Chapter 727: Classroom Experiment (Happy New Year, Everyone!)

Chapter 727 Classroom Experiment (Happy New Year, Everyone!)

"Of course, everything I have just told you is merely my own discourse. It is true that I have published quite a few journal articles on this subject, but their focus was always concentrated on how the Mad Pope was drawn to our Order, thus highlighting the greatness and correctness of our Order's doctrines.

You understand how it is. We research experts, at times for the sake of a bit of funding and benefits, cannot avoid catching the frisbee, much like those domesticated and trained pet dogs on the lawn.

Furthermore, my discourse is very likely incorrect. History is akin to a string of prisms; a prism has many facets, which can be arranged and combined one by one until you construct an arrangement that you consider interesting and rational.

Just like how, before I learned your name, I would never have imagined that you were that now-renowned Minister Karen of the Yorktown District. The impression you give in person differs vastly from the rumors about you, and how did those rumors come to be in the first place?

Was it not through news reports, internal information, and other such channels of dissemination?

Standing here face to face, you and I still cannot see each other clearly, let alone hope to profoundly comprehend the hearts and minds of those people from thousands of years ago, or even from before the era."

Just then, the bathroom door swung open, and Director Gaspoir stepped out, dressed in her Order robes and thoroughly well-groomed, speaking in a thoroughly disgruntled tone:

"Are you peddling your fallacious and heretical theories again?"

Cidrod raised his hands: "My dear granddaughter, I know you are anxious to regain the face you lost just now. After all, no superior wishes to let a subordinate see them in such an unkempt state of domestic life—especially when this subordinate has completely sidelined you, and the only thing left of your authority over him is that tiny shred of nominal, superior mystique, which has now also been punctured.

However, attempting to regain your so-called face by stepping on your grandfather is, I feel, a very foolish act. The better your grandfather's image is, the more it can actually help you recover that face."

Leaning against the kitchen doorway, Gaspoir said, "Therefore, I have never wondered why Grandmother divorced you. Living with someone like you is truly impossible."

"Living?" Cidrod smiled. "Ever since your grandmother married me, I never let her do a single household chore. Every day after class, I would rush back to cook for her, and before I traveled for archaeological work, I even had to prepare the dishes for each subsequent day ahead of time. Including you—when your parents were away, it was always I who took care of you."

Gaspoir countered, "But life consists of more than just these things."

"That is because I resolved all of these things, allowing you to naively assume they were merely trivial matters, leaving you with far too much leisure."

Disinclined to reply, Gaspoir poured herself a glass of milk.

Pointing at the teacup on the coffee table, Cidrod said, "The cup in which you extinguished your cigarette butt—you seem to have forgotten to wash it."

Gaspoir shook her head. "It can be thrown away."

"But have you ever considered that while the value of a cup is indeed low, if your fiancé were to witness this action of yours, or if he returned home, sat on the sofa preparing to drink water, picked up the cup, and saw the cigarette butt inside, at that very moment, he would question the meaning of his marriage and of establishing a family."

Gaspoir turned her head to look at her grandfather; had Karen not been present, a fierce argument might well have erupted between the grandfather and granddaughter.

Yet Cidrod was truly unafraid of an argument, nor did he worry about what might happen if he continued to provoke his granddaughter. Instead, he went on as if talking to himself: "You agreed to the betrothal yourself; you did not even come to seek my opinion. So did you believe that by concluding a betrothal with a Son of God, you could distance yourself from this sort of nagging daily routine?

Haha, my foolish little granddaughter.

You are far too naive, truly. Those Sons of God are indeed generally aloof and exalted, but in truth, they more commonly desire true friends and a true family.

The more they lack this, the more they yearn for it; this is determined by their life circumstances ever since they inherited the legacy of 'the adults.'"

Karen, who was currently serving the dishes, felt that Cidrod's words made a great deal of of sense; Mavaluyo was indeed that kind of person.

"Come, we may begin our meal."

"What about that teacher?" Karen inquired.

