Silent Crown

Chapter 241: Why Not Just Hit Him

The next day at the palace, the doors opened slowly under the heavy ringing of the morning nine o'clock bell. A low-key, but elegant carriage drove out.

All guards before the palace gates lowered onto one knee to welcome the carriage. Before them was a silent giant. The knight was clad in a metallic armor of black steel. Its features were sharp and menacing but the body was thin rather than burly, making it seem abnormally agile.

This was the divine armor passed down through the Round Table Knights. Contrary to other heavy armor, this one was not paired with large weapons such as spears or shields. It only had a sword.

The cross-shaped sword hung at the knight's waist. Precious stones and diamond pieces were inlaid in the hilt. It looked like a gorgeous and finely made piece of art rather than a killing weapon for the battleground.

The carriage stopped beside it. The knight lowered onto one knee and lowered his head politely. The sound of metal grating was like weak thunder.

"Greetings to Your Majesties from Galahad." The voice that came from the armor sounded like a young girl's but it was not gentle or sweet; instead, the voice had indescribable awe-inspiring seriousness.

After a long pause, Mary's greeting sounded in the carriage. "Long time no see, Christine."

"Long time no see, Your Majesty," the knight known as Christine replied stiffly. "Please call me Galahad here. 'Christine' is too soft of a name for a knight."

"Ever since you put this armor on, you've become…" Mary's voice paused in the carriage as it became troubled and lost. "Never mind. Who isn't like this?"

"In my humble opinion, Your Majesty is still as before," Christine replied gravely. "Even if I've inherited the position of Galahad, I am still captain of your guard."

After a long silence, Mary seemed to chuckle. "It seems that I'm the one who overthought. It's getting late, my captain of guard. Escort my brother and I to the Musician's Union."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Galahad stepped back, mounted her horse, and rode forward.

The guards in the back hoisted the ceremonial euphorbia, pulled the ropes and steered the carriage behind the steel knight as they marched forward. Ever since the queen went into reclusion, the royal family fell into silence. Now, the royal procession once again appeared in the city and it did not represent anything simple.

All was silent in the carriage's path. The citizens all bowed and did not begin discussing quietly until the carriage had gone. Some with foresight saw the emblem of the second queen on the carriage and understood the queen's decision. In the end, the carriage stopped before the Musician's Union building on Queen's Avenue.

Mary, clad in a formal dress, descended from the carriage with the help of a servant and reached toward the carriage. "James, stop hiding and come here."

Soon, a frail figure covered from head to toe in white grasped her hand. Unwilling to come out, he lifted his mask and whispered in her ear.

"Bear with it. It'll be over soon." Grasping his hand, Mary's voice was gentle. "I'll go with you later, alright?"

The white-clad figure held her hand and wanted to say something, but seeing the eyes that looked like his mother's, he lowered his head obediently.

"Welcome, Your Majesties." Bayer walked forward and took off his hat in greeting. He was completely polite.

Mary nodded slightly. "Thank you for the welcome by the Musician's Union. My brother has caught a cold and cannot speak. Please understand."

Feeling the dangerous coldness, Bayer smiled wryly. He still uttered a well-formulated response, "Of course. We've prepared a resting room for Your Majesties. Please follow me."

"Thank you." Mary held the crown prince's hand and followed behind Bayer. After two steps, she still did not hear the clanking behind her. The steel knight Galahad was still in her original spot. Rather than following, she stared at the distant crowd as if spacing out.

"Christine, what's wrong?"

The knight quickly turned around. After a few seconds delay, she replied, "Nothing, Your Majesty. There is no problem."

She caught up amidst the clanking sounds and stood beside the royalty with her sword. Before stepping through the door, she looked back to the crowd subconsciously. There, the white-haired youth disappeared like an illusion.

-

Curious scholars had filled the large hall of the Musician's Union. There were not many musicians who were dedicated to theories, and there were even fewer who had become famous.

Now, those who had hurried to Anglo were practically all from the School of Revelations. The seventy-some people were all acquaintances and waved to each other in the hall. Most had white hair already; the youngest were over thirty-years-old.

"Ah, if someone bombed this building, it would be horrible! The ancient word of academia would be pushed back four-hundred years! It sounds exciting!" This came from Charles. It was a serious time, but he still could not help but spout nonsense. Beside him, the expressionless Ye Qingxuan sneakily kicked him. Bai Xi hated these serious events so she did not enter the building. She stayed outside with Old Phil and waited for them to finish.

Ye Qingxuan, Charles, and Abraham sat in the corner, seemingly insignificant. No one recognized them, so while the scholars were discussing quietly, it never occurred to them that the stars were right beside them.

Ye Qingxuan had never expected that the arguments outside would be this interesting.

"Mr. Lennon, you are too naïve. Academia is a serious theory. Someone who has not been taught properly cannot easily make a breakthrough. Mr. Ingmar is orthodox and is a famous figure in the academic world. It's logical that he can create such results. You can't jump out, say that he plagiarized, and take the results for yourself."

"The orthodoxy has been helpless against the Voynich Manuscript for centuries. All the grandmasters were unable to do anything, even grandmaster Miss Lola, but Ingmar can?"

"At least he's more reliable than some quickly-produced musician!"

"I heard that he'd only been educated for three months! He probably didn't even have times to learn all the runes!"

"Yeah, those rookie folk musicians just love public attention. Like some alchemy powder that turns water to oil, or that perpetual motor, aren't they all just jokes made by those 'folk musicians'?"

The crowd laughed quietly. It was obvious that the term 'folk musicians' accurately described what the amateur civilian musicians were like.

Ye Qingxuan had good hearing and could hear the voices clearly from dozens of meters away. He maintained his poker face but Charles's expression grew worried.

"It seems like Professor's situation isn't good." He sighed quietly.

Ye Qingxuan nodded. This was Abraham's biggest weakness—he had no reputation in the academic world and was not even a Revelations musician. The academic world was isolated and everyone knew each other. Compared to the familiar and well-known Ingmar, it was difficult to trust Abraham.

The situation looked bleak but Abraham did not seem worried. Instead, he was calm and composed, and expressionless as always—this was how he was. At least being "slow" was a positive trait here.

"There's no need to rush." Abraham looked at his watch. "There's still one more hour. There's no need to be here so early."

"It's better to be prepared!" Charles pointed his chin at a figure in the crowd. "Look at Ingmar, he's dressed up like a butterfly. Ah, seeing him even makes me fall in love."

He had proudly used an Eastern idiom, instantly making Ye Qingxuan's features twist. The other half of the idiom was "let alone that old guy!" Idioms could not be used so carelessly.

But Charles's description was amazingly accurate. In the crowd, Ingmar wore a musician's formalwear and a pure white coat. There were medals on his chest and his sleeves were lined with gold. His long salt-and-pepper hair was tied back, his eyes were deep like a starry sky, and a polite smile was on his face. He was the perfect example of a musician.

On the other hand, Abraham wore the same coat he had for the past few decades, and Charles was dressed slovenly (because he did not have anything else). Only Ye Qingxuan was slightly formal, which was not very formal.

"I feel like we've lost on looks." Charles instantly grew dejected.

Ingmar easily made small-talk with all the scholars in the crowd. He talked about life, made jokes, and caused many smiles. The appraisal was coming but he was still charismatic.

As if on accident, he saw Abraham in the corner and his lips curled into the slightest sneer as he walked over.

"Hey, Yezi, he's coming."

Charles grew excited but Ye Qingxuan just looked and nodded. "Yeah."

"I'm nervous, what should we do?" Charles asked quietly. "What's he coming over for? Is he going to talk trash again? What should I do?"

"He can't beat you in talking trash so what are you scared of?" Ye Qingxuan thought to himself.

Beside him, Abraham thought for a moment and suddenly slapped his knee, concluding, "If you don't know what to do, why not just hit him?"

"If you don't know what to do, why not just hit him?"

"Huh?!" Ye Qingxuan was stunned. He had always thought that Charles' ability to talk nonsense was amazing, but he had never imagined it was inherited from their professor! And Abraham truly was incredible—how did he suddenly come to this weird conclusion?

"Professor, no!" Ye Qingxuan almost jumped up in fright. "If you fight here, you'll probably lose the appraisal!"

"Uh, I'm confused again. Isn't that the rule?" Abraham said awkwardly. "In the military, if you bring it to the military court and threaten someone in their face, it's normal to fight back, isn't it?"

"No, no, no, it's not normal at all! And what military did you come from? It's so wild…" Ye Qingxuan thought.

"Then why don't I do it?" Charles jumped up to add to the mess with the expression of a lonely elite fighter. "Don't worry, he'll definitely lose to me for talking trash!"

"Oh, so you do know?" A stampede of what-the-f*ck's charged across Ye Qingxuan's mind. The appraisal had not even started yet but he was already close to breaking down.

Just as Charles was getting prepared, Ingmar was five steps away with a strange smile. Suddenly, the door opened. A majestic bell rang outside the Union. The sound was soul-shaking as if it rang in one's heart, shaking all thought away. The echo resounded in one's skull.

"The Westminster Church…" someone murmured. "It's nine forty in the morning so it's not telling time. Why is it ringing?"

The room was silent as no one replied.

Under everyone's gazes, a line of priests clad in black, and holding holy emblems and incense furnaces entered the Union building. They had come from the Westminster Church across the street, silent the entire way there. Plumes of incense smoke hung in the wind.

The warm scent drove out the cold dampness and evils in the wind, warming one's body. However, the priests' expressions were stern and cold like a god. They stood outside the hall and did not enter.

Amongst them, an old man with a holy crown walked out, entering the hall with his secretary. He wore a long black robe with a dark gold emblem. Silver thorns were pressed into his sleeve cuffs, seeming a bit old-fashioned and odd. But here, the old-fashioned style was incomparably solemn and dignified.

Ingmar's frivolous outfit was nothing but dust before this robe passed down the Church for centuries. It represented the majesty of the Church; wearing it before someone was the same as the cardinal visiting.

"F*ck! I just invited them for the show, but I didn't think they'd actually come…" Inside the building, Bayer wiped at his cold sweat. He hurriedly fixed his clothing and rushed down the steps to welcome the old man clad in black.

"Look down."

In the silent crowd, Charles was looking around in curiosity but suddenly felt a kick from Ye Qingxuan. The oblivious Charles finally realized that, other than Bayer who represented the Musician's Union, everyone else had lowered their head politely before the stern old man. He quickly copied them and said in code, "What's wrong? Who is that guy…"

"Senior, are you blind? You can tell just by his clothes." Ye Qingxuan lowered his eyes. "Who has the right to wear that robe other than the metropolitan archbishop?"

Who? Who else could it be!

Ye Qingxuan had realized who was arriving the moment he heard the bell. Otherwise he would have memorized that Church rituals for nothing!

In Anglo, only one person was qualified to wear the dark gold robe, have a bell ring when traveling, and represent the glory of the Church. That was the highest person in charge of the Anglo church and the Westminster Church—metropolitan archbishop Mephistopheles!

After he aged, he would be in reclusion except for presiding over the prayer sessions for the start and end of the year. Ye Qingxuan did not know why he appeared now, but he undoubtedly represented God and the Church wherever he went. Everyone must bow to him.

The holy theory stated: one must bow and not meet the eye of the God to show one's sincere devoutness and awe.

