Kingdom Bloodline

Chapter 539 Extra Chapter: Seven Joint Meetings
early morning.

In the dimly lit, deserted lecture hall, a young apprentice knelt beside the podium, sticking his buttocks out and stretching his arms to reach the bottom of the podium.

Who came up with this design?

The apprentice stretched out his hand, his face turning red from holding it in.

The precious and exquisite polyphonic stones were installed in a hidden compartment in the podium.
It looks nice, but it's tough on the teaching assistants who have to maintain the classroom.

Finally, with a soft click, he successfully removed the last precious polyphonic stone.

The apprentice leaned back and sat on the ground, panting as he looked at the sound-resonating stone in his hand, which was incredibly smooth from repeated use, before finally letting out a sigh of relief.

Fortunately, this one isn't broken yet.

I can hold on for another ten... well, maybe five classes.

The apprentice carefully wrapped the polyphonic stone, then picked up a charcoal pencil and began to redraw the somewhat faded polyphonic magic circle in front of the podium.

His movements were skillful and habitual, his expression serious and focused, and the complex and ever-changing magic arrays appeared effortlessly under his pen.

The apprentice also took the opportunity to correct several design flaws that hindered the magic array, making it operate more smoothly and perhaps extending the lifespan of the sound-resonating stone.

Of course, with a hint of smugness, the apprentice thought to himself, "I can't let anyone else find out, otherwise I'll face another review by the 'Mage Behavior Ethics Committee'."

Upon realizing this, the apprentice's smug expression vanished instantly.

After finishing the last stroke, the aching apprentice stood up and looked at his seat: there were two large stacks of parchment paper, three large bags of exam papers, and an equipment box for teaching assistants.

The apprentice sighed.

Professor Donovan's lecture is in the afternoon.

He needed to quickly prepare the equipment, including a roster, name tags, a pen, a broadcasting device, a model, and the corresponding guest manual...

Why hold so many lectures on such a boring topic?

The Throne of All Laws has also fallen.

The apprentice, feeling sullen, walked to the other side of the classroom and looked at the calendar on the wall.

[October 29th, the 839th year of the Empire, Saturday.]

[Day off.]

[In the year 314 of the Chronicles of Kings, Jericho Calle Mindis, the lifelong mage, craftsman, poet, historian, and swordsman of the Tower of Ascetics, and author of "The Chronicles of the Iron-Blooded King," was born.]

The important thing is not the choice itself, but making the choice. — J.K. Mindis.

On the calendar, the painted image of the monk Mindis stands atop a mountain, gazing intently at the distant sunrise with a melancholy expression.

It's been three years.

The apprentice sighed slowly, then mercilessly tore apart the patriotic and concerned monk Mindisi, along with yesterday, and crumpled them into a ball.

Revealing "today":
[October 30th, the year 839 of the Empire, Sunday.]

[Saluting the Saints Day holiday.]

[In the 58th year of the Chronicles of Kings, Anset, the military strategist and commander of the campaign against the saints, died on this day.]

【Gentlemen, we leave our lives here, so that we may leave hope for the future. —King Anset's battle declaration】

The calendar showed the back of a fully armored cavalryman charging straight down the ice peak, heading towards the vast, dark army below.

The apprentice expressionlessly stuffed "Master Mindis" into his hand, kneading it until it became smaller and smaller.

Why do lectures always have to be scheduled on weekends...?

Just now.

"Really?"

A bright, light, and enthusiastic young male voice rang out.

The apprentice was startled. He turned around and found that an uninvited guest had appeared in the classroom sometime during the day.

The guest was sitting next to him, pulling a stack of parchment scrolls from his teaching assistant's bag, flipping through them from time to time, and looking at them with great interest.
"The Common Explanation of Origin Theory, Metasystem Concepts, Transfiguration Magic, and Summoning Arrays: New Evidence for the Prehistoric Battlefield of the North?"

The apprentice was taken aback after hearing only the first half of the sentence!
My God, that's—

He rushed towards the guests like a madman, but tripped on the steps and fell flat on his face.

The guest continued to read the scroll in his hand with great interest, his expression relaxed.

Ignoring the pain in his hand, the young apprentice scrambled to his feet and charged at the customer through gritted teeth:
"That's...mine!"

The guest then looked up and gave him a carefree smile.

