Chapter 1642: Anticipating the inevitable
Middle Sector 99 – Dawn Light Stellar Academy
"Good morning, substitute teacher!"
"Substitute teacher Morgana, the sun itself rises only because you appear!"
"Ha-ha, greetings, my colleague! Are you returning from the library again?"
Morgana did not reply to any of them. She simply continued her silent stride through the long marble corridors of the academy, her boots clicking softly against the floor. Her head remained gently bowed, the edges of her large crimson hat casting a shadow that concealed the upper half of her face. To every greeting—whether from teacher or student—she merely responded with a graceful nod. None among them had ever glimpsed her eyes beneath that heavy, wide-brimmed hat.
Yet not a single soul took offense at her quietness. In fact, their hearts fluttered with delight, filled with admiration and awe. For them, Lady Morgana was a living embodiment of elegance and mystery—one whose presence alone seemed to cleanse the air and calm the heart.
To see her was a blessing; her very steps seemed to illuminate the academy’s halls. Her radiant figure, the delicate curve of her lips, and the tranquil composure that never left her face—everything about her inspired warmth and reverence. Even the small beasts that roamed the gardens appeared to wag their tails or flutter joyfully whenever she passed.
Decades had drifted by since her arrival at the academy—decades during which she had walked these same corridors beneath the same morning light. Entire generations of students had come and gone. Some of her former pupils had grown old enough to send their own children here. Still, Morgana never changed. Each time she appeared, every head would turn toward her, as though an invisible current drew all attention to her presence.
Was it her title as a Royal Soul Lady that compelled such admiration? Or her ethereal beauty that felt almost unreal, as if sculpted from moonlight and silence? Perhaps it was her noble lineage—whispers said she was a princess of a long-lost empire, the last of her kind. Others believed it was because her class had become the pride of the entire institution, producing the strongest generation Soul Masters in all of Mid Sector 99.
Whatever the cause, Morgana had long since become a cornerstone of the academy. When people spoke of the Dawn Light Stellar Academy and the name of Empress Althera, Lady Morgana inevitably followed. Her name was not just remembered—it was spoken with the same reverence as a sacred hymn.
"..." After a long, steady walk from the library, Morgana arrived at one of the main academic buildings. A gleaming plaque on the doorway read:
Professor Robin Burton.
Beneath it, in smaller golden letters:
Substitute teacher: Lady Morgana.
"Lady Morgana!!"
Instantly, over three thousand students inside the massive lecture amphitheater rose to their feet. The murmur of voices ceased, replaced by a wave of respectful silence. Smiles stretched from ear to ear, admiration gleaming in their eyes.
"..." Just like always, Morgana merely responded with a faint, tender smile that touched her full lips. She nodded softly to the crowd, her elegant crimson robes flowing behind her as she ascended to her private office above the hall—silent, poised, untouchable. Not a word left her mouth, and no one saw anything above the bridge of her nose.
"Hmm, that was... strange," one of the students murmured as he took his seat again. "She usually greets us warmly. Sometimes she even gathers us around for a few minutes before she leaves."
"Are you new here?" A girl sitting nearby turned her head slightly and answered, brushing a strand of hair from her shoulder. "That’s not unusual for the professor."
"Oh? What do you mean?" he asked curiously.
A gentle tap landed on his shoulder from behind. Another young man leaned forward, his brows raised knowingly. "It happens every few years," he said in a low voice. "Since she first came here, she’s had these... moods. Once every five or six years, maybe. She just grows quiet, avoids everyone—sometimes for hours, sometimes for days."
"Hmm, well, can’t really blame her," the newcomer nodded with sympathy. "Teaching thousands of students every year must be exhausting."
"But I still worry about her," another girl further down the tiered seats sighed softly. "The last time she acted like this was during my Array Formation Exam... that was, hmm, ten months ago, maybe?"
"I think substitute teacher Morgana should take a vacation!" someone shouted.
"Silence!!" another immediately snapped, unwilling to tolerate even the though of her absence.
------
Click.
Morgana quietly closed the office door behind her.
Then—whoosh!—with a sharp motion of her left hand, a torrent of purple soul force erupted from her palm, spreading through the air like mist. It filled the entire apartment and sealed it completely from within, isolating her presence from the outside world.
And then—
"Urgh... uuurrgh..." Morgana suddenly bent forward and began vomiting a thick, black substance, its stench sharp and otherworldly. The dark fluid splattered onto the marble floor, sizzling faintly as if alive.
"Haa... haa..." After several long minutes of retching, she gasped for breath. With trembling fingers, she reached up and pulled away her wide crimson hat.
What was revealed beneath it was horrifying—a single eye as black as the void, glistening like obsidian, veins of darkness crawling upward across her pale face. It was the kind of sight that belonged only in ancient myths, the cursed gaze of a demon.
"AaaaAAAAHHHH—!!"
Her scream tore through the sealed air, raw and trembling with agony.