"Wow, this effect is awesome." Charles continued to say in code. Peeking at the old man, his eyes were filled with gossip and he muttered, "Wow, is he really Mephistopheles? I heard that he had the chance to become a cardinal! Apparently he had a conflict with Knights Templar and was banished here. Ah, that must have been more than thirty years ago…"

"Senior, watch your mouth." Ye Qingxuan really wanted to kill him. "Don't think that speaking in code is safe. Archbishop Mephistopheles is a highly-acclaimed musician. He's one of the few grandmasters of the School of Choir!"

"Oh, really? I can't tell. There aren't any aether ripples at all!" Charles coaxed quietly, "Yezi, don't get nervous. He's probably just a purely theoretical musician."

"…" Ye Qingxuan wanted to speak more but, to stay safe, he intelligently closed his mouth. After speaking quietly with Bayer, Archbishop Mephistopheles nodded. Without speaking more, he passed through the hall toward the conference room.

It might have been his mind playing tricks but Ye Qingxuan felt the black robe pause slightly as it passed by him and a pair of rheumy eyes swept past him. The formless gaze was like an electric shock, making those in its path feel pricks on their skin and hair crackling.

Soon, Archbishop Mephistopheles entered the conference room. After a long while, Ye Qingxuan slowly raised his head and let out a long breath. For some reason, things felt worse now.

"Hope it won't be what I'm thinking…" the youth murmured to himself.

-

Ten minutes later, a hurried priest avoided everyone's eyes and entered a single meeting room. Ingmar, sitting nervously inside, instantly welcomed him with a warm and devout expression, and grasped his hand. "Father Kyle, I'm grateful you came!"

Kyle smiled. "As members of the parliament, we should help each other out."

Before Ingmar was an important figure of the Westminster Church—Kyle, assistant bishop and Archbishop Mephistophele's personal secretary.

It was obvious that this secret meeting before the appraisal was a sensitive subject. If a caring person saw, it would be a problem. In other words, this was not a simple meeting. Ingmar still had not recovered from the shock of seeing Archbishop Mephistopheles. He had never thought that the parliament was so powerful that even he could be influenced! The meaning behind this chilled him.

He lowered his head politely. "It's just a small matter. I am shaken that even Archbishop Mephistopheles was moved to come."

Kyle smirked. "This was unexpected for me as well. Archbishop Mephistopheles cares strongly about justice. I had just mentioned your problem to him, but I didn't think he would come personally. Though he's a member of the parliament, he's actually the representative of the Church and rarely expresses his opinion. All remarks and decisions would be handed to me so you shouldn't worry."

Hearing that, Ingmar let out a relieved sigh.

"Have you prepared the details?" Kyle asked with a smile. "You should've received all the answers from parliament members."

"Yes, I've prepared them." Ingmar nodded, relief flashing through his eyes. "There will be no problems."

The appraisal procedure was very simple. Both parties would submit resources and describe them. Then, it was the questioning and interrogation segment. It was simple, but the emptier the segment, the more it had behind it.

Kyle said quietly, "After all members arrive, they'll read what you submit and listen to your explanation. The most important part is the questioning. The first half will focus on your resume and personal achievements. You will be before Abraham."

It seemed like simple ordering but the effect was entirely different. Ingmar's resume and achievements were flawless and a perfect example. No one would be able to question him on this aspect.

In comparison to Ingmar's example, Abraham would seem empty and insignificant. This was his biggest disadvantage—he had neither a resume nor any achievements to speak of.

"For the second half, the interrogation of interpretation results," Kyle's smile grew secretive, "Abraham will be before you."

Ingmar froze until it dawned on him.

Indeed, when the appraisal council members truly began to learn of this 'interpretation method,' they would definitely be enraged by this unorthodox and almost satanic theory. At that time, Ingmar, representing the true orthodox academia, would arrive. He could almost see the moment Abraham would be defeated!

Ingmar paced in excitement. Finally, he grasped Kyle's hands with an ecstatic expression. "Thank you for your great help, Father Kyle."

"For some things, the result has been decided at the beginning." Kyle smiled and patted his shoulder. "Mr. Ingmar, you have my vote, at least. You must know that I'm not the only one who received a letter from the parliament."

The waiter lit the silver lights. The crystal chandeliers shone above, illuminating the silent venue. No one whispered. The room was not very spacious and it was packed. Most of the people were qualified academics or curious nobles, as well as a number of newspaper reporters who came from all over the place to get first-hand news. Those men wore caps and sat in the front row with notebooks and pens. They were excited and gestured to each other, scribbling notes onto their notebooks.

Seeing the audience, Sergey on the council grunted. After all, this was a disgrace to the academic community. No matter who was wrong, it was still a great storm if news spread. As one of the famous masters of academia, he naturally did not like tabloid presses.

There were only five people sitting on the panel. They were Barthelemy, the ancient language scholar from Burgundy; Sergey, the researcher of ancient folklore from the Prophet's Tower; Heisenberg, a researcher of ancient music from the Rock Institute; Mr. Hu, an oriental scholar from the Sacred City; and finally, Lola Caput, the local researcher of Anglo who studied the history of the Dark Ages.

Whether it was status or seniority, the five people were all eligible to make a ruling on behalf of the academic community. The crown prince who represented the royal family, and Archbishop Mephistopheles, who represented the church, would be the notary public to confirm the fairness of the result.

The bells from the distant Elizabeth Tower could be heard vaguely through the thick walls. The muffled chime of the bell formally announced the start of the appraisal. Both doors opened and representatives of both sides formally entered the venue, causing a low murmur. At last, they took seats on the left and right sides opposite the panel. They looked serious and did not communicate with each other, acting as if the other did not exist.

But obviously, even though he had high possibility of winning, Ingmar still did not look well. Once he stepped foot inside, it would always be a stain on a scholar's career no matter what the final outcome was.

Abraham, who had no interest in this, remained silent and emotionless. One could not survive solely on reputation and so it was meaningless to him.

-

After a brief announcement, the several members spent ten minutes to finish reading the documents submitted by both sides. They also read the proceedings and antecedents handed by the Union and the school. At the end, they all frowned involuntarily in silence.

No one spoke.

"Who is the first?" the bald old man, Sergey, suddenly asked.

He looked around at his companions. Barthelemy was silent, Mr. Heisenberg still had a cold face as if nothing could disturb him, and Mr. Hu from the East was in a daze. As for Lola, she just smiled and looked at him. There was everything yet nothing in her eyes, as if something was unutterable and indescribable.

"After all these years, you're all still so fussy," Sergey grunted. Among the five, he had the worst temper and definitely could not stand these matters. The most annoying things to him included plagiarism and impersonation. There he was the most impatient one.

"I'll do this." He picked up the briefing on the side, roughly skimmed it, and then looked up and said, "Then, the appraisal council will officially begin. First, may Mr. Ingmar come up please?"

Ingmar stood up slowly, stood behind the speaker's podium with a smile, and graciously greeted the committee. Unfortunately, this did not mean anything to Sergey.

"Mr. Ingmar, next I have a few questions about your personal resume. Don't be nervous and just answer truthfully." Sergey paused and his expression became cold. "But bear in mind that you'd better tell no lie here. This is for your own sake."

"I understand, Mr. Sergey." Ingmar nodded. His expression was neither arrogant nor too humble. He even smiled as if he did not feel any pressure at all. He had already practiced this part. He would never make any mistakes no matter what questions would be asked.

"When did you begin to study ancient literature?"

"Twenty-four years ago," Ingmar replied immediately after counting. "I entered the Royal Academy of Music at that time and met my teacher there, the former mentor of the School of Revelations. From then on, my teacher guided me. Three years later, I graduated as a formal musician and have been working on related research since then."

"What are your main achievements?" Sergey asked routinely, though he actually knew the answer very well.

"The highest achievements include Induction of Anglo's Historical Legends; Exploring the Origins of Human Development from Ballads of the Dark Age; and Inquiry on the Origin of Ancient Avalon, completed with my teacher." Ingmar paused for a moment. He glanced at Abraham subtly and replied with a smile, "And the interpretation of the Voynich Manuscript."

There was a sudden murmur throughout the hall. Abraham was still expressionless but the two young men besides him looked very furious. This was a real provocation!

"If we look past the controversies, that is." Sergey said lightly, "Please give a brief introduction about the school that you inherit, its major music theory, and its direction of interpretation."

"As we all know, I am a professor of the School of Revelations at the Royal Academy of Music. The school that I inherit is Ancient Anglo Revelations, also known as the Purple School. The major direction of music theory…"

Sergey continued to ask questions from the committee seat. His questions were meticulous and harsh; he interrogated about even the smallest of flaws in Ingmar's reply until a reasonable explanation was given. Soon, Ingmar's back was covered with a cold sweat, despite his preparations. He felt a little exhausted.

He could only thank himself for always being very cautions on his records. Otherwise, Sergey's queries could possibly expose his Achilles heel.

But below the platform, seeing Ingmar's faint awkwardness, Ye Qingxuan did not feel any pleasure. Instead, he was worried. The problem had arrived. He sighed softly and looked at Abraham with worry. If they would delve so deeply, then Abraham's record would probably be very problematic.

Even a blind man could tell that there were many large blanks and ambiguous parts in his resume. It would raise doubts. Later, Abraham would face ten times more difficulties than Ingmar.

Ye Qingxuan exhaled irritability and looked to the platform.

The situation was very bad.

Among the five judges, he had heard about Sergey's temper long before. He was basically a container of dynamite—he was easily provoked. He could not get along with anyone other than in academia. He was always a lone ranger wherever he went. He was definitely the most unbiased from that point of view, and he would never bear any flaws.

But it was worse—he was grumpy and stubborn. If his judgment led him to make the wrong choice, he would follow it to the end. No one would be able to pull him back.

Of the rest, Ye Qingxuan was least worried about Lola. He believed that with the adultery between him and this sister…Ah, no, with the 'mutual trust' between them, she would still vote for him even if his enemy was the queen.

Seeing as Ye Qingxuan was her mobile blood bank and treasure box, she had to help. Otherwise, there was really no justice in this world! But the rest were really tough.

To his knowledge, master Barthelemy had always distanced himself from dispute and refused to participate in any fights. Master Heisenberg was far away at the Rock Institute. Though he had many academic achievements, he was isolated after his inheritance of his school, and so was more difficult to deal with.

Mr. Hu, who was said to be from the East… God only knew whether he would recall when Ye Qingxuan had once helped him with directions. Moreover, he did not even hide his extreme pleasure. He was definitely just an audience member who came for the show.

While he was deep in thought, the most nervous part finally came.

"Please come up, Mr. Abraham." Sergey, seeing Abraham standing behind the speaker, asked harshly, "Can you guarantee that every word you going to say is the truth?"

"I promise, sir." Abraham's answer was straightforward and non-imposing, but his expression was still dull. He just stood behind the speaker's podium, waiting for the questions.

After the commissioners skimmed the biographical notes submitted by Abraham, their expressions suddenly became complex as they began to whisper to each other.

"This is practically a piece of white paper." Sergey slammed the resume on the table and said quietly, "There's almost nothing on it. With all due respect, this thing is wasting our time."

The other members, other than Mr. Hu who was spacing out, all agreed. It was not that they were impatient; it was just that Abraham's resume was too simple.

The most considerate, Barthelemy, thought for a moment. Thinking of that letter for himself, he grew serious and sighed. "In this case, just ask the questions. It'll be cleared up somehow."

Master Heisenberg, who had been resting his eyes, suddenly opened his mouth. "I don't think so." His face was as cold and chilling. "If he wanted to lie, he could possibly manage to deceive us. Perhaps we should put an end to this farce as soon as possible."

