Chapter 54: A Great Future

  Ethan knew he ought to visit Bishop Ronis at the Magic Academy—and sitting in the bishop’s snow-white, luxurious carriage, he felt guilty.

  Sedros had told him: half the reason the World Tree Leaf had been used to save him was because of Ronis’s orders, besides Sophia’s plea. The bishop had even left him a teleportation scroll, telling him to come see him once he returned to the capital. But once Ethan was back, his mind had been consumed by the duke’s mansion and Sophia. He’d completely forgotten about the respected old man who’d saved his life, leaving him waiting. He’d even planned to leave on his journey without a word. Lucky for him, the bishop had sent a carriage to fetch him. Ethan felt ashamed to face the bishop’s solemn, kind smile.

  The carriage pulled up to the entrance of the Magic Academy’s grand cathedral. As Ethan stepped out, he saw the bishop walking slowly toward him, flanked by two high-ranking priests. Behind them stood a middle-aged man who looked like an official, and a young man with a familiar face—his hair tied in a braid. When the young man saw Ethan, his expression turned fierce. But Ethan paid little attention to the hostility, just as a tiger wouldn’t care about a maggot baring its fangs.

  Ethan’s face flushed. He stepped forward, bowed his head to Ronis, and said, “I’m sorry, Your Eminence. I’m late.”

  To him, this was a gesture of great deference, fully expressing his apology and respect. But the other two men’s expressions changed instantly—especially the portly official, who looked shocked and uncertain. Ethan wasn’t dressed as a clergyman, yet he’d only bowed slightly to the bishop, as one would to an ordinary elder, not knelt. That alone was astonishing. Even more unthinkable: the bishop accepted it without the slightest hint of displeasure.

  “That will be all, Chancellor,” Ronis said, nodding to the middle-aged official. His demeanor was calm yet authoritative, admitting no refusal. “I have urgent matters to attend to now. Perhaps you could return another time.” The Chancellor, along with the young man behind him, knelt on one knee and bowed deeply before taking his leave.

  Only then did Ethan realize he might have been rude. After all, his status was far lower than the Chancellor’s.

  “Dealing with these officials is exhausting,” Ronis sighed, shaking his head. He gestured for the two priests to step back. “Come with me.” He led Ethan into the small room inside the cathedral—apparently unwilling to let anyone overhear their conversation.

  Ronis motioned for Ethan to close the door. He sat down, then gestured for Ethan to do the same. His smile was still warm, dignified, and graceful. “I dislike formalities. We put on a show for others, but between us? There’s no need.”

  Perhaps only those lacking confidence cared so much about how others treated them. Men like the bishop—who commanded respect with ease—found such rituals a burden.

  “I actually thought you’d come yesterday,” Ronis said, looking at Ethan with a smile. “You went to the duke’s mansion, didn’t you?”

  Ethan’s face turned pink. He nodded.

  “Because of me, the duke wouldn’t dare silence you—you know too much. I assume he tried to win you over? But it seems he failed.” Ronis’s eyes glinted faintly, as if asking casually. “He’s one of the most cunning politicians in the capital. Few people resist him. You haven’t disappointed me. Did he not try to use your feelings for Lady Mrak to persuade you, to draw you in?”

  Ethan was confused at first. Then he remembered the duke’s impassioned words from the day before—and froze, shocked.

  Ronis couldn’t have sent someone to spy on him. No third person had heard his conversation with the duke; Ethan would never tell anyone, and the duke certainly wouldn’t broadcast his own emotional manipulation. How, then, did the bishop know?

  Ronis spoke calmly, as if it were obvious. “The duke would have seen the feelings between you two. He’s always had a sharp eye for such things—and his ability to exploit emotions is what makes him more dangerous than other power-hungry men. I can imagine his words were quite moving. But you didn’t give in. Will you tell me why?”

  Ethan scratched his head, looking uncomfortable. “She has her choices, and I have my path. The duke’s words did touch me a little, but I know I’m not cut out for great deeds. I have my own way of living.”

  This answer surprised Ronis—and pleased him. He reached out and patted Ethan’s shoulder; his voice even held a hint of excitement. “Excellent. To have such wisdom at your age… Wealth, status, power—these are trivial hurdles. The only truly difficult test is love. Only those with unwavering self-awareness, who stay true to their own path—they are the real strong ones. Only they can achieve something truly great. You haven’t disappointed me.”

  Ethan was confused. It seemed the bishop had great hopes for him—but he didn’t understand what “disappointed” meant in this context. A sense of unease crept in. He didn’t want to bear the weight of others’ expectations, especially those of a respected man like the bishop. That would be too much of a burden.

