Chapter 60 Trust
“It’s going to be tough.”
The professor calmly shook the newspaper in his hand, not even looking up. The front-page headline, in bold, eye-catching font, read "Unprecedented!" Below it was the news: "The largest coal concentrate mine in history, the 'Silver Flower Mine' in Black County, grandly opened. The Queen was in attendance," accompanied by a candid "photo" of the Queen sitting in the viewing platform.
Everyone around was clapping and smiling, and some even leaned over to say something to the queen. However, she didn't have even the slightest polite smile on her face. She looked sharply at the sorcerer who was responsible for taking the photo. Her sharp eyes seemed to be able to pierce through the paper and tear apart everything that stood in her way.
Clearly, the author intends to highlight the underlying dynamics. The report mentions that major mine owners and business tycoons from across the country will compete for a 30% stake in the Silver Flower Mine at its initial auction. The most competitive contenders are Earl of Farm and the far-flung "Protector" company. The former boasts extensive experience and deep pockets, owning several large and diverse mines; the latter is a recent up-and-coming company, having identified numerous emerging business opportunities in the coal ore sector with its shrewd investment acumen, making it a dark horse in this fiercely competitive auction.
The professor's voice still held a slight morning rasp, but the subject of his conversation seemed completely unrelated to breakfast. "It's obvious that if a god wants to constantly observe the world, he must pay a price—like parting with a fragment of his soul. This also means that he can't gain much information from the so-called 'comics.'"
——When they first met, the eyes of the High Priest of the Sea God and the Virgin Etilo contained fragments of gods with a certain degree of intelligence; after being swallowed by a fragment of the God of Lust, Apatera and Bishop Miller needed to go through a descent ceremony to ask the gods to judge whether they were the chosen ones.
"Since the gods' prying eyes come at a price, their appearances come at a price, and their communication with their believers comes at a price, just as the dead cannot easily influence the living, for gods to connect with the living world, they must consume an irreplaceable, expensive, and limited energy, most likely the soul itself..."
The black-haired young man lowered his eyes indifferently, holding his coffee cup as he turned a page in the newspaper. "So, without sufficient incentive, the gods won't easily reveal themselves, just like a mouse won't come out of its hole until it smells cheese."
"So you don't agree with my idea?" another person in the room asked softly.
"No, you can give it a try." The professor raised his eyelids and looked at him.
"It's bold and crude enough, but also useful enough. I'm very concerned about some issues... If we can obtain a fragment of a sapient god, we can get a lot of answers. What we have to do now is to think about how to set a mousetrap and a piece of tempting 'cheese'——"
He finished the last of his coffee, put down the newspaper, and stood up, his cup making a soft clatter on the table. "Or we could just block the other exits and inject poisonous smoke into the rat's hole, forcing it to flee."
The one favored by God was silent for a while, then suddenly laughed softly.
"Ore said I was a complete lunatic."
There was shock, anger, questioning, dissuasion, and then the expected unpleasant ending.
He stepped forward, picked up a tie draped over the back of a chair, and focused on fastening it. The professor's attention was completely focused on what he was saying, subconsciously raising his chin to allow him to move. The blue veins on his tense neck were clearly visible, and from time to time, he would gently touch the back of another person's finger.
Nova frowned. "So what are your observations? Is there a fragment of the god living in Ore Asaqi's body?"
According to the Savior, the Divine Seal is the slave mark of God - but the major sects described these things vaguely, only mentioning that those who obtained the Divine Seal were sufficiently "devout" believers, and began to be vague about the specific functions and forms, so Nova could only judge for himself.
Between the eyebrows of the High Priest of the Sea God, on the side of the neck of the Virgin of Etilo... at least judging by the two existing specimens, the gods choose those who possess divine seals to inhabit. Ore Asaqi, bearing the seal of Samuel, the god of night and death, is also a suspicious candidate for divine inhabitation—this is one of the reasons why the Savior was previously reluctant to involve his companions.
Another thing is that the professor lowered his eyes indifferently and sorted out the documents needed for the open class.
What exactly is the Chosen One? What are the criteria for determining one? Could Orel and Marshilin also be the Chosen One?
His teaching assistant smiled calmly and took the lesson plan and notebook from him. "I've observed his soul and found nothing unusual besides the divine seal—but I can't be completely sure."
"The bait has been laid. This is a daring hunt." The professor made his final comments. "Let's go. Students from the Saint Bartholomew School of Magicians are also attending today's open class."