"Let us not call him. I had forgotten earlier that you and my granddaughter belong to the same system, so let this serve as an internal department dinner for the two of you. It would be inappropriate to include an outsider. Karen, what do you think?"

"Then we shall do as you wish."

Karen had prepared a few dishes, which both Cidrod and Gaspoir tasted and found highly satisfactory.

Yet Cidrod’s mouth still did not rest. Pointing a finger at Karen, he said to Gaspoir, "I admit, Karen's culinary skills are far superior to mine. In these dishes, I see the shadow of a new culinary style."

Gaspoir remarked, "He does not speak as much as you do."

"Do you think that is a good thing?" Cidrod smiled. "His demeanor is proper, and he treats others with gentlemanly harmony; he can observe the expressions and movements of everyone around him, and he can make those by his side feel exceedingly comfortable. Yet living with a person like him—unless one possesses a serene and placid soul—you would absolutely find his private mode of interaction unendurable."

Karen: "..."

Cidrod said, "My apologies, Karen, I am not speaking ill of you intentionally. I merely wish to seize this opportunity to educate my little granddaughter. You know that your superior is a workaholic, but in life, she is truly a cold-hearted idiot—she is not even as good as a warm-hearted fool!"

"Please continue, I do not mind."

"I must continue. It has been a long time since she came to stay with me, and this time she must have come for your sake as well, haha. Having to personally pave the way for the subordinate who has sidelined her—my little granddaughter, are you truly not resentful in your heart?"

Gaspoir closed her eyes, and Karen noticed that the whip resting on the sofa trembled slightly.

At that moment, a knock sounded at the door.

Karen did not rise, as he was not the host. Cidrod stood up and walked out to open the door, revealing Mavaluyo standing at the threshold, clad in a gold-trimmed divine robe.

The faculty apartment building possessed an embedded formation array; though it was neither powerful nor stringent, it acted like a picket fence that could only deter a gentleman rather than a bandit, and those who passed by or lived here would not deploy their spiritual senses to investigate.

"Ah, Lord Son of God!"

Cidrod knelt down, intending to offer his salutations.

Mavaluyo immediately reached out to support him. "Please do not do this."

"No, no, no, this is what I ought to do. You are a noble Son of God."

"No, no, no, you are my fiancée's grandfather, you must not do this."

"Even your own grandfather would have to salute you."

"Then please, just a token gesture."

After a round of ritual exchanges and declinations, Mavaluyo stepped inside. Catching sight of Karen seated by the dining table, he actively walked over to speak with him: "Ha, you did not expect this, did you?"

"Indeed, I did not expect it."

"In any case, I am currently on sick leave, so I have plenty of time and can go anywhere."

Gaspoir lowered her head, dining in silence.

Mavaluyo did not greet her upon entering, nor did she acknowledge Mavaluyo.

Had there been outsiders present, they might perhaps have put on a performance, but now there were no outsiders.

Cidrod sat down and said, "It appears that your affection for one another is not particularly deep. This truly saddens me, and I know not how to account for this to her departed grandmother. When her grandmother was alive, her greatest wish was for her to find a suitable husband."

Hearing this, Mavaluyo appeared somewhat awkward and immediately responded, "No, Professor, you misunderstand. There is nothing wrong with the affection between Gaspoir and me, truly."

Mavaluyo began to signal Gaspoir to cooperate with him, given that this was her own relative.

Setting down her spoon, Gaspoir said, "My grandmother merely divorced my grandfather; she is still alive."

Mavaluyo: "Uh..."

Cidrod replied dismissively, "An elder with no presence might as well be 'dead' to add a bit of moral burden to the younger generation, would you not agree, Lord Son of God?"

"This..."

Cidrod nodded and smiled. "That the Lord Son of God can display awkwardness before me is something I find very comforting; it proves that the Lord Son of God is willing to adopt a compromising stance to attempt to cultivate this marriage.

Therefore..."

Cidrod looked toward Gaspoir. "You should also manifest your attitude; do not deny him a response."

Taking a deep breath, Gaspoir said to Karen, "I am finished eating. Let us go out."

"Smack!"

Cidrod struck the table with his palm and said, "Karen still has classes this afternoon!"

