Chapter 138 Betrayal
For nearly half a month, the lights in the council hall of Yuanxin Palace have been on day and night.
Some foresighted individuals foresaw that what was happening in White Tower Town was no ordinary riot and repression. The nobles gloated over the misfortune, hoping to seize the opportunity to divide the power of the Church. The clergy, suddenly the targets of the siege, fought back fiercely. The royal family, however, seemed to be sitting on the sidelines, secretly setting traps for the Church and some of the overreaching nobles.
Many people speculated that the royal family was in deep financial crisis at the time and urgently needed to choose a fat sheep to slaughter and divide - but the target they chose was not a lamb without any resistance, but a beast that had been entrenched for a long time. Although it was old and sick, it should not be underestimated.
Therefore, the most obvious outward manifestation was quarreling, constantly banging the table. Under the watchful eyes of the Kite Heart Guards, nobles and priests hurried through the ornate corridors. But no matter how many calculations these important figures had before entering Kite Heart Palace, whenever they caught a glimpse of the majestic silver-helmeted knights, most of them at least superficially showed respect to the palace's mistress. Unlike the king, whose actions were foolish and absurd, almost like a mascot, this majesty was not to be trifled with; she would kill on the spot.
After the last audience member left, Queen Esmeralda sat alone in the empty and magnificent council chamber. She slowly stood up. The night was already deep, but the burning jet, refracted by countless expensive crystals, illuminated the vast council chamber as brightly as day. Her shadow became both large and fragmented, casting a shadow across the countless documents spread out before her.
In the woman's golden eyes, a name, which had lost its surname and was therefore unusually short and conspicuous, filled the lines. She sneered briefly, but it was unclear who she was targeting.
The next moment, the queen clutched her chest tightly, doubled over in agony. The intense pain, searing her very soul, made her clutch the corner of the tablecloth, knocking the crystal ball off the table, sending it shattering with a clatter. Knight Commander Iyaros, hearing the commotion outside, rushed in without regard for protocol. He glanced nervously around at the whirring, flying documents, his sword half exposed.
"Your Majesty! What happened?!"
"Get out!" the queen roared angrily without even looking up.
The door to the council chamber was closed. Esmerel grabbed the tablecloth, scratching the delicate satin, leaving hideous marks. Finally, she couldn't hold on any longer and slowly knelt down.
“…My God.”
In the deserted council chamber, one of the nation's most distinguished leaders bowed his head deeply, muttering respectfully like a madman, occasionally lapsing into an eerie silence. A massive crystal chandelier loomed over her, its shadows seemingly swirling with snakes.
After a long time, the creepy noises finally faded away. Esmerel grabbed the edge of the table with his fingers, whose nails were bleeding from exerting so much force, and slowly supported himself from the ground.
"...The suspected resurrection of the Storm God?"
A hoarse female voice echoed in the empty council hall. The strong wind of the winter night beat against the windows, and the intermittent, crazy-like low laughter was buried in the heavy snow.
"I think I know what you're going to do."
Come on, come on, maybe I can help you.
…
On the other side, in the prison of the Inquisition in White Tower Town, Nova finally saw another important person who had been waiting for a long time, Dante Matthews.
The other party was a middle-aged man with graying hair and beard. He was tall and thin, wearing single-sided rimless glasses. He looked quite scholarly. One could not tell that he had trained a group of demons who would not blink an eye when torturing their own kind.
This guy was quite polite to him, and he talked a lot, saying apologetically that he was also trying to mediate, but he was really powerless and had to ask him to come to the Inquisition to suffer - if he hadn't seen the other party's skillful intimidation a few days ago, he would have really believed this guy's lies.
The professor, growing increasingly impatient with the amount of useless information, couldn't help but interrupt him and asked sarcastically, "So, when are you planning on letting me go back to Baita University? Are you going to keep me locked up for a full month?"
The Inquisition must release the innocent person within a month - of course, they won't release him on their own initiative, he's just trying to shut this guy up because he's too talkative.
Dante Matthews looked at him with some pity and slowly shook his head: "Even after a month, you can't leave."
"The Inquisition has gathered sufficient evidence, both personal and physical, to prove that you have associated with the devil, fabricated and publicly preached heretical doctrines, repeatedly blasphemed, and encouraged others to blaspheme. A town-wide public trial will be held the day after tomorrow. As one of the defendants, you must attend in person."
The professor narrowed his eyes slightly and saw the cardinal suddenly turn sideways and gesture for him to look outside the cell. "An old friend has asked me to speak to you."
