Chapter 50 Storm
The dark-haired young man fell into a cold, dead silence.
After a long pause, he lowered his eyes, picked up the "homemade pen" that had fallen to the corner of the table, and slowly completed the remaining bright red number "4." From the perspective of a divinely favored person, he could only see the sharp brow arches that hid his eyes, leaving only the cold, hard nose and the tightly pursed corners of his mouth.
"There's no logical error whatsoever." The man's teeth chattered slightly, as if he wanted to gnaw on something—but he held back. "Given the teacher's personality and temper, he won't sit idly by and watch everything."
...It was just too tragic, everything turned out to be the worst possible outcome.
He suddenly brought up a seemingly unrelated topic: "My latest research topic is about Dilga, the god of wanderers and travelers. He is a Karakian—the most typical Karakian, with footprints almost all over the continent of Ambrose."
"So far, I've collected relevant historical records from 37 regions. The records of the Wanderers and the God of Travel vary from region to region, but one point is particularly noteworthy: the more diverse the ethnic groups and the richer the cultural integration, the more magnificent the 'miracles' created by Dilga. These regions are also populated primarily by strangers and wanderers."
"For example, in the border village of Kulkan and the Hamo town, home of the Hamo people, at very similar times and under very similar circumstances, Dilga unleashed almost identical divine punishments in both locations. For driving out and slaughtering the Karak people, in Hamo, Dilga caused dozens of townspeople to lose their way. Even in the bustling city, they couldn't find food or rest. They passed by relatives and friends, but they couldn't follow them. In the end, dozens of townspeople died of exhaustion and hunger."
"And in Kulkan, a local resident robbed a passing Karak and murdered him to silence him. Dirga, who happened to witness the incident, plunged this village, located on the border between the Silver Iris Empire and the fallen Celtic Kingdom, into a fog. No trace of the village could be found, as if it had vanished from the map. Months later, the fog slowly dissipated, and Kulkan, deprived of supplies, was littered with corpses of people who had died of starvation and freezing. Only a few survivors remained, all Karak."
"Did you notice any difference?" The professor's tone was calm, without any fluctuations, sounding monotonous and boring—yet the words he uttered were all the more alarming. "The residents of Hammer clearly committed a more serious offense, yet received a lighter punishment. If this is just an over-interpretation, then there are 26 other similar comparison cases... I wasn't entirely certain at first, but now, perhaps we can draw a conclusion—it's not the god's mood swings, but rather a problem with the other party's abilities."
"--In other words, is it possible that the power of a god is positively correlated with the number of local believers?"
A muffled thunder exploded, and the flickering flame of the kerosene lamp on the corner of the table suddenly jumped and went out completely. But the silver lightning that followed pierced the dim shadows, illuminating half of the pale face and the suppressed and sharp light in its eyes.
He is cold-toned, with skin and hair of the purest colors. Only those eyes, beneath the hard and fragile irises, are the cold and desolate moon, the dazzling fate, and the deepest dawn.
“…”
Azuka walked to the window and closed the sash that was creaking in the wind. Looking out through the glass, dark, crowded clouds rolled and grew on the horizon, like an endless, gray tide.
A summer storm is coming.
"It seems that the me in that world actually made a cameo appearance in Hibersos - but the person who paid the price with my life was not me." Nova sneered, not knowing whether he was mocking the hysteria of the Holy See or laughing at himself.
The ancient Greek mathematician Hippassos of the Pythagorean school was so terrified by his discovery of irrational numbers that it shook the school's foundations, sparking panic among his disciples. His theories were blocked, and anyone who dared to spread them would be buried alive. He himself, unable to resist, leaked his theories, leading to exile and ultimately being caught by his disciples and thrown into the Mediterranean.
"Who knows the results of your research now?" The voice of the God-favored One was very calm, which made people calm down involuntarily.
"Dean Rabelais and a senior student—though the latter doesn't know much. His research direction overlaps with my subject, and I provided him with some reference cases and bibliographies."
While Nova considered himself incredibly gentle and friendly to serious students, only those who could reach Professor Brody were warriors or desperate. The God of Wanderers and Travelers was active for only a brief century, and the historical records were extremely disjointed, much of it written in obscure languages long lost to history. In the entire academic community, the most authoritative, professional, and in-depth researcher was currently Nova Brody.
Coincidentally, this person was the rabbi who was awarded “53 points” and received a blood-red comment.
…
Rabbi Madel, with a sad face, wandered around the door of the theology professor's office, but he couldn't muster the courage to push the door open. From time to time, students and professors passed by and saw where he was, and immediately showed understanding and sympathetic eyes.
