"Of course, everything I have told you is just my own thesis. I really have published quite a few journal articles on this subject, though the focus was centered on how the Mad Pope was attracted to our Order, highlighting the greatness and righteousness of our teachings.
"You know how it is. Sometimes, for a bit of funding and benefits, we research experts inevitably have to act like trained domestic dogs on the grass, chasing after frisbees.
"Besides, my thesis could very well be wrong. History is like a prism—multifaceted. You can arrange and combine the facets one by one into whatever you find interesting and plausible.
"Just like how, before learning your name, I never would have imagined you were that famous Head Karen of the Yorktown Region. The impression you give in person differs vastly from the rumors about you. And how did those rumors come to be?
"Weren't they spread through news reports, internal channels, and the like?
"Standing face-to-face here, you and I still cannot see each other clearly. How could we possibly hope to deeply grasp the hearts and minds of people from thousands of years ago, or even from before the epoch?"
Just then, the bathroom door opened. Dressed in her clerical robes of Order and impeccably groomed, Regional Chief Gaspol walked out and said testily, "Are you spreading your heresies and crooked theories again?"
Hiderod held up both hands. "My dear granddaughter, I understand that you're eager to win back the face you just lost. After all, no superior wants a subordinate to see them looking so unkempt and domestic. Worse yet, this subordinate has completely stripped you of real authority, leaving only that tiny shred of nominal mystery, which has now been thoroughly punctured.
"However, trying to reclaim face by trampling on your grandfather is a foolish move. The better your grandfather looks, the more face it actually gives you."
Gaspol leaned against the kitchen doorway. "That's why I've never wondered why Grandmother divorced you. Living with someone like you really is impossible."
"Living?" Hiderod chuckled. "Ever since your grandmother married me, I never let her do a single chore. Every day after class, I hurried home to cook for her. Before traveling for archaeological expeditions, I prepped every meal for her upcoming days in advance. And that includes you—whenever your parents were away, I took care of you."
Gaspol said, "There is more to life than just chores."
"That is only because I took care of it all, leaving you naive enough to think they were trivial matters, leaving you with too much free time."
Gaspol did not bother to reply and poured herself a glass of milk.
Hiderod pointed to the cup on the coffee table. "You seem to have forgotten to wash the cup you snubbed your cigarette out in."
Gaspol shook her head. "It can be thrown away."
"Have you considered this? A cup isn't worth much, but if your fiancé saw this, or if he came home, sat on the sofa to drink water, picked up the cup, and saw a cigarette butt inside, in that moment, he would question the point of getting married and building a family."
Gaspol turned toward her grandfather. Were Karen not present, an argument would have surely erupted between the two.
Hiderod was not afraid of an argument, nor did he worry about provoking his granddaughter further. He continued on his own, "You agreed to the betrothal yourself without even asking for my opinion. Did you think that being engaged to a Holy Child would spare you from mundane trivialities?
"Haha, my foolish little granddaughter.
"You're far too naive. Truly. Those Holy Children are generally aloft, but more often than not, they crave genuine friends and a real home.
"The more they lack it, the more they crave it. That was decided by the circumstances of their lives ever since they inherited the legacies of the great figures."
Carrying the dishes, Karen felt Hiderod made a great deal of sense. Mavaglio was indeed that sort of person.
"Come, we can eat now."
"What about that other instructor?" Karen asked.
"Let's not invite him," Hiderod said. "I forgot earlier that you and my granddaughter belong to the same department. Think of this as your department's internal gathering. Having an outsider around wouldn't be appropriate. Karen, what do you think?"
"Whatever you prefer, Professor."
Karen had made several dishes, and both Hiderod and Gaspol were very pleased after tasting them.
Yet Hiderod's mouth never stopped. He pointed one finger at Karen and said to Gaspol, "I have to admit, Karen's cooking is much better than mine. I see hints of new dishes in these."
Gaspol said, "He talks far less than you."
