Chapter 409 Reasonable
Delos Rabelais expected that someone might find something wrong, but an old man is like an old windmill, always having some kind of malfunction, which is not difficult to explain. But he did not expect that his student would be more perceptive and stubborn than he imagined.
The old man clutched his chest and glared angrily at the god who appeared across from the carriage seat.
A few rays of sunlight penetrated the clouds after the rain, and beams of light composed of dust swirled, illuminating half of the facial contours with a beautiful statue-like beauty.
In fact, the other party did not intend to scare him. He just sat there quietly with his legs elegantly crossed, accompanied by the soft breeze - but he was so silent that it gave people the terrifying illusion that "he has actually existed for a long time."
"I'm sorry to interrupt you in such a presumptuous way, Mr. Rabelais," the man said softly and politely, "but the professor is really worried about you. If you don't mind, could you allow me to examine your health?"
Although it was an inquiry, before the old man could react, the soft light representing the detection spell had completely enveloped him.
"you--!"
The old man glared at the man angrily, wanting to swing his cane and hit him on the head. However, his intense emotions caused him to cough violently, and for a moment he had no time to care about the other party's "offense".
Someone wordlessly handed him the water sachet. The blond young god stared at him intently with his striking blue eyes, his brow furrowed in a slight frown of worry. With his gentle yet resolute expression, it was difficult to refuse him. Rabelais clutched his chest and glared at him, but once his coughing subsided, he finally took the water sachet.
Azuka withdrew his hand, his face gradually becoming solemn: "Your body..."
"Not long to live, I know," said Rabelais crossly.
He roughly wiped the corner of his mouth with his sleeve, his expression remarkably calm. "It's a rot caused by jet, who knows? Those old bastards in the Vatican and the Royal Court who are addicted to jet products don't have it. A poor teacher like me, after all my thought, would just run into someone and slam the table and argue, or occasionally come into contact with the photo stone, and yet I was diagnosed like this - but fate is such a disgusting thing, there's nothing you can do when it hits you."
"…There is currently no cure for 'Rot'." The Savior whispered.
Even he could only alleviate the symptoms, not to mention that this was an old man whose physical functions were already very fragile.
"Of course, otherwise why would you put a reward for a healer in the newspaper?" The old man rolled his eyes and even tried to comfort him, "Okay, don't look like that. Old guys are all going to die, it's just a matter of sooner or later."
He took a deep breath and stared at the god in front of him with a serious and sharp look: "Since you have seen it, I will tell you directly - don't tell him."
“…”
"You've deliberately passed through Ironthorn Territory and brought your army here to rest. You won't stay long. You're going to fight the Ferros people somewhere." The old man's eyes gleamed brightly, like the last spark of a dying candle. "He has to face two powerful enemies, the Imperial Army and Ferros. How much pressure must he be under? I don't want to hold him back, and I don't want him to work so hard while trying to prolong my suffering, which is doomed to end. Why bother?"
Seeing no one talking, Rabelais simply leaned back on the cushions of the carriage seat and said, "Besides, my old bones don't have much time left to live, so of course I have to use my last moments wisely."
"Bai Ta University is everything to me. My students are all there. I'll teach them whatever I can, and I'll arrange whatever I can..." A rare hint of fatigue and self-mockery appeared in his voice. "I'd rather die now than just lie there and wait for death, watching my students wait on me like this, an old fool."
Azuka looked at him in silence.
He didn't say any nonsense like "be optimistic" or "it will get better", but just said softly: "...but it would be cruel to him, Mr. Rabelais."
"It's really, really cruel."
"You should know that he has almost no blood relatives now." A gentle yet profound compassion emerged on the blond young man's face. "So many people have left him along the way, so many have drifted away from him. I'm sure you also have a sense of how much he values and cares about you."
"What if one day he suddenly discovered that the man he respected most, the man who was like a teacher and a father to him, chose to hide his last days from him, lying alone on his sickbed, enduring terrible pain until he died in pain and loneliness, and he knew nothing of it..." Azuka's voice gradually faded, with an almost tangible, heart-wrenching power: "Will this unspeakable grief and self-blame bring him deeper and more lasting damage than he already feels? Can you really bear to watch him curl up in front of your grave, breaking down and crying uncontrollably?"
The muscles on the old man's cheek twitched uncontrollably. For a moment, the carriage fell silent, and the only sound was the rumbling of the wheels on the gravel road.
