Chapter 181 Meaning

Greven froze.

"You, you are——"

The brown-haired slave youth, covered in blood, was originally sitting cross-legged in his own blood. He had just returned from the gates of hell, but he was still calmly testing each other with the mysterious and powerful "collaborator" whose intentions were unknown - but now he became a little stuttering, and his fingers moved subconsciously, as if he wanted to stretch forward, but in the end he just stayed where he was.

What should he do to further verify the other party's identity? But his intuition kept whispering in his mind - that's right, it's him, only him.

Besides, what good would it be to impersonate such a dangerous and easily exposed identity?

Greven suddenly realized that sitting like this seemed impolite, but when he stood up, he found that he was much taller than the other person, so that the other person had to look up at him.

The stars descended, landing in those smoky gray eyes.

Perhaps he should have knelt, but he didn't. His injured knee felt like it had been solidified by boiling hot molten iron, a heat derived from what he had once received from the other man. All he could hear was his own voice, stretched to an infinitely long line, trembling with such sorrow and joy that it was completely unable to resist the heat welling up from deep within his chest.

"You seem a little... agitated," the professor said cautiously.

Greven's lips moved.

"...If you are really Mr. Nova, I want to tell you something."

Finally, something poured out of his throat: "We would secretly hide torn newspapers under the straw, tearing them into small pieces and keeping them privately, and then have literate companions read them to everyone. There was a crazy man we called 'Old Scholar' who once copied your articles on the dungeon wall with a charcoal stick. He only copied one and a half articles, 'The Rights of the Oppressed' and 'A Letter to the Nameless', and when he was still halfway there, he was dragged out by an enraged red snake and his hands and feet chopped off."

The black-haired young man's fingers hanging at his sides suddenly curled up as if in spasm, and a look of almost pain and fragility suddenly appeared in his bright and cold eyes, even if only for a moment.

"But as you said, ideas cannot be killed. They will continue to gnaw at the blood of every oppressed person." A mocking look flashed in the brown-haired young man's eyes. "This is Port Morris, where freedom and wealth flow. We can always find what we want."

"At first, some slaves escaped, and after being caught, they were beaten to death. Then there was a small-scale riot, and seventeen slaves worked together to successfully kill their master. As a result, the Bloody Duke was furious and announced that the People's Daily would not be allowed to appear in the Bloody Bazaar. All papers, sheepskins, even rags and stones related to you were confiscated and thrown into the fire. All slaves who hid these things were pushed into the animal cages—"

The brown-haired slave's voice suddenly became calm, unusually calm.

"—Then we don't want to endure it any longer, no matter if the outcome is destruction or rebirth."

He saw the ghost take an almost imperceptible step back, his bloodless lips pursed tightly, his jaw tense enough to reveal the pale blue veins beneath his thin skin, twisted and distorted like thorns burned by a fire. How could he be so pale and thin? Greven wondered with anger and pain, what could have tortured the young man so harshly? Was it the Church? Or was it the cruelty and injustice of this world?

His voice couldn't help but become lighter: "...and I just hope you can know what your words mean to us."

There was still not much expression changing on the black-haired young man's face, but people who knew him well would notice that his whole body was slowly becoming tense. Rather than being cold and indifferent, it would be more accurate to say... he was blank.

...want to run.

Something unexpected came crashing down upon him—perhaps he had anticipated it, but he had never imagined it would be so... grand and passionate. All his cold, rational calculations and schemes became insignificant and despicable before the sincere and fervent emotions of a truly noble person. For a moment, he felt the urge to flee, unable to bear it.

But someone gently held his shoulders, and warmth gently flowed up along his shoulders.

"I hope you can keep Mr.'s identity secret for now." Nova heard Azuka's gentle and calm instructions beside him. "He is still a death row inmate on the Vatican's list. The current situation in Port Morris is complicated, and it is not appropriate to reveal the truth to everyone. You should understand what I mean?"

"Of course, I understand." Greven gradually regained his composure and became the calm and meticulous leader of the slave resistance camp again.

The following conversation became noticeably friendlier. Nova listened silently as the two sides engaged in an in-depth conversation punctuated by tentative exchanges. The savior was indeed, as he had imagined, very good at these things. Graven's eyes grew gentler as he looked at him, and gradually began to show a mixture of admiration.

When they were finally about to leave, the other party suddenly called them.

"Mr. Ghost," Greven drew three interlocking circles on the ground with his bloody fingers, resembling a chain, and then drew a vertical line through them. "This is the symbol used by us 'Nameless' for secret gatherings. Three days from now, when the tide reaches its highest point, head to the east side of the docks and find a huge black reef with a symbol engraved on its bottom. Beneath this reef, we will conduct a final negotiation with the Temple of Night before the uprising."