Karen immediately spoke up, "Yes, I have class this afternoon. Did we not agree on dinner?"

"Has the Lord Son of God ever visited the school before?" Cidrod inquired.

"I have been here a few times, but always for experiments, and I have never truly strolled around. As you know, it is rather inconvenient for me to walk among crowds, and I do not particularly enjoy receiving salutations from others."

"Gasper, spend the afternoon accompanying His Highness the Son of God around the campus; just disguise your identity a little."

Gasper remained silent.

Karen stood up and said, "Teacher, Regional Director, Son of God, I shall take my leave first. The afternoon classes are about to begin."

"I'll see you downstairs." Mavalos rose, taking the initiative to walk out alongside Karen.

The moment the door closed.

Xiderode immediately barked at Gasper, "What on earth are you doing? Look at your attitude!"

"You're very annoying, Grandfather."

"I only wish for you to have a better life. Don't follow in your grandmother's footsteps."

"You don't need to meddle in my affairs. Furthermore, after my grandmother divorced you, she is doing very well now."

Xiderode nodded and said, "Indeed, your grandmother could divorce me, but can you divorce the Son of God?"

Gasper fell silent.

"Leave the tableware here, I'll clean it up in a moment," Xiderode said.

Gasper shook her head, stood up, and began clearing the plates.

To Xiderode's memory, this was the very first time his granddaughter had ever done chores. Yet, before a tender, gratified smile could even form at the corners of his lips, he heard:

The sharp clatter of shattering porcelain.

Gasper stood rooted to the spot, staring at the broken shards on the floor, and said, "I didn't mean to."

"The broom is over there. Sweep slowly. Wait until the Son of God returns from seeing Karen off, and give him a chance to clean it up with you."

Suppressing her impatience, Gasper said, "Can you please not be like this, Grandfather? I'm not a child anymore, truly!"

"And yet I feel just like I did when I used to hold you out to pee as a toddler."

"Enough!"

"It's not enough. Pick up a shard, nick your finger, and squeeze out a little blood for when the Son of God returns. By the way, does the Son of God's saliva possess any antiseptic or pain-relieving properties?"

...

"Did you happen to come here just for a meal?"

"Otherwise? Did I specially come to my subordinate's home for lunch?"

"That is exactly what I thought."

"Then I would have informed you beforehand."

"Don't be so constrained. I won't suspect anything between you and my fiancée. I trust your taste."

"The way you phrase that leaves me not knowing how to respond."

"I will accompany you to dinner tonight."

"If it's purely for my sake, it doesn't seem necessary for you to go. So, is it for her? Worried that after the Academic Faction forces her to make way for me, she will be given the cold shoulder, so you're going to back her up?"

"I'd love to deny it, but you speak the absolute truth. After all, no matter what, she is my wife. I can't let her lose face out there; that would be losing my own face by extension."

"And your child's face."

Hearing this, Mavalos hooked his arm directly around Karen's shoulder. "Haha! I know you are very anxious for me to have a child!"

"Yes, exactly." Karen not only didn't deny it, but continued, "I even want to choose the syringe model for you."

"I will do as you say. I had no choice in my past life, but I hope my future life, aside from being a 'statue' or a 'mascot', can have a bit more of the flavor of living. What do you think, Karen?"

"There are certain aspects where I simply cannot empathize or resonate with you, Mavalos."

"I know. *Sigh*, you'll never be able to directly experience the misery of being a Son of God like me."

"Indeed, I deeply envy a life like yours."

"But are you really going to class?"

"Otherwise?"

"What class?"

"'The Judgment and Cognition of Cults'."

"Send your subordinates to take the professor out for a meal and have them sign off one by one, or just greet the vice-dean of the academy directly. That's how those high-ranking prelates do it when they come to secure a completion certificate."

"That would be meaningless. Since I have this opportunity, I might as well listen to more lectures and learn as much as I can."

"Fine, suit yourself. I'm heading back. See you tonight."

"See you tonight."

"It might not even be tonight. I'm afraid I won't be able to sit with her for three minutes once I go back."

