An associate professor in life engineering travels to a medieval European fantasy world. Using modern biochemistry, he discovers that viruses, bacteria, and parasites extinct in human history are a...
"Elijah! Here!"
In the square of the East Post Station in Muxi Town, a middle-aged man looked tired, with a messy, yellowish beard on his slightly upturned chin, as if it had been singed. He heard someone calling his name and turned around, searching diligently in the bustling crowd.
Ulysses struggled to push through the crowd and stumbled to the middle-aged man.
"God Father above! It's so good to see you again!" Elijah looked at the familiar face in front of him, patted the other person's shoulder, and said joyfully.
The noisy surroundings forced Ulysses to loudly ask Elijah what he had just said.
The middle-aged man shrugged, pulled the former away from the post station, and asked as they walked, "Are there this many people coming to Muxi Town every day?"
Ulysses replied, “It’s like this every day, so the town has been planning to build a new post station to the south.”
Walking down the street, Elijah looked at the orderly buildings and straight roads that stretched as far as the eye could see on both sides, and was somewhat surprised: "It's really hard to imagine that there is a town of such a size on the western coast."
Ulysses puffed out his chest with pride: "This is just the outskirts of Twilight Town. If we walk another ten minutes, we'll enter the more bustling and lively inner city."
When Elijah finally entered the heart of Muxi Town, the sight of prosperity before him left him speechless, his feet rooted to the spot for a long time.
The magnificent triangular-roofed buildings are neatly arranged within a three-kilometer radius of the town. Unlike the dark and monotonous buildings of other towns, the cement houses in Muxi Town feature architectural styles reminiscent of ancient Tartar, Northern Island, and Southern Empire regions. Each house has large framed stained-glass windows on all four sides, roofs covered with small yet elegant tiles, and chimneys clustered at the four corners. In front of and behind each house lies a large and beautiful garden, filled with fragrant ancient flowers and trees.
Looking at the residents on the street, their clothing styles gradually broke free from religious constraints, adopting a more retro style and reflecting their own individuality. The men mostly wore expensive, slim-fitting, dark linen garments. They adorned the cuffs of their suits with lace, turned up their collars, and wore wide leather belts around their waists. The women, on the other hand, abandoned the traditional practice of tightly covering their bodies, and began wearing more revealing clothing. Two small vertical openings were made at the breasts, like shoelaces, with straps tied on either side of the openings.
Elijah stared in disbelief at the women passing by, their bare chests exposed: "Muxi Town...is church territory, right?"
Ulysses, who was leading the way, turned around curiously: "Yes, what's wrong?"
Just as Elijah was about to say something, his attention was drawn to a young man standing on a high platform in the distance.
The young man held a stack of manuscript papers and loudly read his script to the audience gathered in front of him. When he got to the exciting parts, he would raise his voice and add some exaggerated expressions and gestures.
Elijah asked Ulysses, "What is he doing?"
The latter glanced at it and said nonchalantly, "Oh, that's 'storytelling'."
"storytelling?"
Ulysses explained, "The unknown writers and screenwriters in Twilight Town, after finishing their novels or screenplays, usually find a crowded place and read aloud the best passages from their works. Firstly, to increase their visibility; secondly, to get public feedback; and thirdly, if they're lucky, they might even meet a wealthy person willing to bring their work to the theater and have it performed. If that day comes, these people might become famous and rich overnight..."
Elijah listened carefully for a while. The young man was telling a love story between a mortal man and the mountain goddess Esther. He asked Ulysses with doubt, "If I remember correctly, the mountain goddess is a myth from ancient Talo culture, right?"
The latter nodded in agreement.
Elijah frowned and asked again, "Won't there be a problem telling stories of pagan gods within the territory of the Church Knights?"
“It’s nothing serious.” Ulysses walked toward the town center. “Someone once raised the issue of controlling heretical speech with His Holiness the Holy Son. The Holy Son simply told that person, ‘God has never deprived believers of their right to speak. What one says is everyone’s freedom, but what one believes is also everyone’s freedom.’”
Elijah paused for a moment, then quickened his pace to keep up with Ulysses, saying, "This holy son... is truly... different from the rest of the church..."
“There’s something I must remind you.” Ulysses suddenly stopped, his expression more serious than ever before. “In Twilight Town, you can question authority, discuss academic matters, and even refute doctrines, but… don’t do anything disrespectful to His Holiness the Holy Son. The residents here all know that this paradise of Twilight Town, where everyone can live freely, was created by His Holiness the Holy Son. It’s fair to say that without him, we would have absolutely no chance of finding a foothold in this dark world.”
Elijah looked at the young man before him, pondering the "holy son" the man had mentioned, and smiled slightly: "If possible, I would like to meet the Grand Master of this Knights Order."
Ulysses gazed at this senior, who had once been renowned at the Royal Academy of the Papal States, recalling the other's incredible experiences.
While studying painting, Elijah discovered that air has a visible thickness, thus creating the "aerial perspective" technique in painting. He helped his academy's painting teacher by painting a small angel on an unfinished painting. Because the angel's image surpassed all the other figures in the teacher's painting, the old painter abandoned his paintbrush and devoted himself to sculpture.
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