Chapter 255 Strength
Percy Brody, an eighteen-year-old High-ranking Apostle Warlock of the Light Element, was the head of his class at St. Bartolomeo's School of Warlocks. Though he was only a viscount, with no family members in politics or the military, and even their wealth was pitifully small—St. Bartolomeo's School of Warlocks valued strength, and while geniuses from relatively modest families achieving the head position were rare, they were not uncommon, with one or two emerging every few years.
Now, wherever the young chief went, he would attract inexplicable stares and whispers from the students of St. Bartolomeo's School of Warlocks. This extra attention mainly came from his cousin, the true heir of the Brody family, a completely ordinary man.
He expelled his family from the family, compiled the "Divine History", kidnapped Aisen Pas, escaped from prison after being sentenced to death by the Inquisition, ran to the western border of the empire to establish a political party and start a riot... Each and every one of them was enough to make these young people trapped in the school talk about it with relish.
Little Batman, who always liked to fight with little Brody, hadn't come to school for several days for some reason. It was said that he had asked for a long vacation due to family matters. Suddenly, the school was missing the good show of the two people's daily bickering and there were always some bored people trying to find some fun.
"Master Chief, I heard you also visited White Tower University when your cousin was put on trial by the Inquisition?" someone asked with ill intent, approaching the head of the long table while the students were eating. Everyone around them pricked up their ears. "What could possibly compel our good students to travel thousands of miles to White Tower Town, even if it meant missing classes? Could it be... a deep bond of brotherhood?"
Some people couldn't help but sneer. Everyone present knew the shameful things about the Brody family. They were brothers and it was good enough that they didn't add insult to injury.
"Oh, sorry," the man slapped his mouth in a pretentious manner. Someone nearby recognized him—one of Little Batman's followers. "I forgot that the Brody family has already expelled Mr. Nova. In principle, he shouldn't be your brother anymore."
Percy Brody is always ridiculed by little Bateman for being "pretentious", but although this chief behaves in a noble, elegant and aloof manner in daily life, he always maintains the dignity of an aristocrat and is willing to give his classmates some face.
But this time, the black-haired boy's face seemed to be covered with a thick layer of ice. After hearing that familiar name, the silver fork in his hand suddenly slid across the plate uncontrollably, making a sharp sound.
Percy frowned gloomily, raised his eyelids, and asked rudely, "Excuse me, what does this have to do with you? Are you free?"
The little follower was rudely confronted in public, and he felt embarrassed and his face immediately turned ugly.
"Why is it okay? If it were you, the Inquisition should investigate the entire Brody family." Furious, the man deliberately cleared his throat, his voice amplified as it echoed around the long table where everyone was sitting. "After all, blasphemous heretics always like to appear in groups. Who knows if letting them stay in school will—"
Before he finished speaking, the man suddenly staggered back a few steps. Amid the exclamations of the crowd, his whole body stiffened and his pupils shrank almost to a tiny dot.
Their grade leader sat gracefully, countless points of light rising from behind him, condensing into a slender spear in the void, the sharp tip of the spear just touching the provocateur's throat. The latter dared not move, cold sweat dripping down his forehead, even his legs trembling shamefully.
"Are you insulting the Brody family?" Little Brody slowly raised his eyes and calmly stared at the obviously frightened classmate: "Or do you want to challenge my position as the chief?"
"I hope it's the latter. If so, you should formally submit a challenge to me, and I will openly crush you on the training ground—of course, as a classmate, I will spare your life." Seeing the man's pale face and silent expression, he slowly wiped the corner of his mouth, his expression gradually becoming cold. "But if it's the former..."
The black-haired boy sneered, and a trickle of bright red blood meandered down the provocateur's neck, falling drop by drop to the ground.
"Percy Brody! Put away your magic!" A teacher rushed over and shouted, "This is a place to eat. Don't waste your energy here!"
The light gun vanished from the air. The provocateur's body softened, and he sat down on the ground. Percy Brody stood up and bowed slightly in the direction of the teacher. "I'm sorry, Mr. Hutton."
"...Wait." Mr. Hutton looked at him suspiciously for a moment, and suddenly his expression changed subtly: "Is your current magic level...?"
The surroundings were silent, almost eerily quiet—and this also made the young man's voice unusually clear: "Well, I should be at the primary level of the Lord's Prayer now."
