Chapter 83 Change

"The Sons of Life, a group of extreme cultists who committed countless human sacrifices and attempted to resurrect Badar, the God of Life and Joy." Nova crossed his arms and stared thoughtfully at his companions. "They clashed with you because they discovered you bore the seal of the God of Storms, and even discovered you were a 'God-favored One,' so they tried to experiment on you?"

Since this group of people believed that they could gain powerful strength from human life and even use it to resurrect gods, and the male protagonist, who had not yet grown up in his youth, seemed to be deeply favored by the gods and looked particularly special, they attracted this group of crazy people - there seemed to be no major logical flaws.

As expected, the other person repeated gently, "Nothing can be hidden from you."

"Then what are you worried about?" Nova stared at him expressionlessly. "You've dealt with these lunatics before. You should know how much of their words are credible and how much is just the crazy ravings of a cultist."

The air was tinged with the stench of burnt protein. The Savior stood in the wind, his eyes deep as he stared at him quietly. "...Have you never worried that I'm really as that person revealed, just a pitiful body controlled by the Storm God Utoska, who is even trying to resurrect me?"

Behind the blond wizard is a dangerous and tempting endless wasteland. He looks like a thrilling unknown, like the wind that comes from nowhere, passes by nowhere, and stops nowhere. The world is watching him.

"Your memory is faulty? You said so yourself."

Nova glanced at the man, puzzled, noticing that he had once again begun to unconsciously choose rhythmic words. What was this? An occupational hazard of the clergy? However, whenever the words of a divinely favored one began to become concise and crude, it meant that the audience had to pay special attention.

"Your exact words," he reluctantly recalled, "The Storm God Utoska is completely dead. I killed him with my own hands."

“…Just because of this?”

—Just because he once claimed to have killed a god, and his meticulous enemy actually believed those wild words?

The savior's voice gradually became softer, and an inexplicable uneasiness made Nova subconsciously take a step back, just like he subconsciously felt doubt and resistance to the sudden and terrifyingly beautiful light that appeared in the deep sea.

"What do you mean, 'just because of this?'" He glanced at the man with a wary and dissatisfied look. "My countless conclusions are based on the information you provided. Since even I can't find the logical flaw, it follows that you're definitely not a crappy liar. And I can't imagine a more trustworthy authentication method in the world."

"In short," the black-haired young man added coldly and quickly, "I believe in myself, and I also believe in you, whom I have chosen to trust."

The other party was silent for a while, and suddenly laughed softly in the look that Nova looked at as a lunatic, and the sound echoed softly in the wilderness.

"You really are..."

The savior let out a breath, gathered the golden hair that was dancing in the wind behind his head, relaxed his brows, and revealed the rare arrogance and arrogance of a strong man.

"Your trust was not misplaced. I'm not so incompetent as to not dare to confirm whether the enemy I've struck is completely dead." He commented calmly and coldly, his expression so cold it even seemed a little compassionate. "So they are nothing more than a group of ridiculous and pathetic lunatics, trapped in false hope."

"So what were you struggling with just now?" Nova frowned at him. "I even considered whether this caused you to have self-doubt, but it didn't fit my profile of you."

"That's not good. Don't do that again," he rebuked, matter-of-factly, even unreasonably. "Your disguise sometimes affects my judgment."

The other person paused, raised his eyes, and looked at him quietly.

"...Actually, I owe you a sincere apology about this."

The black-haired young man's pupils dilated for a moment.

In the gray eyes like silver mirrors, the savior was kneeling on one knee facing him, one hand on his chest, pious and solemn - this was the etiquette of a knight swearing lifelong allegiance to the monarch. He was briefly bewitched by those strange and beautiful blue eyes and stood there for a moment.

"Perhaps because I've experienced more than you, I subconsciously underestimated you, both mentally and physically." The knight's voice was clear and gentle, inspiring trust in him. "And this arrogance has created unnecessary rifts in our relationship. It's my fault."

His eyes were gentle and sincere—but Nova inexplicably felt a strange, oppressive feeling that made him subconsciously want to escape. He could clearly look down at the other person, but the other person's shadow was like the sea fog that filled the night, gradually trapping his hands and feet, causing him to fall towards the unknown sea.

He had never liked, or even hated, people apologizing to him. A psychiatrist had told him that the tragedy of his childhood would keep his emotional age stuck at that point forever, until he truly and completely accepted himself—silly talk, he'd thought at the time. He would never be manipulated by uncontrollable, harmful emotions.

