by Feng Yue
This was his first response and Ingmar could not react quickly. Under everyone’s suspicious eyes, Abraham thought throw his words and earnestly repeated, “Yezi is a good child. He never lies.”
Ingmar’s expression instantly stiffened and darkened considerably. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that if he says you plagiarized, then you most likely plagiarized.” Abraham gazed at him and said slowly and earnestly, “In the end, it’s just some handwritten notes. It’s not worth my worry if someone takes them, but please do not insult my students because they all work hard.”
Abraham pushed himself up from the table and gazed around the silent conference room, looking at the stunned and perplexed expressions. He spoke for the first time before them, “As you all have said, I am a quickly made non-mainstream musician. I’ve had no accomplishments in my entire life and now that I’ve aged, I can just wait for my time to be up. To be honest, the history department has survived because of my kids’ hard work. I am ashamed to be their teacher.” His voice resounded heavily like a steel plate pounding into stone. It held unwavering calmness and persistence.
“They’ve put in a lot for the music history department, much more than me. Therefore, I’ll believe and support them, no matter what decision they make, even if I must be imprisoned in Tower Green again. Otherwise, I won’t even have the qualifications to be their teacher.”
Finished, he nodded slightly to show his politeness and turned to leave. However, he suddenly hit his head just as he reached the door and turned back awkwardly. Coming back, he pulled a notification letter from his pocket and handed it to Ingmar. “Oh right, I actually came to the meeting to give this to you.”
Ingmar froze and looked down. When he saw the wax seal and letterhead of the Musician’s Union, his expression changed as if he had seen a ghost; his face lost all color.
This was the notification from the Musician’s Union for him to attend the academic appraisal in ten days.
“You…you…” Ingmar’s arm shook as he pointed at Abraham, tongue-tied. “Why would the Musician’s Union tell…clearly…”
Abraham did not mind him. He just looked at everyone else and said quietly, “To be honest, I’m a wooden man. I don’t understand atmospheres or rules. The only thing I’m good at is the military’s straightforward way of speaking. I really don’t understand why all of you like sitting here and talking about things without meaning. But the Musician’s Union’s appraisal might be a good thing. It’ll at least be simpler and everyone will believe the result.
“If anyone still doubts the results of their appraisal after all this, why don’t we use the military’s rule and have a fight to the death?”
He said “fight to the death” as if it was something like eating and drinking, but his expression was extremely serious. Eating and drinking were things important to life as well and deserved to be treated seriously.
A fight to the death should be the same as eating and drinking—at least, that was how Abraham saw it.
Now, those people finally remembered…the wooden old man before them was once a Dragon Rider. He still contained the bloody and deathly aura of the battlefield. He did not belong here and did not know what they were good at it, so he was dull and silent, slowly getting used to their rules. Now, he did not want to play with them anymore. He was going to act seriously.
For his students, he did not even care about himself anymore. What could they do to him? It did not matter what methods they would use—bring it on!
This time, he would not step back again.
239 A Scholar’s Execution Ground
Half an hour later, it was the school board’s internal meeting. Only Ingmar and the old man who had hurried over were in the conference room.
The old lawyer, who had served many families, sat behind the table with his fingers clasped. He quietly gazed at the panicking Ingmar with a cold and serious expression.
“Mr. Ingmar,” he said in a low voice. “I shall represent the school board and once again perform interrogation regarding the interpretation results of the Voynich Manuscript. Is Abraham’s plagiarism report valid or not?”
Ingmar seemed not to hear him. He stared at the table and muttered something, his spirits entirely shaken. “Impossible…how could it pass…I clearly…that Abraham…”
“Ingmar!” The old lawyer suddenly slammed the table. The loud sound caused Ingmar’s shoulder to shake as he slowly looked up. “Do not avoid the question and face the school board’s interrogation! Did you plagiarize Abraham’s results or not?!”
Seeing his furious face, Ingmar seemed to see the shocked and stunned expressions of the noble school board members. His expression changed and, after a long while, he suddenly chuckled. It was incomparably mocking.
“Does it still matter to you if I plagiarized or not?”
The old lawyer’s face darkened. Without another word, he picked up his folder and left quietly.
Only Ingmar remained in the silent conference room. He looked at the empty seats before him in the stillness. Broken laughter sounded once again; it was both evil and carefree.
Until a sigh sounded behind him.
A seemingly familiar voice rang in his ears. “Now, there is no way out for you all, other than supporting me—that’s what you think, right?”
The laughter cut off abruptly.
Ingmar’s expression stiffened; he looked back with difficulty but only saw a crow. The crow looked at him too; its eyes seemed to be looking at dust.
When the crow perched on his shoulder, his body bent under the light figure. Its pressure was too heavy.
The crow said, “You think that the parliament has entered the path of no return and will support you to the end, right?”
Ingmar’s finger trembled and his facial muscles twitched, but he did not reply.
“Congratulations, you’re correct,” the crow said lightly. “We’ll support you even if you did plagiarize. Ten days later, the Musician’s Union will openly verify and debate the charges. The parliament will use our connections to help you win. Are you happy?”