He had long hair that reached past his ears, fair skin, and was extremely handsome. His posture was elegant yet his demeanor was extraordinary.

A handsome man.

Like a figure in a painting.

The apprentice grabbed a nearby chair and stopped abruptly, thus avoiding a collision.

"Yes, I saw the signature."

"And there are rejection comments," the handsome man chuckled, holding up the roll of paper in his hand to his apprentice, and flipping to a page with red comments:
“'Self-satisfied, irrational fantasies and conjectures'.”

The apprentice blushed.

As he looked at the comment, it was as if he had been choked; his previously assertive voice instantly dropped several octaves.
"That is--"

After hesitating for a moment, the apprentice finally spoke up stubbornly:
"None of your business."

The handsome man smiled gently.

The apprentice noticed that the other person's clothing was not like the usual colors and styles in the tower. On the contrary, his mage robe was flamboyant in color, trendy in design, and made of precious materials, and seemed to have star-like reflections in the morning light.

His imperial language was refined and precise, and his accent was a standard imperial court accent, which sounded very noble.

strangeness.

Who is he?
"So you're that person?"

The guest continued flipping through the roll of paper in his hand:
"That 'charlatan sorcerer' from Red Corner Tower?"

The apprentice was taken aback.

Because of its unique architectural style, the Tower of Souls is jokingly called the "Red Horn Tower" by apprentices from other magic towers.

But they themselves never mention this title, which means...

However, the apprentice, having regained his senses, was quickly drawn to another title:

"God—charlatan?"

What the hell is this title?
The handsome man nodded.

“So you really believe,” the guest lifted his gaze from the scroll and nodded gently to the apprentice, as if a spring breeze were blowing:
"In the war against the saints more than a thousand years ago, King Anset opened the gates of hell and defeated the ancient orcs with the power of a mysterious demon?"

The apprentice blinked, staring at the manuscript paper in the other's hand, and understood.

"Fine, you charlatan."

The apprentice sighed, raised a single index finger, as if he were used to this scene a thousand times over:
"Listen, I'm not some charlatan, and I've never said that defeating the ancient orcs was done by demons..."

But the guest immediately interrupted him:

"But this is what the reviewers wrote in your paper."

The other party turned to a page in the scroll and showed it to the apprentice.

A paragraph was circled in red, and a comment on the side read, "If you like demons so much, I suggest you go to the Gates of Hell for further studies."

The apprentice paused, then blushed.

He spoke rapidly, as if he had been insulted:

"This is...this is taking things out of context!"

The guest looked at him with a smile, but remained silent.

This made the apprentice even more resentful.

He nimbly dodged his own paper, flipping through it with practiced ease, and haphazardly pulled out a crumpled page:
"look?"

He angrily pointed to one of the sketches, which was covered in annotations and appeared to be a human skeleton:
"The latest evidence of an ancient battlefield unearthed beneath Arendtburgh... the remains of over a thousand ancient human warriors, bearing distinct characteristics of the early Kings Era... most of the samples showed signs of countless blows and injuries in multiple locations..."

The guests moved closer and watched with great interest.

The apprentice spoke faster and faster: "Both the extent and the number far exceeded our imagination. Some of the bodies even had their skulls shattered while their hearts were being pierced..."

“I guess,” the handsome man smiled slightly, his long hair flowing:

"Does this mean the ancient knights of the Age of Kings fought bravely? They fought to the death against the orcs without retreating? They were severely wounded?"

"No!"

The apprentice, with unwavering resolve, vigorously shook the scroll in his hand:

"This means they suffered fatal trauma more than once during their lives! More than once!"

He tried to repeat the key points.

"Perhaps the extraordinary powers of the ancients were even greater?"

The handsome man's tone remained playful:

"Just like how the physique of ancient orcs far surpassed that of modern orcs?"

The apprentice felt insulted.

"No!"

He raised his voice, gritted his teeth, and habitually raised his finger, repeating it tirelessly:

"No human being could withstand even one such fatal blow! No one!"

"Even the strongest will won't work! It won't do!"

"No matter how powerful your extraordinary abilities are, it's no use, absolutely no use!"

Each time he emphasized it, the handsome man nodded with a beaming smile.

They seemed to understand.

"Then?"

The apprentice took a deep breath and turned to the next page.