Nova stared silently into the other's eyes. The intact amber irises contained many deep and complex things, struggles, doubts, and entanglements - but ultimately they turned into a bright and sincere trust.

...an idealist who has not yet succumbed to the cruel reality.

"Okay." He nodded slowly and solemnly.

He had to be serious.

"Nova" is just a ghost hidden in the ink, but only when the rioters' blades pierce the overseer's chest, when the prisoners' chains tighten the guards' throats, and when the people put a noose around the necks of princes and nobles - will the ghost finally pass through the flames and blood and come to the real world.

…

When they were finally alone, the savior beside him suddenly rubbed the back of his neck without any warning: "Are you okay?"

The professor frowned and glanced at him, then slowly pulled the other's claws off: "...I'm fine."

...This guy is so sharp.

He was silent for a moment, then suddenly spoke in a low voice, "I just realized once again... I must be right. This point cannot be shaken."

The world has gradually embarked on a long, difficult and tortuous road, and he is also being swept forward by the turbulent tide of the times.

Perhaps this out-of-control and maddening era will give birth to deformed premature babies, or they may die from malnutrition and illness during their development, thus giving birth to countless filthy pus, blood and corrupt tissues - but he can only firmly stand firm in the truth he believes in countless times, without any questioning or hesitation, because this will be his only anchor.

In other words, he was madly trying to find the "truly correct" path as accurately as possible amidst the inevitable sacrifices and trial and error. This immense pressure was unbearable for an ordinary person, and even he couldn't help but start biting his fingers.

The black-haired young man blinked blankly.

Someone suddenly grabbed my wrist, but that wasn't the point - another person's slightly cool fingers suddenly appeared between my trembling teeth, and they tasted slightly salty and astringent when I licked them.

He bit it subconsciously, feeling the soft, firm touch, and could hear the slight crunch of teeth scraping against his finger bones. The other party paused, then suddenly pressed the surface of his tongue with the tip of his finger, neither light nor heavy. The black-haired young man reacted so violently that he threw his head back and spat out the finger that was stained with saliva and became wet.

"If you feel uncomfortable, you can bite my finger." Someone ignored the professor's incredulous, psychotic stare and suggested very seriously: "Don't bite yourself."

Seeing that he was a little dazed, the guy unscrupulously grabbed the back of his neck with one hand, supported his chin with four fingers of the other hand, and then inserted his thumb to pull the orbicularis oris muscle, prying open the teeth that were too shocked to close in time, forcing his nemesis to open his mouth stupidly and let him carefully observe those sharp white fangs.

"Your finger bones are covered in scrapes from bites," Azuka said, using the back of his finger to test the sharpness of the teeth. His voice was gentle but with a hint of helplessness: "Doesn't it hurt?"

His old enemy glared at him angrily, and looked like he would have scolded him if he hadn't been speechless for the moment.

But the other person never bit his finger hard enough, until a little saliva was forced to drip down the corner of his mouth. Azuka sighed softly, pulled his finger out, and leaned forward to kiss it gently and deeply - and then finally got what he wanted and was bitten hard on the tip of his tongue.

He loosened his hand, letting the black-haired young man immediately retreat three meters away from him, wiping the blood from the corner of his lips as if nothing had happened, with a gentle smile in his beautiful blue eyes.

"What are you crazy about?" The professor asked with a gloomy face while panting and trying to calm his breathing.

His chin was already sticky and looked awful, and his temporomandibular joint was swollen and sore from the strain - he knew that what the bastard had said before about "last chance for a kiss" was just pathetic nonsense, and now this guy had even gone too far and was biting his face with saliva when they disagreed.

...Is this something a "pursuer" would do? He couldn't help but ponder this briefly, somewhat bewilderedly.

"Sorry." The other person smiled and took out a handkerchief from his pocket and waved to the person: "Come here, I will help you wipe your face clean."

Seeing his old enemy standing there with a sullen face, silent and utterly silent, merely raising his eyelids and glaring sinisterly at him, the savior simply stepped forward and carefully cleaned up the mess. After cleaning up, he quickly pecked the lips, which were tightly pursed but now looked much redder.

professor:"……"

...Suddenly I wanted to bite someone.

Azuka pulled the man into his arms, tightening his grip until their heartbeats gradually synchronized. The man in his arms was silent for a moment, then hesitantly raised his hand and slowly grasped the man's shirt from behind. His eyes softened.

"Don't push yourself too hard. Not only me, but we will always be by your side." The Savior whispered, gently gathering up his nemesis's scattered black hair, then pressed his lips to his forehead and kissed him devoutly. "You've always known that this is not a war you fight alone."

It is a revolution of a group of people.