"We should finish this part at least, even if it's just routine work," Lola who was always silent suddenly said. She was only around twenty-years-old and was especially conspicuous in the group whose average age was over forty. "I think it's better to ask first," she suggested. "If there's anything confusing, we can just ask him to give more proof, how's that?"

"It seems that that is the only solution," Sergey huffed coldly. He glanced at the resume in hand again and looked up to Abraham. "Mr. Abraham, you were a soldier, weren't you?"

Abraham nodded.

"As far as we know, in the military, you only had three months of musical training." Sergey frowned. "What did you learn during those three months?"

"…" Abraham was silent for a long time and then asked softly, "Can you ask another question?"

Everyone was stunned.

This was the first question that had been rejected today. No one had ever refused to answer a question from the members of the council at the appraisal so directly. And it was such a simple question!

Below the platform, the reporters were shocked and immediately began recording excitedly. It seemed that dozens of wonderful headlines had already been drafted.

Hearing Abraham's words, even Sergey, who tried to be patient for once, could not help but be infuriated. Was it necessary to refuse to answer such a question?

His expression turned cold and he glared at Abraham for a long time, but Abraham was still expressionless. After a long pause, Sergey asked again, "Who is your teacher?"

The answer was still silence. The discussions in the hall gradually became noisier until Sergey pounded his gavel. "Silence! Do you refuse to answer this question too, Mr. Abraham?" He looked to Abraham with obvious anger.

"Sorry." Abraham sighed and looked bitter and helpless. "Unless you have the approval and written permission of the Fourth Department, I cannot answer."

"Cannot answer?"

The audience was again in an uproar and even the commissioners were startled.

"…"

The Fourth Division was a division of the governmental system after centuries of evolution.

The First Division included all administrative organs of Anglo, such as commercial business, tax management, and so on. They were the foundation of the kingdom's administrative system management.

The Second Division included the police force, epidemic prevention, fire protection, and so on. It was an indispensable part for the kingdom.

The Third Division was agriculture, education, land, population survey, and more. It was in charge managing the people's livelihood.

As for the Fourth Division, it was a war department. Combining the army, logistics, weapons forging, the destructive technical research, it was in charge of all acts of violence and active defense of the armed forces.

It was what ordinary people called the 'military.' It was said that there was also a Fifth Division, but no one had ever directly acknowledged its existence.

"I Cannot answer."

Hearing his professor's reply, Ye Qingxuan slapped his forehead, covered his face and sighed. He suddenly wanted to die. His worst nightmare had come true!

No one knew how many strict confidential agreements Abraham had signed with the military. Abraham did not even have a photo of himself as a youth. Fortunately, Abraham had submitted a resume certificate from the military and managed to account for the past.

After a brief discussion of the commissioners, Sergey forced down his anger and asked, "Mr. Abraham, according to the Union's investigation, you had thirty-one years of military history before you entered the Royal Academy of Music, but your resume says that when you were only forty-two-years-old when you were discharged. So exactly how old were you when you enlisted?"

"Sorry," Abraham replied woodenly. "Unless you have the approval and written permission of the Fourth Division, I cannot answer."

Sergey's face turned livid. Emotions battled on his face fascinatingly. After a long while, he gritted his teeth and asked, "As far as I know, your birth information is not complete. You claim to be the son of a gardener, but according to the Union's investigation, there are no local gardeners and there is no Wilson family. Can you explain this?"

"Sorry, unless you have the approval and written permission of the Fourth Division, I cannot answer."

Sergey's expression was pained as if he had a toothache. "Is this confidential too?"

"Sorry, unless you have the approval and written permission of the Fourth Division, I cannot answer."

"What are the military designations that you served?"

"Sorry, unless you have the approval and written permission of the Fourth Division, I cannot answer."

"What about the last year before you retired?" Sergey was totally outraged. "Your resume says that you were locked in the Tower Green because of some significant punishment. Can you not answer this either?!"

Abraham was still numb and everyone could guess his answer. "Sorry, unless you have the approval and written permission of the Fourth Division, I cannot answer."

"Enough is enough, Mr. Abraham!" Sergey furiously banged the gavel in his hand. "Who is your immediate superior? I believe the Union can receive permission… "

"I'm sorry." Abraham sighed. "Unless you have the approval and written permission of the Fourth Division, I cannot answer."

"What else can you say other than 'I cannot answer'?!"

"Sorry, unless you, uh…" Abraham realized halfway through his sentence and sighed powerlessly. He could say a lot, actually, but why did they only ask what he could not answer? He asked tentatively, "Why don't you ask something else? I taught three very talented students, they are… "

"Enough!" Heisenberg, who had been indifferent this entire time, interrupted him. He fixed his cold eyes upon Abraham and said in an extremely serious voice, "Mr. Abraham, do you think that since the Fourth Division is a shield allowing you to act so recklessly? You should know that the Musician's Union has special-purpose phone lines with all Anglo's major departments."

"Sorry." Abraham shook his head.

"Somebody get me the Fourth Division! I want to see Abraham's detailed file!" Sergey squeezed from clenched teeth. "I'd like to see what else he can't say!"

Soon, the Modifications musicians outside managed to directly contact uptown's military office through an underground cable. On the other end of the line, a gentle female voice said, "Hello, this is the sixth receptionist, do you have an appointment?"

"Hello, Madam," Sergey said coldly. "This is the Musician's Union. We need to check the history of a citizen."

Soon, after a simple confirmation, the soft and sweet voice asked, "Please provide us the registration number and name you need to check."

Sergey glanced at Abraham. Seeing his still-numb expression, he huffed and reported the information on his resume.

The call disconnected instantly.

Everyone was stunned and bewildered.

Then, after a few busy signals, the call was connected again. This time the sweet female voice was gone, replaced by an indifferent and wizened voice.

"Who is it?" he asked.

"This is the Musician's Union—"

Sergey was interrupted before he could finish his words by a cold machine-like and monotone voice, "I'm sorry. Whatever you want to ask, we cannot answer unless you have the approval and written permission of the Fourth Division."

"Dammit!" Sergey was stunned and immediately became furious. "This is the Musician's Union!"

"I'm sorry, unless you have the permission from the Fourth Division…" the cold voice repeated.

"We have members of the royal family as witnesses! We have the Church's recognition!" Sergey growled. "Do you know who I am?! I am—"

"—otherwise we cannot answer."

The line ended; only a busy tone could be heard. An awkward busy tone.

In the awkward atmosphere, everyone looked at each other in silence and embarrassment. In the end, they all looked to the royal family behind the curtain. Soon, a note was sent out from it. After reading, those council members' expressions changed until they grew helpless.

"Uh, let's skip this part." Barthelemy could not help but cough a little. "At least, now no one doubts that he is a member of the Fourth Division."

Sergey's face was gloomy. He grunted without saying a word.

The room was silent.

The room was silent. Now, everyone looked at Abraham. When they looked at that expressionless and plain-looking old man, their eyes were filled with awe as if looking at a blinding sun.

He passed? He passed just like that?!

Since the birth of the academic world, there had never been someone who dared to directly refuse a question and still pass! This guy…where did he come from?

Ingmar's expression grew livid. He glared at Abraham as if looking at a demon and cursed under his breath, breaking out of character.

"Yeah, that's my teacher! My teacher!" Overjoyed, Charles grasped a reporter's hand and would not let go. "Write a few more words! Write a few more words! This is the Royal Academy of Music's best teacher. Ingmar or whoever is nothing compared to him! Look, look, that guy's face is all green from this jab, do you see?"

"Uh, senior, you should stop insulting him for your own safety."

Charles whistled and made an annoying face at Ingmar, causing Ingmar's expression to grow even uglier.

-

The appraisal council discussed for a bit before deciding to enter the next segment. Just as Sergey prepared to ask questions, a hand reached over and took his notes.

"Let me do it," Grandmaster Heisenberg, who had been silent, finally said. His scarred face had a slightly chilling aura. "Sergey, you drag things on too much."

Sergey scoffed. "In my opinion, it's better to go steadily when things regard a scholar's reputation."

"So you still believe that a quickly-produced musician could decipher the Voynich Manuscript? For these obvious matters, going steadily is just being indecisive."

Heisenberg glared coldly at the podium. His voice, ruined by drugs, sounded like a broken bellow. "Mr. Abraham, next we will investigate your interpretation of the Voynich Manuscript. If you cannot answer those questions either, then we can stop wasting time."

Abraham just nodded. "Please begin."

Heisenberg scoffed. Raising his voice, he asked, "When did you start deciphering the Voynich Manuscript?"

"One year ago," Abraham answered calmly. "My student Charles couldn't understand the textbook and came to ask me. I realized that the explanation in the textbook was wrong, so I wanted to create a more accurate version."

One year ago? So he had gone from nothing to deciphering the Voynich Manuscript in just one year?

Hushed discussions instantly started in the room; the scholars all had incredulous expressions. Ingmar's expression grew uglier once again.

Of course his expression was ugly! The Revelations textbooks were written by him and the other professors. If Abraham said the theories in the textbook were incorrect then he was practically slapping Ingmar's face in public!

Hearing this, Heisenberg was silent for a bit before his lips curled into a mocking smile. He seemed to be tickled by this outrageous moment. He hit the gavel to silence the room.

"I noticed that, other than the conclusion of both yours and Mr. Ingmar's interpretation content, the style is different as well. Even if some ideas are…absurd, they all seem able to be self-justified. I still have a question though." Heisenberg stared coldly at him. "You aren't even a Revelations musician and never advanced in that direction, am I correct?"

Abraham nodded, answering, "But my translation method found its inspiration from the School of Revelations."

"Really?" Heisenberg wrinkled his forehead. "That's odd. Your translation method contradicts with the core principles of Revelations! How can you explain that?"

"Actually…this is what I think," Abraham said slowly, seriously considering his every word, but his answer was like a bomb. "Since the principle contradicts with the truth, then the principle might be wrong?"

Silence. No matter if it was a scholar outside or an appraisal council member, all thought they had heard incorrectly. The music theory had been edited hundreds of times by saints and verified by countless musicians for centuries—it was tried and true. If there was a mistake in the theory that all was built upon, the sound of hearts of countless Resonance level musicians would probably collapse hearing this!

"Blasphemy!" a scholar retorted. "Outrageous!"

"The biggest joke of the century!"

Many scholars could not stand it anymore and protested loudly with furious expressions.

"Silence! Silence!" Heisenberg pounded the gavel forcefully and stared down the podium with blazing eyes. "Abraham! Are you overruling the music theory body of the School of Revelations?"

"I just think that the music theory still isn't perfect and can't be used in every situation." Below the podium, Abraham's expression was still wooden. "Furthermore, the Voynich Manuscript records the research of classicist musicians toward music theory. It's logical that there are errors when using modern music theory to understand it. If you cannot let go of the principles, you'll be at a dead end.

"Therefore, you must change your direction and find another solution that can be paired with the changes in music theory for targeted translations. At least, that's what I think."

"So your translation method was born from this?"

Abraham nodded.

"No wonder," Heisenberg scoffed. "A mechanic and dull theory without any spirit or aesthetics. No offense, but I don't recognize its effectiveness or rationality. Its existence is a stain to the spirited theory of the School of Revelations.

"Every year, there are dozens like you who excitedly publish those outrageous and ridiculous theories for attention. They often cannot withstand the tests and have hundreds of flaws. They don't even deserve to be jokes. Hmph, the academic world wouldn't be so polluted without you folk musicians!"

Abraham remained silent; he could not reply.

In the audience, Charles rose angrily but was pressed down by Ye Qingxuan.