"...You are really good at manipulating emotions." Rabelais admitted reluctantly, "He is so dependent on you that he asked you to persuade me."
"I beg your pardon for any offense I have just taken, Mr. Rabelais," the Savior's voice returned to its gentleness and politeness. "But regarding your student, my lover, we are always on the same page."
"We all love him dearly and want to do our utmost to protect him," he said softly and thoughtfully, "but love doesn't mean you can make decisions for him. I hope you can at least give him a chance, let him have the right to know, and don't let him spend the rest of his life in irreparable regret."
The old man didn't say anything.
For a god to be so humble as to do this for someone else was, in his opinion, truly a sincere and dedicated effort. Rabelais could not help but abruptly avoid the other person's gaze and gaze at the scene speeding past the car window... Until then, he suddenly realized that something seemed wrong. The scene was becoming more and more familiar.
Damn it, this wasn't even the way to White Tower University! This guy had pulled some kind of trick to forcefully send him back to Brody's mansion in Ironthorn Territory!
The old man turned his head in frustration, wanting to hit the god on the head with his cane again: "You——!"
"I'm sorry, it's the professor's order." The other man blinked helplessly and gave a perfectly apologetic smile, which seemed to Rabelais to be asking for a beating. "You know, I can never disobey his wishes."
But all the anger and annoyance came to an abrupt end when he saw the student's gray eyes.
The black-haired young man was standing against the light, and the expression on his face was not very clear, but his lips were tightly pursed, revealing a kind of panic and grievance that seemed quite helpless, which made the old man couldn't help but reach out to him.
"Is it 'rot'?" The professor whispered, holding the warm hand covered with age spots.
This was the most likely explanation for the teacher's absolutist conviction that this was an irreversible and serious illness, leading him to conceal it from him. Seeing that neither of the two people in the carriage spoke, his heart sank, and he felt a chill in his stomach.
He said no more, but reached out his hand to support his mentor and helped him out of the carriage.
"You little brat, you're really messing around." The other person patted his shoulder and pretended to be dissatisfied, trying to change the subject: "Aren't you two ashamed to gang up on an old man like me?"
"You can hit me on the head with your cane if you like," said the professor expressionlessly.
After helping the old man to sit slowly in the armchair in the study, he stood beside him for a while, as if enduring something unbearable. Suddenly he took a deep breath, and his chest heaved violently.
"When did you find out?" he asked calmly.
Rabelais tried to avoid those gray eyes that made him reluctant to look directly at them, stared at the other man's overcrowded desk, and replied stiffly: "Not long."
"teacher."
"Half a year ago, okay?" the old man finally muttered in despair. "You really can't hide anything from me. You've used all your cleverness on your teacher!"
The other party did not retort, but just held the armrest silently, his fingers so hard that they turned bluish-white.
Rabelais could not bear to see him like this, and felt a pang of pain in his heart.
"Okay, okay, don't be like that." He straightened up and poked the student's forehead with his hand. "Birth, aging, sickness, and death are all common. You should be happy. This proves that your teacher is not an immortal old monster."
Drops of the cold yet scalding liquid fell on the back of his hand.
The old man panicked. He had never seen anyone look like this before. It was as if no matter how hard or tiring it was, no matter how much suffering or injustice it had inflicted, his student had never shed a single tear. He frantically searched for a handkerchief. Azuka, standing beside him, silently offered it to him at the right moment. Rabelais glared at him, then rudely smeared it on the student's face.
"Wipe it!" He glared, trying to maintain his dignity as a teacher, but he didn't even know what he was saying: "You've become such a powerful figure, and you're still crying in front of an old man like me. How can you be so embarrassed?"
He stood there motionless, letting the soft handkerchief cover his face. Azuka gently held his shoulders, which seemed to give him some kind of silent strength, enough to support him to make normal sounds again.
"Then I'm your student, too," the young man retorted stubbornly, though his voice trembled unconcealably. "I think it's perfectly reasonable to have such an outburst of emotion at this moment."
He took a deep breath and pulled off the handkerchief on his face. "I'm sorry, teacher. I really shouldn't have asked you to comfort me at this time. I'm thinking about how to develop a treatment plan for you..."
"But what should I do?" The gray eyes looked at him helplessly: "I find that I can't seem to control my emotions."
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