Chapter 296: Fantasy Dream
From the moment the owl learns of its own death, it begins to carefully choose the time, place, and method of its own death.
He had made up his mind to write a carefully written dramatic play, an extremely horrifying story, a huge mystery left to future generations, and hundreds of scholars and artists would use his death as inspiration for their works - he wanted to leave an extremely ostentatious end in this world with a laugh. After all, in his prime, he was an extremely dazzling and self-proclaimed genius.
In the letter he wrote to the ghost, he kept nagging and chattering like an eccentric old man, and his plans included hanging himself at the doorstep of the Pope's house in the early morning, jumping off the top of the tower of the Cathedral of the Redemption in public... He finally chose one of them, but ended up overturning it and starting over the next day.
Yet, his chosen successor, a man of unforgiving temper, acquiesced to his neurotic inconsistencies with uncanny tolerance and forbearance—was he pitying him? Owl thought furiously, until he had tossed the other person a letter that was over 80% nonsense. Finally, amidst a pile of neatly written replies, he discovered a single, unusually terse, and crudely written piece of paper. It contained only two words, occupying the entire page.
"Get to the point!"
The author looked extremely irritable, and the force of his handwriting almost penetrated the back of the paper - while the owl held the paper in its pocket and laughed all day long while his subordinates and students looked at him like a madman.
His successor was... a terrifying man. Sometimes the things he said and did would even awed an old man like him, who thought he'd seen it all and was unfazed. He was like some otherworldly being, an observer from the future, watching them groping in the darkness, then stepping down, among them, deciding to intervene until they were completely captivated by his thoughts and ideas...
So, making such a person lose his temper was a very fulfilling thing, and Owl even enjoyed it. He had to "cherish" this short six months of informal "mentor-disciple" relationship. The collision between two geniuses was like this, sparks flying - until the Pope signed the "Purification Edict" and launched the Holy Inquisition.
According to Nova, this was "long expected," but that didn't stop Owl from cursing at the Pope. Soon, everyone knew that the president of the Oakensale Society had invited the Vatican to hold a public debate in Kite Heart Square, focusing on the recent conflict between the Vatican and the Society.
The royal family, already very dissatisfied with the Vatican's use of force to arrest dissidents, immediately stood up and announced that it would use the "dignity of the king" as a guarantee to protect the freedom of speech and personal safety of both parties during the public debate. The Glorious Vatican had no choice but to accept the challenge. After all, everyone knew that the young Saint Bartolomeo became famous in a public debate that lasted seven days and seven nights. This was a glorious old tradition of the Glorious Vatican. What's more, the Vatican had no way out.
The day of the debate in the square was a winter morning. The gray sky hung low, as if ready to fall. Under the low-hanging sky, a massive statue of Zephyr, the god of light and glory, stood tall, his pistols raised. Several large, pitch-black crows alighted above him, leaving behind pools of white bird droppings.
Two high platforms facing each other were built in Yuanxin Square, and each was equipped with a magical tool called "Thunder Horn" to amplify the sound, ensuring that everyone could hear the debaters' words clearly.
The Royal City Army guarded the square, their armor gleaming and their spears like a forest. Crowds of people poured in from all directions: nobles, scholars, merchants, artisans, farmers, students... even ragged beggars and thieves trying to take advantage of the chaos. The nobles, scholars, and merchants occupied the better seats, while the rest had to squeeze in.
But they all successfully found their own place in Yuanxin Square. Everyone seemed to be pulled by an invisible force, constantly looking towards the platform, whispers rose and fell like the tide, and occasionally a few loud and sharp arguments broke out, but were quickly drowned out by the crowd.
Even the well-informed people of Wangcheng had not seen such a scene for a long time. People needed an absurd drama to pull them out of the shadow of war.
Cassius II, King of the Silver Iris Empire, was a rare presence. He seemed unwilling to miss out on the fun, and instead of being drunk, he lazily reclined in a luxurious soft chair, drumming his fingers impatiently on the armrest without even glancing at the queen.
Pope Mariono Sablic arrived on time, followed by two cardinals, Joshua Valerian, the speaker of the debate, and Pavaton Miller, who was responsible for assisting him.
When the bell rang, signaling the start of the debate, Owl appeared on one of the dais. He still wore his signature owl headgear and leaned on a cane. This mysterious president of the Oakensale Society rarely appeared in public, and his strange appearance immediately caused a low gasp of surprise.
Opposite him, the cardinal, renowned for his eloquence, stood with his head held high, his wide, white robes fluttering in the wind. His face looked confident of victory, as if he had foreseen the defeat of the heretics.