  He was even more shocked by what he saw: a side of the bishop no one else knew—something hidden, something profound. The duke, so shrewd and calculating, seemed like a child in Ronis’s eyes. The bishop had seen through his tricks with nothing but deduction.

  “Sigh… So much has happened lately,” Ronis said, a bitter smile on his face as he looked up at the ceiling. The study was small, but the ceiling was surprisingly high. His gaze drifted into that vast space, growing distant. “Perhaps it’s fate’s doing.”

  Ethan was even more confused. Yes, the events had been coincidental, unexpected—but when you broke it down, it was just a misunderstanding in Oufu, a failed theft, a beating, and then being saved. Things like that happened every day across the continent. It hardly warranted such a lofty, vague term as “fate’s doing.”

  Ronis lowered his gaze to Ethan. His brows furrowed, the faint light in his eyes flickering. Suddenly, he asked, “A personal question: Do you believe in fate?”

  “Fate?” Ethan had heard the word before—used at the start and end of legends, letting listeners guess the ending from the beginning.

  Ronis nodded. “Yes. The idea that everything is already planned—that the world follows a fixed path.”

  “No,” Ethan answered firmly. Stories could be written that way; people could call what had happened “fated.” But he refused to believe it in real life.

  “What if it does exist?” the bishop pressed.

  Ethan paused, then answered just as firmly: “I still wouldn’t believe it.”

  “Why?” Ronis looked surprised. “If you knew your efforts would be in vain… would you still try?”

  “Well, ‘vain’ doesn’t really matter, does it?” Ethan said. “Everyone’s born knowing they’ll die someday. Does that mean we should just sit around waiting for it? Wasting time on silly questions is worse than focusing on what you need to do. And who really knows what will happen anyway?”

  Ronis thought for a moment, then burst out laughing. The loud, cheerful sound seemed odd coming from his gaunt face—his thin features barely contained the intensity of his smile, as if it might break free and fly away.

  Ethan was startled—and flattered. He hadn’t expected a few casual words to make the bishop so happy.

  “Good, good, good…” Ronis repeated, his face alight with smiles and energy. “You’re right. Who does know what will happen? Wasting time on such questions is pointless. I’ve always scoffed at others for overthinking these trivial things—only to realize I’ve been doing the same. You’ve reminded me of that. I should thank you.”

  “It’s nothing,” Ethan said, growing more embarrassed.

  With his worries gone, Ronis seemed to make a firm decision, his spirits lifting. “Very well—let’s get to the point. I asked you here because I need a favor. Will you help me?”

  Faced with this kind, respected elder—who’d just been so delighted by his words, who’d saved his life, who held great power yet asked so gently for a small favor—no one could refuse. Ethan nodded immediately.

  “Excellent. I want to appoint you as a cleric. You’ll go to the western front and command the priests there,” Ronis said.

  “Huh?” Ethan thought he’d misheard.

  Ronis sighed deeply. “You don’t understand how dire the situation is. The other candidates are either tied to the military or the Erney family. Yesterday, several military ministers came to me—and you saw the Chancellor just now; he’s also eyeing this position. The political infighting is fierce. Both sides want to win this war to boost their influence. To them, it’s just a political chip—but it’s a war. Tens of thousands of lives could be thrown away because of their greed for fame and power. Tomorrow, I’ll advise the emperor to call off the war. I rarely speak up on state affairs, but when I do, my words carry weight. With Sedros also working on his end, a truce should be possible. But the emperor’s order hasn’t been issued yet; the discussions will take time. The western army is still there, and fighting could break out at any moment. So I need someone neutral—someone who doesn’t crave military glory, someone I can trust—to go west first, ease the tension, and prevent bloodshed if possible.”

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  “I can’t do this,” Ethan said, waving his hands and shaking his head.

  “Yes, you can,” Ronis said, his eyes filled with trust. “You must help me. This is about saving the lives of thousands of soldiers.”

  Thousands of lives. Ethan felt a sudden weight on his chest, making it hard to breathe. Fine—he’d call it repaying the bishop for saving his life. He nodded. “All right.”

  Ronis nodded in satisfaction, looking relieved. The thin, dignified old man seemed unusually happy today, his small face animated with emotion.

  In the study of the duke’s mansion, Mrak was sorting through military documents. Trouble had erupted on the western front: all the mages had been wiped out before the war even began, for no apparent reason.

  This unexpected setback had come at the perfect time. It was a catalyst—political chaos was about to engulf the court, and he needed to prepare. His feelings were mixed: half joy, half worry.