Rabbi was not a gifted student. When deciding on his research direction, he had picked the god of wanderers and travelers without thinking, thinking that choosing an obscure god would make it easier to pass the defense. However, when he started researching, he found that it was a nightmare. His advisor was also vague and only asked him to read more literature.
As a commoner, facing the looming high tuition fees due to delayed graduation, the rabbi's poverty overcame his fear. After making inquiries, he discovered he was not the young professor's apprentice. Nevertheless, he trembled as he knocked on the door of his office and stammered his prayer.
To his complete surprise, the notorious professor actually listened attentively to his incoherent and confusing remarks, carefully reviewing his absurdly written first draft. Despite a frightening frown and a cold tone, he patiently provided him with a bibliography and a thick stack of hand-translated documents, even scheduling a meeting with him to discuss his concerns.
The thought of this made the rabbi even more miserable. His uncontrollable nervousness was mixed with deep shame and guilt. Not only had he failed, but Professor Brody had actually marked his paper himself. If he could avoid facing that man's disappointing gaze, he would even have jumped from the school bell tower.
The office door suddenly opened, and the rabbi, still preparing himself mentally, was caught off guard by a pair of blue eyes. He was stunned until the other person took a step back, making room for the corner of the desk behind him. Only then did the rabbi come to his senses, his face instantly flushing.
"Professor, you are free now. Would you like to come in?" The blonde teaching assistant smiled and considerately did not expose the other party's embarrassment, nor did she reveal her displeasure at having her private territory invaded.
After spring break, Professor Brody was once again mired in gossip for his legendary career and his overly beautiful teaching assistant, though the two gossipers paid no attention. The most common sight was the blond foreigner quietly treading a step behind the black-haired young man, a smile in his eyes as bright and clear as the sea in the sun.
This teaching assistant seemed much more approachable than the demon, and soon, enticed by her stunning beauty, students mustered the courage to strike up a conversation. The other person was indeed gentle and friendly, but once Professor Brody came into the conversation, everyone was dragged into a "pleasant conversation" in a daze, unknowingly giving up the initiative. After everyone had left, reluctantly returning to their senses, they were annoyed to discover that the other person hadn't revealed a single useful piece of information.
Some attentive students also noticed that Professor Brody's dress had become noticeably more elegant and refined. Remember, he used to be considered unkempt, with no style other than staying neat and tidy, always wearing the same, unstyled shirt. If it weren't for the faint scent of soapberry you could smell up close, you'd almost suspect he never changed his clothes—but for an aristocrat, buying a bunch of the same clothes and wearing them every day was pretty crazy.
The God-favored One, who had found time to help him put together several outfits, smiled and said nothing. Since he only had to wear the entire outfit in order every day, it was simple and convenient, the professor didn't bother to dwell on it, and tolerated the other person sometimes using him like a puppet to manipulate his body—after all, he couldn't tell the difference between a gray-blue cotton tie and a light blue silk tie.
Incidentally, the God-favored One refused his salary.
"I can't always rely on you for support." The other party declined with a smile, and I don't know when he started bringing things to the dormitory - for example, those sets of clothes were bought by him, and just by looking at the fabric and tailoring, you can tell that they are not cheap.
The professor was very satisfied to find that the male protagonist could support himself.
The clamor outside had no bearing on this office for the time being. Azuka closed the door, and out of the corner of his eye he saw the senior student standing in front of the professor's desk, his head drooping.
"...In fact, even if I were not there, within a few years or even a hundred years, the seminary would have become a victim of the struggle between public wisdom and divine power." On the night of the thunderstorm, the professor suddenly said this while sitting in the shadows as he was about to leave.
It sounds like a subconscious excuse caused by guilt and fear, but the one favored by God knows that this is not the case. The other party has never bothered to cover up his "mistakes".
"Everything has its beginnings. The so-called divine history itself records, studies, and judges the gods from a mortal's perspective—and I am merely a small, not-so-docile trigger. Perhaps this divine punishment will only occupy a few lines in the history books of future generations."
The man looked at him quietly and tiredly, but the savior suddenly felt as if he was allowed to touch the lonely moon.
"But just as jet lamps will gradually replace kerosene lamps; just as magic circles will change from being secret circles reserved for sorcerers to becoming a necessity in daily life; just as the Okensele Society will divide the Church and monopolize higher education, forcing them to open church schools for ordinary people in order to gain a say..."
"As people's minds gradually awaken, the wheel of history rolls forward, unstoppable. All decaying things will eventually return to dust, and dead gods must die." His voice was soft, as if describing a dream. Yet, at the same time, it was remarkably decisive, as if he had witnessed it all: "The old will always stifle the new, but the new will inevitably triumph over the old—Azuka, we already stand at a turning point in history."
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