But now he regretted it. An uncontrollable emotion gradually overwhelmed him, and the uncontrollable pain tortured him, making him unable to utter a word. It seemed like a shameful fear, a fear of being deprived of the ability to think rationally and being forced into the unknown.

"You should reach out to me." A voice reminded him softly.

He did so subconsciously, and then a kiss as soft as a feather landed on the back of his hand through the glove, while his exposed wrist was tightened little by little.

"You're not angry with me," the other party observed his expression carefully, "you just don't know what to do right now, right?"

"...Should I say this isn't your fault, or that I'm also at fault," Nova heard himself reply coldly. "Then we reached a settlement once again, and our cooperation continued to deepen."

"No." The other man seemed to sigh. "You should slap me right now and scold me for taking advantage of your ignorance of human nature to bully others so excessively."

…

For no apparent reason, that person reminded him of a strange, giant gray ore on a shifting gravel beach, one that had somehow not yet been eroded into gravel by the passage of time. Its broken surface was hard and smooth, yet too brittle to be polished into the arrowheads and stone axes commonly used by the Natalin people. In his childhood, that cold, sharp boulder had repeatedly scratched his hands and feet, hindered his steps, absorbed his body heat but gave nothing back—until the moon rose, and he lay among the rubble, its cold, pale broken surface like an unpolished mirror, reflecting countless of his bleeding faces.

He saw the man's eyes.

Quiet and empty, it was the desolate, gray moon hanging high above his head, faithfully reflecting his darkness, hesitation, weakness, and the ambitions and desires that tormented him.

No matter if he was a nonbeliever, a savior, a delusional lunatic, a clown entertaining the gods, or Azuka, the way that man looked at him seemed to never change.

...Because he couldn't see him.

…

During the second half of the journey back to school, the old driver, who had been placed in the carriage, remained unconscious. It was unclear whether he was genuinely frightened or if someone had cast a spell on him. The professor wrote furiously on the sheepskin book he carried with him, and when he took a break, his fingers subconsciously fumbled with his other wrist.

As the night deepened, the carriage finally entered the White Tower Town. Nova stared out the window. At this time, there were fewer carriages and pedestrians on the road. When he turned a corner, he suddenly signaled another person to stop, and then bought a remaining newspaper of the day from a newsboy who was still wandering on the street.

“…”

"The carriage has to stop here. The driver will probably wake up in ten minutes. Then we have to walk back."

The newsboy, overjoyed at the unexpected income, had already run off. His assistant opened the carriage door and gently exhorted him. Seeing his expression change, the assistant paused and asked, "What's wrong?"

The professor did not answer, his brows tightly knitted together. He quickly flipped through the newspaper again and suddenly snapped it shut.

"I'm going back to school, and I'm going back to the dormitory first." His expression became particularly cold. "They claim that the murderer of Bill Farm has been found - are you kidding?"

He swore something in a low voice, which was unusually rude, and then jumped out of the carriage. Another person took the luggage from him and straightened his crooked collar.

"Okay, I'll take you home." The other party didn't ask too much, but just put his arm around his waist.

"Relax, don't be nervous." The blond magician whispered in his ear. Then Nova felt his whole body suddenly lighten, a sense of weightlessness suddenly came over him. He subconsciously closed his eyes, grabbed the other person's clothes, and his body instinctively moved towards the warm breath.

They were like a gust of wind blowing through the streets and alleys, rolling up the door curtains of the shops and the clothes and sheets hanging out to dry in all directions, scaring a large group of hens foraging on the ground to flutter their wings and flee in all directions. However, the occasional passers-by who hurried by were completely unaware of this, and only complained in a low voice about why the wind at night was suddenly so strong.

When the wind died down, Nova forced himself to open his eyes and saw his familiar dormitory. The other person had politely let him go and was helping him tidy up his hair that was messed up by the wind, and his warm fingertips rubbed his cheek from time to time.

It seemed a bit too intimate, but the professor was in no mood to care. He rushed to the desk with a stern face, picked up a few pieces of paper and walked out the door. Azuka glanced at it and found it was a stack of papers with marks on them and a class schedule.

"I'm going to see Owl, or Vice Principal Wyatt." The black-haired young man stood at the door, and suddenly seemed to remember something, turned around and stared at him: "Can you find out if they are in school now?"

The God-favored One obediently closed his eyes, his golden hair swaying beside his face, as if listening to the message conveyed by the wind.

"...Let's go to the principal's office." He opened his eyes and said thoughtfully, "Owl and Wyatt are here. They seem to be waiting for you."