Chapter 64 Appearance
In the end, the matter ended up in the principal's office.
The real headmaster, Mr. Owl, was always elusive and no one expected him to stay in school. The vice-headmaster, Gibson Wyatt, was a kind, fat-bellied old man who always smiled, but now his face was wrinkled like a bitter melon.
"Classmates, the purpose of holding open classes is to allow teachers and students from different schools to communicate and exchange ideas. Even if there are disagreements or conflicts, everyone should talk it out rationally and amicably. You can't just go out and hit people after class. Most of the students and teachers in our school are ordinary people. How can they withstand the punches and kicks of the warlock students from Saint Bartholomew? Don't you agree?"
Amid Master Fam's cries of "They're trying to kill me!", the Vice President continued his nagging expressionlessly, "Of course, Professor Brody, I have to criticize you too. How can you let students from other schools run away on their own during class? They're unfamiliar with the place. You should at least ask a free classmate from our school to take them on a tour of Baita University. They'll relax and enjoy their studies. For example, the clock tower at Baita University has a very long history. The sculptures on it date back to the late 18th century..."
The professor stared at him indifferently as he talked nonsense, which made the vice-president suspicious. Fortunately, the other party did not spoil the show, but just lowered his eyes expressionlessly.
Old sly guy! Little Bartman on the side couldn't help cursing in his heart. This damn old man was as slippery as a loach. He talked about a lot of things here and there, and just brushed off the key part with a "disagreement". He never mentioned anything about the "Inquisition".
"Damn old man!"
Someone actually shouted out his inner complaints in public. Little Batman stared at Bill Fam, who seemed not yet completely sober, in horror. The man staggered in front of the vice-principal, and his bloodshot eyes almost touched the other's nose.
"Don't fart here and try to get away with it." He grabbed the vice-president's collar and gnashed his teeth viciously: "It was your professor who first spoke wildly and blasphemed in public, and then tried to kill me, a distinguished Fam - do you want to make enemies with the Fam family?"
The man ripped open his collar, which looked like rotten pickles, and pointed at the scratch marks on his neck that were turning purple. "Look, look! I almost died! It's all because of him!"
Azuka stared at the finger pointing at the professor, narrowing his eyes slightly, and then the guy seemed to realize something, shuddered, and couldn't help but put his hand down.
——The animal's survival instinct allowed him to save himself once.
"Excuse me, Mr. Brody is an ordinary person, and you are a sorcerer - do you want to accuse an ordinary person of almost breaking your neck?" The dean of the seminary who came to protect his son said coldly.
"And that teaching assistant beside him, he's a sorcerer, right? Or maybe they both have some magical tools on them, anything—" Bill Fam irritably loosened the vice-principal's collar. Even though he was drunk to the point of confusion, he could never forget the chilling fear of falling into the abyss. However, after waking up, the only scars on his body were caused by his own scratches.
You know, he still has the "Guardian of Angie". If someone really breaks through the protective magic device, it means that the caster's level is at least above the junior Lord Prayer Warlock.
It was said that the damned heretic was an ordinary person. Could it be that the stunningly beautiful teaching assistant was a Lord's Prayer-level sorcerer? This was impossible. He looked too young. He must have some strange scroll or magical tool on him.
The unfoundedly accused teaching assistant calmly recounted the crime scene: "The professor and I were sorting through our lecture notes when Mr. Fam suddenly barged in, reeking of alcohol. He kicked over some tables and chairs, yelling and trying to attack the professor. I summoned the wind to lift a table to block him, and he fell down."
"Neck?" The handsome young man lowered his eyes and thought for a moment. His eyelashes fluttered gently in the light, making him look soft and harmless. "It was so chaotic at the time that I didn't pay much attention to it. But I heard that drunk people tend to feel hot and try to pull open their collars and take off their clothes. They may also feel itchy all over..."
He looked at the black-haired young man who was so impatient that he was about to beat a rhythm with his fingers on his arm: "Professor, have you noticed Mr. Fam's neck?"
The other party replied coldly, "It's obvious that I don't have the energy to pay attention to those details when I'm desperately trying to dig holes to save my life."
Bill Farm was immediately furious: "You——"
You're bullshit! He wanted to yell, but for some reason he couldn't say anything. It was as if something in the dark was warning him to stop. He turned to the teaching assistant and said helplessly and furiously, "What level of warlock are you?! Do you have any magical tools on you?"
"Intermediate Apostle." The other man pulled out a warlock-level qualification certificate issued by the local government—when did this guy get a fake certificate? Nova couldn't help but glance at him—and smiled sheepishly: "I just got it, so I'm sure it won't be as good as those at the Saint Bartolomeo Warlock Academy."