"Senior, calm down." The youth glared at the mocking Ingmar. "We don't have the right to speak here. Don't do anything that negatively affects our teacher."

Heisenberg took one last glance at Abraham from the podium and threw down his notes. "My questioning is complete."

The gavel slammed down; the echo was heavy.

Abraham looked down. As he returned to his seat, he brushed shoulders with Ingmar. In that moment, Ingmar tidied up his clothing with a taunting smile on his lips.

"Abraham," he whispered in the old man's ears, "I said that I'd destroy your reputation and throw you back to the garbage dump. Remember to take your failures of students with you."

The council members did not hear, the audience did not hear, and Abraham did not seem to hear, but Ye Qingxuan did. He did not move.

-

Next was Ingmar's turn to answer, and he acted how a renowned scholar should. The questioning round ended easily and they finally came to the conclusion. In the audience, Ye Qingxuan did not listen and just spaced out.

"Ever since my teacher passed away, I took over his unfinished work. For six years, I poured my heart into the Voynich Manuscript and tried countless wrong methods. But, as everyone can see, my hard work has finally paid off. I successfully interpreted it. But I never expected…"

Ye Qingxuan spaced out.

"Something like this is a disgrace to the Royal Academy of Music! Gentlemen, this is unprecedented humiliation! It's an unprecedented ripple in the academic world! And this was all due to my research results. For that, my heart hurts!" Ingmar's expression was heavy, depressed, and angry. "I don't wish to think so badly of others and think that their intentions are evil! This entire time, I thought that perhaps Mr. Abraham's results were similar to mine or that he had some unspeakable hardships, causing him to do something so heartbreaking. But I was wrong!"

Ye Qingxuan continued to space out.

"After this event occurred, I tried to compromise and kept silent, hoping that Mr. Abraham could understand my intentions. To quell this unreasonable fight, I was even willing to write Mr. Abraham as an author of the study! But as you all can see, I was very, very wrong!"

Ingmar slammed a fist down on the table. He uttered in a tragic voice, "My tolerance and concessions were taken to be weak and powerless. Abraham followed closely as I yielded, tossing the entire academy into this storm. Not only did the academy lose all dignity, he also created such a humiliating storm.

"Now, this is no longer about my own glory, but the three-hundred year old glory of the School of Revelations and the name of all grandmasters. They cannot be ruined in my hands and should not be tarnished by the slander of an evil and petty man! I hope all council members will make the correct decision today."

Ye Qingxuan continued to space out. He looked but did not see, heard but did not listen.

Tap tap tap… tap tap tap… tap tap tap…He tapped his finger against the table. The taps were soft and gentle but spread soundlessly. Like icy rain falling from the sky, they chilled one to the bone.

Tap tap tap… tap tap tap… tap tap tap…Rain fell endlessly.

Until a reporter with a gray fedora flinched and slowly widened his squinted eyes. Looking like he had just woken from a nap, he yawned and off-handedly murmured, "Sir, the Shaman's gift has been prepared."

And so the rain sound dissipated and Ye Qingxuan looked up.

"Senior."

"Yeah?"

"Can you go get a delivery for me?" Ye Qingxuan looked down and organized the notes on his table. He said softly, "It's almost time for our counterattack."

"Today, I am not the only one who is humiliated. The path of Revelations and the entire atmosphere of the academic world has been humiliated as well. If this lowly trend cannot be restrained, countless of others will be humiliated like me in the future!" At the podium, Ingmar was still speaking with gusto. Angry and sad, he did not realize that everyone was looking behind him in confusion, and continued speaking.

"Therefore, I advise the council members to seriously consid—" Just as he was getting to the main point, he felt someone poke him, and poke him, and poke him again. The pen cap did not hurt but it was annoying.

"What the f*ck are you poking me for? How annoying!"

Ingmar's voice suddenly stopped. He spun around and glared at the other. "Presumptuous!"

Under everyone's confused eyes, the presumptuous youth in question looked at Ingmar calmly and waved his pocket watch around. "Mr. Ingmar, you only have three minutes to speak but you've spoken for an extra minute and a half. Do you want to start a talk show or something?"

Ingmar's expression changed, filling with dark fury. Finally, he huffed and left with billowing sleeves. When he brushed past the youth, he squeezed out, "B*stard, you won't be laughing for long."

"Ha." Ye Qingxuan chuckled. "Don't overthink. It's bad for your health."

The two brushed shoulders.

The youth stood on the podium and smiled, bowing politely to the judges. "Sirs, if it's okay, I'll start now."

Sergey finally reacted and wrinkled his brows, asking, "Wait a minute. Why isn't it Abraham? Who are you?"

"My name is too lowly to be spoken." Ye Qingxuan smiled. "I am Abraham's student and the witness to this case. My teacher is not skilled at speaking, so I will conclude things for him. Is that not allowed?"

"There have been no precedents," Heisenberg huffed.

"But it's doable, is it not?" Lola glanced over with a smile. Without waiting for their decision, she stated, "Mr. Student, please begin."

Shocked, Heisenberg glared coldly at Lola, who rolled her eyes and seemed to smile. The glare was like a sword pierced into water. Other than insignificant ripples, there was no other reaction.

The dark gaze quickly moved away and Heisenberg no longer spoke. Barthelemy opened his mouth but did not say anything. The Eastern Mr. Hu looked at the youth's white hair with interest. His eyes brightened as if anticipating some good show. No one disagreed and so the youth at the podium smiled.

-

"To be honest, Mr. Ingmar's speech touched me." The youth uttered his first words with a somber and hurt expression.

What he said confused the audience—what was going on now? Was he going to side with Ingmar and cut ties with Abraham? But that did not seem right.

At the podium, the youth was still speaking with regret. "Mr. Ingmar's misfortunes are tragic and should be pitied. If I were you all, I would definitely feel that he had suffered the world's greatest wrong, even greater than snow in June. If you don't support him, then you're totally unjust and unreasonable. Even the Sacred City would shed tears for him."

He paused. The heavy sadness disappeared from his face, replaced by a mocking and evil smile. "But sadly, nothing he said was about the content of his interpretation! Excuse my brashness, but Mr. Ingmar's talents are more than enough to be the reporter of a small newspaper. Maybe he can even start a popular column like 'music theory life' or 'voice of Anglo.'

"But for the scholarly fields that speak in the language of theories and research, he's far from enough. This is not the place for kids to roll around. This is also not somewhere one can win by telling a sob story and painful pasts!"

There was a crack.

That was the sound of one's teeth practically breaking.

Offstage, Ingmar's face twitched as he clenched his fists, too angry to speak. Heisenberg pounded his gavel.

"Abraham's student, this is not the place for you to attack others!" he said coldly. "If you don't have any conclusions to make, you can leave now."

The youth shrugged helplessly and looked at the eyes around him. He asked seriously, "Didn't anyone find it strange? Why does the beginning and end of his interpretation contradict each other? Why is there such an obvious break in logic? Is it really a rare mistake?

"If he really isn't guilty, why is he so nervous that we filed a complaint? Why did he keep blocking our right to receive what we deserve through official means? And is he really as great as he said? Why didn't he mention how he threatened and harmed my teacher? Why didn't he mention how he reduced the music history department building to ashes? Did he think that no one could see these obvious things?"

"Ye Qingxuan!" Ingmar roared, shooting to his feet in anger. "This is the appraisal council, not somewhere for you to act wildly! You must speak with evidence! Do you really think that your unorthodox method can interpret the Voynich Manuscript?!"

Ye Qingxuan sneered. He was about to make a retort but heard the gavel.

"Silence!" Grandmaster Barthelemy interrupted them from his seat. He gazed at the two of them and said with a neutral tone, "May both parties please control themselves. This is an appraisal council to discuss the Voynich Manuscript. Other subjects are not within the scope of our trial.

"Also, young man, in our opinion, both you and Ingmar provided effectual interpretation methods. However, I'm sure that all who are present understand that it's easy to use abductive reasoning to create a specific method when deciphering ancient texts if one knows the result."

Ye Qingxuan already understood what he meant before he finished. If he could not provide substantial evidence, they could only look at this argument from a traditional and conservative standpoint. Then, Ingmar was the victor without a doubt.

This was Abraham's biggest weakness. The translation method did not have the recognition of many. Compared to the mainstream Revelations system that had been revised by countless people, Abraham's theory did not have enough credibility.

But hearing Barthelemy, Ye Qingxuan laughed. He had been waiting for these words for a very long time.

Ye Qingxuan raised the notes in his hands. "To prove the rationality of the translation method, we used the few days before the appraisal to provide new evidence—a new result!"

Everyone was stunned. New evidence? A new result and translation? In these few short days?

Offstage, hushed discussions began again and did not stop; even Barthelemy was stunned. He quickly looked down at the youth. "A new result in these few days? Young man, perhaps you do not understand that the interpretation of ancient texts is measured by decades! A few days are not even enough time to gather material and compare with texts from the same time period."

"Perhaps everyone present doubts my words, but I swear that I am speaking the truth," Ye Qingxuan stated lightly. "To verify it, I underwent the sublimation ritual and used the opportunity for Deva sensing. The school can prove this. The council can also use the aether record of the Cave of Sleep for evidence. For this, I gambled my chance to become an official musician. I believe that it can prove the effectiveness of the translation method."

With that, the entire room fell silent. The sublimation ritual, Deva sensing.

Indeed, he would be able to find the correct direction and result by transforming into the ripples of the aether sea, resonating with the music theory, and using the power of the Originator to activate the translation method—even for a moment.

But who would do such a stupid thing?

For the translations of a few words, he gambled his chance to become an official musician and wasted his one-in-a-lifetime opportunity for Deva sensing on this?!

Crazy! He was crazy!

At that moment, everyone looked at Ye Qingxuan with pity and regret. What a pity, if it was not like this…

And how old was he? He had just entered school a few months ago, right? It had only been four or five months and he was already close to becoming an official musician?! That speed was frightening.

He was comparable to the freak student of Anglo legends who had broken through the Student level in one month. He was even more powerful than the geniuses that each School trained in secret environments since childhood.

A pity, what a pity…

-

Under all the sympathetic and pitiful eyes, Ye Qingxuan walked forward emotionlessly and passed a piece of paper through the council members.

Only a few sparse words were written on the extremely thin paper but they all fell into deep thought and silence. When it was Heisenberg's turn, he took it and put it face down on the table, refusing to look.

Ye Qingxuan did not stop. Finally, he offered the paper to grandmaster Barthelemy.

Barthelemy hesitated but accepted it. When the youth lowered his head in gratitude, he felt vague guilt in his heart. Would he really be able to make a fair decision?

Holding the paper, his eyes wandered between Ingmar and Abraham; his mind was a mess. In the end, he looked down in dejection and sighed. But then his eyes could not move away.

He stared at the words on the paper and his hands shook uncontrollably. "This…this…" It felt as if he was struck by lightning. The aether around him instantly began tossing like stormy waves and showed signs of losing control.

He quickly reigned in the strength but he could no longer keep calm. Head shooting up, he looked at the youth. "As if you are above, as if you are below, and so all can begin…Is this the Emerald Tablet?!"

"As if you are above, as if you are below, and so all can begin…Is this the Emerald Tablet?!"

The youth nodded silently with a humble smile.

Amidst the commotion, the still doubtful Sergey looked up at Barthelemy. "Are you sure?"

Barthelemy managed a bitter smile. "The original is the Emerald Tablet, without a doubt. It is more complete than what I have as well. However, I cannot confirm the translation results within a short period." Hesitating, he set down his determination and said quietly, "Of course, it's possible he made it all up."