"Do you think that's a good thing?" Hiderod smiled. "Proper in conduct, gentlemanly and amicable toward others—he notices the expressions and actions of everyone around him and makes them all feel comfortable. But living with someone like him, unless you possess a tranquil and unruffled soul, you would never be able to endure his private habits."
Karen said nothing.
Hiderod continued, "Forgive me, Karen. I'm not speaking ill of you on purpose. I merely want to use this chance to educate my little granddaughter. You know how it is: your superior is a workaholic, but in life, she is truly an icy idiot—not even as good as a warm fool!"
"Please continue. I don't mind."
"I certainly must. She hasn't stayed here in a long time. She must have come this time for your sake, right? Haha, having to personally pave the way for the subordinate who sidelined you—my little granddaughter, aren't you angry deep down?"
Gaspol closed her eyes. Karen noticed the whip lying on the sofa tremble slightly.
Just then, a knock came at the door.
Karen did not get up; he was not the host. Hiderod rose and went to answer it. Standing at the door was Mavaglio, wearing divine robes trimmed in gold.
There were embedded formations in the faculty apartment building. Though neither powerful nor tight, just as a garden fence only keeps out honest folk rather than thieves, people passing by or living here would not casually send out spiritual senses to probe around.
"Ah, Lord Holy Child!"
Hiderod prostrated himself, preparing to pay homage.
Mavaglio immediately reached out to help him up. "Please, do not do this."
"No, no, no, it is my duty. You are an exalted Holy Child."
"No, no, no, you are my fiancée's grandfather. You must not."
"Even your biological grandfather would have to salute you."
"Then just make a small gesture."
After a flurry of polite refusals, Mavaglio stepped inside. Seeing Karen sitting by the dining table, he took the initiative to walk over and speak to him. "Ha! Didn't expect me, did you?"
"Indeed I didn't."
"Anyway, I'm on sick leave with plenty of time. I can go anywhere."
Gaspol kept her head down and ate quietly.
Mavaglio had not greeted her upon entering, and she did not acknowledge him either.
If outsiders were present, they might have put on a show, but there were no outsiders here.
Hiderod sat down and remarked, "It seems you two aren't getting along very well. That truly saddens me, and I don't know how I'll answer to her late grandmother. While she was alive, her greatest wish was for Gaspol to find a suitable husband."
Mavaglio looked slightly uneasy at this and quickly responded, "No, Professor, you misunderstand. Gaspol and I have no problems in our relationship, truly."
Mavaglio began gesturing to Gaspol to back him up—after all, this was her relative.
Gaspol set down her spoon and said, "My grandmother merely divorced my grandfather. She is still alive."
Mavaglio hesitated. "Uh..."
Hiderod said unconcernedly, "An elder with no presence might as well be 'dead' to add some moral weight to the younger generation. Wouldn't you agree, Lord Holy Child?"
"Well..."
Hiderod nodded with a smile. "I am very pleased to see Lord Holy Child display embarrassment before me. It proves you are willing to adopt a compromising stance to try and maintain this marriage.
"Therefore..."
Hiderod turned toward Gaspol. "You should also show some sincerity. Don't leave him hanging without a response."
Gaspol took a deep breath and said to Karen, "I'm finished eating. Let's head out."
Smack!
Hiderod slammed a hand onto the table and said, "Karen still has class this afternoon!"
Karen immediately spoke up. "Yes, I have class this afternoon. Weren't we meeting for dinner?"
"Has Lord Holy Child visited the university before?" Hiderod asked.
"A few times, but only for experiments. I've never truly strolled around. As you know, it's rather inconvenient for me to walk among crowds. I don't particularly enjoy receiving bows from everyone."
"Gaspol, you should accompany Lord Holy Child on a walk around campus this afternoon. Just disguise your identities."
Gaspol remained silent.
Karen stood up and said, "Professor, Regional Chief, Holy Child, I'll take my leave first. Afternoon classes are about to begin."
