Chapter 19
It was as if a drop of water had entered a pot of oil and instantly boiled over.
The people around him were excitedly discussing it, and Allen was also somewhat surprised. He hadn't expected that Arnold would actually have the talent of a magician.
On the stage, Arnold had already been taken away by another priest, presumably to retrieve his college recommendation letter or something similar.
“Come with me,” Veris gestured to Allen.
The brown-haired young man was taken aback, but he still followed Veris's footsteps and walked out of the crowd until they reached the outer perimeter, at which point Veris's voice rang out.
"The Royal Academy's recommendation letters are of two types: one is a regular certificate, and the other is specifically for county towns outside the Kingdom of Lotheran. Once the information and name are entered, they are immediately sent to the High Papacy and the Royal Knights."
At the corner of the intersection, Veris looked at Allen. Although Allen knew a little more than Arnold, if they were to leave Mercury and head to the Kingdom of Lortheran, hearsay alone would not be enough.
Veris said slowly, "The letter of recommendation is essentially a kind of magic scroll. The priest of the church brought your letter of recommendation with him. You can pick it up later after the test."
"If you encounter danger on your way to the Royal Academy, the hidden magic circle in the admission recommendation letter can protect you three times, with the maximum protection range being ninth-order magic."
Allen's pupils constricted—ninth-tier magic?!
That's already an unattainable peak for countless mages, isn't it? The most powerful mages on the entire continent and within the entire Papacy have only barely reached the edge of the ninth rank.
"So, carry your admission recommendation letter with you at all times. It doesn't matter if you run out of protection attempts or lose it—ah, if you lose it, then you won't be able to use the protection array. But don't worry about not being able to enroll; the information already entered will be used to identify you." After saying a long string of words, Veris yawned. Getting up so early was still a bit of a stretch for him.
Allen opened his mouth, and after a long while, cautiously asked, "You've told me so much..."
Veris raised his hand, his heterochromatic pupils flashing with an odd light. A strange smile played on his lips as he said, "Don't overthink it. I tell every hero the same thing. After all, rushing forward blindly will only result in a bloody mess."
Brave?
Allen immediately realized: "Arnold really is—"
“The bards will give you a lot of news you’ve never heard before; you can judge for yourselves whether it’s true or not. But it’s rare to find a good person like me who tells you the whole truth,” Veris said, spreading his hands.
He glanced at the crowd, and even after such a short time, the number of people there hadn't decreased much; it was still bustling with activity.
So he waved his hand and said, "I'm leaving now. The road to defeating the Demon King is not easy."
The poet looked at Allen, who seemed to have just realized something, and lowered his voice: "Perhaps the resurgence of the dragon race will happen this time?"
Seeing that Allen was greatly moved, Veris knew that the effect had been achieved. She happily hummed a song as she walked home, stopping at a bakery along the way to buy breakfast.
A standard meal of bread and hot milk is considered healthy by everyone.
Actually, he was lying to Allen. The dragon race has been dead for many years. Even if a few more were to be reborn, it would be of no use.
But when it comes to adventure, there has to be something to look forward to, right?
Anyway, he already said that the words spoken by bards are a mixture of truth and falsehood.
Veris walked home with a clear conscience. When he passed Martin's Tavern, he hesitated for a moment, but still peeked inside, even though Martin's Tavern was not supposed to be open at this time.
However, today is the selection of magicians, and Martin had already given the tavern staff a day off, so it's not surprising that the tavern is open now.
Sitting behind the tavern counter was the owner, Martin. He was too lazy to join in the fun and was busy with his accounts. His wife, on the other hand, had taken their son to participate in the magician selection.
Because Mr. Martin stayed at the shop, his wife complained that he didn't care at all about their son's magical talent.
Boss Martin was unimpressed. When had Albion ever produced a magician in its history? How could it possibly be his family's little rascal?
Just then, Veris called his name. Martin, who was engrossed in counting his money, was startled by Veris's voice and looked up, saying, "What the hell are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be sleeping at home at this hour?"
The poet stood in the doorway, backlit, and said to him, "I'm leaving in a couple of days."
Martin froze, but quickly put down his work, stood up, and carefully looked Veris up and down: "Do you have enough money to get out?"
Veris protested, "Don't underestimate me, okay? I'm a bard. Whether I'm singing or performing, I certainly won't go hungry."
It is all too common for bards to wander from place to place.
It would be strange if someone like Veris stayed in Albion for nearly twenty years.
This poet has an ageless appearance and speaks in the same tone as a young man. Everyone who meets him for the first time thinks he is a young man in his early twenties.
But as the years passed, the poet remained young, still playing immortal hymns, while those who seemed to be his peers gradually grew old, started families, and had children.
Martin, the owner, is one of them.
Looking at Veris, he felt a pang of unease, but he couldn't quite put his finger on where this melancholy came from. Was it envy of the man's eternal youth? No, he didn't think his own youthful appearance was anything to be nostalgic about.
Perhaps seeing Veris reminded him of his youthful days when he was full of vigor and ambition.
Back then, before he opened Martin's Tavern, he was also a member of the Mercenary Guild. Veris was singing in another tavern, and when he returned from a mission, he and his companions went to listen to Veris's performance.
The wine wasn't delicious, and the environment was less than ideal, but we were carefree and happy back then.
Martin sighed, took a handful of silver coins from the counter drawer, put them in a cloth bag, and handed it to Veris.
Veris looked at him, a smile in his eyes: "Poets don't need gifts of money, sir."
Martin said earnestly, "This is not a gift, Veris. It is a blessing from an old friend for your upcoming journey. Keep this bag of money safe. If you ever find yourself unable to find a place to sing, use this money as travel expenses. Martin's Tavern will always be open."
The poet's smile faded slightly.
Have a pleasant journey, Veris.
“His Holiness the Pope will protect you, Martin.” Veris took the bag of silver coins. It was slightly heavy. His fingers felt the coin piled up and protruding through the cloth bag.
Martin laughed: "You just finished making fun of the Pope not long ago, Veris. I think before His Holiness the Pope protects me, he should punish me first."
Veris laughed along with him, "How could that be? His Holiness the Pope is so magnanimous."
On a calm yet unusual morning, Mr. Martin bid farewell to his friend of more than ten years and sat back down in his chair, having only finished half of the account book in front of him.
He turned another page when a commotion suddenly erupted outside. The shop assistant, breathless, rushed into the store, slammed against the counter, and shouted, "Boss, you, your son!"
Mr. Martin froze, thinking something had happened to his son. He jumped up and shouted, "What? What about my son? Explain yourself!"
Hey buddy: "Your son has the talent of a magician!"
Martin stared blankly at the waiter, whose face was flushed and who was panting heavily. Martin blinked and sat back down in his chair, still in a daze.
His son actually has the talent of a magician?
Am I dreaming?
A note from the author:
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