"It's not made up, don't worry." The Eastern scholar who had always been silent finally spoke up now. Mr. Hu, who was not as learned in Western classicism, made a decision before everyone else.

Looking down, he twisted the corner of the white paper. There was a faint watermark there. It was the design of two entangled snakes.

"He's correct." Mr. Hu's expression was strange and troubled. "Perhaps someone else has already confirmed it before us." Without waiting for the others' reply, he called a servant over and murmured to him.

The servant hesitated but walked before the curtain of the royal family and said something quietly. He quickly returned with a strip of paper. The paper was passed between the judges, causing everyone's expression to grow complicated.

There was only one short sentence: the translation is correct.

Since royalty vouched for it, there was nothing more to say. Though they did not understand the reason, it seemed to involve the royalty's privacy and it would be best not to question things.

Barthelemy chuckled wryly. If he had known this, he would not have said anything.

"Well then…" He looked up and prepared to speak, but another sound rang out.

"Wait!" It was another unexpected change when the audience was still shocked. Now feeling a bit numb, they looked toward the Church's curtain in confusion. A priest with a dark expression walked out slowly, holding Ye Qingxuan's translation. He looked at Ye Qingxuan coldly.

"Please bear with my ignorance. But 'as if you are above, as if you are below, and so all can begin' how should one interpret this phrase?"

Ye Qingxuan froze. He quickly pulled himself together, organized his words, and opened his mouth to answer.

"This is a conclusion of the nature of aether from ancient musicians. If you expand the phrase, it means, 'The aether fills us and is omnipresent. With this as a medium, the world's Originator and the origin within a human can communicate. With this as a fulcrum and using the correct method, we can grasp the strength of all—"

"Blasphemy!" Kyle cut him off. He stepped forward with furious eyes and interrogated, "Is everything not created for aether? If that is so, then where is the holy theory? Where is God?! You must speak carefully!"

The last question was a roar. It finally dawned on everyone. When they looked at Ye Qingxuan, it was with shock and suspicion.

This interpretation of music theory described the origin of all organisms. Without a doubt, it contradicted the holy theory. It would be okay at any other time, but the Church was here. They would never admit its rationale, otherwise, they would lose dignity. If God lost his role as the master of all, how was he different from those demons?

No matter what, this sentence was enough to overthrow any of Ye Qingxuan's evidence and cast him beyond redemption. Thankfully this was not centuries before. Otherwise, this youth would have probably been judged by the Church and sent to be burned at the stake after they found more than one-hundred crimes.

In the near distance, Ingmar looked at Ye Qingxuan tauntingly. His lips curled into a cold sneer. Kyle would not be able to do anything if Ye Qingxuan had provided the translation of any other document, but he had run straight into this. He was looking for death.

"I've already said that using such a satanic method can only help you interpret satanic writings." Ingmar chuckled coldly. "I suggest the appraisal council carefully consider why this Eastern kid provided such a document and almost caused the grandmasters and the crown to be unrighteous. He must have an ulterior motive."

The tides turned instantly. No one expected Ye Qingxuan would fall to the state of being accused of all.

However, there was no panic on the youth's face. When he looked at the furious Kyle, his eyes showed tired pity. "The God described by the holy theory is empty. There is no definite form of God. Mankind cannot imagine what God is like. Aether is God's hand, strength, and his eyes. Aether is God's messenger. Therefore, we can use aether to probe into the holy world and prove the existence of a god. That is how the Church can receive the holy essence.

"In my opinion, the holy theory does not contradict this phrase. It instead complements it. Father, if you think that this phrase will shake the foundations of the holy theory, you have no need to worry."

"Outrageous!" Kyle was livid. "Such nonsense and heresy!"

"Really?" the youth asked in reply. "I quoted the preaching of Pope Bartholomew from two-hundred years ago. Do you think the Pope's words are nonsense too?"

"You…" Coldness flashed past Kyle's eyes. He quickly retorted, "The Pope's words are undoubtedly correct, however, each sentence has a specific context. They contain different meanings when in different context. Do not twist Bartholomew's words to prove your heresy!"

Ye Qingxuan looked at him without expression. "This sentence discusses the relationship between aether and the world. There is nothing nonsensical about it, nor had it been led astray. How can it be heresy? If you can really prove its existence, then would we have to close our eyes and pretend we don't see it? Father, 'prejudice causes one to fall.' Hubris is one of the original sins!" His last words quoted the Church's bible and undoubtedly were a slap to Father Kyle's face.

"Silence!" Kyle roared. "How dare you twist God's thoughts—"

"Twist God's thoughts?" Ye Qingxuan smirked. He raised his voice and pressed harder. "I'd like to ask something. Who is truly heretic? Me or someone who falsely uses God's name to fulfil his own wishes?

"God's thoughts are above the truth. We are unable to look into the depths but should never stop trying! How dare you cover the believers' eyes and fool them into abandoning the path of justice?" The youth's hoarse voice covered Kyle's roar. In the end, it was like metal grating. The harshness of his voice had an almost tangible strength. His eyes shone as he spoke the holy words and one could not meet his eyes.

"The holy theory says: the road to justice is surrounded by evils. Those who guide their companions through the darkness with love and kindness will be protected by God, for he is the true guardian. For those who dare to hurt and kill my people, I will exact revenge upon them! When the fire of my vengeance falls from the sky, you all will know that I am the king of all, I am the king of kings!"

The youth spoke with a low voice and followed Kyle closely. His voice was serious yet awe-inspiring, forcing Kyle to stumble back. Ye Qingxuan seemed to be the true representative of God while Kyle was the heretic he had tied to the stake.

Kyle had seen that high and mighty coldness on old monks—they had spent their entire life immersed in God's teachings and became agents of God after they reached middle age. There seemed to be fire in their eyes when they gazed upon mundanes as if they would judge all sins.

"Silence!" Kyle's face was deathly pale and he panted for breath. "How dare you dispute the holy theory with me? I am the agent of god. You are a mundane! You must not speak of God in vain, you must—"

"Enough, Kyle. Stop making a fool of yourself," came a wizened voice from behind the curtain. The heavy voice was like a giant rock and resounded soundly.

All fell silent.

The voice caused Kyle to stiffen. He looked back in confusion and looked at the silhouette of the old man behind the curtain. He said with a trembling voice, "Father Mephistopheles, I only wanted to—"

"Kyle, that child understands the messages of God more deeply than you," the old man said lightly. "Let us stop here today. Believers of God should not participate in matters of fame and glory."

This was not some mighty scolding but it was more terrifying than anything else. Kyle's face became sheet-white. He understood that Mephistopheles might have already known that he made a deal with others and was using Mephistopheles's name to do something. Perhaps he was not upset but Kyle's role as a personal secretary had probably come to an end.

Kyle opened and closed his mouth multiple times but could only stutter something. Finally, he looked down and stumbled back behind the curtain, almost falling.

Ingmar had sunk into a daze. In panic, he looked from Ye Qingxuan to the Church's curtain. Watching Kyle leave, he reached out to grab Kyle's shirt but was shaken away. Seeing Kyle's deathly pallor, he felt chills all over.

"How—how is this possible…" For a moment, he finally realized that he might lose.

-

After order was reinstated, the wizened voice behind the Church's curtain asked, "Young man, why did you come here?" His question was targeted at the youth.

Ye Qingxuan thought for a moment before answering, "To prove the truth."

"Oh? But the truth is self-evident."

"Being self-evident takes time and I can't wait." The youth looked down. Voice heavy, he said, "I came here so my teacher's efforts won't be snatched away. I also came so the translation method won't be seen as unorthodoxy and will have its own place in the academic world.

"In my opinion, if justice really exists in this world, it should be shown. If not, I'll personally prove it."

There was a long silence.

It ended with a sigh. "Your ideas are a bit stubborn but it's rare to have such thoughts," Mephistopheles said. "May the council bring me the report? I would like to see the ideas of this Professor Abraham."

A servant brought the report behind the curtain. There was no reply for a long while. The reporters buried their heads and scribbled furiously about the amazing plot twist.

After a long silence, Mephistopheles' lamenting voice sounded behind the curtain. "I see now. It feels strange when one looks at it from the Revelations angle but this method feels familiar when one reads it closely.

"Ignoring the spirit and sense, using only basic patterns and rules, using the number theory to move forward. Your teacher must be an accomplished musician in the School of Abstinence, yes? It's such a pity that I have never heard of his name or theory in all these years. What is the theory known as?"

"Just the translation method," the youth replied politely with his head lowered. "If one wishes to distinguish it from others, I call it 'Abraham's Translation Method.' I hope more can know my teacher and this theory."

"A very simple and straightforward name," Father Mephistopheles mused softly. After a short suffocating pause, he declared, "The translation method is valid."

Everyone shuddered when the long wait finally ended. This was giant news! The Church had vouched for the translation method!

No matter how the gavel was pounded, the low rumbles would not stop. The discussions could not be restrained no matter how one yelled "Silence!" The people discussed in shock and excitement. No matter what the result was, they had witnessed the birth of a new theory.

As wooden as he was, even Abraham's eyes turned red and his hands shook. He had never thought that his life's work could one day be recognized by all. If Charles was here, he would definitely be jumping up and yelling in happiness.

Perhaps the only one in despair was Ingmar.

"Impossible! This is impossible…" Ingmar yelled, losing his temper. "Why is the Church disturbing the academic appraisal? The validity of the translation method should be decided by scholars. It has nothing to do with God!" He had completely forgotten that he had used the name of God to add salt to Ye Qingxuan's wounds. In his anger, he had lost all of his original grace and calm. His features twisted and twitched as if he was possessed by a demon.

He roared, "I'll never acknowledge it! I'll never acknowledge the theory from that fool! A plagiarizer dares to be on the same level as me? I'm the grandmaster of the Royal Academy of Music! He's nothing compared to me!!!"

His roars caused the entire room to fall silent. Everyone watched his hysteria in shock. In the dead silence, one person chuckled and clapped with enthusiasm.

"Well said!" Ye Qingxuan smiled brightly but the smile made one feel chills. "How can a plagiarizer be spoken of with a grandmaster of the Royal Academy of Music? How can the glory of interpreting the Voynich Manuscript be shared with lowly scums?"

"You…" Ingmar glared at Ye Qingxuan. Ripples of aether surged from his body but were forced down by the Union's enchantment. Only his piercing voice burst forth. They grated one's eardrums and made everyone wrinkle their brows.

"Mr. Ingmar is correct," the youth said hoarsely. "We are here today to decide the ownership of the Voynich Manuscript and who is the plagiarizer. Let us return to the main topic." He looked to the grandmasters before him with cold and menacing eyes that one could not look at directly. "Therefore, I request for the council to call forth our witness, a critical but overlooked player who had disappeared for dozens of days."

Ingmar froze. Suddenly thinking of something, his face grew even paler and he yelled, "Objection! I object! They didn't request this beforehand. I refuse to acknowledge—"

The door was thrown open. The strong afternoon sun surged in like a thunderstorm, illuminating his white face.

The blonde youth entered the hall, pushing someone on a wheelchair. The chair passed through the stunned, dazed, and puzzled eyes before finally stopping before the podium. The youth on the chair looked at Ingmar and said quietly, "Professor, long time no see."

Ingmar gaped at him and fell into his chair as if he had truly seen a ghost. "B-Bart…"

-

Bart Williams. As the second son of a small family from Birmingham, he had neither a great nor horrible background. He did not have any big future either—he could become a tax official and work until retirement.