"I'll see you downstairs." Mavaglio stood and walked out alongside Karen.
The moment the door shut, Hiderod barked at Gaspol, "What are you doing? Look at your attitude!"
"You are infuriating, Grandfather."
"I only want you to live a better life. Don't end up like your grandmother."
"You don't need to meddle in my affairs. Furthermore, Grandmother is doing quite well after divorcing you."
Hiderod nodded and said, "Indeed, your grandmother could divorce me, but can you divorce a Holy Child?"
Gaspol fell silent.
"Leave the dishes there. I'll clean up later," Hiderod said.
Gaspol shook her head, stood up, and began clearing the plates.
In Hiderod's memory, this was the very first time his granddaughter had ever done housework. Yet before a warm, grandfatherly smile could even form on his lips, he heard a sharp crash as porcelain shattered.
Gaspol stood frozen, looking at the broken plate on the floor. "I didn't do it on purpose."
"The broom is over there. Sweep slowly. When the Holy Child comes back from seeing Karen off, give him a chance to clean it up with you."
Suppressing her impatience, Gaspol said, "Could you please stop this, Grandfather? I'm not a child anymore, truly!"
"Yet I feel as though I'm holding you over the chamber pot again like when you were small."
"Enough!"
"Not enough. Pick up a shard and cut your finger slightly. When the Holy Child returns, squeeze out a drop of blood. By the way, does the saliva of a Holy Child possess antiseptic and pain-relieving effects?"
***
"Did you just happen to drop by for lunch?"
"Why else? Did you think I made a special trip to eat lunch at my superior's house?"
"That's exactly what I thought."
"I would have told you beforehand."
"Don't be so guarded. I wouldn't suspect anything between you and my fiancée. I trust your taste."
"You put that in a way that leaves me at a loss for words."
"I'll join you for dinner tonight."
"If it were purely for my sake, you wouldn't need to go. So, is it for her? Are you worried that after the academic faction asked her to make way for me, they'll give her the cold shoulder, so you're going to back her up?"
"I'd love to deny it, but you speak the truth. Regardless, she is my wife. I can't let her lose face out there—that would be losing face for me by extension."
"And face for your child."
Hearing that, Mavaglio hooked an arm around Karen's shoulder. "Haha! I know you're anxious for me to have a child!"
"Yes, absolutely." Not only did Karen not deny it, he added, "I'd even pick out the syringe gauge for you."
"I will do as you say. In my past life, I had no choice, but I hope that my future life will have a bit more domestic warmth beyond serving as a 'sculpture' or a 'mascot.' What do you think, Karen?"
"There are some areas where I simply cannot empathize or resonate with you, Mavaglio."
"I know. Sigh, you'll never be able to directly grasp the misery of being a Holy Child like me."
"Indeed. I truly envy a life like yours."
"Are you really going to class, though?"
"What else?"
"Which class?"
"Assessment and Perception of Cults."
"Send your subordinates to treat the professor to a meal and get signatures across the board, or just say a word to the vice dean. That's how high-ranking priests who drop by for completion certificates do it."
"That would be meaningless. Since I have the opportunity, I might as well attend lectures and learn whatever I can."
"Fine, suit yourself. I'm heading back. See you tonight."
"See you tonight."
"It might not even take until tonight. I doubt I can sit in that room with her for three minutes."
"Then you need to work on your stamina."
"Heh, we'll see. If all else fails, I'll come find you. There's a private cafeteria in the school; I'll take you out for drinks."
"I want to study properly."
"With my status and perks, I can order precious delicacies in the private cafeteria that even the deans and vice deans don't qualify for."
"Go by yourself. Don't disrupt my class."
"Are we friends or what? Just who am I using that syringe for? Who am I fathering a future child for? Who wants to see my wife pregnant the most?"
"Is there something wrong with your head today?"