"Then you need to keep exercising."

"Heh, let's see. If all else fails, I'll look for you. There is a private cafeteria in the school; I'll take you out for a drink."

"I want to study hard."

"My status allows me to order very exquisite food in the private cafeteria, items even the deans and vice-deans aren't qualified to order."

"Go by yourself, don't disrupt my class."

"Are we friends or not? Are we friends or not? Who exactly am I using the syringe for? For whom will my future child be born? Who desires to see my wife pregnant the most?"

"Is there something wrong with your brain right now?"

"Heh, let me tell you, Karen, if you want a promotion and want to become your regional director sooner, you'd better keep me good company during this period and keep me amused. Otherwise, I'll go into secluded meditation and claim to the world that I've received new inherited memories, ensuring you can never become the regional director."

"Are you nervous?"

"What?"

"I feel like you're about to go back and face a tigress. Are you that afraid of her?"

"Heh, ridiculous. Who would I fear? Fear a regional director?"

"Do you actually like her a little? Once that kind of emotion is added, the flavor changes."

"You're spreading rumors! You're talking nonsense!"

"Alright, go accompany the regional director. Don't see me off any further. Once we leave the dormitory building, people will have to salute you again."

...

Karen walked into the classroom. Although he had cooked and eaten at the professor's house, it was still a bit early for the afternoon class. This lecture on 'The Judgment and Cognition of Cults' was still held in a lecture hall, one that was even larger and capable of accommodating more people.

As was his custom, Karen chose a seat in the back corner. Just as he sat down, he discovered a stack of books inside the desk drawer, and the same was true for several adjacent drawers. It seemed some students used this place as a study room, since the large lecture hall was not used frequently, while the competition for seats in the library was fierce.

Karen caught sight of a volume titled 'An Overview of Advanced Formations' inside. After a moment's hesitation, he reached out and drew it out.

This was a textbook, not a diary, so flipping through it carried no moral burden.

Turning to the first page, he saw a string of words written there: "What a devil, why did I take this as an elective!"

Followed by a long succession of exclamation marks.

It appeared this book on 'Advanced Formations' truly gave the students quite a headache.

Cullen scanned the index, finding that its summaries offered nothing but the barest essentials, and after flipping through a few more pages, he came to the conclusion that this copy of High Formations was, to him, little more than an introductory primer.

This was hardly surprising; since his introduction to the craft, Cullen had received the guidance of three masters: Grandfather Hoffen, Instructor Piro, and Grandfather Delon.

Among the three, the one with the lowest proficiency—his maternal grandfather—was at least a lord bishop in charge of the formations department within a grand diocese.

Yet the students here, upon completing their university education, would still have to undergo internships at their assigned posts, and only after gaining official status would they have to grope their way forward, step by step, before they could ever become the kind of formation priest Cullen recognized—the ones whose divine robes bore the emblem of a geometric lattice upon the chest—and even then, they would only be serving as assistants doing peripheral labor.

Flipping further, Cullen noticed a newspaper clipping; the image within the cutting was capable of motion, suggesting it had been excised from a Holy Church gazette.

Moreover, the person depicted in the clipping was, remarkably, himself.

He leafed through a few more pages; evidently, the latter part of the material had not yet been covered in class, for the clippings were wedged between the pages with greater frequency, leaf after leaf consisting entirely of photographs of himself.

Some of the photographs were even annotated with inscriptions, words that caused Cullen himself to break into an involuntary smile as he read them.

"Our Cullen is so handsome!"

"You are mine, my Cullen!"

"I dreamed today that I married you, hee-hee!"

...

"You are my hero, and you are about to lead the team down into the caverns; I pray to the great God of Order that you will return in safety!"

...

"Ahhh! You came back safe, I am simply too excited!"

The accompanying illustration for this last entry was a "mummy," wrapped entirely in bandages—it was undoubtedly a publicity photo of Neo.

As for photographs of himself now that he had "conquered his affliction," there were none as yet, because Cullen had been constantly occupied with affairs since completing his purification, and any journalists seeking an interview had been turned away on his behalf by Alfred.