When he had revealed signs of musical talent, his father—a lord—made the biggest gamble in his life. He sent Bart to Anglo to enroll in the Royal Academy of Music. Since then, Bart had done many immoral things so he could become successful and never return to his home in the countryside. He threw away his dignity to be associated with Edmund and Banner's families.

After enduring so many years, he finally became Ingmar's close student and the future of the School of Revelations. It was celebratory news. But no one expected that he would fall to this state after a short few days.

Sitting on the wheelchair, Bart was covered in blood and seemed to be on his last breath. Tubes were stuck all over his body; an IV bag hung above the chair, endlessly sending lifesaving medicine into him.

Hearing Ingmar's voice, he forced his head up and looked at Ingmar through his blurry vision. A weird sound—half laughing, half crying—came from his throat.

"Bart, let me explain." Shaken, Ingmar stumbled back.

"Professor, what did I do wrong?" There seemed to be a block of iron stuck in Bart's throat. He looked at Ingmar and shed tears of blood. He lifted his ragged hand and tugged at his collar. "Why must you do this to me?"

Three large staples were nailed to his throat. The staples dug into his messy and bloody flesh; it was cruelly disgusting. They held together a gaping opening that covered his entire throat. It was the fatal wound that should have taken his life.

As Bart spoke, the wound opened further like an infant crying for help. "Why must you do this to me?! Professor…"

"It wasn't me! Bart, it wasn't me!" The stark wound was like a spear that pierced Ingmar's forced calmness. "I-I never…Bart, you must believe me. Believe me!" He was telling the truth. It really was not him and he never thought things would turn into this. But he had some good friends who wanted to help him. Such as…making a student who knew too much disappear.

Many things had happened within the past ten days.

When the Shaman's eyes in the school told Ye Qingxuan that Bart had secretly packed his belongings and left school, Ye Qingxuan did not think much of it. To stay safe, he had secretly told them to follow and capture Bart on the road. It could have been his winning card. But he had never expected that what happened next would be more evil and cruel than he had ever imagined.

The Shaman's men had kept an eye on the entire event: first, the carriage exploded. No one died with a complete body. When Bart managed to survive with his alchemy equipment and crawled out, someone slit his throat and left soundlessly.

Thanks to priceless medicine and the intensive care of Choir musicians, Bart was able to stay alive and return to his professor in Avalon.

The professor and student had reunited. What joy. But there was nothing joyous about the current atmosphere. There was only undisguisable guilt and fear, as well as chilling sadness and hatred.

Seeing them like this, the scholars who had guessed things instantly booed. The commotion could not be stopped by the gavel.

"Mr. Bart Williams," Ye Qingxuan said loudly as he gazed at the stunned faces. "Please tell everyone where you were on that afternoon, thirteen days ago, the day the second trial of the school day ended, when Mr. Ingmar reported that he successfully interpreted the Voynich Manuscript."

"The music history department," Bart replied hoarsely as he looked at Ingmar. "I was in Mr. Abraham's library."

"Oh?" Ye Qingxuan smirked. "Why were you at the history department?"

"Someone at the school board meeting proved that my professor had unreasonably tried to harm Abraham. My professor wanted to pretend to be nice and allow Abraham to be the associate dean of the School of Revelations. And then—and then frame him to destroy his reputation."

"Irresponsible nonsense!" Ingmar roared. He charged forward to stop Bart but was held down by people from the Union. He yelled, "Shut up! Bart, you're lying!"

Ye Qingxuan snickered. "Bart, please tell everyone what you saw after you got to the music history department."

After a long pause, Bart uttered, "I saw that nobody was there so I wanted to leave a note, and then…then I saw Mr. Abraham's interpretation results. So I took pictures to copy it and gave it to my teacher."

"Then what was Mr. Ingmar's reaction?"

"His sound of heart broke down. If not for me…if not for me…" He looked back at Ingmar with bitter resentment. "If not for me, he would have died." His voice was so sharp and high that it was as jarring as a steel wire scraped against rock. His wound almost reopened and fresh blood seeped out.

"What happened next is as you all can see," Ye Qingxuan said with a cold laugh. "Mr. Ingmar reported the findings overnight. Unfortunately, he couldn't copy the last part, which is why there's such an obvious break in logic."

"It's all false!" Ingmar picked up the ink bottle in anger and hurled it at Bart crazily. "Slander! It's all slander!"

Bart did not dodge and let the bottle crash into his face. The ink rolled down his cheeks, dying the ugly wound on his throat black. The wound was happily distorted like a ghastly smile.

Ye Qingxuan continued to ask before everyone, "Bart, what did he say after we filed the case?"

Bart fell silent. He raised his damaged hand and ran it across the huge wound on his neck. When he spoke, his voice was calm and mocking as if telling someone else's story. "He said he'd take care of everything. I could go home and stay away from the trouble. I believed him. But on the way there…ha. An accident happened and I turned into this."

"I didn't! I didn't do anything! It was all Abraham!" Ingmar roared, but he could not see any believing eyes. It was all suspicion and disdain. In the end, he no longer had the strength to yell. He collapsed onto his chair and mumbled to himself, "I clearly, I really wanted to protect you. Bart, I only wanted to protect you."

Bart closed his eyes and no longer spoke.

Ye Qingxuan patted his shoulder. He had never seen Bart as a mortal enemy and even thought he was despicable before, but seeing him like this, Ye Qingxuan could not help but feel pity.

The last round of conclusions had ended. Charles began pushing Bart's wheelchair again and took him away from the noisy hall. He was no longer able to stay in the academy after this treatment.

According to his deal with the Shaman, a Choir musician would give him plastic surgery and a new identity after he recovered. Then, he would go to India or Asgard. Perhaps he would be able to start a new life there.

No matter what, the youth named Bart Williams had died the moment he was abandoned by his teacher and had his throat slit. He would not appear on this world again.

Now, Ye Qingxuan no longer had to argue with Ingmar about the truth or validity. He only had to let everyone see Ingmar's ugliness.

The curse known as Bart would forever haunt Ingmar. All dignity was gone and his reputation was destroyed. The world was so large but there was no longer a place for him. It was just how Ingmar had said himself: he would send trash back to the landfill!

-

After witnessing this mess, the five grandmasters who acted as judges fell silent.

"The witness was not approved beforehand and his proof is too wild. It's not impossible that it was fabricated. We must consider it carefully," Heisenberg said coldly. "I suggest we adjourn for fifteen minutes and give the last judgement afterward. What think you all?"

The first to nod was Barthelemy who had a heavy expression. Sergey followed closely after. Finally, all members agreed.

The gavel pounded and it echoed like a mourning bell, startling a crow in the distance.

This was the last moment of respite.

"So it seems that everything's set?" In the carriage, Bai Xi stared at the silver plate on the ground. The plate reflected the sunlight outside the carriage.

A beam of sun seemed to hover between the carriage and the Musician's Union in the distance. Finally, it shone onto the plate and scattered into shards of light. The image of the large room appeared within the broken light. It was blurry but extremely bright and everything could be seen on the plate.

An alchemist would probably feel his guts twisting if he saw this. No one would put so much effort in carving a music score onto a dinner plate and flatten aether waves until they were undetectable just to peek into the meeting room.

Hermes had really just grabbed a dinner plate and made this. If one asked him why a plate…that was because he was currently feasting on a chicken leg in his luxurious carriage.

This guy had grown a few inches in the past few days. He had gotten fatter too; his stomach had started showing thanks to the binge eating, causing his clothes to be pulled taut. If this continued for a few months, he would probably turn from an eerily handsome youth to a fat foodie. No one knew what had happened to him.

Hearing Bai Xi's words, he said without looking up, "Not definite. After all, people can lie, right?"

Bai Xi froze in disbelief. "Would anyone think that Bart's lying? He's already fallen to this state."

"It's not just Bart. Anyone can lie if they have a mouth. Why do you think those 'grandmasters' would tell the truth? If they really want to protect Ingmar, you'll see the best example of lying through one's teeth." As he spoke, Hermes wiped the oil off his mouth with his sleeves and smirked. "But most people who lie would just be lying. If a grandmaster lies, people would still think they're speaking the absolute truth. And what's sad is that most so-called truths come from this."

Bai Xi scoffed. "So those grandmasters are just like scum who work for money?"

"Grandmasters are human, scum are human. What difference is there?" Hermes rebutted. "Who can claim that they've never done anything wrong? In the end, committing sins is too easy for a man. Grit your teeth, stamp your feet, harden your heart, and you can do it.

"The first half of the phrase 'respect elders and care for children' said that you have to respect people when they age. It's not just to respect their age but the fact that they've done more evil than you. You're respecting who you'll become after committing those sins."

"Can you spit out the chicken bones before you talk?" Even though Bai Xi had prayed many times for her cheap teacher to get run over by a carriage, she was still a bit worried seeing how he was stuffing his face. "You've been eating non-stop for the past two hours. Are you okay? Did you get dumped?"

"Some things happened. They're not the best but it's better than a breakup, so my appetite grew." Hermes used his teeth to open a bottle of champagne. Tilting his head back, he took a large gulp and exhaled in satisfaction. "Life is hard. Eating is one of the few pleasures. Bai Xi, you'll understand me in the future. Thank you for your concern, but shouldn't you be more concerned about the appraisal result?"

-

A handful of rice was scattered onto the ground. White doves flapped their wings and descended from the shelf like flurries of white snow to eat. A breeze blew lightly through the flowers and grass refreshingly.

A youth sat on the bench of the Musician Union's garden and played with the doves. Stumbling footsteps grew closer.

It had only been a few minutes, but Ye Qingxuan could barely recognize Ingmar now. His face was sheet white; his expression was pathetic and haggard, completely different from the original pride.

As if he would melt under the sun, he avoided it and stumbled through the shadows, mumbling to himself. He seemed to be cursing or refuting, or just madly raving. When he saw the youth sitting quietly before him, he stopped abruptly.

This was probably the worst coincidental meeting.

"Ye Qingxuan," he muttered hoarsely.

Ye Qingxuan looked back at him with cold eyes as if observing his pathetic appearance. Ingmar's features twitched. He instinctively wanted to leave but his dignity forced him to stay. He looked at Ye Qingxuan too—staring at him. Ghost fire seemed to burn in his dull eyes.

But as he looked, he laughed involuntarily. It was an ugly laugh full of complicated self-mockery. "I never thought that I would lose to Abraham, fall into your hands, even after all my efforts."

"If you want to think like that, then do that," Ye Qingxuan said lightly as he looked back. "It's more embarrassing if you lose to me."

"Don't be so naïve," Ingmar clenched his teeth and said hoarsely. "The winner hasn't been decided yet. You think I don't know about you and that wh*re Lola? What a joke! She can't decide anything by herself. You think you have a sure victory?"

Ye Qingxuan did not move. He retorted, "Is that not so?"

"…" Ingmar's face practically turned purple. Face twitching, he said through clenched teeth, "Since you thought you'd definitely win, why did you drag Bart back? Why?"

"It's simple." Ye Qingxuan scattered a handful of rice. He looked up and smiled under the sun. "You wouldn't lose horribly enough otherwise. Ingmar, that would be too easy for you."

"Ye Qingxuan!" Ingmar roared. "Don't push things too far!"

"Yeah, you're right." The youth nodded and wiped his smile away.

Under the sunlight, he opened his hand. The rice fell and a few doves flew over to eat it. The pure white feathers crisscrossed and scattered the sunlight. The youth's face was shrouded in a mass of blurry light and shadows.

He looked at the flying birds and muttered to himself, "Sadly, I understand the principles but why are these doves so big?"