"Well, let's get the fuck started," Cassius II announced impatiently, thus kicking off the debate.
Out of respect for the gods, it was the Vatican who spoke first. However, Valerian did not jump right into the subject, but instead leaned slightly toward the king and queen.
"Under the gaze of our God, and with Your Majesties as witnesses, I urge your Society to maintain due respect," the Cardinal said aggressively. "At the very least, please ask the speaker to remove his mask and reveal his true face. Otherwise, how can such a cowardly person be worthy of arguing with the darling of light about 'truth' and 'falsehood'?"
This seemed to make sense, and many in the crowd nodded in agreement. Valerian glanced around, quite pleased with this opening. While few knew of the owl's misfortune, he was clearly not one of them.
Think about it, how can a monster with a distorted and terrifying appearance win the trust of the audience? As soon as the other party takes off the hood, it will naturally arouse fear and rejection from the crowd. The balance of victory has tilted from the beginning.
"That's right," the king said with interest. "Owl, why don't you take off that stinky-looking furry hood?"
The students from Baita University in the crowd couldn't help but clench their fists, and Vice President Gibson Wyatt closed his eyes in pain.
Ever since the owl returned, it hadn't contacted him again. Knowing his old friend was deliberately avoiding him, Wyatt, knowing he was in the wrong, simply worked even harder, forgetting to eat or sleep, devoting himself entirely to the school and its students. Until a few days ago, he received a note from his old friend, asking him to "witness" the public debate.
Wyatt rushed to the royal city to keep his appointment, feeling both apprehensive and delighted. He wasn't sure if this was a sign of peace. Perhaps after this debate was over, the two old men could sit down and have a good talk...
But now, even though they were close to falling out, Wyatt still understood his old friend's strong sense of self-esteem. To have him appear before the world with such a face that represented stupidity and failure was even more painful than killing him.
The owl on the platform was silent for a moment, but then he grabbed the heavy hood and slowly pulled it off. Everyone craned their necks, staring intently at his face, wanting to see what secrets were hidden inside.
The crowd fell silent.
...That’s it?
It was the face of an old man, his gray eyebrows like two tufts of stubborn feathers, his nose high and almost arrogant, but his eyes were surprisingly bright, flashing with a glint almost like a mischievous child. Even with a stern face, he still seemed ready to hatch some kind of mischief.
Besides that, his facial features still vaguely showed the brilliance of his youth. The carefully trimmed short beard on his chin looked like a short strand of silver moss, twitching playfully as he spoke. "Although I don't understand why you must stare at my old face - but are you satisfied, Lord Valerian? Or were you expecting something more dramatic?"
Valerian's expression froze. The intelligence had clearly mentioned that the owl had been cursed by the goddess of fate, its face twisted like a misplaced Rubik's Cube. But now, aside from a slightly hoarse and odd voice, the old man standing on the dais appeared to be a spirited old gentleman.
He even looks more energetic than the old and frail Pope.
Wyatt's eyes suddenly widened in the audience, and his lips trembled. After a long time, his eyes gradually turned red - if Oliver hadn't been ruined in his youth, he would probably look like this now.
"Are you truly Lord Owl? Why do you cover your face then?" Valerian demanded sharply.
"It's none of your business, just a personal hobby." The owl shrugged impatiently. "Seriously, Lord Valerian, do you really have to waste your time on such an insignificant matter? Or are you too guilty to get to the point?"
His voice, carried through the thunder horn throughout the square, carried a hoarse sarcasm. Compared to the solemnity of the Vatican, this strange old man was obviously more interesting, and the crowd immediately burst into laughter, and some young people took the opportunity to whistle.
Azuka, standing in the crowd, calmly withdrew his fingers. No one present, except those who knew about it, noticed the gentle breeze that brushed their eyes.
The owl's facial distortion stems from a distortion of its soul, a soul so fragile that even a single movement would kill it. Therefore, the god cast a massive spell of confusion, targeting tens of thousands of people, a spell that he had painstakingly researched. Now, all who saw the owl were seeing an illusion he had fabricated based on images of the owl's youth and his memories—and this audience naturally included those he and the professor sought, such as the "weaver" who had lured the owl to him to break the spell.
...There was no need to go through so much trouble. Azuka looked at the black-haired young man beside him with a gentle expression. The other party was raising his head and quietly watching the high-spirited owl on the podium.
Although he himself would not admit it, his professor was actually a... rather soft-hearted person. Let's just think of it as them jointly creating a fantasy for this aging bird of prey, in which it bravely rushed towards death with the most calm and solemn attitude.
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