"Then, I personally dug out several bodies from the ground and thawed them from their frozen state. I swear, the flesh and blood in those things were still alive. If I hadn't been quick-witted... Our research team has dug out more than a thousand corpses. I've listed the specific data here..."

But the apprentice's words came to an abrupt end.

In the paper, the part he was pointing to was circled in red pen, making it almost impossible to read the original text. The comments were written in different handwriting: "The statistical method is too crude", "Has selection bias been handled?", "It is recommended to reselect the sample", "The test is not convincing", "Correlation does not equal causation", and so on.

The most jarring line was: "Did your math teacher teach you fencing?"

The handsome man seemed unable to suppress a smile.

The apprentice blushed and stuffed the paper into his bag.

"In short, it's beyond the scope of the Alchemy Tower's 'Sharpening Techniques,' 'Forging Magic,' and 'Material Affinity' or the Soul Tower's 'Light and Shadow Flute' and 'Soul Theory,' not to mention the extraordinary power of 'willpower influencing the body.'"

He was still trying to explain:

"I bet you can't even find something like that in the most twisted ascetic tower..."

The guest nodded, encouraging him to continue:

"so?"

The apprentice adjusted his breathing, and his eyes lit up:
"In the known historical records, although not many, there are indeed a few accounts that mention similar things, such as ignoring basic laws and completely changing the form of life from the inside out..."

Ignoring fundamental principles, from the inside out...

"You mean..."

The guest pondered for a moment, then said softly:

"Records of religious exorcism within the Myojin Church?"

The apprentice paused, speechless.

The handsome man chuckled softly:
"So, we're back to being demons again."

The apprentice cleared his throat.

"No, not entirely, and it doesn't necessarily have to be a divine being..."

“But,” he tried to explain, but ultimately gave up, his voice lowering:
"Yes, most of them are."

"At least that's... the potential supporting evidence we can refer to at the moment."

The apprentice looked dejected; he nudged the bag containing the papers with his elbow.
"I just want to say that if we are willing to put aside our prejudices and re-examine the relevant religious texts and even legends, it will, I mean, maybe, be helpful."

What the guest understood:
"So the reviewers think you are advocating mystical or even religious theories such as 'the existence of demons'?"

The apprentice's expression fell completely:
"They even asked me with fake smiles if I had gone to the 'Gates of Hell' to listen to sermons again."

The apprentice stared sullenly at the crumpled manuscript paper in the bag.

Heaven have mercy, he's only been to the gates of hell once, okay?
I was tricked into going in!
That missionary woman looked so intellectual, so mature, so beautiful…

Surprisingly, I liked it...

The apprentice shook his head, trying to banish the unpleasant memory.

After he smelled the blood used in the human sacrifice, he immediately tried to escape!

"I understand your question."

The guest suddenly spoke up.

The apprentice looked up.

"what?"

The handsome man touched his chin, deep in thought.

"A rare form of transformation magic that operates at the fundamental level..."

"Using contemporary meta-systems hypotheses to explain those ancient spirit-summoning arrays that have long been despised..."

The guest used the terminology from his thesis with ease:
"You are trying to establish an argument that can be accepted by mages—to explain the ineffable mysteries from the perspective of modern magic."

The handsome man raised his eyes:
"To make it easier to get the manuscript approved?"

"Apply for funding for the next stage of research?"

The apprentice scoffed, his tone tinged with a sense of self-abandonment:

"It's still the same as not passing."

"Besides, the archaeological excavation has already ended, so there's no hope for it anymore."

The large classroom fell silent for a moment, the two of them sitting one seat apart, saying nothing.

A few seconds later, to the apprentice's surprise, the guest neither comforted nor mocked him—this was the most he had received in the past month.

"Divine magic."

The handsome man turned his head and asked seriously:

"Why not divine magic?"

The apprentice was taken aback.

"what?"

The handsome man lowered his head, his eyes gleaming.

"Ignoring fundamental laws and completely altering the form of life."

“In countless religious records and legends, miracles and divine arts have also demonstrated the same efficacy, haven’t they?”

The handsome man spoke slowly and deliberately:
"To bring the dead back to life, to heal the bones, to restore the mutilated body, and to create divine messengers."

The apprentice paused for a long time before stammering:

"I...that's not the focus of my research."