  He’d long predicted the western army’s defeat. When Sedros had asked for his help, he’d foreseen every twist and turn. Once Oufu was founded, the military ministers—hungry for glory—would surely demand war. But General Sanders stood no chance against Sedros and Gru; defeat was inevitable. The Erney family would then seize the opportunity to put their own man in command, but the military would resist. By then, his daughter’s marriage would have made him part of the Erney clan—and as Minister of Military Affairs, his ambiguous position would become a powerful tool. His long-laid plans would soon reach their climax, a perfect end. Even a man as calculating as Mrak couldn’t help but feel a flicker of excitement.

  But there was a worrying wild card: he’d failed to win over one crucial person. That person wanted nothing to do with politics—but if he ever revealed what he knew, Mrak could be destroyed, cast into the deepest pits of hell with no hope of return. Even a one-in-a-million chance was too risky. And he dared not eliminate this threat by force. This man was the hardest opponent Mrak had ever faced—impervious to wealth, power, or status. He’d even resorted to emotional manipulation, and still failed.

  Now, Mrak thought about how to deal with him constantly. Once this man was out of the way, everything would be perfect.

  Knight Clovis, Mrak’s deputy, stood nearby, organizing documents. He was getting married tomorrow, but his face was as impassive as ever—his mind fully focused on official business. After all, this marriage was just another “task.”

  A man dressed as a priest hurried into the study. He was one of Mrak’s spies in the Magic Academy. Mrak had planted such spies in every institution and noble household in the capital; the moment something unusual happened, he’d know at once, ready to react.

  Mrak knew well: on the battlefield, information was always the most important weapon. And court politics was a battlefield—one more subtle, more treacherous, more skillful… even artistic.

  The spy brought valuable news: the Chancellor had visited the bishop that morning, asking him to appoint his son as the cleric sent to the front. But the bishop had consulted with several high priests and decided to appoint someone else.

  Mrak smiled faintly. According to reports from the west, the Chancellor’s eldest son had already gotten hundreds of mages killed. This rejection was inevitable. “Who is the candidate?” he asked. “A minister’s son? Someone from the military?”

  “Not a minister’s son, sir. A strange name… Let me think.” The spy frowned. “I think it’s Ethan.”

  Clovis’s brow furrowed immediately. His memory only stored titles of power and influence—but this name was an exception. He’d never been able to forget the name of that lowly commoner he hated so much. The fact that this name now clung to his “noble” memory annoyed him, like having to swallow a cockroach. Now, hearing it again—this time tied to power—made the disgust worse.

  But when Mrak heard the name, he slammed his fist on the table and exclaimed, “Perfect!” His face even seemed to light up, as if the word “perfect” was written across it.

  Mrak waved the spy away. Noticing Clovis’s confused look, he smiled. “Have you heard the story of the frog in boiling water?”

  “No,” Clovis said. He knew no stories; he waited for an explanation.

  “If you throw a frog into a pot of boiling water, it jumps out immediately, scared by the pain. But if you put it in a pot of cold water and slowly heat it… the frog doesn’t notice. The water gets hotter and hotter, and eventually, the frog is boiled alive.” Mrak smiled like a gourmet savoring a meal. “Once he’s in the pot—what’s to stop us?” He waved his hand with the grandeur of a chef. “Prepare the most exquisite, expensive invitation at once. Inscribe the words in gold leaf. Send it to our soon-to-be cleric. Invite him to the wedding tomorrow—no matter what.”

  Lost in his triumph, Mrak didn’t notice the displeasure flicker across Clovis’s face.

  The next day, the wedding the entire capital had been waiting for finally began.

  The groom was a noble son of the Erney family—the capital’s most acclaimed knight, a captain of the Paladin Order, and a disciple of Commander Roland. The bride was the daughter of Mrak, Minister of Military Affairs—a man whose career was rising rapidly. It was a perfect match. Both the military and the Erney family—bitter rivals in court—rejoiced, dreaming of the benefits their alliance would bring.

  For the commoners, eager for a spectacle, the wedding did not disappoint. Dozens of honor guards escorted a snow-white carriage to the cathedral gates. A wide red carpet stretched from the carriage to the cathedral entrance, lined with children holding flower baskets.

  When the newlyweds stepped out of the carriage, everyone gasped in admiration.

  The groom was tall and handsome, his golden hair complementing his knight’s armor—like a prince of the sun, radiating charm and glory. The bride wore a snow-white wedding dress; even the veil couldn’t hide her delicate features or her black, silk-like hair. Her every gesture exuded elegance and poise, captivating all who saw her.

  As the perfect couple walked down the red carpet toward the sacred hall, hundreds of children tossed flower petals into the air. The royal orchestra began playing a solemn wedding march. Petals filled the sky; music surged like a tide.

  Yet those close to the newlyweds could feel an odd chill.

  Clovis struggled to keep a faint smile on his face, though he could find no reason to smile. This is work, he told himself. Just part of the job. A necessary procedure. Hold on for another hour, and it’ll be over. Even through his armor, he could feel the soft hand looped through his arm—but he’d rather have a piece of wood hanging off him than this woman, who didn’t even deign to look at him.

