Chapter 279 Incident
A thunderstorm raged outside the window. In the office of the Dean of the Theological Seminary at Baita University, Delos Rabelais, having finished his day's work, tiredly put down his pen. He supported himself on the table and slowly stood up, feeling his kneecaps crackle in protest.
He began to habitually massage his painful joints, his brain became easily sleepy and his vision gradually became blurred. This theologian, who was renowned in the empire and had taught countless students, realized one thing very clearly: he was old.
Dels Rabelais wasn't someone who, in his old age, preferred to spend his days in a rocking chair by the fireplace, dozing off with his cat. He was a scholar steeped in learning and a dedicated teacher. He was concerned about the White Tower University Seminary, the place where he had dedicated his life. Furthermore, the high-spirited young men of the Inquisition still needed his protection for the time being. Ultimately, old Wyatt represented the interests of the Oakenselle Society, and he couldn't pin all his hopes on the society.
His beloved and most worried student was now far away in Port Morris, working a job that could cost him his life at any moment. To prevent a sorcerer from deciphering the crystal ball, the limited correspondence between them was burned after reading. He could only barely infer his student's current situation from the few words he exchanged outside of the official business.
—Oh, and besides that, there were the shadow chasers sent by the People's Party to protect him. During their shift changes, Rabelais could also take the opportunity to ask a few questions. Those young assassins, always dressed in black, were old acquaintances. He could vaguely tell from their attitude that his student had a high reputation in the People's Party, so much so that those young and promising warlocks with a strong aura of evil were particularly respectful to him.
Rabelais pinched his brows and prepared to go find some cookies. They were made by his beloved disciple himself, and he had specially asked the assassin who was taking over the assassination shift to bring them all the way from Port Morris to White Tower University. There was a large box of them neatly packed, and he had specifically asked that they be reduced-sugar version, as too much sugar is not good for the elderly.
The old man said a few words of disdain for the boy but he actually disciplined him, but in fact he cherished the big box of biscuits very much and locked it carefully in the cupboard and did not give it to anyone.
The flame in the oil lampshade flickered and suddenly went out. A thick flash of lightning split the sky and earth, followed by a deep, muffled thunder. Rabelais was startled by the sudden appearance of the figure on the sofa. He hugged the biscuit box tightly and took a few steps back, his back hitting the bookshelf. Several books immediately fell down and crackled to the ground. But despite such a commotion, the usually alert bodyguards did not appear.
"Derce Rabelais."
The man spoke in a hoarse, shrill voice. Rabelais suddenly realized that the voice was somewhat familiar, and the other person's head profile was not human. Another flash of lightning, this time the pale light illuminated the newcomer's furry owl head cover and the pair of cold, bright gemstone eyes.
Rabelais stared warily at the long-missing president of the Oakensale Society: "...Mr. Owl?"
After the chaos, Rabelais lit the lights again, and the soft glow dispelled the darkness in the room. The wet bird of prey was sitting on the guest sofa in the office of the dean of the seminary, with water dripping from the corners of its clothes, forming a small puddle on the ground.
Seeing the seminary dean occasionally glancing toward the office door, Owl spoke first, his voice gloomy, "Don't look! They're just fainted, not dead."
Rabelais stared at him and asked bluntly, "Why are you coming to scare me instead of going to the vice-chancellor?"
As a result, the other party said nothing and fell into a strange silence.
This was quite odd for Owl. He was a hot-tempered, reckless, and powerful man who always spoke his mind without hesitation. With the exception of his beloved disciple, who could engage in heated arguments, leaving others fuming but afraid to strike out, it was always the other disciple who would point fingers at others and curse them.
Then there is only one answer - Owl learned about his old friend Gibson Wyatt's "betrayal" of the seminary, and the vice-president of White Tower University personally handed his student over to the Inquisition.
When Rabelais first learned of this from his beloved student, he was furious. Even though the student told him that this was part of his plan, he still almost rushed into the vice-president's office and shot the spineless traitor.
In the end, it was his beloved disciple who persuaded him to stop.
"We still need to leverage the power of the society." The young man was incredibly calm and rational. "Owl's disappearance is inextricably linked to Wyatt. Killing him won't solve any problems for now, and will only plunge White Tower University into chaos. It's better to hold off and seize power while the opportunity presents itself."
Rabelais stared intently at the owl's face. He wanted to see what the president of the Ockensele Society would say about his old friend's betrayal.