“I’m not a believer in the gods, I’m not a… charlatan.”

He said sullenly.

But the handsome man looked at him for a long time and then smiled.

"You actually figured it out, didn't you?"

The handsome man's words carried a seductive power: "Moreover, there are more records of miracles and divine arts, and they are more detailed."

"But you couldn't write it down."

The apprentice trembled slightly.

After a long pause, the apprentice finally let out a sigh of relief and patted his thesis:

"Just writing it like this is enough to make people think I'm a charlatan..."

His tone suggested he had resigned himself to his fate.

"I still want to keep my job."

The guest fell silent.

"I thought the Tower of Souls was very open."

The handsome man said softly:

“Here, everyone has and should have an ‘independent and free soul’.”

The apprentice scoffed, unimpressed.

"No matter how independent they are, they are still human beings."

He leaned back in his seat, staring at the ceiling, his voice tinged with an indescribable disappointment:

"No matter how free they are, they are still monks."

"Born to reject certain things."

These words made the handsome man fall into deep thought.

“They do not believe that there are any other paths besides their own that can be called ‘reason,’ and dismiss them all as ‘foolish’—by the standards of magic.”

The apprentice was so engrossed in his story:
"They believe that even if they can doubt, even if they can falsify, even if they ultimately overturn their own established arguments, it must and can only be done in their own way—otherwise it is nothing but foolish talk, devoid of reason."

"They believe that everything in the world must be explained by logic that they approve of in order to be reasonable."

"Because magic is advanced, magic is the truth."

The apprentice sighed.

"As monks, we are so 'progressive'," he said listlessly.

"To the point that we can no longer 'progress'."

Another unspoken silence ensued.

Until the handsome man raised his head.

"too big."

The apprentice looked puzzled.

The handsome man casually and carefree tossed his hair:
“Your complaints are too broad, but they have nothing to do with the concept of magic.”

"But it's just a matter for mages, just a matter for humans."

The apprentice was taken aback:
"I do not understand?"

The handsome man smiled dashingly, making him a little dizzy:
"The reason your paper was rejected is politics."

The apprentice's expression changed slightly:

"sorry?"

The handsome man unceremoniously reached out and lightly tapped the apprentice's forehead:

"To be precise, it's about the discourse power, dominance, vested interests, and the personnel structure of the magic tower—politics."

The apprentice stared at him blankly.

Huh, what does that mean?
The handsome man pulled the stack of parchment from between them:
“Especially this kind of argument that ‘we should humble ourselves and re-examine religious legends.’”

"The reason they reject this argument is because of recent events."

The apprentice rolled his eyes.

recent?
The handsome man flipped through his thesis, a mysterious smile playing on his lips.
"Three months ago, the Seat of All Laws was defeated in the debate on the true theory of the Northern Diocese."

The apprentice's expression changed.

He knew that the Seat of All Laws, representing the Tower of Souls, was having a bad day at the debate, and because of this, he was subjected to a lot of sarcastic and pointed comments from his fellow apprentices of the Seat of Power.

However, isn't it normal to win and lose in a debate?

What does this have to do with his thesis?
The handsome man continued:

"Unfortunately, among those listening was the Duke of the North and the Governor-General of the Province, which had a profound impact and significant consequences."

The handsome man smiled with narrowed eyes:
"The approval of the Aarond family, including the strong recommendation of the Church of the Holy Spirit, allowed the young bishop of the Northern Diocese to travel south to the triumphant capital, directly to the Supreme Palace, to preach to the nobles of the capital, including the royal family. It is said that he also hit it off with His Majesty the Emperor at first sight and had a very pleasant conversation."

"This matter has become a popular topic of conversation and has spread throughout the nineteen provinces of the empire."

"There are even rumors that His Majesty intends to appoint this young and promising but erudite bishop of the North as the Imperial Chancellor in order to replace Count Renato, who has been criticized for his poor performance in suppressing the rebellion."

A series of inexplicable terms and events left the apprentice's mind, already filled with images of corpses and skeletons, somewhat dizzy:
"so?"

The handsome man closed the scroll, leaned on his arm, and moved closer to him with a half-smile.

"Therefore, not only your Redhorn Tower, but all the higher-ups of the three towers urgently need to regroup, save face, and strengthen their confidence so that people can believe again that magic is the truth of the world and that mages are the right path for humanity."