It appeared that Professor Schrod was indeed correct; he did possess quite a few admirers within the academy, chiefly, no doubt, on account of his youth.

Cullen closed the volume, leaving no message or addition inside.

Gradually, students began to filter into the classroom.

Cullen pulled the collar of his divine robe upward, concealing half of his face, and waited patiently for the instructor to arrive.

To his slight surprise, however, the back rows of the lecture hall—which ought to have been the most coveted positions in a university—remained utterly deserted for this class; every student who entered chose to sit in the front rows, filling the grid-like arrangement of desks without leaving a single vacancy.

With five minutes remaining before the commencement of the lecture, the influx of students increased markedly until, at last, the bell rang, and a silver-haired female professor stepped into the room on the very stroke of the chime, carrying a case.

Though advanced in years, she possessed a formidable aura; when her gaze swept across the hall, it carried an inherent spiritual intimidation.

Yes, here was yet another instructor who favored the employment of spiritual pressure during lessons; yet while Schrod’s method was hypnotic, hers inclined toward the lash, utilizing spiritual energy to produce the stimulating effect of an ice-water douse in the dead of winter, forcing everyone to alter their state of alertness.

"Students, we shall resume our lectures today; in our previous session, we discussed the rules for determining a heresy, and in this session, as well as the several sessions to follow, I intend to employ concrete examples to further elucidate your understanding of heresies."

The female professor raised her hand, and a small, iridescent python glided from her sleeve, suspending itself in mid-air to project an image.

The projection revealed the likeness of a giantess, one of whose hands was a vast, shimmering pool of light, while the other was composed entirely of feathers.

"Does any student recognize who she is?"

In his heart, Cullen silently murmured: Rielsa.

Cullen did not raise his hand, but very quickly, a student below raised theirs to answer: "Professor, it is the Deity of the Wall."

"Indeed, Rielsa, the Deity of the Wall," the female professor said, stepping down toward the lecture floor. "The determination of a heresy is divided into three categories: first, the determination from our Lord; second, the determination from the Holy Church; and third, the self-determination of the heresy itself.

The Deity of the Wall belongs to the determination from our Lord.

In our daily lives, adherents of the Cult of the Wall are not in fact uncommon; within the profession of painters especially, they comprise the largest proportion. Last year at our academy, adherence to the Deity of the Wall was discovered among students in the mural department, resulting in a comprehensive investigation of the entire department.

Students, do not perceive them as harmless to man and beast, nor should you simply regard them as individuals fanatically devoted to some singular faith within their hearts.

To speak words you may dislike hearing, or which no one has hitherto dared to utter: those remnants of Light whom we now detest so thoroughly are, in the vast majority of instances, more innocent and pure than those heresies.

After all, our Church, and indeed the entire ecclesiastical circle, has neither decreed the Church of Light to be a heresy, nor have we decreed the God of Light to be an evil deity, heh."

This was a very dry jest; even the seated students felt it bordered somewhat on the taboo, so they merely offered a awkward, perfunctory echo of laughter out of civility.

"Tsk."

The female professor was not particularly satisfied with the students' response, viewing them merely as a flock of quails who had seen nothing of the world.

Of course, the academic environment easily caused the educators within it to remain somewhat ignorant of the realities of Vienna.

Priests working in the outside world generally understood that if you had a friend from the Cult of the Wall, you would receive disciplinary punishment; but if you had a friend who was a remnant of Light... your very existence might cease.

The Light, which had not been decreed a heresy, was less tolerated by the Holy Church than heresy itself.

"Adherents of the Cult of the Wall possess a universal trait—fanaticism. Their fanaticism can exceed the boundaries of your understanding, for they firmly believe that within their own paintings, they can foreknow the future.

This differs from the divination department of our academy; the prophecies of divination possess rules, and the results obtained are often of the nature of 'good,' 'ill,' or 'oracular phrases,' whereas the Cult of the Wall produces a concrete scene.

The diviner 'observes' from the objective standpoint of a third party, while the Cult of the Wall delivers the sentence of an active participant.

