Chapter 85: Newspaper
On the dark coastline, a cone of light illuminated a man with bare feet and slightly curly black hair soaked by seawater, clinging to his pale, thin face.
"Here we are again, pathetic fugitives." He turned his face to the side, like a drowned man, gray sand covering his irises.
"...I just want to take a walk along the coast," the professor heard himself say.
"Ah, walk around, pick up some pretty shells along the way, kick the smelly mollusk remains back into the sea, and then everything will be quiet again." The face that looked exactly like his sneered mockingly: "You're always like this, aren't you? Pointing fingers and watching from the sidelines."
The professor opened his mouth, only to find he couldn't argue. The words and thoughts he was so adept at flowing freely froze at that moment. A bone-chilling cold stung his chest. The datura seeds in his stomach sprouted, growing out of his mouth and nose, trapping him tightly at the edge of the dark, desolate ocean.
“You want something but you’re not willing to actually do something about it—out of arrogance, out of incompetence, out of fear.”
The sounds seemed to be coming from deeper under his feet. He lowered his head and could not see his bare feet, only the tide gradually rising above his chest.
“The world changes you, you can’t change the world.”
"The wave swallows you, you cannot swallow the wave."
"The pain tears at you, and you cannot tear at the pain."
——Even so, will you become the small boat that sails alone into the depths of the dark ocean?
The immense pain of drowning caused him to snap his eyes open. Someone was tightly covering his mouth and nose, and the black-haired young man subconsciously struggled violently, clawing and clawing at the hand that was suffocating him to death. However, he soon lost his strength, and only vaguely caught a glimpse of a pair of eyes that were turning from light gold to blue.
...But the blue is so gentle, he thought dazedly in the painful dizziness and trance brought about by lack of oxygen.
——It seemed that no matter what, when he had nowhere to retreat, he would always be able to drown in the waves under the setting sun without struggling, turning into a wet and quiet corpse, allowing the sea water to wrap and wash away his extremely exhausted soul.
"Shh, shh, be quiet..." said the owner of the blue eyes, "Relax, I won't hurt you..."
Only after the weak struggles gradually died down did he release his hands that were covering the other person's mouth and nose, allowing the other person to gasp and cough violently in his arms.
He stroked his thin back, feeling the rapid, helpless tremors of a wounded beast. The skin on the back of his neck was moist, smooth, and cold, like the thick slurry of a moon falling into the wasteland, or the mist that solidified on a broken statue. He felt like he was hugging a dying child, and the sudden, uncontrollable, gentle sorrow that welled up from deep within his chest made him hold him tighter, gently stroking the protruding bones with his fingers through the thin layer of clothing.
"You were breathing so hard just now, as if you couldn't breathe air." The Savior whispered, not mentioning how he discovered the unusual pain that his enemy was suffering in his sleep.
After a long silence, Azuka heard the man explain coldly, "Respiratory alkali poisoning caused by hyperventilation can be relieved by repeated breath holding or breathing through a paper bag. You did a good job."
The other person seemed very tired and slowly rested his forehead on his shoulder. Noticing his pause, he added in a low voice, "It's just some basically harmless sequelae, don't worry."
——Central nervous system diseases can directly stimulate the respiratory center and cause hyperventilation.
The God's Favored One remained silent, simply continuing to pat his nemesis's back, even kneading the back of his neck as if soothing a stressed cat. The creature had been lying obediently in his arms, quiet for a moment before suddenly saying, "I want some coffee."
Azuka: “…”
"It's two o'clock in the morning." He reminded me quietly.
"I know." The man said to him seriously and unreasonably, "But my brain is dizzy now. I need to wake up."
"No, you need to rest." The Savior looked down at him calmly, "Or do you need me to tell you a bedtime story and sing you a lullaby to put you to sleep?"
Ah, what a nostalgic feeling. Some brave kids in the tribe also acted like this and acted spoiled with him - but in the end they were spanked by their parents who couldn't stand it anymore, and went home sobbing and reluctantly.
"...That sounds disgusting."
"Then just go to sleep quietly." The blond magician yawned slightly.
He let go of his hand, pinched his eyebrows, and simply lay down beside the other person.
"I'm right here, not going anywhere."
What might have been considered provocative by a former tyrant was now met with silence. Azuka looked at him. The black-haired young man sat on the bed, his face pale, his lips tightly pursed, staring out the dark window. One hand was clutching his abdomen, veins bulging on the back of his hand, as if there were a huge, constantly leaking hole in his stomach.