Snapped!
The handsome man waved the thesis and lightly tapped the bewildered apprentice on the forehead.

"And yet, at this crucial moment, you had the misfortune of submitting such a paper."

"Saying 'Hey, maybe there's some truth to the stories those charlatans write,' and then wanting to apply for funding to start a research group?"

The apprentice understood something; he took the crumpled paper off his head and stared blankly at the guest.

"If they let you through..."

The handsome man snorted:

"So what happens to the authority of magic in the minds of students when everyone is filled with anxiety and morale is low?"

What will happen to the influence of the court mages within the major families of the empire?

What if the nobles no longer believe in reason and turn to mystery instead?

"What about the guiding role of this entire research system and framework, the methods and principles of argumentation that we have developed over thousands of years, within the magic system?"

The apprentice clutched the thesis to his chest, blinking in confusion.

What?
"the most important is……"

The handsome man chuckled, reached out, and tapped the apprentice's forehead:
"What if what saved humanity a thousand years ago was not magic, not sorcerers, not human wisdom and power, but truly ethereal gods and demons...? What then would happen to the absolute dominance of faith in the Church that we have painstakingly built in the hearts of the people since the 'Great Reconciliation'?"

The apprentice took a deep breath, and after sorting out the logic, he felt somewhat indignant:

"But... but if this is the truth..."

The handsome man's voice suddenly turned cold, interrupting him:

"Then this truth should be buried and never see the light of day again."

The handsome man's face darkened, yet it possessed a unique, cool charm.
"Unless this truth is in our favor, it will not affect the absolute dominance of the mages in the secular world."

The handsome man reached out and gently tapped the apprentice's head—he seemed to particularly enjoy this small gesture—and said:

"Knowledge is also constructed by power."

"I love my teacher first, and then I love the truth."

The apprentice shook his head, making a small move to avoid the customer.

He carefully considered every word the other person said.

One question was answered, but an endless stream of questions followed.

He looked at the guest with suspicion:

"You...you just said who you were, what was it again?"

The handsome man sat back in his seat, his smile becoming even more enigmatic.

“I didn’t say it, but…”

He slightly raised his chin, extended his right hand, and skillfully concealed his arrogance within a playful tone:

“Macinto.” “Macinto Renato.”

The handsome man said softly:

"Nice to meet you."

The apprentice instinctively grasped the other's smooth, fair hands, which clearly belonged to a nobleman who hadn't done much farm work:

“Oh, yes, I’m also happy to recognize you… wait, Renato?”

The apprentice's expression changed.

A mage with the surname Renato, and so young...

He remembered something, and at first he tried to recall it quickly, but the moment he remembered it, he was shocked!
"My God, you're the one..."

He pointed at Macintosh in horror:
"A legitimate member of the imperial family, a descendant of the six founding stars, the spoiled youngest son of the current prime minister, the fiancé of Princess 'Secret Blue' in the royal family, the one who is only obsessed with magic and not with officialdom..."

Macintosh listened with a smile as his apprentice rattled off the titles one by one, seemingly quite used to it and enjoying it.

The apprentice's expression faltered slightly.

"Wait a minute, I remember the War Tower took you before we did... How could you..."

War Tower.

Macintosh paused slightly:
"Yes, I am indeed an apprentice belonging to the Alchemy Tower."

The apprentice nodded in sudden realization:

"So, you're Muscle Guy—cough cough, excuse me, you're sent by the Alchemy Tower to visit and audit a lecture from which tower?"

But Macintosh shook his head:

"No, I'm here to learn."

“I am a beneficiary of the newly launched ‘Warhorn’ Twin Towers Joint Training Program.”

Corner of war.

The apprentice understood; as the name suggested, it referred to the two pillars of the magical world, commonly known among mages as the 'War Tower' and the 'Red Horn Tower'—the Alchemy Tower and the Soul Tower. But…

"Twin towers, joint training?"

The apprentice looked at the other person in surprise.

"Yes."

The handsome man nodded, his bright smile seemingly dispelling the gloom in the classroom.

"I am a joint student with a joint teaching position for two and a half years."

Oh.

The apprentice scratched his head dumbfounded.

This dialogue sounds weird, something seems off...

but.