A very familiar figure stepped into the cell silently.
The affable old man with a fat belly who always smiled in the past, became completely emaciated in just a few days, and aged visibly, which made him look more haggard and sad, and even a little dazed and neurotic.
The professor stared at him expressionlessly: "...Mr. Wyatt."
The visitor was none other than Gibson Wyatt, the vice-president of White Tower University, Owl's best friend and the long-missing man.
For a moment, the old man dared not look directly into those smoky gray eyes that seemed to see through everything. He felt that all his filth and weakness were exposed in them.
"You guys can catch up on the past first. I won't bother you any more." Dante Matthews smiled and nodded at them.
Before leaving, he suddenly turned his head and sighed at Noir, "As a fellow student of Mr. Rabelais, I'm a few years older than you, so let me give you a word of advice—this is all about things you can't do anything about. It's better to plan ahead and take a long-term approach."
The black-haired young man didn't answer. It wasn't until the cell door slammed shut and the footsteps faded away that Wyatt finally couldn't stand the suffocating silence anymore. He gritted his teeth and prepared to speak first: "I—"
The young man interrupted him coldly, "You took the manuscript I submitted to the Society and submitted 'evidence' to the Inquisition, claiming it was research I did before becoming a theologian and that it wasn't verified by the Beatitudes."
They didn't even need much rigorous evidence. The Inquisition only needed a seemingly fair gimmick to brand him a heretic who deceived the world in front of the people of White Tower.
Wyatt staggered back a step, his face showing an extremely strong expression of guilt and pain.
The cold wind mixed with snowflakes poured in from the high gaps in the cell. Those smoky gray eyes, almost glowing in the shadows, entangled all the sinners in the flood of guilt, connected to the shackles on his feet, extending to the dark end behind him.
"...I won't expect you to understand me." Wyatt said tremblingly.
——He should kneel before the innocent.
"They are willing to promise Okansele River that as long as they surrender their primary responsibility, all judges will withdraw from Baita Town, saving the lives of all teachers and students at Baita University. Those children from the Trial Association will also receive lenient sentences—"
The black-haired young man lowered his eyes emotionlessly, calmly watching the old man who slowly knelt down towards him, like a black old tree root that had been burned by a fire and shrunk into a ball.
"Such a huge concession only requires my life?" he asked calmly. "Are you really so naive?"
His casual words made the other person's lips tremble. In the cold winter, sweat dripped down the old man's graying hair.
He is an old sly man who is good at smoothing things over and is good at playing peacemaker. He is a good principal who is dedicated to his duties and cares about his students. He is a kind, soft-hearted and somewhat nagging old man - but that's all.
Many people regard him as an assistant who handles chores for Owl, and in his early years they even regard him as a follower of Oliver, who has always been known as a genius. It was not until the genius Oliver was in danger and was rescued by Gibson Wyatt that many people truly recognized this seemingly inconspicuous character.
"No, of course I'm not just saying this nonsense!" The old man began to speak incoherently, and it was unclear who he was trying to convince. "You're right. We have no armed forces. How can we possibly withstand the judges of the Inquisition? This issue of 'Divine History' is really—you have no idea what you're fighting against."
"Listen, child, listen." He was trying to force himself not to keep gasping for breath. "I am old and have lived enough. If his dream can be fulfilled by my death or Oliver's death, then both I and Oliver will die without hesitation!"
"--But no matter who it is, no matter who it is! It is impossible to fight against the believers of the whole world. This is an absolutely useless sacrifice. It will destroy the seminary, destroy the White Tower University, and destroy the Oakensale Society!" Tears welled up in the old man's turbid eyes. "So no matter whether this will cause the most innocent people to die, I will never let the hard work of Oliver and I go to waste!"
He needs to protect those who stand behind him once again, and he needs to turn the tide once again.
The cell was completely silent, the old man breathing heavily. But why was the other man so calm? As if he had anticipated this despicable betrayal.
"You don't have to feel guilty about this." A calm voice sounded above his head: "This is not much different from my plan, and it won't affect the overall situation."
Gibson Wyatt's head shot up, and he stared at the young man in a state of horror, as if he had seen a demon crawling out of the abyss.
Why had the seminary in his previous life suffered such a devastating blow? Nova didn't believe that his past self would publish "History of Gods" without any preparation, as if it were a suicide pact. The biggest flaw, then, was most likely an inescapable betrayal: he had chosen to protect himself and abandoned the seminary.
At this moment, the betrayer appeared before his eyes again.
He is just kind, weak and mediocre.
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