"Hmph, let me tell you, Karen: if you want a promotion and want to become Regional Chief sooner, you have to keep me company and keep me in a good mood during this period. Otherwise, I'll enter seclusion and claim to the outside world that I've received new inherited memories, making sure you never get to be Regional Chief."
"Are you nervous?"
"What?"
"I get the feeling you're afraid of going back to face a tigress. Are you really that scared of her?"
"Ha, what a joke! Whom would I fear? A mere Regional Chief?"
"Could it be that you actually fancy her a bit? Once that emotion is involved, things feel different."
"You're slandering me! Utter nonsense!"
"All right, go keep the Regional Chief company. Stop seeing me off. Once we leave the dormitory building, people will start bowing to you again."
***
Karen entered the classroom. Although he had cooked and eaten at the professor's home, it was still a bit early for the afternoon class. This lecture on Assessment and Perception of Cults was also held in a lecture hall, but an even larger one that could accommodate far more people.
As usual, Karen chose a corner seat in the very back row. Just as he sat down, he found a stack of books inside the desk drawer. The adjacent desks were the same; students had likely been using this hall as a study room, given that large lecture halls were not utilized frequently while library seats were fiercely contested.
Karen spotted a book titled Overview of Advanced Formations. After a moment's hesitation, he reached out and took it out.
It was a textbook, not a diary, so perusing it posed no moral burden.
Opening to the first page, he saw a handwritten line: Confound it all, why did I take this as an elective?! Followed by a string of exclamation marks.
Evidently, this advanced formation text gave students quite the headache.
Karen skimmed the table of contents and found that the outline only covered basics. After flipping through it a bit longer, he concluded that for him, this advanced book was little more than elementary reading.
This was hardly surprising. Since Karen had begun studying formations, he had received guidance from three teachers: Grandfather Hoffen, Instructor Piro, and Maternal Grandfather Delon.
Among the three, the one with the lowest attainment was his grandfather Delon, who was at least a bishop presiding over the formation department of a major region.
The students here, on the other hand, would have to intern at assigned posts after finishing university, and only after formal appointment would they gradually grope their way forward to become the array masters Karen knew—the priests with geometric patterns embroidered on their chests—and even then, only as assistants handling marginal tasks.
Flipping further, Karen came across a newspaper clipping. The image inside moved; it had clearly been clipped from a church newspaper.
Moreover, the person in the clipping was actually himself.
He turned a few more pages. Since the later material had not yet been studied, clippings were tucked in even more frequently. Page after page, they were all photographs of him.
Some photos bore handwritten annotations that made Karen chuckle in spite of himself.
"Our Karen is so handsome!"
"You are mine, my Karen!"
"I dreamed today that I married you, hehe!"
...
"You are my hero. You're about to lead the team into the underground cavern. I pray to the great God of Order that you return safely!"
...
"Ahhh! You returned safely! I'm so thrilled!"
The accompanying image showed a "mummy" covered entirely in bandages, which had probably been Neo posing for the shot.
As for photos of him after "recovering," there were none yet. Since completing his purification, Karen had been constantly busy, and Alfred had helped decline any reporters who sought interviews.
It seemed Professor Hiderod had been right: Karen did indeed have quite a few admirers at the school, mostly owing to his youth.
Karen closed the book without leaving any notes or additions inside.
Gradually, students began trickling into the classroom.
Karen pulled up the collar of his clerical robe to cover half his face, waiting patiently for the instructor's arrival.
To Karen's mild surprise, the back rows of the university hall, which should have been the most sought-after seats, remained completely deserted for this class. The students who entered all chose to sit in the front rows, filling the seats like a grid without skipping a single space.
Five minutes before class, the influx of students noticeably increased. Finally, the class bell rang, and a silver-haired female professor carrying a case walked into the room in rhythm with the chimes.
Though advanced in age, she possessed an imposing presence, her sweeping gaze across the hall carrying natural mental deterrence.