Happy? Ingmar felt no joy but rather a chill go down his spine. This was the chill of having all his secrets revealed and laid out under the sun. And the oddness of the parliament’s generous blessing…were they not angry at all?
“You…” Ingmar gulped and tried hard to speak but his voice trembled. “What do you want?”
The crow sighed as if helpless. It was lamenting on an idiot. “Ingmar, you should know that what makes you proud is meaningless to us,” it said. “If you want to talk about money with us, you can leave now. The parliament won’t make any deal with you. But you can’t leave, right? You know better than anyone that once you exit this room, no one in this world will be able to save you.”
Ingmar’s shoulder trembled. He wanted to stand up and leave but the crow was perched on his shoulder. It was such a light crow but its weight bent his spine. He did not dare to rise…because he knew that if he showed the slightest bit of protest, everything would be over. His future, his accomplishments, his everything would all be buried in darkness.
And he would follow.
And so he lowered his head submissively, voluntarily putting on an invisible chain.
“Indeed, the parliament has wasted a large amount of resources on you through the years,” the crow said lightly. “I’m sure you know that even a Resonance level musician can be hired by the parliament. It’s only a matter of money. The parliament never fears to pay any price, Ingmar. We do not fear any price.
“We think highly of you because there aren’t many scholars who are skilled in explaining ancient texts. Coincidentally, we need you to explain a certain thing at a certain time and help guide our path. You know that there are still many replacements, many…so don’t do any other stupid things and test our patience, alright?”
“Guide?” Ingmar was covered in sweat. “Guide what path?”
“Didn’t you already guess it?” The crow laughed. “The
Blood Path on the back of this city, Ingmar. Now is the time for you to know but you’ve already guessed a lot, haven’t you?”
Cold sweat dripped down Ingmar’s face, dropping on the ground and evaporating. In the end, he closed his eyes and said through clenched teeth, “I—I will help you.”
“Ingmar, it’s not you who is helping us, but us who is helping you,” the crow murmured in his ear. “Now you can open your eyes. Take a look at your friends.”
Ingmar’s finger shook. He opened his eyes in confusion and could barely breathe.
The quiet conference room had become filled with newcomers without him realizing. Not a single seat was empty. Sharp eyes gazed at him; they were chilling and terrifying.
Hundreds upon thousands of birds had flown in without a sound. They filled every corner and looked down on him.
“Welcome to the parliament, my friend.” The crow laughed meaningfully. “Welcome to the true core of the country.”
-
In a suburban manor of the Burgundy capital, hurried knocking sounded.
A messenger knocked on the door of a library and called, “Master Barthélémy, master Barthélémy!”
The knocking lasted for half an hour before the door was opened angrily. The old man behind the door had messy hair and unruly clothing. This was definitely not the look for meeting guests, but he glared at the messenger as if looking at someone who had intruded on his territory.
“Shut up!”
The library behind him was filled with ancient books but they did not smell of mold, thanks to the careful maintenance. The books contained strange wedge-shaped words and were overflowing with an ancient aura. But his research had been interrupted, so the old man was abnormally angry.
“I’m at the critical point of my interpretation. Didn’t I say that no one can bother me? Do you not understand the lingua franca?”
He had been studying the Emerald Tablet passed down from ancient musicians for more than a decade. This was an ancient book of first generation music theory, apparently taught by the gods.
Now, after overcoming many difficulties, he had finally found a clue, and was in the midst of excited studying, but had been interrupted by a guest. Even a cultured fellow would be furious.
Even though the guest was a messenger from the Musician’s Union, he still berated him until he had vented all his anger and glared. “You better have a good excuse. Otherwise, even the Musician’s Union won’t be able to enter my home. Never!”
“I am only here under an order. Please understand.” The messenger instantly felt weak. Smiling dryly, he offered a letter from the Sacred City.
Barthélémy angrily snatched it, tore open the letter, and tugged out a piece of paper.
“Plagiarism?”
Barthélémy was stunned. He could not help but furrow his brow. Of course he knew about the interpretation of the Voynich Manuscript from a few days ago. Though it had not been officially published, he had many students who worked at the Sacred City. He had received a copy the third day.
One must admit that though it seemed illogical. The interpretation was undoubtedly a masterpiece. A portion of it had given him new inspiration for the Emerald Tablet. He had never thought that such a masterpiece would have this problem…
When he finished reading the report, his anger had already dissipated. All that remained was shock and melancholy.
“Ingmar and Abraham? Why…why do something like this?”
Scholars who were obsessed with deciphering history usually stayed away from quarrels and disvalued honors and titles. Most were not complicated; in fact, they were usually naïve.
To them, their research was everything; academics and theories were life. Something like plagiarism was the mortal sin. That was why Barthélémy was so despondent after hearing of this.
“What a pity.” He invited the messenger into the library. After pouring tea, he was silent for a long while before taking off his glasses and sighing. “I understand the Union’s intentions. Do they want me to attend the appraisal as an appraiser?”
“Correct.” The messenger nodded.