After a long moment, Owl finally spoke, his voice low and hoarse: "Did that boy... suffer any torture in prison?"
After learning that the teaching assistant named Azuka was actually a god, Owl found himself unable to understand the other's logic. According to common sense, why would a god let his lover suffer such torture? The Inquisition was just a mere heretic, and even if the other party simply revealed their identity, the entire empire would be obliged to treat them with respect.
He couldn't help but wonder if the word "lover" from that frivolous Magnus was just another deliberate lie. Even if it was true, there were gods who had fallen deeply in love with humans throughout history, but those humans who were caught up in the gods' emotional entanglements almost all ended up in misery, with few having a happy ending.
——There is no way. Even if the giant just stretched his muscles slightly, it would still be a disaster for the ants living under his feet.
Rabelais was unaware of the owl's inner thoughts. He coldly asked, "Don't you understand the methods of the Inquisition?"
After all, mental torture is also torture, the old man thought with a dark face. Even if he had discussed it with him in advance, he still could not forget the fear he felt during that period.
The owl was silent for a moment, then solemnly promised, "It was the Oakensele Society that wronged him. I swear in the name of the president of the Oakensele Society that we will do our best to compensate him."
It was all empty talk. The compensation wasn't intended for the People's Party, and they still hadn't mentioned how Gibson Wyatt would be dealt with. Rabelais sneered in a vague way. Even though he had long known about these people's behavior, he still felt a hint of disappointment, "I knew it."
Even though many scholars have actively expressed their support for the People's Party, the Oakenseller Society itself has remained on the sidelines until now, and they have been reluctant to make a real bet.
Rabelais certainly wasn't good at scheming, but he wasn't one of those high-spirited young men. Time had taught him not to expect the world to continue moving forward along the path ignited by ideals, beliefs, courage, and sacrifice. Reality is reality.
"Where is he now?" Owl stared into Dels Rabelais's eyes and softened his stance for once. "If possible, I'd like to talk to him in person."
It was impossible for the other party not to know that the chief "ghost" of the People's Party was in Port Morris. It was clearly written in the newspaper, so the implication was that he was asked to be the middleman.
Rabelais fumbled with the edge of the biscuit box in his arms, his nails scraping against the iron. For a moment, he wanted to slam the tin box against the head of the bird of prey opposite him—never mind, it was too wasteful.
"After your friend Gibson Wyatt sent my student to the Inquisition?" he scoffed.
The owl's chest heaved violently, and grief, anger, frenzy, and sorrow flashed across its hideous and distorted face hidden beneath the hood, before finally settling on cold, rational indifference.
"Dean Rabelais," the owl said word by word, "do you know who your student's assistant is?"
A deafening roar of thunder almost drowned out all other sounds, but Rabelais still jumped to his feet and almost knocked over the biscuit box.
He stared at the other person, feeling his forehead throbbing violently: "...are you kidding me?"
"I've verified it, and it's true." Owl sat there, speaking with remarkable calmness. He didn't completely trust Magnus, but he had his own channels—the fact was, after three hundred years, a new god had finally appeared on the continent of Ambrose.
...That damn kid! How dare they hide such a thing from him—and that liar! The old man felt his vision go dark. He closed his eyes, held onto the armrests, and slowly sat down. His head was dizzy, and he didn't know if it was because he hadn't eaten yet.
Owl stared calmly at his seminary dean. With trembling hands, he opened the tin box he had been holding in his arms, pulled out a... biscuit?, and stuffed it into his mouth.
…So why cookies?
"Didn't that guy tell you about this?" he asked with interest, feeling a little proud. But the other party ignored him and continued to stuff biscuits into his mouth, making a crunching sound as if he was chewing someone's meat.
"Yes, but I have two conditions." After a long pause, the seminary dean said grimly, "First, I want you to swear to the Okansele River that you will do your utmost to protect all the teachers and students of White Tower University."
"No problem." The owl agreed without hesitation.
"Secondly, I want to go with you." Delses Rabelais said expressionlessly. If you look closely, you can see that the old man's face is terribly dark.
...Wow, it looks like someone is going to get into trouble, the owl thought with a gloating look. With half of the work done, he relaxed a little, so naturally he reached for the box of cookies he had been coveting for a long time. He wanted to see what kind of treasure it was...
With a snap, Owl's hand was rudely slapped away.
"What are you doing? This is made for me by my students!" Dels Rabelais glared at him and said, "If you want to eat it, go buy it yourself!"
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