  Sophia felt like she was holding a piece of wood. She looked at the petals falling for her, listened to the music and cheers for her—and her heart was empty, cold.

  Priests stood in neat rows on either side of the cathedral, blessing the couple. A high priest stood on the altar, smiling, waiting to officiate the grand ceremony.

  No sign of the bishop. He was probably discussing “great matters” elsewhere, Sophia thought. She remembered her conversation with Ronis that night.

  She’d hidden nothing from the bishop, telling him everything about her plan to run away with Ethan.

  “You promised your teacher Sedros you’d return and honor the marriage, didn’t you?” Ronis had smiled, no hint of blame in his voice—but Sophia’s face had flushed with shame.

  “I know. For young people, love feels like the most precious thing in the world—worth giving up everything for. You aren’t wrong. But you can’t do this. Do you know what would happen if you ran away?” Ronis’s voice was gentle. “Your father would lose the military power he’s worked so hard for. Whether the military or the Erney family takes control, war between the empire and Oufu would follow. Even if we made peace in the end, tens of thousands of soldiers would die. The empire and Oufu would be enemies forever. No one would benefit.”

  Sophia bit her lip, her voice quiet and dejected. “Yes, Your Eminence.”

  “And even for his sake—you shouldn’t go to him,” Ronis said, his tone kind but firm. “Great responsibilities will soon fall on his shoulders. A brilliant future awaits him. If you run away with him now, you’ll ruin this rare talent—all for a love affair. Let me tell you this…”

  After listening to Ronis, Sophia had fallen silent for a long time. Finally, she bowed her head. “I understand. I can’t hold him back.” She’d glanced west, toward the faint outline of the cottage, then turned and walked back to the duke’s mansion. Ronis watched Sophia’s figure vanish into the darkness and sighed. He’d intended to continue toward the cottage, but after a moment’s thought, he turned back to the Magic Academy.

  “Will you take this man as your husband, and promise to love him for all your life?” The high priest’s voice pulled Sophia back to the cathedral. His ugly face strained to look sacred and kind as he addressed her.

  What is he doing now? she wondered. Preparing for that “great future” of his, no doubt. Sophia hesitated for a moment, then whispered, “I will.”

  As soon as the words left her lips, the guests erupted in cheers. She turned to look at the hundreds of people in the cathedral, celebrating her answer—and felt only a cold, empty confusion, and loneliness.

  Ethan was alone in the cottage, staring blankly at the surrounding corpses. The invitation Duke Mrak had sent him lay crumpled in the corner, its gold leaf glinting faintly in the dim light.

  With a single stroke of the bishop’s pen, Ethan had suddenly acquired a degree equivalent to years of intensive study at the Magic Academy. Three high priests had unanimously declared him “excellent in academic performance, outstanding in ability, and perfectly suited for the role of cleric.” His “diligent work” in the Magic Academy’s corpse warehouse—guiding the souls of the dead—was hailed as proof of his devout faith.

  When Sandro had heard this evaluation, he’d spat in disgust. But now the old man was nowhere to be found; Ethan couldn’t even find someone to talk to.

  He and the woman who was missing him from afar felt the same confusion and loneliness, separated by the length of the capital.

  Elsewhere in the Magic Academy, in Ronis’s private chambers, Sandro sat drinking tea with the bishop.

  “We’ll rarely have chances like this again,” Ronis said, sipping his tea as faint music and cheers drifted in from outside. “I’ll be too busy. You know how much behind-the-scenes work goes into fostering a hero. But at least we’ve made a good start.”

  “Are you really going to make that boy do something ‘great’?” Sandro asked suddenly, his brow furrowed. He’d barely spoken until now. “Don’t you think you’re pushing him too hard? He’s clearly not cut out for this.”

  “I’ll train him slowly,” Ronis smiled.

  “That’s not the point,” Sandro insisted. “Can’t you see? His personality is all wrong for ‘great deeds’?”

  “I know,” Ronis replied calmly. “That’s why I haven’t told him the full truth. Let him start with small tasks, let him get used to it gradually.”

  Sandro let out a long sigh and spoke slowly, as if each word required effort. “A leopard can’t change its spots. Trying to turn a bird that’s used to flying freely into a lion—doesn’t that seem forced to you? That boy will be miserable. He’ll never get used to it, not really.”

  “But I have no choice,” Ronis’s expression darkened. “Do you disapprove of what I’m doing?”

  “I don’t know,” Sandro said. “I’m just an old man who guards corpses. Whether it’s you or her, whether you’re planning ‘great things’ or not—I won’t get involved.”