Yes, another instructor who liked to employ mental power in class. But where Hiderod favored hypnosis, she leaned toward the whip, using her mental power to produce the jarring shock of ice water splashed over one's body in midwinter, snapping everyone wide awake.
"Class, we will continue today. In our previous session, we covered the criteria for classifying cults. In this session and the few that follow, I intend to use concrete examples to further elaborate on our perception of cults."
The female professor raised her hand, and a small, iridescent python flew out from her sleeve, hovering in the air to form a projection.
The projection depicted a giantess: one of her hands was a vast, iridescent pool, while the other was entirely made of feathers.
"Can any student identify who she is?"
Karen murmured silently in his heart: Rielsa.
Karen did not raise his hand, but soon a student in the front volunteered, "Professor, it's the Mural God."
"Correct, the Mural God, Rielsa." The female professor walked down from the podium. "The determination of a cult falls into three categories: first, determination by our Lord; second, determination by the church; and third, self-determination by the cult itself.
"The Mural God falls under determination by our Lord.
"In our daily lives, believers of the Mural God are actually not uncommon. Among the painter profession in particular, followers of the Mural God make up the largest proportion. Last year at our university, believers of the Mural God were discovered among students in the Mural Department, triggering a massive investigation across the entire department.
"Class, do not think them harmless to man and beast, nor should you simply regard them as zealots passionately pursuing an ideal faith.
"To speak words you might not like to hear, or that no one previously dared utter: those Light remnants we abhor so deeply are, in the vast majority of cases, far purer and more benign than those cults.
"After all, our church—and indeed the entire ecclesiastical community—never designated the Church of Light as a cult, nor did we designate the God of Light as an evil god, hehe."
It was a very dry joke, and even the seated students felt it skirted taboo, so they merely echoed with awkward chuckles to be polite.
"Tsk."
The female professor was not particularly pleased with their reaction, regarding them as a flock of sheltered quails.
Naturally, the academic environment easily made its educators somewhat out of touch with real-world complexities.
Priests working out in the field generally understood that having a friend from the Church of the Mural God earned you disciplinary punishment, but having a friend who was a Light remnant... might well cost you your life.
Light, though not designated a cult, was far less tolerated by the Church of Order than any actual cult.
"Followers of the Church of the Mural God share a common trait: fanaticism. Their fanaticism exceeds what you can comprehend, for they firmly believe they can foresee the future within their paintings.
"This differs from our university's Divination Department. Prophecies from the Divination Department adhere to rules; their results usually take the form of 'auspicious,' 'inauspicious,' 'oracles,' and the like. The Church of the Mural God, however, produces a concrete image.
"A diviner conducts an 'observation' from a third-party objective stance, whereas the Church of the Mural God delivers a verdict from within the game.
"You might not grasp the meaning of this distinction. To give an example: if a student from Divination tells you that you will overeat tonight, you can take note, carry digestive tablets, or eat less to avoid it. But if a follower of the Mural God shows you a painting of your belly bursting open... then tonight, you are very likely to encounter an aberrant demon that tears your belly open.
"Even more likely, after your classmates avenge you and capture that aberrant demon, they will skin it only to discover the demon was that very follower of the Mural God.
"Of course, what I speak of is not a direct causation. It does not mean that to prove the painting a true prophecy, he must personally execute the deed to make it come true—though many followers of the Mural God do precisely that.
"Rather, when higher-level believers of the Mural God create such a painting, they themselves become the driving force behind its realization.
"Either it will be something they participate in directly, or something their friends and family participate in;
"In short, the event will have a thread connecting back to them. For instance... they might inexplicably appear on the scene, ostensibly to bear witness, when in fact their own actions were one of the driving forces behind the outcome."
Karen began to listen intently.
The female professor continued, "There is a saying: a butterfly flaps its wings on the Western Continent, and a hurricane stirs over the sea of the Eastern Continent. A follower of the Church of the Mural God is that butterfly.
"The scene in their prophetic painting is usually an outcome they can bring about, mobilizing themselves and every person and object around them to trigger its realization.