That's rare.

Legend has it that the Twin Towers, who contemptuously call each other "Muscle Man" and "Thinker," are supposed to be diametrically opposed in every way, from magical philosophies and organizational structures to high-level relationships and apprentice competition, always bickering and never speaking to each other again.
Macintosh cleared his throat, his smile, which could charm half the Empire's girls and a quarter of its boys, vanished:
"Listen, I have a research plan in hand."

He looked at the apprentice intently:

"Perhaps you'll be interested."

The apprentice snorted inwardly.

I said so.

Why are you coming to an empty classroom so early in the morning, acting all mysterious?

The magic review period has arrived. It seems to be another organizer of some fraudulent research project. A large sum of mysterious expenses can't be reimbursed, so they need to find suckers to make up the numbers, fabricate reasons, and scam funding. Ideally, they'll even publish a book about it...

The apprentice lazily said:
"So, what is the research topic?"

Macintosh smiled slightly, her long hair clearly enchanted with a wind-flying spell, flowing freely in the air:
"As you said, some subversive topics, some directions that may not be recognized, some things that require us to question ourselves, and some beliefs that we need to overturn to get what we want."

The apprentice replied perfunctorily:
"Oh……"

As expected, even the research topic was completely random...

Until the other person says the next sentence.

"Our research field is located underground in Arendburg, in the heart of the mountains in the northern province."

A few seconds later, the apprentice who understood suddenly changed color.

He abruptly stood up and looked at Macintosh, momentarily forgetting to admire the other's stunning good looks:

"Underground, inside the mountain, you mean..."

Macintosh chuckled softly and stood up as well.
"That's right, it's the old place you mentioned in your paper, the ancient battlefield site of the Zhuwangji that you participated in excavating, and that ancient underground transport tunnel."

The handsome man walked up to the apprentice, standing a head taller than him, and looked down at him condescendingly.
"Popular nickname - 'Black Path'".

The apprentice was completely stunned.

But Macintosh didn't let him off the hook, skillfully revealing secrets even his apprentices didn't know:
"After being forced to withdraw from your Red Horn Tower due to the combined pressure from the Imperial official research team, the Tower of Ascetics, and the Church of the Bright God, the handling of the ruins fell into the hands of the Governor of the Northern Province."

"The Duke of the North, who was good at smoothing things over, originally only planned to seal up the cave entrance and build a monument 'We defeated the ancient orcs' and that would be the end of it..."

"But unfortunately, I am very familiar with the Duke of Arend's heir, and he assigned this task to me."

The handsome man bent down and touched the apprentice's forehead:

“You know, if I were to build a monument, I would need someone like you.”

He blinked.

"you."

His eyes were a deep blue, like the ocean.

The apprentice, oblivious to the other's overly intimate gestures, subconsciously swallowed.

"You mean... a fraudulent project, something that doesn't match the reality... isn't that illegal?"

Macintosh smiled, but did not answer directly:

"So, do you want to come?"

The apprentice took a few steps back, calming his breathing, which had become rapid from the other person's approach.

He glanced at the other person in surprise, then looked at his own paper.

Black Path.

Excavation.

But a few seconds later, the apprentice, having figured something out, turned pale.

"Many people participated in the excavation at that time."

The apprentice's face fell:
"For example, my mentor, Master Donovan."

"You should go find him."

Macintosh stared at his expression and smiled.

"Donovan? Donovan, who's only one step away from the Grandmaster title?"

He scratched his chin, seemingly lost in thought:
"How should I put it, I have studied all of his works, from his early works to the present."

The apprentice chuckled.

"You are so confident."

He looked at the noble young master before him with disdain:

"Professor Donovan has published 163 papers and 12 books in his career; no one dares to say they've read them all..."

"Do not."

Macintosh shook his head, interrupting him.

"To be precise, it is 192 papers and 13 books."

The apprentice's expression changed drastically.

The handsome man before them spoke casually:

"Including some of his early manuscripts and a book that is currently being proofread and has not yet been published."

The apprentice was stunned.

Damn it.

It's fine that this guy is handsome, after all, there are still many people in the world who are close to my looks.

But he clearly looks like a spoiled brat, and he's not that old either.

Is it...