From her nostrils, mouth, and ears, black smoke began to leak, twisting and coiling like living shadows. Her eyes filled with tears—tears not of water, but of the same viscous black substance.
Desperately, she lifted both hands and clutched her head, pressing her palms against her skull as though trying to contain something inside.
Because at that moment—
She felt it.
Something was expanding within her, a dreadful, searing pressure building under her skin, spreading through every nerve, every thought, every fragment of her soul.
Her breath came in broken gasps.
Her body trembled uncontrollably.
And for the first time in decades... Lady Morgana, the serene pillar of the academy, felt that she was on the brink of exploding from within.
At that very moment—
Hooooh~
The thick, black smoke spilling from Morgana’s trembling lips began to shift and swirl, writhing like a living shadow. The mist condensed, twisting and bending upon itself until it slowly began to take on a familiar shape—her own. But this reflection was wrong... horrifyingly wrong. The copy was drenched in darkness, her features sharpened into a cruel, mocking grin. Her form was identical, yet her aura was the complete opposite—a corrupted, malevolent version of Morgana herself, like a mirror turned inside out.
"N—Nooo!!!" Morgana’s pitch-black eyes widened in panic. Her vision fractured; she could see her body from above and from below at once. The horrifying realization struck her—her very soul was trying to tear itself free, clawing its way out of her mortal shell.
"Heeheehee~" The shadow’s lips curved into a grin of pure malice, her laughter echoing like a hiss through the sealed chamber. "At last! The day has come when I can cast away this fragile, pitiful weakness! The day I finally seize what I was denied... eternal life! Heheheheheh!"
Her voice dripped with venom, with centuries of resentment and suppressed rage. She wasn’t attempting to leave as a pure soul—as all beings were meant to upon death or transcendence—but as a specter, born instantly of corruption. It was an abomination, the culmination of millions of years of slow soul pollution across the Soul Domain—a phenomenon so unnatural that even the ancient archives of the higher realms spoke nothing of it.
The horror of it paralyzed Morgana for a heartbeat, until the numbness gave way to a violent terror. She could feel her consciousness slipping away, her essence being torn apart strand by strand. Her voice erupted, raw and desperate—
"NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"
Clang!Clang!Clang!
Out of nowhere, dozens of radiant violet chains burst from the air itself, slamming into existence around her. The entire room trembled as the bindings lashed outward. The very space bent and sealed shut, cutting off all escape. The apartment Morgana had designed to contain her screams... was also a prison built to contain herself.
The chains, shimmering with sacred soul energy, coiled around the specter’s throat and limbs in a single instant.
"GaaAAkh!!" the shadow choked, thrashing wildly as the glowing bindings burned into its smoky flesh.
It glared downward with eyes like shards of black glass.
"...Stupid girl... you’re such a fool! You don’t even know what’s best for you!"
But Morgana’s voice—cold, trembling, yet filled with a terrible resolve—rose from below.
"If this were my last day alive..." she whispered through unmoving lips, her voice echoing directly into the specter’s mind.
"If I knew I could never be free of you... then I would beg Robin to use that blue flame on me!!"
The air itself seemed to freeze.
It was not a threat—it was a vow.
The specter’s mocking grin shattered. Its expression twisted from scorn to shock, then to hatred, then to sheer panic.
"No... no, you wouldn’t—NOOO!!!"
CLAAAANG!!
The violet chains constricted once again—tighter, stronger, alive with Morgana’s will. The bindings crushed the specter’s form, dragging it downward, screaming and clawing, until it was pulled violently back into her head, swallowed by her soul domain once more.
"URGHhh..." Morgana’s knees buckled. She clutched her body with both arms, hugging herself tightly as if trying to hold her form together. Her breathing came in ragged gasps, and the taste of blood mingled with the stench of smoke. Every bone, every muscle, felt foreign—like her flesh no longer belonged to her. She could feel the trembling beneath her skin, the thin edge between existence and collapse.
How long before that thing inside her broke free again?
Would she survive the next time it tried?
She didn’t know.
Her mastery over the purple soul force still barely sustained her, a fragile thread keeping her whole. But she could sense it fraying, dimming, burning away little by little. And deep down, she feared that she might not even live long enough to lose it.
Drip... drip...
Two drops rolled down her cheeks—warm this time, not black, not cursed. Real tears.
It hurt.
It hurt beyond words.
The pain was not just physical—it came from the soul itself, from the war within that never ended.
Knock... knock...
The sudden sound made her flinch. Her breath caught. Then, a familiar voice called from beyond the door—casual, impatient, utterly unaware of the nightmare that had just unfolded inside.
"Hey, substitute teacher! You got any idea when the big brother’s coming back? Those people are still waiting for him! They’re driving me—and the whole administration—crazy day and night trying to find him!"
It was Shaddad’s voice, carefree and alive.
Morgana stood frozen for a long moment, trembling, her lips quivering with unspoken words.
Then she inhaled softly, wiped the tears from her cheeks, and whispered to herself—
"...Not yet."