Chapter 375 Fatal
"...So why is this guy here?!"
Ole stared in shock at the bard who had inexplicably appeared in the tyrant's office. The bard was still dressed in the same gaudy and colorful clothes, occupying the sofa as a matter of course, sipping his teacup elegantly with his little finger raised, as if he was a big, arrogant parrot that suddenly flew in from the window.
Upon hearing this, the other party looked the assassin up and down, then revealed a stiff and exaggerated fake smile that looked extremely malicious no matter how you looked at it.
"The tyrant's men."
The professor, who was working at his desk, didn't even raise his eyes, completely unaware of how much stimulation this couple caused to the second male lead.
"What?! I knew it!" Ole almost jumped up when he heard that.
In his previous life, the mysterious prophet had made many famous predictions, especially those that successfully predicted the deaths of several important figures. He quickly became extremely famous. Many people regarded his words as the golden rule, and many important figures sought his divination. Even the old royal family was willing to treat him as a guest of honor.
However, this person's whereabouts were erratic, and his temper was notoriously erratic. When he predicted the deaths of Cassius II and Esmeralda, the three of them had previously encountered him. After finally finding him and trying to gain some information, they only managed to get a few specious words before the great prophet rudely dismissed him.
At the time, Maxine had been complaining about Orel's bad attitude and misjudgment for treating him like a liar—and now she was telling him that this guy was actually the tyrant's man?!
The old king was killed by a tyrant. He shot an arrow first and then drew a target. The so-called "prophecy" must be accurate as it can be. When he learned the news that Cassius II and Esmeralda were killed, he was truly amazed that this person really had some skills.
...Wait, that's not right, could it be that this Magnus has also been reborn?!
That's enough, Orel thought warily. Isn't it enough for the tyrant to have a Graven Worif by his side? The concentration of the villain camp is simply too high!
"Don't say that, Your Majesty." Magnus, who had shamelessly managed to beg for a cup of tea, corrected him mysteriously, "The 'Great Prophet' is the Mad King's loyal subordinate, and I am just a poor man who was inexplicably caught up in it."
He had no intention of selling himself to others in this life, the bard vowed, thinking that it would be enough to have the experience of working hard, exhausting all his energy, and even harming another self for someone else just once.
"...I've already clearly expressed my displeasure with this title," the professor said expressionlessly. "Call me Your Majesty again, and I'll have the 'Reverent God of Resistance and Change' beat you."
Magnus: "..."
His face couldn't help showing a subtle expression, like an old man sitting in a rocking chair reminiscing about the past, but he still responded with a smile under Ole's eyes looking at the warrior: "No problem, sweetheart, all up to you-"
The bard's figure suddenly lurched, and the next second he appeared on top of the bookshelf. He touched his head, still resting obediently on his neck, and patted his chest in shock, "Oh, that was a close call—we can talk it over, everything can be discussed. Why did you just start fighting without saying a word?"
He was a "weak" prophet, and even though he was already a saint, he couldn't defeat either of the two warlocks present.
Azuka slowly withdrew his hand and stood behind the professor with obvious support, staring at the bard's increasingly stiff face with a half-smile and dangerous eyes.
Magnus immediately put away his frivolous look and asked seriously, "Mr. Ghost, what do you want me to do?"
"First," the smoky grey eyes fixed on him coldly, "get off my bookshelf."
“…”
"Secondly, regarding the deal between the Protector Company and the gods, I'd like you to investigate for me." The professor handed over a detailed file on the Protector Company that the People's Party had currently obtained, tapping the paper with his pen. As the god of prophecy, Magnus and the Old Gods were naturally on opposing sides. Furthermore, this guy needed their help, so why not use his free labor?
Magnus hopped lightly from the bookshelf, not even a feather ruffled from his hat. He cast a sour glance at the imposing god standing behind the black-haired young man, took the information, quickly glanced through it, and then sighed exaggeratedly: "Oh, oh, so new to this job and having to do all this offensive, dirty work. It's true that the old are just not as good as the new... But who can blame me for being soft-hearted? I can't bear to see a charming beauty like you frown—"
Before he finished speaking, he skillfully retracted his neck and narrowly avoided the wind blade that silently cut through his head.
"That's settled then." The professor lowered his head and wrote something on a piece of paper. "I want to see a detailed report appear on my desk in a week."