Macintosh was unaware of the other person's ulterior motives:
"But unfortunately, I have found that the once-renowned Master Donovan has gradually become conservative and outdated. His latest works and papers are all old news, just reciting from the book, without any ambition."

His words revealed a deep disappointment:

“Master Donovan is old.”

The apprentice was taken aback at first, then, indignant, adopted the same attitude he had when disciplining a student:

"Hey, you're not humble at all..."

But Macintosh didn't let him continue:

"And his few more interesting works in recent years..."

The handsome man raised his gaze and looked directly at the apprentice holding the thesis:
"It was all co-authored with one of his little-known students and teaching assistants."

The apprentice froze.

"That is, you."

Macintosh stared intently at him and said softly:
“Three years ago, due to serious violations of the ethics of monks, he was demoted from a first-class to a third-class apprentice—Tros Mill.”

The classroom was completely silent.

The young apprentice, Toros, fell silent.

A few seconds later, Toros coughed lightly:
"Yes, but Professor Donovan is still my mentor and employer, so I think you'd better talk to him first..."

But this time, Macintosh ignored his words and went straight to the point:

"Are you willing?"

Toros shuddered violently.

Macintosh let out a cold laugh:
"Despite being exceptionally talented, he was disqualified from promotion for life simply because of a so-called 'political mistake'."

Toros's breathing became rapid.

"In the prime of youth, yet with no bright future ahead, destined to remain a third-rate apprentice for life? Even during anonymous peer review, his work is repeatedly rejected?"

In the classroom, one person stood with their hands behind their back, questioning someone, while another held a thesis.

Remaining silent.

Torres struggled to regain his breathing:

“Listen, three years ago, if it weren’t for Master Donovan protecting me under pressure…”

But Macintosh's questions followed in quick succession, like swords imbued with extraordinary power, piercing straight to his heart:
"Are you willing?"

At this moment, the handsome man spoke sharply and sternly, like a prophet of God:
"Despite being full of ambition and boundless curiosity, they could only hide behind their teachers, doing chores, silently proofreading, and verifying data?"

"besides……"

Macintosh glanced at the classroom:
"Maintaining the sound-resonating stone?"

Torres gripped the rejected paper even tighter with his hand.

"Are you willing?"

Macintosh stared intently at him, then slowly reached out her hand:

"But now, you have a chance to prove yourself."

His tone was seductive:

"Join me and return to the right path of magic."

"Tell those who reject you that one day they will only be fit to look up at your back."

Toros lowered his head, his expression unreadable.

They fell into complete silence.

Macintosh wasn't in a hurry; she simply waited patiently for him.

It seemed that they were certain of the other party's reaction.

"but……"

Toros's tone was hesitant, as if he was still struggling: "The things in the Blackpath... we need a lot of funding, a lot of facilities, and..."

Has no one told you this?

Macintosh said easily:
"I have money."

"Lots and lots of money."

Toros remained silent.

"And in the Tower of Alchemy, there is a saying that goes like this."

The handsome man chuckled, inadvertently revealing his true nature.

“No money,” Macintosh clicked his tongue.
"What kind of research are you doing?"

Silence fell over the classroom once again.

Macintosh observed the other man, while the apprentice remained silent with his head down.

However, several seconds later, Toros raised his head.

"I reject."

Macintosh was somewhat surprised.

The apprentice struggled to speak, enunciating each word slowly.

“I’m very happy here,” Torros said, his voice trembling slightly as he held his thesis.

"I chose magic because of my pure love for it, not for fame or fortune."

Macintosh frowned.

"Really?"

The handsome man began to scrutinize Toros again, and this time, his gaze held something different:

"You know, opportunities like this don't come often for you, do they?"

"At the very least, I will offer you a decent salary..."

Torres suddenly spoke, interrupting Macintosh:

"listen!"

His face tightened, and his knuckles, gripping the paper, turned white.

"I'm still very busy; I need to rush off to prepare facilities for the next lecture..."

The apprentice didn't continue.

Macintosh raised an eyebrow.

"Ok."

He nodded, somewhat regretfully:

"Pity."

The handsome man stared at the other man, but the apprentice remained silent, seemingly unmoved.

Macintosh sighed and had no choice but to turn and leave.

The moment the other person turned around, Toros, who had been silent all along, closed his eyes tightly and bit his lower lip.

It's like being tortured.