After the brief shock, there were gasps and exclamations one after another, and someone even accidentally broke a plate - they seemed to have witnessed the birth of a dazzling genius who would definitely go down in history.
Mr. Hutton's pupils suddenly constricted. He opened his mouth, but ultimately just shouted, "Everyone, finish your meal and get back to your own business! Have you finished your homework? What's the point of making so much noise? As for you—"
He pointed at Percy: "Follow me."
The black-haired boy calmly adjusted his scarf and followed Mr. Hutton to the door amid countless ardent and admiring gazes, without even glancing at the provocateur lying on the ground.
The class identification results showed that Percy Brody, who was only eighteen years old, had indeed become a junior Lord's Prayer Warlock.
Although high-ranking apostles at the age of eighteen were rare, they were not uncommon. However, the Lord's Prayer at this age was almost unique, even in history.
All of a sudden, Percy Brody himself became very popular. Countless powerful forces, including the Holy See, took the initiative to show goodwill to him. His father, Olas Brody, was almost crazy with joy - but the young head of the Brody family was unusually low-key. He declined all invitations from bigwigs and stayed indoors in the St. Bartolomeo School of Warlocks.
...So this is what strength feels like?
In the empty room, the black-haired boy with a delicate face slowly clutched the clothes on his chest, his eyes looking terrifyingly deep.
He had never seen those bigwigs who always had a hint of contempt in their expressions treat the Brody family so warmly. A cardinal invited him to take up a high position in the Vatican as soon as he graduated, and even the Royal Guards, which protected the royal family, extended an olive branch to him.
He felt his heart beating harder than ever before, scorching hot, as if squeezed by increasingly thin air, craving more, sweeter glory. Yes, he would become stronger, stronger, until he was stronger than anyone, even that pesky blond...
——When that day finally comes, will his brother see him? Will he look at him with surprise, trust, or even dependence?
As soon as he thought of this possibility, Percy felt his fingertips trembling with excitement, and his cheeks and chest were swelling and hot... No, it was not an illusion, his chest was really getting hot, to the point of causing a kind of burning pain.
A hoarse and strange voice slowly sounded from the black-haired boy's ear: "It feels good, doesn't it?"
Percy was stunned for a moment, then immediately knelt down in fear, his fingers almost digging a hole in the floor: "...My God!"
"Don't be nervous. I admire ambitious young people." Zephyr, the God of Light and Glory, sighed. "I see in you a desire for status, a desire for glory, a desire for victory... I like it very much."
Pavaton Miller is also an ambitious believer, but unfortunately too ambitious. After a piece of his soul was destroyed, Zephir could not help but begin to doubt the believer's strength and loyalty.
Recently, the other party has been targeting the Son of Life under the guise of punishing heretics and rallying faith in light. The God of Light and Glory doesn't care about these ridiculous ants who dare to communicate directly with the gods, but his intuition tells him something is amiss. Unfortunately, no matter how hard he tries to find an opportunity to punish the other party, he still can't see any clues until the believer falls into a coma.
In a corner invisible to humans, Zephir's soul could not help but roll around hideously and twistedly.
All the changes were caused by the chosen one chosen by the crazy woman Analene. He wanted to get closer to the other party, but was afraid of the unknown god beside the other party, so he needed a new carrier, a more convenient carrier.
The new carrier is related to that person by blood, and is still young. It is simple, naive, and stupid. It is easy to understand and can be seen through at a glance. It is easier to control than Pavaton Miller - such a carrier is barely worth the gods wasting some of their divine power.
Percy's vision was suddenly engulfed by a blinding white light. He felt countless tiny threads of light tracing their way through the depths of its source, as if immersing his very soul in the light. The lines of resonance grew and deepened uncontrollably, and a faint pain emanated from the depths of his soul, but it was quickly overcome by the exhilaration of the light.
Just as he had arrived without any warning, the God of Light and Glory disappeared silently. Percy knelt on the ground, sweat dripping down his face, his chest heaving violently. He subconsciously reached out to cover his left chest, which seemed to be still burning. This was where the divine seal was located.
"The filth that tarnishes Brody's glory cannot exist in this world." The god's whisper seemed to still echo in his ears: "You must find him, catch him, and hold him in your hands, just like you have always wanted to do..."
"—The day you capture him, I will grant you the right to become the youngest saint in the world."
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