You may not comprehend the meaning of these words; to illustrate, if a student from the divination department tells you that you will overeat tonight, you can take heed, bringing digestive tablets or attempting to eat less to evade it. But if an adherent of the Cult of the Wall paints a picture for you to see, depicting your belly ruptured... then it is highly probable that you will encounter a heterodox demon tonight that will tear your belly open.

More likely still, your classmate will avenge you, capture that heterodox demon, and upon flaying it, discover that the demon was none other than that adherent of the Cult of the Wall.

Naturally, what I describe is not a direct causal relation; it is not to say that in order to confirm the painting is a true prophecy, he must personally execute the deed to make the painting come true... though many adherents of the Cult of the Wall do indeed act in such a manner.

Yet an adherent of the Cult of the Wall of a genuinely higher caliber becomes, the moment they execute that painting, the very driving force for the realization of the image.

Either it concerns a matter in which they will directly participate, or it concerns a matter in which their friends and family will participate;

In short, this matter will possess lines of connection to themselves. For instance... they themselves will inexplicably appear at the scene, ostensibly to bear witness, when in truth their own conduct is one of the driving forces behind the outcome."

Cullen began to listen with genuine concentration.

The female professor continued: "There is a well-known anecdote: a butterfly stirs its wings in the Western Continent, and subsequently unleashes a hurricane upon the seas of the Eastern Continent; the adherent of the Cult of the Wall is that very butterfly.

The scenes within their prophetic paintings are invariably outcomes they are capable of bringing about, mobilizing themselves and every person or object within their reach to jointly trigger the fulfillment of that outcome.

In the vast majority of instances, they themselves are utterly bewildered, for they employ an exceedingly ingenious method that bypasses—no, rather replaces—an immensely complex computational deduction.

Regarding this, should any of you harbor an interest, you may visit the academy library to consult the literature on Shelf M of Section D4; the Church of Principles once conducted a specialized experimental discourse upon the theory."

Cullen silently committed this section to memory.

"Thus, many are curious as to what exactly the Deity of the Wall painted that resulted in our Lord’s decree of her as an evil deity; even if the Deity of the Wall did indeed paint the end of our Lord, as rumors suggest... I believe that with our Lord's magnanimity and character, He would not have taken offense on that account alone.

The fundamental reason is that when the Deity of the Wall executed that painting, it was equivalent to joining an enterprise aimed at cursing our Lord; the Deity of the Wall herself, along with all existences associated with her, would thenceforth form a massive current, coercing our Lord toward the conclusion depicted in her painting.

This alone is the reason our Lord decreed the Deity of the Wall an evil deity; it was not that the Deity of the Wall offended our Lord, but rather that she... attempted to assassinate our Lord.

Consequently, if you students should discover adherents of the Cult of the Wall in your vicinity hereafter, and moreover, if they have established some factual connection with you, I advise you that it would be best to be cautious.

For he may paint a canvas depicting your good fortune, which may then be regarded as receiving a blessing.

Yet it is equally possible that he will paint a canvas depicting your misery, including your demise, or scenes that deal a profound blow to you;

After executing this painting, he himself may well be utterly shocked, coming to warn you with weeping and lamentation; in all probability, you will even feel grateful to him for prophesying the arrival of your tribulation, and join him in seeking a means to break the deadlock.

Heh.

He may truly be your good friend, he may truly have your interests at heart, he may even be willing to die for you.

Yet in reality, the deeper your entanglement with him, the more the trajectory of your fate will slide toward the conclusion within his painting.

Such matters... do not in fact alter according to his personal volition.

Of course, it is not that there are no methods of counteraction; methods of counteraction assuredly exist, otherwise by what means could the Cult of the Wall fare so miserably today, existing like rats concealed within the sewers?"

Why didn't they collectively paint a grand tapestry of our Order's demise to curse our decline?

Because our Order is too powerful.

By the same token, if you are strong enough—and remember, the strength I speak of here is not merely your individual might, but a grand culmination of many different facets—you are entirely capable of altering the ending within that painted canvas.