Just now.

"Torros".

Macintosh did not turn around.

"I heard that you come from a knightly family in the territory of Chauvin, is that right?"

The apprentice's expression changed.

Tross raised his head warily:
"what happened?"

“It’s nothing, I just found out in the tower,” Macintosh said calmly, without turning around.

"You have a childhood sweetheart fiancée who, after converting to religion, vowed to serve the gods and broke off the engagement for this reason."

"She became a nun who never married?"

fiancée.

Break off the engagement.

For a moment, Toros's mind went blank.

The thesis in his arms groaned in pain.

Macintosh curled the corners of his mouth.

"Hey, muscleman."

After a long while, a dazed Toros finally stammered out:
"This has nothing to do with you."

But the Macintosh, like a hunter who has tracked down the prey's bloodstains, relentlessly pursues it:
"So, my dear Toros, you were over twenty-five when you finally managed to squeeze into the Magic Tower, determined to follow the path of magic..."

"Is her insistence on using magic to explain all sorts of mysteries related to this?"

Toros abruptly raised his head and roared:
"of course not!"

Macintosh turned around and looked at the trembling apprentice with a subtle expression.

Torros realized that his attitude was wrong.

He cleared his throat, trying to get his tone back on track:
"My research direction and attitude have always been the same, and they will not be affected by anything outside of work."

He spoke with unwavering conviction.

There is no doubt about it.

Macintosh smiled.

"That's good."

He turned around again, intentionally or unintentionally:
"Oh, by the way, I'll tell you something."

"Your nun fiancée, because of her devout faith and outstanding work, was promoted to a position as a capable assistant by a young bishop."

Toros froze.

"Oh, what a coincidence, it's the same one I just mentioned, Bishop Sieg who is honored as a guest of honor by His Majesty the Emperor."

Macintosh's voice, like the whispers of a demon from legend, pierced his ears, impossible to block out:
"As a holy nun revered by believers, your fiancée—I'm sorry, your ex-fiancée—is deeply trusted and bathed in divine grace."

"Dedicate yourself."

The air in the classroom seemed to freeze.

After a while.

"Okay, I understand," the apprentice said absentmindedly.

Mackintosh looked at him, and his expression returned to its usual coldness.

"Then I'll be going," the handsome man said calmly.
"Good luck to you and your thesis."

Macintosh turned around, took a step, and sighed:
“Those missionaries of the God of Light, their persuasive power is really great, isn’t it?”

The other person's footsteps slowly faded into the distance.

No.

Toros thought to himself, feeling utterly lost.

No.

She did not convert to Christianity because of the priests' instigation.

Because of……

because……

With a thud, the paper in Toros's hand fell to the ground.

Toros suddenly realized what was happening.

He silently squatted down and picked up the paper that he had crumpled up.

The paper, covered in red ink, revealed its last page, which contained a line of comments.

Although all the reviews were anonymous, this did not prevent Toros from recognizing his teacher's handwriting:
Magic, in the final analysis, is the study of humanity.

Don't get lost in the endless pursuit of curiosity and lose sight of your true self.

Donovan the monk.

Toros's breathing became rapid.

The study of human beings...

His fists tightened.

About people...

The apprentice's heart was beating faster and faster.

people……

"Wait a moment!"

Torros's loud shout rang out in the classroom.

The footsteps stopped.

Macintosh slowly turned around and looked at the apprentice with a calm expression.

"Joint students..."

Torres was breathing heavily, staring intently at the paper in his hands, his expression changing rapidly, as if he were hesitant or regretful.

"Your damn research plan..."

A second later, Toros raised his head with a resolute expression.

He decisively threw away the parchment in his hand.

It's like throwing away the past.

"When does it begin?"

Macintosh watched the apprentice from afar without answering, his eyes filled with unreadable emotions.

Until he showed a satisfied smile.

"Soon, darling, very soon."

Mackintosh's smile was heartwarming, while Torres's expression was cold and stern.

"But don't rush."

“Believe me,” the handsome man said, staring intently at the apprentice before him, his tone filled with the satisfaction of having captured his prey.

"We have a long future ahead of us."

That's right, when I started writing the side story, it meant I was experiencing writer's block again.

Happy birthday to Mantou Girl, though it's a long time late.

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(End of this chapter)