"……uncomfortable?"
A pillow was thrown roughly at his face: "Sleep on yours."
Then there was a rustling sound, and another person lay down next to his shoulder, his body wet and cold, like a drowned person. After a long time, he heard the other person's calm and tired announcement.
"I'll do something."
“…No one in the world can stop you, right?” The Savior sighed softly, “Please at least allow me the honor of following you.
He was answered by a cold, clenched hand.
…
"...a newspaper?"
Owl sat behind his desk and looked up at the young man in front of him. "The Oakenseller Society has its own academic journal that publishes the latest academic papers every six months. I remember your papers made the front page several times."
——Every time the other party appeared in a magazine, the number of subscribers for the next issue would double, which really impressed him.
"Academic journals are only circulated among a specific group of people and have a high threshold for understanding for the general public. Academics need media platforms that can be widely disseminated and that they control."
The professor thrust a stack of data charts and report manuscripts at him. These included market research reports, analysis of marketing strategies and pros and cons of major newspapers, newspaper planning and operation plans, and so on. God knows where he'd compiled them from. Even the leader of a prestigious academic organization in another world had never seen the sheer amount of nonsense that 21st-century humans can come up with to secure project approval and funding. For a moment, they were speechless.
Seeing that the other party was still hesitant, Nova suddenly changed the subject: "I went to the home of Madel Rabbi. He is a native of Baita Town and his father is a blacksmith."
"At first, his family was reluctant to open the door. Behind the door, his mother was wailing and his father was cursing, saying that he had nothing to do with his son who was captured by the Inquisition. It wasn't until I told them that I had brought the tuition refunded from Baita University that they reluctantly agreed to see me."
The owl stared at him in silence, its hands folded.
"His father reiterated throughout the entire meeting that they had no idea what their son had done. The whole family was devout believers, and they couldn't understand why he would become a heretic and kill a nobleman, committing such a horrific crime. His mother kept crying, repeatedly expressing her regret for letting him go to university. If I understand correctly, she believed that Baita University had corrupted her son." The professor looked him in the eye calmly. "Then I raised the possibility that Rabbi Madel didn't commit suicide out of fear of punishment, and they immediately turned hostile and kicked me out."
"Madal Rabbi's second brother happened to be of church school age. He chased me out and told me that the priest at the church school said that those who were arrested by the Inquisition were heretics who deserved to be hanged. He asked me if his brother was really a bad person and really deserved to die."
"They're just a bunch of fools," the owl said coldly. "Most people are numb and incapable of thinking. Even if the dead are your own blood relatives—you shouldn't have any hope or illusions about them."
With a bang, another person slammed his palm on the table. Owl was startled by the other person and couldn't help complaining in his heart why this person was the same as his teacher, until he met a pair of gray eyes that were burning and boiling like molten iron - at this moment, he actually felt a kind of inexplicable awe for the fragile young man in front of him.
"No, that's because the Glorious Church controls the largest, most silent, and seemingly most insignificant group of people. Priests are like shepherds, and this is the inevitable evil consequence." The man's voice became deeper and faster: "From birth to death, they will only be told to believe in God, respect the teachings of the priests, and obey the oppression of the nobles. They must work without rest or excuses; they must pay taxes, and pay taxes continuously, no matter what taxes; they must pray, kneel down and worship, and donate their meager savings to the Church and the temple—"
Owl interrupted him abruptly: "Nova Brody, be careful what you say!"
The other party sneered fearlessly: "If you hope to compete with the Vatican for people, how come you don't even have the courage to discuss this?"
"...You don't have to provoke me with words." The owl slowly stood up, turned its back to him, and stared out the window.
"I used to be just like you," he said slowly. "Full of passion and enthusiasm, thinking everyone else was an incredible, incomprehensible fool, and wanting nothing more than to find the truth in the world."
"But dreams are so heavy that they keep pulling at us until we're bruised and exhausted." He said meaningfully, "Gibson blamed me for pushing a young man to the front and making him take on things that we old guys should have shouldered. Mr. Brody, have you really made up your mind?"
"Don't call me that. I don't have a last name anymore." The black-haired young man replied coldly, "And I'll give you an irresistible reason."
"The Glorious Church has at least done one good thing. Many people have learned to read, enough to support basic reading comprehension." He calmly tapped the stack of newspaper planning and operation plans with his fingertips. "So, as long as the society supports the newspaper, I promise that the society will receive a very substantial and stable income."
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