"A week?!" Magnus exclaimed immediately, "Dear Mr. Ghost, do you think I'm omniscient and omnipotent? Tracking the trajectory of fate takes a lot of effort!"
"Are you going to do it or not?" The black-haired young man raised his eyes and glanced at him impatiently.
Magnus: "..."
Magnus made a humiliating sound: "Fuck."
There was no way around it. He was still completely confused about the concept of "becoming a god," and he felt like he was headed straight for some big pit. Whether it was the curse of the goddess of fate or the mission given to him by the "world," he needed the help of these two.
"Alright, alright. One week is all it takes. It's my honor to serve you." Magnus bowed pretentiously, his figure gradually fading into the shadows, leaving only his rhythmic voice echoing in the room. "I'll be off to serve your great cause now. I hope that next time we meet, you'll be a little more courteous to your hardworking prophet... Farewell, everyone!"
The bard ran away in grief and anger. Orel crossed his arms over his chest, staring at the tyrant sitting at the desk and his good friend standing behind him, his brows raised higher and higher.
"...What are you doing?" The professor finally looked up unhappily at his stare. "If you have something to say, just say it."
"There's something wrong with you two." The assassin looked at him suspiciously, then at Azuka. "I can't put my finger on it, but something's just not right."
There had always been an air of intimacy between these two, but now it seemed even more... intimate? He hesitated, thinking that such a light and airy word wasn't even enough to describe the thing that seemed to have been born from the storm of destructive thunder.
Azuka raised an eyebrow slightly, was this just a fool's intuition?
"Because I know something," he replied calmly, "and I think you and Marcyline should know it too."
Even if his professor probably didn't care, the sacrifices that person made, the slander he suffered, and the suffering he endured should never be so silently drowned by the tide of time.
...At least those who have benefited from it should not continue to take it for granted that they are ignorant.
"How are the Marquis Ravel and Theodore Luca's confessions going?" the professor suddenly interrupted them. He pursed his lips slightly, looking a little uncomfortable.
The change of topic was so abrupt and awkward that Ole raised an eyebrow and exchanged a glance with his friend. But he suppressed his doubts and answered honestly, "There's nothing more to be learned from those two. The key culprit has been identified—that fellow Theodore Luca has been clamoring to surrender to you."
"Very good. Prepare for a public trial in Osiris City." The black-haired young man spoke calmly, deciding the man's fate in just a few words: "Expose all their crimes to the public, especially their dealings with the 'Asylum' company—and then execute them publicly."
He pondered for a moment, then continued, "We'll publish the conclusions of our investigations in the major mining areas in the newspapers. We'll announce that the Limin Party is offering a reward to anyone who can cure or alleviate the 'rot' caused by coal ore. We're calling on all major mining areas nationwide to suspend coal ore mining. All coal ore mines in the Ming area must be shut down immediately. Affected miners will be rehoused, and those already ill will be taken in for treatment. Azuka will be responsible for this."
"Is it so serious?" Ole frowned. You know, coal concentrate mining is a huge expense.
"...I hope I'm just overreacting." The professor took off his glasses and rubbed his forehead wearily. "There are only a few coal mines in the entire country, especially in Black County. The People's Party is very powerful, so if they are truly determined to control it, it's manageable. The problem is that coal products are already spread throughout the upper class, and coal weapons have already been used on the battlefield. The exact impact still requires experimental data to support it."
Moreover, once the report is released, it will be equivalent to drawing a sword to behead the "Protector" company that started with coal and even the royal family behind it - it is conceivable that it will be another fierce battle.
"Don't worry," Azuka stroked his hair gently and promised softly, "I'll make sure everything is under control."
"...In my experience, you'll never make a fuss about nothing," the assassin muttered awkwardly. "So just give the order, and we'll take care of the rest."
The professor was silent for a moment, then lowered his eyes slightly. He spoke calmly and gently, a rare gesture that could only be described as gentle: "I know. I trust you, as always."
Azuka was fine, but Ole slowly opened his eyes and couldn't help but take a step back. An imperceptible blood color gradually spread across his dark face.
...It's just terrible. The assassin couldn't help swallowing his saliva and stammered, "Then, I'll go get busy first. Call me if you need anything—"
Then he fled the tyrant's office in a hurry, his steps were so unsteady that he even forgot to climb out the window.
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