Your background, your entanglements, and the exceptional people and objects around you can all bring about a similar effect.

It is just like if I were to carelessly drop a fountain pen from an upper floor. A student passing below should have been struck right in the head, yet the vice-principal called out to halt him, barking, 'Which department are you from, who is your counselor, how dare you skip class!'

The student stood at attention, braced himself, and accepted the lecture. By the time he rushed toward the academic building, the pen had already fallen, a step too late to hit him.

In this scenario, the vice-principal played an exceptional role. After all, the vice-principals of our university are by no means ordinary.

And so, students, if you are ever caught and scolded by the principal or a dean one day, you must never harbor resentment. Instead, you must feel deep gratitude."

"Hahaha..."

"Hahaha..."

The students all burst into laughter upon hearing this.

"My mention of this is not to preach determinism or fatalism. Many foreign professors like to advocate for that, but we, as adherents of the Order, certainly do not believe in it. Yet there is no need to completely dismiss the matter with a single blow. The manner in which the followers of the Wall God manifest their painted prophecies is by turning themselves into a small snowball, gathering the surrounding environment to roll along with them. At a time like this, if you yourself are resilient enough, and if the resilient, unyielding people and objects around you are numerous enough, only then can you withstand it and avoid being swept away by him.

The finest method to resist the Wall God's influence upon you is absolute devotion to the God of Order.

After all,

the Wall God is no more."

Reaching this point in her lecture, the female professor picked up her water cup, took a sip, and then lightly tapped the trunk she had brought along with the tip of her shoe.

The trunk disassembled itself, revealing a folded skeleton within. The skeleton unfurled, embedded a gemstone into the center of its brow, and then took a small stool to sit upon. An easel was erected before it, and it began to mix the pigments.

This was a puppet, an exceedingly sophisticated puppet; not even Lemar could fashion such a creation.

Furthermore, the gemstone utilized by the puppet was uniquely peculiar and precious. Upon that gem, Karen could sense the aura of the Wall God.

Once the puppet was fitted with this gemstone, it essentially gained the temporary power of a Wall God devotee.

Karen could not help but marvel in his heart: Within the University of Order, not only was the caliber of the professors exceptional, but the teaching conditions were also absurdly grand.

That massive crab from last night had been intentionally carrying the students of a certain department to conduct cultivation in a specialized field.

The female professor spoke, "Very well, following our usual custom, we shall now conduct a visual cognitive experiment. Would the student sitting in the very last row please come down to serve as our subject?"

The seated students all turned their heads with looks of malicious glee to stare at Karen, who sat at the very back.

Karen realized at once; no wonder everyone avoided the back rows. It turned out this class harbored such a tradition.

"You, come down," the female professor pointed at Karen once more. "I believe this student must have actively wished to try."

To dare sit so far back in my class?

Karen stood up, stepped out from his seat, and walked toward the podium.

He wore no veil, nor did he wear a mask. When he sat alone in the back corner earlier, he had used his divine robe to offer a bit of concealment, but as he walked down now, several students already recognized him.

A few female students covered their mouths, their eyes widening in shock; there were also male students clenching their fists, their faces flushed red.

The female professor noticed the unusual reactions of some students as well. However, professors—especially older ones—did not track news and events the same way the youth did. She failed to recognize Karen, merely smiling as she remarked:

"This student is quite handsome. Did you sit in the back all by yourself for fear of being harassed? Hehe."

Karen walked up to the female professor and said, "My apologies, Professor, I was unaware your class had such a custom."

"Do you frequently skip class?"

"No, I do not. I am an off-campus student holding a concurrent post."

"Oh, no wonder then, hehe. Just treat it as a special experience. Rest assured, there is no danger; rather, it will be quite amusing."

"Very well, Professor."

Once Karen had descended, the white skeleton began to put pen to canvas in a rapid sketch. Soon, the scene of the classroom manifested, followed by the figures of the students, and then those upon the podium...

The perspective of this painting seemed to look down from high above the classroom door.

Finally, it reached Karen.

No one noticed that as the white skeleton painted Karen, the hand gripping the brush trembled ever so slightly.