-

Sunlight fell onto the long hall, cutting open the darkness and casting jagged shadows. Barthelemy paced soullessly and saw Heisenberg sitting by the corner. Taken aback, he nodded at the man and continued forward. He could not help but pause when he passed by.

Grandmaster Heisenberg looked up and took a cigarette out his pocket. Barthelemy hesitated but accepted it. He breathed in after lighting it and began coughing. He was old now and nothing like before; this fact saddened him.

Holding the cigarette, he sat beside Heisenberg in silence. After a long while, he said quietly, "Anta, I'm starting to have doubts."

"You're just indecisive," Heisenberg said lightly. "You're always like that, avoiding problems. That's why Professor chose me in the end."

"Yeah, you're decisive and much better than me." Barthelemy sighed sadly and felt his thinning white hair with a bitter expression. "Anta, do you still remember things from before?"

"Before? How could I not?" Speaking of the past, a tinge of nostalgia appeared on Heisenberg's sinister face. "Back in the day, everyone liked you. I was that annoying guy that couldn't fit in. I always watched you all from afar and wanted to be like you. I used to envy you back then. But then the inheritance book was lost and they found it in my room. For my punishment, I had to guard the abyss for six months and missed the inheritance ceremony."

Barthelemy smoked and said hoarsely, "I did that. I framed you."

"I know." Heisenberg nodded.

"I regret it."

"I know too," Heisenberg said. "That's why I never envied you after that."

Barthelemy remained silent. Heisenberg looked back at his 'old friend,' at the man who never became involved in disputes after this, and his eyes grew pitiful and complicated. "It's all in the past, Barthelemy. It has passed," he said. "Thanks to you, I was no longer weak and became who I am."

"It's my fault." Barthelemy hung his head. "Anta, I don't want to make mistakes anymore."

"The parliament sent a letter to you too, didn't they?" Heisenberg saw through his pain. "If you reject them, most of your research funds will be cut off. You won't be able to continue researching. That's why you're in pain—you can't face yourself."

"What do you think I should do?"

"That's your problem, not mine." Heisenberg gave him one last glance. "Sometimes you must commit evil to survive in this world. You're scared of becoming like that but I'm not."

He rose and left. Barthelemy sat in the quiet yard alone.

-

When Ye Qingxuan returned to the hall, there was still no one there. The grandmasters had not returned; the scholars and reporters could not enter before the session reopened. The hall was silent and still.

A servant cautiously took down the Church's curtain. There was no one behind it. After Archbishop Mephistopheles had proved the translation method's validity, the Church left—this was their usual style. Believers of God should not be involved with matters of fame and fortune.

But after he had left, Ye Qingxuan suddenly felt a little worried that the parliament would try something.

"That…boy over there, come over." Suddenly, a crisp voice sounded behind the royalty's curtain. It sounded like a little boy. Taken aback, Ye Qingxuan walked over after a short hesitation.

The steel knight guarding the curtain did not move as if he had not heard anything. Ye Qingxuan was not sliced in half for approaching the royalty either.

"Come closer," the child-like voice urged.

"Come closer," the child-like voice urged.

Ye Qingxuan stepped within and half-knelt in greeting. "Your Highness, crown prince."

"You, look up. Let me see," the child-like voice commanded.

Ye Qingxuan looked up and could not believe his eyes. In the seat before him was a little boy wrapped in white clothing. Was this the legendary retard crown prince? He must be twenty-four years old now. But why did he look like a seven or eight-year-old?

The boy sat on the chair with a youthful face and curious eyes. The quiet girl beside him saw that Ye Qingxuan dared to look up and furrowed her brows, her eyes growing upset.

"Come closer," the prince said.

Ye Qingxuan took another step forward. He felt the boy's eyes on him, doubtful yet focused. Then the boy reached out and touched his face, finally carefully touching his eyes.

"So pretty, like Auntie. Too bad it's white hair." He sounded disappointed. Suddenly, he asked, "People with white hair are always bad. Are you bad?"

Ye Qingxuan froze. He did not know what to say and could only chuckle wryly. "I was born with kindness in my heart."

The boy's eyes grew more curious but the girl beside him wrinkled her brows and said quietly, "James."

The boy instantly became dejected and waved his hand. "I know, I…go away. I shouldn't talk with people I don't know."

Ye Qingxuan lowered his head, turned, and left. The boy watched his silhouette from behind the curtain.

"Mary, I like his eyes," James said quietly. "His eyes are like Auntie's. When I saw him, I remembered that Auntie hugged me before."

Mary was silent for a moment. She petted his hair and said gently, "James, did you forget again? Auntie has already left Avalon."

"She…will never come back?" James looked hesitantly at the steel knight outside the curtain. "Christine, will Auntie never come back? Can you make her come back? They all say I'm going to be King. I can forgive whatever crime she committed."

"My apologies, Your Highness." The girl's reply under Galahad's armor was hesitant and troubled. "She—she went somewhere far, far away. We can't catch up to her."

James looked at her blankly. "She's Uncle Lancelot's sister. Can Uncle Lancelot not catch up to her either?"

"Your Highness, even Fa—Lord Lancelot has things he cannot do," Christine replied quietly, lowering her head. "Your Highness, please do not be sad. If she knows that you still remember her, she must be happy."

James's expression darkened and did not reply.

-

Ten minutes later, the final break was over. The appraisal council began once again.

The doors opened in the silence. The council members returned to their seats emotionlessly. The gavel pounded, lifting heavy echoes as if it had fallen onto each person's heart. This was the final voting session, but no one wanted to be the first to speak. They stared at each other. Finally, they turned toward the royal seat as if waiting for something.

After a long while, a cold feminine voice sounded. "The verification of theories will be analyzed by scholars. The academic disputes will also be managed by the academic world. Here, the Anglo Royalty has no reign and does not wish to be involved in academia." Mary's cold voice seemed to travel from a great distance. "The result of this appraisal should be decided by the grandmasters."

The royal reply was as many had expected—they would not express their opinion easily. The royalty had a detached status here and had not participated in the appraisal. They were only here as a witness and to ensure the effectiveness of the result.

Seeing that the royalty was set on not getting into this mess, the grandmasters instantly felt a slight headache. The hot potato was once again in their hands.

Who would catch it?

It did not feel right for anyone to speak first. This was not just a simple appraisal—it held the weight of the academic world and involved the lifelong reputation and career of two scholars. A careless mistake could drag them into this as well. Even the hot-tempered Sergey who hated hypocrisy had fallen silent.

In the silence, Ye Qingxuan could not help but feel annoyed. He glared at Lola who was pretending to contemplate. Where was the support that they had agreed on? What was she waiting for? Waiting for midnight snacks?

As if perceiving his annoyance, Lola subtly raised an eyebrow toward the youth. There seemed to be ineffable resentment as they exchanged gazes. Ye Qingxuan felt his blood chill. Her eyes clearly said that she had been starved for too many days and was about to feast soon!

Ye Qingxuan subconsciously touched the base of his neck, feeling a bit pained.

"Lola, you bad woman, I've finally managed to recover, but all that meat I ate will go to waste if you bite my neck!"

Clenching his teeth and stomping, he quietly made a hand gesture. "Fine! You can suck as much blood as you want!"

And so Lola smiled in satisfaction.

-

"Here, I'm the lowest in both age and experience. Why don't I go first?"

No one had expected Lola to end the silent stalemate. The others nodded after hesitating. "There is no difference between low and high before the truth, but ladies should go first to show that scholars are also refined," one said.

"In my opinion, Mr. Abraham's achievements in classicism and interpretation of music theory cannot be denied. The appearance of the translation method has created a new path in the academic world. In comparison, Mr. Ingmar's interpretation results have many points of doubt. It's difficult to be self-explained. Therefore," After a pause, she said quietly, "I agree that Mr. Ingmar's results are plagiarized."

"I disagree," someone quickly expressed before the others could speak. The audience froze and looked to the center of the judges' seats.

Heisenberg.

Amidst the crowd's boos, Heisenberg stated coldly, "The validity of the translation method has been proved, but there is no direct evidence of Mr. Ingmar's plagiarism. One cannot make arbitrary judgement. In comparison, Mr. Abraham's evidence cannot persuade me. Testimonies that did not pass the Union's audit cannot be counted as 'evidence.' Therefore, I disagree with the accusation."

The room instantly fell into controlled chaos as everyone discussed in low tones. Within the chaos, the haggard Ingmar could not help but feel a bit of joy. The parliament still had not abandoned him. His sacrifice was worth it.

"Silence! Silence!" The gavel pounded thrice, shattering the chaos, and reinstating silence.

Everyone looked toward Sergey, who had a dark expression. His own gaze shifted between Abraham and Ingmar. Finally, the angry eyes weakened. "At first, I thought that Abraham had plagiarized. Then I thought that Ingmar is terrifying. Perhaps he was framed, or perhaps Abraham is the correct one. I'm sorry, I cannot remain unbiased."

Sergey was known for his strict personality and ways. Everyone knew that he could not stand any injustice. The more he understood the weight of the consequences, the more cautious he became. In the end, he was no longer sure who the true plagiarizer was.

He sighed and uttered, "I abstain."

Seeing Sergey abstain from voting, Ingmar's expression grew excited. He practically could not stop himself from dancing. Abraham and Ye Qingxuan had done everything they could, but so what? What could they do! They were still powerless against him.

Clenching his jaw, excitement burned in his eyes once again.

Barthelemy was next.

He remained silent though expressions battled. After a long while, his expression turned bitter and complicated as if he was mocking himself. Before stating his opinion, he had held hope he might not need to do so. Now, he finally realized that he could not escape from this.

Who was this appraisal really for? Ingmar and Abraham offstage; Lola, Heisenberg, and Sergey onstage; or himself?

He looked up at Heisenberg whose expression was cold as still water. Heisenberg had voted against the claim, following his heart. Once this appraisal ended and the details were spread, his lifelong reputation would most likely be doubted.

Barthelemy knew that Heisenberg had committed a sin but he did so without hesitation or regret. Now, Barthelemy finally realized how fake he himself was.

He bitterly murmured, "Anta, I'm sorry, I cannot continue doing wrong, but I have no courage to fight back and refuse the parliament's funds. I've finally realized how laughable I am." He looked up and said loudly, "I abstain!"

The room fell silent.

Ingmar's smile froze.

No one had thought that the voting would be so unexpected. First, Lola, who had always remained neutral, voted for Abraham. Heisenberg followed closely after and voted against. Then Sergey, who never gave in, and Barthelemy, who held the highest status in the academic world, both abstained from voting.

Of the five judges, one agreed, one disagreed, two abstained…And so everyone looked toward the last man.

The Eastern man who had just been watching the show froze. The show was interesting but once it involved himself, it was not fun anymore. He raised his hand and subconsciously scratched his face.

"So it's up to me?"

Silence.

He sighed. "To be honest, I'm only learned in Eastern runes. I don't know much about Western music theory and took this position with many fears."

Everyone's expressions grew stunned. "Took this position with fears? Then why did you come?! Why don't you abstain too!"

This appraisal had turned into a joke! But Mr. Hu did not disappoint everyone.

"Since neither side can compromise, the situation now is very messy and difficult to distinguish. I have a suggestion, if you all can hear me out." Mr. Hu's words had caused everyone to hold their breath but this *sshole was going to keep them in suspense!

"Since neither side can compromise, the situation now is very messy and difficult to distinguish. I have a suggestion if you all can hear me out." Mr. Hu's words had caused everyone to hold their breaths but this *sshole was going to keep them in suspense!