Personal open classes are a long-standing and famous tradition of Baita University. They support free communication and exchanges between teachers and students from all departments of the university, and sometimes allow people from other schools to attend classes for a fee.
For example, tickets for the personal open class of Dels Rabelais, the dean of the seminary at Baita University, were once so hard to come by that many people had to ask the students of the seminary for tickets. There was even a sorcerer who was willing to exchange 100 gold coins for a seat as an auditor.
As for Mr. Brody, the newly appointed professor, his open class had only been met with controversy within the academic community. Dean Rabelais was reluctant to assign him a student from the Saint Bartholomew School of Magic. He knew his student's lack of reverence for the gods would easily anger the magicians, who equated gods, or power, with life itself. Furthermore, since most of the students at Saint Bartholomew School of Magic were children of the rich and powerful, any trouble would be disastrous.
However, Mr. "Owl", the president of the Okansele Society and the president of Baita University, sent him a letter at this juncture.
"If they seek power, they must learn to use their long-abandoned brains to think," the mysterious president wrote in the letter. "The Oakenseller Society will do its utmost to protect every scholar who seeks truth and knowledge. And just by looking at the way Mr. Brody pointed his finger at Mr. Reid and scolded him, you know that your student has long inherited your will and is by no means a rule-abiding, cautious, and mediocre person."
The other party clearly intended to use his student as a sharp weapon against the Vatican. After receiving the letter, Rabelais tossed and turned all night, and early the next morning he rushed to consult with someone. He encountered his beloved student, looking ill, huddled on the sofa wrapped in a thin blanket. His "assistant" was tidying his personal bookshelf while chatting with others, occasionally glancing over with a strange look that gave the old man a chill.
"Then let them come."
After driving out the irrelevant people, the uneasy student learned his purpose and slowly turned a page of the book in his hand: "I know what I can say and what I can't say."
——Otherwise, it might be his teacher who was forced to be caught between the Oakenselle Society and the Holy See.
"It's not just a matter of a public lecture." Rabelais was irritated by his nonchalant attitude. With his intelligence, he couldn't fail to understand the stakes involved, yet he acted completely indifferent to his own safety. "To put it simply, what if some warlock who dislikes you tries to knock you out while you're walking down the street?"
"Oh, you're worried about that—it's no problem, Azuka is a warlock too."
Thinking of that beautiful, holy, and innocent face, Rabelais's mouth twitched, and he asked with a stern face, "What can he do? Help you scream for help?"
He couldn't even do the basic job of taking care of others, and he was irrationally angry in his heart, completely unaware that in terms of age, his beloved disciple was the older one.
The annoying student continued to argue, "He's very strong, teacher. No worse than those students from Saint Bartholomew's School of Warlocks."
The old man glared at the student, who seemed to have lost his mind, with a headache. He repeated, if he didn't know that the other person was wholeheartedly devoted to academics—this "wholehearted" would even be questionable now. But he was certain of one thing: the other person clearly had ulterior motives.
——That is definitely not the look you give your employer or your best friend.
"That guy's origins are unclear, his identity is unknown, and you've only been together for a few months." Dean Rabelais emphasized with a cold face, "Where does your trust in him come from?"
Gentle, patient, humble...even he had heard of the good reputation he had received among the faculty and students at the school. According to his own students, why would a young sorcerer with high emotional intelligence and talent stay in the seminary, wasting his talents, while the usually perceptive students ignored these questionable treatments?
It can't be just based on looks - but based on my understanding of the students, they are not stupid people who are blinded by lust, right?
The black-haired young man was silent suspiciously.
"I can't say for now," he said, choosing his words carefully. "But I can assure you that the connection between him and me isn't simply one of sentimentality, but one based on mutual interests. He's someone I can trust."
"...interests. What kind of interests can a commoner's son who escaped from the slave market have with you?"
It sounded like a big problem. Rabelais even regretted his soft-heartedness. Thinking that his beloved disciple, who was a loner and had always been alone, would find it helpful to have a good friend to talk to, he agreed to the other party's request.
"Professor, please let me explain." The door was pushed open, and the other protagonist at the center of the topic appeared at the door, calmly interrupting the somewhat stagnant air between the two parties.
"Kid, it's not polite to hide at the door and eavesdrop on private conversations." The old man was frightened and glared at him with a fierce face.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Rabelais, it's just that the wind automatically tells me all the information." The man closed the door again and explained in a good-tempered manner, but Rabelais felt that the other person seemed a little different.
He still looked gentle and calm, but a faint majesty blurred his overly handsome face, which made people feel an instinctive awe.
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