The position where Karen appeared was at the entrance of the classroom. He was facing the interior, kneeling down to pay his respects to the entire faculty and student body.

"What do I need to do now?" Karen inquired.

The female professor smiled warmly and said, "No, you need not do anything at all. Just try your best to act naturally."

With that, the female professor turned to face all the students and said, "Everyone may wait patiently. It will not take long, nor will it delay the end of class, for in the painting, you are all present, proving that when the prophecy fulfills itself, class will not yet have dismissed."

However, the scene the female professor anticipated—where everyone closely and eagerly watched together—did not occur, causing her to secretly wonder if her lesson preparation had been flawed.

By all accounts, the students at this moment ought to be highly excited and fervently wishing for the prophecy to come true.

In truth, it was because Karen’s identity had been recognized, and word was beginning to whisper among the students below. Essentially, everyone now knew who this young "classmate" before them truly was, and their focus had entirely drifted from the lecture.

Some had already prepared pen and paper, ready to ask for an autograph once class dismissed; others were already folding spell-paper, preparing to release crows to notify their friends to rush over and catch a glimpse of Karen.

To them, Karen was not merely a star entering a university classroom to evoke cheap gasps of awe; that sort of admiration was far too low-class.

One must remember that this was the University of Order. Aside from foreign and exchange students, the vast majority were devout adherents of the Order. Upon graduation, they were bound to work within the Holy Church. It was true the university was divided into departments, but in essence, Karen and every single one of them belonged to the same "department."

Thus, this sense of projection in their "veneration" and "affection" was bound to be far more intense.

...

"I am a fool, I am a fool, I am a fool! Damn it, detestable, and yet..."

Mavaryo sucked on the wound of his finger while marching down the corridor in an absolute huff. He was going to find Karen for a drink, because he was currently wallowing in misery, deeply uncomfortable, and his face was burning fiercely.

After parting ways with Karen, he had returned to the Hilderod estate.

He had seen Gasper cleaning up the shattered bowls and dishes, and her finger had actually been cut!

He immediately rushed forward to ask if it pained her.

Gasper remained silent.

Then, Mavaryo committed an act that, in hindsight, he deemed foolish beyond all measure. He actually picked up a shard of the broken dish himself, sliced his own finger, and said to her:

"Ah, it is fine, it does not hurt much."

Then, Gasper had stared at him with a look of profound shock.

Ahhhh!!!

Karen was right, am I truly out of my goddamn mind!

Fleeing from that house as if running for his life, Mavaryo dissolved into a dark mist and entered the academic building. He recalled which class Karen was attending, so he searched the class schedules posted upon the walls.

At last, he found it.

Mavaryo manifested his physical form from the dark mist and stood at the entrance, waving toward Karen, who happened to stand conspicuously before the podium:

"Karen, let's go!"

Karen walked to the door and asked Mavaryo, "What is the matter with you?"

"It is humiliating, absolutely humiliating! Come accompany me for a drink right now, otherwise I will be too ashamed to face her again tonight. You have no idea what an incredibly foolish thing I have just done."

At this moment, the female professor caught sight of the divine robes draping Mavallo as he stood by the threshold. Her face instantly paled with shock, and a gasp escaped her lips: "My Lord Son of God!"

Witnessing this, the other students rose from their seats in succession. The robes worn by the collective were predominantly black, whereas garments trimmed with a golden border were a privilege reserved strictly for a select few.

Within the Holy Church, the status of the Son of God was unquestionably of the grandest nobility, for to a certain extent, he was the very incarnation of the deity.

"We pay our deepest respects to My Lord Son of God!"

Inside the classroom, the entire assembly of faculty and students faced the doorway, bowing to the ground in reverence toward Mavallo, who stood beside Karen.

——

As a new month dawns, so too does a new year arrive. Xiao Long wishes everyone here peace, enduring blessings, and ultimate fulfillment in all your endeavors for the year ahead,

Along with robust health!

Xiao Long would also like to humbly request the new year's monthly tickets here. Holding you all close, please grant me your monthly tickets!