He lifted his teacup and drank slowly. After pretending to cough for a long time, he stated, "Why don't the two both publish the Voynich Manuscript at the same time and give up any copyrights or profits, putting it in the public domain. This way, both men can enjoy the name and glory and won't have any disputes in the future. What do you all think?"

Finished speaking, he blinked at the scholars in the audience. Everyone sank into silence as if they had been thrown into the vacuum and were about to pass out from suffocation! It was a moment of silence for their wasted anticipation. For a moment, they had thought that Mr. Hu, this Eastern scholar, could give some effective suggestion but "Do you know what the f*ck you're saying?" they wondered.

This was such a sh*tty suggestion! It was practically ruining the Union's reputation.

Seeing everyone's anger, Mr. Hu chuckled awkwardly. "Ha, that was a joke. I'm sorry, I practiced this joke so many times in private but I guess it still doesn't work. I'm so sorry. But it seems that someone got the joke." He paused and gazed at the man who did not have the time to wipe the grin off his face. "Mr. Ingmar, can a scholar who had spent decades working on an accomplishment be so happy hearing that they could split it with someone else?"

Ingmar froze like a wooden duck. "I-I…" he stuttered, blanching at Mr. Hu. "I didn't…didn't we agree…"

Clunk! A cup of tea crashed onto the table before him. Hot water splashed onto his face but it chilled him to the bone like frost. At the podium, Mr. Hu had risen. The smile was gone and he no longer looked like an onlooker. His eyes had transformed into pure gold and blazed with terrifying fire.

The people finally remembered that this Eastern scholar was referred to as the Sun by the Cardinal and the name came from this tremendous power.

Now, he glared down at the man below the podium and asked seriously, "Agreed on? Are you speaking of what the uninvited lobbyist discussed with me at midnight? If I support you, I'll receive five kilograms of gold, a robe, and a century-old Indus branch. Ah, it's a good plan but sadly, I have been a scholar of the Imperial College for thirty years but I cannot accept such a large gift!"

He spoke in Eastern dialect but most scholars here were fluent in many languages and could understand a bit. Thus, they gasped in shock at the fact that Ingmar was now suspect of underground deals—this was another huge scandal!

"Someone only worthy to be compared to a dog, unscrupulous, vile, unrighteous, harsh and merciless, stealing other's work to be your own, cheating others of their kindness and for your own interests, speaking nonsense to fool the masses…you have no right to be called a musician! Do you still not give up?! If this was in the East, I would have written a letter to the censorate long ago to remove all your accomplishments and toss you into the tianlao!"

His voice was not very high but it exploded in one's ear like thunder. Its weight made one's vision spin and mind go blank; the people were completely speechless. This was the "thunder voice" that Eastern musicians strived for.

Ingmar's entire body trembled. A thin layer of blood-red appeared in his eyes and his mind was shaken. He had started to lose control of his aether.

"There is no doubt that Ingmar plagiarized the interpretation of the Voynich Manuscript!" Mr. Hu declared. "This involves many matters and parties. I hope that the Sacred City and Anglo Kingdom will fully investigate this event!"

Thud! He slammed the gavel down, creating a heart-shaking boom. The appraisal drew to an end in the dead silence. Ingmar's plagiarism was confirmed and all achievements of the Voynich Manuscript were returned to Abraham. All costs of the appraisal would be paid by Ingmar…these were all small details.

The most important thing—Ingmar was ruined.

Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! The crowd's commotion could not hide the ghastly popping sounds. Soon, everyone realized what was happening and all looked toward Ingmar. The endless pops came from Ingmar's body. Every pop was like a steel hammer crashing onto his bones, causing his body to spasm.

Ingmar's face paled with each pop. In the end, he could only produce unclear gurgles. There was no more life in his eyes.

"His sound of heart has shattered! It has completely shattered!"

Under everyone's shocked scrutiny, Ingmar, who had collapsed onto the chair, pulled himself up with difficulty. He stumbled forward as blood flowed from his eyes, nose, mouth, and ears like a stream. He practically crawled to the spot before the people. His body slipped, but his hands gripped the side of the podium, refusing to fall down.

"Abraham, Sergey, Barthelemy, Lola, and the Par—you liars! I won't forgive you…" he yelled as he stared into everyone's eyes with his bloody orbs. It was difficult to say whether his eyes were filled with more craze or more despair. Pointing at everyone's faces, he roared, "You're all liars! Liars!" Screaming out the last word, his pale face abruptly swelled. Boiling blood spewed out from every pore.

Boom! The aether around him went wild. In the storm, the wooden stage quickly rotted, cracked and turned to ash. Ingmar fell into the ash and closed his eyes.

Someone rushed up nervously and felt his neck. He cried, "Not dead, he's not dead yet! Take him to the Church!"

-

Amidst the commotion, Abraham sat in his seat and looked around in confusion, not understanding the situation.

"Professor, what's wrong?" Charles reached out in concern and waved. "Say something!"

Abraham flinched as if snapping out of a daze. He looked at his student and asked with uncertainty, "Charles, did we win?"

"Of course! We won!" Charles nodded earnestly. "You're the true grandmaster! The Sacred City is going to ring the Philosopher's Bell for you!"

Stunned, it took a while before a smile appeared on Abraham's face. He murmured, "That's great. Charles, I think I left the bag in the resting room. Can you and Yezi fetch it for me?"

Charles was unsure but nodded slowly and left with Ye Qingxuan. Abraham watched as his students walked away and smiled involuntarily.

But for some reason, his eyes also reddened. He looked down at his steel hand. His shoulders shook as he buried his face. He knew he should smile now but the tears flowed out for some reason. He just wanted to sob.

This was great.

"I can't believe that I can do more than kill in my life."

-

After the appraisal ended, all the grandmasters left without caring for the scholars and reporters gathered outside. Before leaving, Lola threw a flirtatious glance at Ye Qingxuan, causing the youth to shudder.

It was afternoon by the time all the paperwork was done. Abraham was still registering in the Musician's Union, Charles was somewhere, and Bai Xi was still having fun outside. Ye Qingxuan became bored after pacing around and decided to wait in the lobby. However, a priest clad in black walked over and handed him an invitation.

"Archbishop Mephistopheles?" Ye Qingxuan was stunned.

"Yes." The priest nodded. "He told me to wait here and invite you to the church after you've taken care of everything. Are you available now?"

After thinking, Ye Qingxuan nodded. "The others are still here. I'll leave them a message and go afterward."

"Then I will wait for you at the entrance of the Westminster Church." The priest nodded in farewell and left.

The Westminster Church was not very far. Queen's Avenue was vast and wide. The Musician's Union was on the left side while the church was on the right. They were right across from each other and he just needed to cross the street. Not much time would be wasted.

But Ye Qingxuan was stopped right when he left the Musician's Union's door.

"Ye Qingxuan?" The man did not wear anything flashy but his accent was deep yet elegant. The retroflex consonant was playful yet clear. This was clearly an Avalonian accent with an aristocratic air. The foreign country bumpkins all felt proud if they could speak standard Avalonian. Of course, this did not include Ye Qingxuan.

The lofty and arrogant tone instantly dampened Ye Qingxuan's mood. He glanced over and nodded. "Yes."

"Good." The stranger looked up and down before stepping to the side to show the way. "A sir would like to talk to you."

"Who?" Seeing the showiness, Ye Qingxuan furrowed his brows and looked in his gesture's direction. In the distance behind him, a black carriage was stopped under a tree. There was a familiar family emblem on the carriage.

Looking away, his expression turned cold. "Sorry, I don't have time."

The stranger furrowed his brows and stopped the youth from leaving again. His voice was impatient as he said, "His time is precious and he specially took time out to meet you. Please do not drag things out meaninglessly and waste this precious chance."

He did not say the phrase 'uppity' but it was clear that was what he thought. When they saw this emblem, even the most successful musicians or scholars in Anglo would be polite and humble, or pleasantly shocked, or pretend to be calm. No one had dared to say this.

Hearing the man's words, Ye Qingxuan laughed and gazed mockingly. "Sorry, please tell that sir that I'm just a lowly orphan. I don't dare interact with the Lancelot family. Please tell him to return."

"You…" The man's expression changed and wanted to manhandle him, but Ye Qingxuan just gazed at him coolly.

He said, "You must be new, right? I advise you don't do this. Otherwise, you'll lose your job even if I go over there. This is for your own good."

The man froze mid-movement.

"Indeed, like master like dog." Ye Qingxuan sneered and left.

Seeing Ye Qingxuan walk away, expressions battled on the man's face. Finally, he returned to the carriage and reported what happened. The person in the carriage nodded, telling him to leave.

After a long time, the steel knight in Galahad's armor came over and stood beside the carriage. She took off her helmet, revealing her feminine features and gold hair. It was Christine.

"Father, did you see him?" she asked quietly.

In the carriage, Lord Lancelot was silent for a long time before he hung his head. "Christine, that boy really hates me."

-

The Westminster Church's chapel was quiet. Dim afternoon sunlight shone through the long and narrow stained glass windows, falling onto the youth's shoulders. Under the light, his white hair was not as obvious as before.

This was not an official meeting and Mephistopheles's attire was casual as well. He did not wear his majestic robe or crown and only wore a simple robe.

"I heard what you said in the morning." He studied the youth before him and nodded slightly. "It seems that Bann has taught you well."

"I did nothing but accept the Father's teachings," the youth replied modestly.

"How is he?"

"He was well when I left. He had aged but was still strong."

"You often reminisce on youthful days when you age. It's as if you're living inside memories. But in the blink of an eye, Bann is still like before and yet I am old." Mephistopheles sighed. "What a pity. We should've switched back then. He would be a musician and I'd be in the Knights Templar."

After a short pause, Ye Qingxuan said quietly, "Father often told me that God has his plans. Please do not feel regret. This must be God's plans."

Mephistopheles was stunned and chuckled. "I often use God's words to comfort others, but it's rare that I can be comforted by him one day. Bann wrote to me saying you don't wish to be in the clergy. It's a pity. Perhaps you are more talented than I had expected. Are you sure you won't reconsider?"

"Both you and Father take care of me well." Ye Qingxuan shook his head. "But unfortunately, my passion is not here."

After a pause, Mephistopheles nodded. "Since that is the case, then alright. God has his plans, does he not?"

These were Ye Qingxuan's words and he did not expect the Father to use them and comfort him.

"Come closer. Let me see you." Mephistopheles waved toward the youth. Ye Qingxuan hesitated but stepped forward and finally saw Mephistopheles's eyes.

Hidden in the shadows of his brow bone, the old man's eyes were rheumy, blank, and lifeless—Ye Qingxuan finally realized that Mephistopheles was blind.

A wrinkled hand swept across the youth's face. There seemed to be static on that palm. Crackles sounded as his hand moved in the air and invisible power flowed across the youth's face.

And so Mephistopheles saw it. He studied it. As if meeting an old friend, he smiled in satisfaction after a long while.

"What a good child. That Bann is much luckier than me." He rose and patted the youth's shoulders. "Go now. Come back when you have time. If you don't wish to hear about the church, I won't speak of it, but you might be interested in theories of the School of Choir."

"I would be so grateful." The youth nodded and bid farewell.

The old priest stood in the dark church, watching the youth leave with his lifeless eyes. He seemed to see the setting sun cast a gold halo around the youth.

"You will go forth to an unknown destination," Mephistopheles quietly recited as he caressed the bible beside him. "To the final destination of all beginnings, to the end of dreams, to the furthest point of the world. There, you shall see me."