The vast majority of students at the Saint Bartholomew School of Magicians, who were still at the junior and intermediate apostle levels, were like: "..."
Damn, is this another Percy Brody-esque genius?!
"As for the magic tools..." The other party blinked innocently. "Like the cufflinks on your sleeves? I've seen similar magic tools in a magic tool shop, but they're too expensive. I'd have to work for Mr. Brody for ten years to afford them."
The professor who never paid anyone: "..."
He said expressionlessly, "I'm so sorry, let alone your salary, even if I added all my salary, I still wouldn't be able to afford it in ten years."
So the matter seemed to have come to a conclusion. No one believed the testimony of a drunkard with a terrible reputation. Bill Fam stood there, panting. No one knew what strange ideas burst out of his alcohol-soaked mind. Without any warning, he suddenly raised his hand, and his cufflinks suddenly burst into a dazzling light.
"——Light Punishment!"
Several chains as thick as silver snakes appeared in the room in an instant. Percy had used this trick on little Bartman before, but these chains were obviously thicker and larger, and their aura was even more terrifying. They smashed straight towards the professor.
The eyes of the God-favored One suddenly turned cold. This was a spell of the Lord's Prayer level.
The divine soul fragment within the Professor is triggered when the enemy is on the verge of death, a secret that cannot be revealed. The Savior himself does not wish to expose his power to the public too soon, but he also cannot conceal it too much, lest it become useless. One reason is that his own forces are still relatively undeveloped, and he does not want to attract the true monsters too early. As a fellow Saint, he is not afraid of single combat, but what if someone targets those close to him, or those close to them? Can he protect them at all times?
And that secret peeping from the corner of the ceiling that appears as soon as you enter the office...
Countless bloody and chilling plans emerged in his mind, then were overturned and reorganized, until they were eliminated one by one and turned into the final obsession - but this time it was not his turn to take action. Someone made a light click in mid-air, and then the chains made of light disappeared without a trace. Bill Fam flew out, knocked a big hole in the wall, and then lay on the ground and fainted without a word.
A person suddenly appeared from mid-air. As the dust gradually settled, everyone was shocked to find that the other person actually had an owl head - uh, no, the person seemed to be wearing a furry owl headgear, with two yellow gems embedded in his face as eyes. Not even a strand of hair could be seen.
"It stinks of alcohol—Gibson, how come I didn't know the school had started working as a wine cellar part-time?" The visitor, holding a brass cane, asked with disgust in a hoarse, sharp, and almost age-defying voice, freeing his hand to vigorously wave the air around his nose.
"Oh, Mr. Owl! How come you have time to come here today?" Gibson Wyatt smiled with wrinkles on his face. He patted his wrinkled collar and walked towards him happily.
Mr. Owl, President of the Oakensale Society and President of White Tower University. Nova had only seen him from a distance a few times, at opening ceremonies, and not every year. This was his first time facing this mysterious leader of the society up close. He studied him with interest, then keenly noticed that the God's Favored Person beside him quietly adjusted his stance, shielding him behind him.
...Wait, could this Mr. Owl be a saint?
According to the gods' favored ones, with the disappearance of the gods—idea peddlers, as Nova labeled them—the practice of sorcerers has become increasingly difficult. While followers of the four major gods can still manage to practice, many sorcerers who believe in other gods have fallen on hard times, even leading to many lurid tragedies.
For example, in the mid-to-late last century, the "weavers", believers of the goddess of fate, almost controlled the operation of the country. No matter what happened, the whole country relied on them to peek into the direction of fate and weave a future that was either happy or sad.
But after confirming the goddess's death, as time passed, the original group of "weavers" discovered that the number of believers who could glimpse the direction of fate dwindled, until none remained. So they gouged out their eyes, cut out their tongues, and pierced their eardrums, forever refusing to speak, see, or hear. The occasional believers of the goddess of fate who appeared were subsequently labeled lunatics.
As for becoming a warrior? While mid- to low-level warriors are indeed plentiful, the higher one's cultivation, the more despairingly difficult it becomes. Unlike the soul, the human body seems inherently unable to resonate strongly with ideals. While there are still a few powerful sorcerers above the Lord's Prayer level, there are almost none.
Therefore, the birth of each Saint was a huge shock to the Ambrose Continent. According to official records, there were currently three living Saints in the Silver Iris Empire: Pope Sabrich of the Radiant Church, Sandro, the Guardian of the Royal Court, and Saint Lencebe, who was the only warrior among the three and served in the Northern City.
In addition, there was a Saint in the Far North nation of Forlos, and two high-level Lord Prayer Warlocks in the Southern Gray Alliance had the potential to achieve Sainthood. Of course, there might also be some Saints who were hiding their identities and unwilling to serve any one faction.
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