But Barthélémy’s worried look grew richer. “I chose to become a scholar with a Starry Eye once I entered the Resonance level because I detest fighting and hurting others. I can’t believe now you want me to be the executioner.”
The messenger was stunned. “Master, what do you mean?”
“You don’t understand.” The old man shook his head bitterly. “To a scholar, their research and study is like breathing, and their results are life. No matter what the final result is, one of these two scholars will ‘die.’ To a scholar, this is not an appraisal but an execution.”
After a long pause, the messenger hung his head. “I was presumptuous.”
“You are not to blame. In the end, this is a matter of the academic world and must use the academic world’s methods to solve. Who else can play the role of the executioner other than us old fellows? You must have sent an invitation letter to Sergey, correct? That guy has such a fiery temper. He will definitely agree.”
“Yes.” The messenger nodded. “There are five in total who were invited. Other than you and master Sergey, there is also Miss Lola Caput from Anglo, master Heisenberg of the Rock Institute, and a great master of ancient Eastern runes who is staying in the Sacred City.”
“Ancient Eastern runes?” Barthélémy was stunned. “It’s been lost for so many years but there is still someone studying it?”
The messenger replied honestly, “It’s a scholar from the East. He arrived in the Sacred City half a year ago. Not many know about his identity and I only know that his surname is Hu. The cardinal refers to him as Sun.”
“I must be ignorant.” Barthélémy nodded and thought for a while. “When do we set off?”
Hearing that he was willing to attend, the messenger was instantly overjoyed. “We’ve prepared the fastest light-rail carriage and a ship. You can arrive in Anglo within six days.”
The Musician’s Union knew that Barthélémy rarely left his home and was not used to planes, and had therefore prepared the fastest route. Barthélémy nodded in accord. After setting the time of departure, he sent a servant to see the messenger out.
When the representative of the Musician’s Union left, Barthélémy sat in his library and sighed helplessly after a long time. He was no longer in the mood to continue researching.
“What a pity. I almost had a breakthrough for the Emerald Tablet…” Shaking his head, he took off his glasses. He wanted to go out for a walk but ran into the servant who had quickly returned.
“Sir, you have an urgent letter.” The servant offered him the letter that he had just received.
“Letter? Who sent it?” Barthélémy accepted the letter but there was no name on the envelope. There was only the trace of a wax seal.
It was the silhouette of a crow.
240 Boss Isn’t Home Today
For the next few days, the history department did not accept any guests.
Because of their home, and that they must prepare for the appraisal in ten days, the principal specifically gave them a building near the library for their temporary residence. They rejected all who wanted to see them and closed the door tightly. They used the Requiem Enchantment’s strength to isolate both the inside and outside of the building. Not a peep could be heard, let alone the ability to record videos.
The white-haired youth moved between the library and their residency every day.
Inside the school, everyone started paying attention to this event after news of the Musician’s Union’s appraisal spread. For a time, it created a storm. People argued over both the reasons and the results. The many fights gave the executive office giant headaches.
On the other hand, it was not just the school that was in a flurry.
It could be said that the entire ancient world of academia was shaken by the Musician’s Union’s notification. Most scholars had not heard of the news that the Voynich Manuscript had
been successfully interpreted and were shocked when they received the message. Then, they realized that this giant breakthrough had such a hidden flaw.
Many scholars obsessed with interpretation had begun traveling to Anglo from all over. The one who traveled the farthest was a monk who hailed from India. There were still many days before the appraisal but many had already arrived. They stayed at inns near the Musician’s Union and chatted in their free time, exchanging ideas of academia.
If not for the fact that everyone had come for the appraisal, this would have become an academic event. Abraham’s notes had been attained by people with connections to the Union and spread secretly.
An argument over whether this was a crooked solution or a clever path instantly exploded. The appraisal had not begun yet, but there were already signs of the debate.
On the ninth day, the three grandmasters, Barthélémy, Sergey, and Heisenberg arrived. After conversing shortly with the local scholar, Miss Lola Caput, they rejected other welcoming procedures and went to rest in their arranged inns.
On the tenth day, the long-closed door to the history department was finally opened. The principal was also called to the palace by the emperor. He had been watching the show for so long; now it was time for his unfortunate event.
-
In the quiet hall, Maxwell stood at the bottom of the steps without a word, head lowered politely. On the other side of the curtain, a graceful female’s voice traveled from the throne. Her voice was steady and majestic.
“Is my mind playing tricks on me? Maxwell, why do strange things always happen in your academy?”
Maxwell could not help but chuckle bitterly. Lowering his head, he answered, “Perhaps…because I’m unlucky?”
The queen was not angry. Instead, she calmly advised, “The academy belongs to the royal family. If anything happens, it damages the royal reputation. Now is a stormy time and you must leave some space for the royal family. You should understand what else I must say, correct?”
“Yes.” The bitterness in Maxwell’s face grew stronger. “To be honest, I’ve already tried my hardest not to add more grief to the royal family, but this involves the ringing of the Philosopher’s Bell. I must be careful. You’ve called me this time because of the Musician’s Union’s appraisal, right?”
