it was the fact that none of us quite knew what to say now that Felix had seen the worst of his blood and still walked away breathing.

He hadn’t spoken much since the ritual.

Didn’t have to.

You don’t need to explain when your eyes are still haunted.

The Academy’s spires came into view by midmorning. Black towers clawing the sky, half-veiled in mist. Students wandered the courtyards below like ants, unaware that one of their own had nearly been swallowed by an Echo older than half the empire.

Home sweet soul-grinding home.

As soon as we passed through the gates, I felt the shift—like the Academy itself had noticed me again, pressing its cold eyes into my spine. I swore the gargoyles on the west tower sneered a little more than usual.

I dropped the act and walked like I owned the place.

Let them stare.

The students of Class C followed behind me, battered, quiet, but unbroken. Mira looked half-dead but smug. Julien kept cracking his knuckles like he was itching for someone to give him a reason. Garrick carried Felix, and Wallace hovered beside him, occasionally muttering something about "soul-resonance calibration."

I didn’t ask.

Cassandra, as usual, was just there. Watching. Like she hadn’t just helped unravel a centuries-old family curse and stared down a soul-bound wraith without blinking.

The woman unnerves me.

Roderick Vaughn met us at the courtyard steps.

His face was unreadable. Mustache twitching. Arms folded.

"Well, well," he said. "You left for a ’field exercise’ and came back looking like survivors of a siege. Should I ask what happened, or will I need to wrangle it from a terrified clerk?"

"Student bonding," I said. "Character growth. You know, the usual."

Roderick stared.

Then sighed. "Paperwork. Mountains of it."

"You’re welcome."

He turned to the others. "You lot—medical ward, now. You, Drelmont—Department head wants a word."

Of course she does.

Head of the department Lysaria’s office looked the same as ever: all polished obsidian and hanging lanterns that glowed without flame. The woman herself sat behind her desk, eyes steepled, as if she were reading the shape of my soul and finding it lacking.

"Professor Drelmont," she said coolly.

"Department Head."

There was a pause.

Then she asked: "What happened at the Dorne estate?"

I told her the truth.

Mostly.

I left out the part where I nearly bisected a cursed ancestor in front of his great-grandson. I may have skipped the bit where Mira and I tag-teamed an Echo using experimental curse patterns and borderline war crimes. I absolutely did not mention the Grimoire’s increasingly unhinged commentary.

But I did tell her this:

"Felix Dorne broke a blood curse. He faced it himself. We supported him."

Lysaria studied me for a long moment.

And then, unexpectedly, she smiled.

"A Dorne with spine. That hasn’t happened in three generations."

I didn’t reply.

She tapped her fingers against the desk. "You’ve made noise, Drelmont. Noble houses talk. Whispers say Class C—your class—is growing teeth."

"Better teeth than rot."

She chuckled. "Indeed. But remember: when the world sees a dog growing fangs, it starts wondering if it needs to put the dog down."

I left her office with a chill in my veins.

That evening, I returned to my quarters.

Collapsed into the chair.

Let the weight of the week catch up with me.

And then—

There was a knock.

Felix stepped in.

His eyes weren’t haunted anymore.

Just tired.

He stood in front of me, stiff-backed. "Professor?"

"Yeah?"

He bowed.

A real one. Deep.

"Thank you. For not letting me face it alone."

I scratched the back of my neck. "You faced it. I just made sure you didn’t die immediately."

"I still don’t know what happens now," he said. "I don’t know if I’m... different. If something inside me’s broken or awakened or..."

"Then we figure it out," I said. "Together."

He nodded.

And for the first time, I believed he could actually make it.

Later that night, I opened the Grimoire.

It flickered, responding to my thoughts. Patterns spiraled across its surface. New diagrams. Echo residues. Ancestral bindings.

But one new page caught my eye.

Dorne Lineage Pattern: Severed. Residual Authority Available.

Would you like to imprint it?

I hesitated.

Then whispered, "Yes."

The book pulsed.

And somewhere in the depths of my mind, a new Pattern took shape.

Something ancient.

Something mine.

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