"Most of the time, they are bewildered themselves, because they employ an exceptionally clever shortcut that circumvents—no, replaces—enormously complex calculations and deductions.
"Regarding this, if anyone is interested, you may borrow literature from Shelf M in Area D4 of the university library. The Church of Principles once published dedicated experimental dissertations on the subject."
Karen silently committed the location to memory.
"Thus, many wonder what the Mural God painted to provoke our Lord into designating her an evil god. Even if the Mural God truly painted our Lord's demise as rumors claim... I believe that with our Lord's magnanimity and character, He would not have taken offense over that alone.
"The fundamental reason is that when the Mural God produced that painting, it was equivalent to joining a campaign to curse our Lord. The Mural God herself and all entities related to her would subsequently form a colossal momentum, coercing our Lord toward the demise depicted in her painting.
"That is the true reason our Lord designated the Mural God an evil god. It was not that she offended our Lord, but that the Mural God... attempted to assassinate our Lord.
"Therefore, if you discover a follower of the Church of the Mural God around you in the future, and an actual connection has been established between you, I advise you to exercise extreme caution.
"For they might paint a scene of you striking good fortune, which can be taken as a blessing.
"Yet they might also paint a miserable scene for you, including your death or events dealing you a devastating blow;
"After producing such a painting, they might be shocked themselves, running to warn you with tears and wails. In all probability, you would even thank them for forewarning you of hardship, and then work with them to seek a way out.
"Hehe.
"They might truly be your good friend. They might genuinely care for you, even willing to die for you.
"In truth, however, the deeper you become entangled with them, the more your trajectory of fate will slide toward the ending in their painting.
"Such an outcome... does not bend to their personal will.
"Naturally, there are ways to break it. There must be, otherwise how could the Church of the Mural God have fallen to such miserable depths today, lurking like rats in the sewers?
"Why haven't they collectively painted scenes of our Church of Order perishing to curse our church into decline?
"Because our church is too powerful.
"By the same token, if you yourself are sufficiently formidable—mind you, by formidable I do not merely mean your strength, but an aggregate of many factors—you are entirely capable of altering the ending in their painting.
"Your background, your entanglements, and the special people and objects around you can all achieve a similar effect.
"It is like me casually dropping a fountain pen from an upper floor. A student passing below should have had his head pierced, but the vice principal stopped him and barked, 'Which department are you from? Who is your counselor? How dare you skip class!'
"He stopped, stood at attention, took the scolding, and as he rushed toward the academic building, the pen fell—a beat too late to hit him.
"In this, the vice principal played a special role. After all, the vice principals of our university are no ordinary individuals.
"So, class, if you are ever caught and reprimanded by the principal or a dean, do not resent them; be filled with gratitude."
Laughter rippled across the room.
"I do not say this to preach fatalism or predestination. Many external religions advocate such notions, but as believers of Order, we certainly do not believe in them. Yet there is no need to dismiss the matter outright. When a believer of the Church of the Mural God paints a piece, the way it comes to pass is by turning themselves into a small snowball that gathers momentum from the surrounding environment. At that juncture, only if you are hard enough, and only if there are enough unyielding, sturdy people and things around you, can you withstand it without being swept away.
"The finest method to resist the influence of the Church of the Mural God is devotion to the God of Order.
"After all,
"the Mural God is gone."
Having reached this point, the female professor picked up her cup, took a sip of water, and then nudged the case she had brought with the toe of her shoe.
The case dismantled itself, revealing a folded skeleton inside. The skeleton unfolded, embedded a gemstone into its forehead, pulled out a small stool, sat down, set up an easel before itself, and began mixing paints.
It was a puppet—an exceptionally sophisticated puppet. Even Mr. Lemar could not have crafted such a creation.
Moreover, the gemstone used by the puppet was peculiar and precious; Karen sensed the aura of the Mural God radiating from it.
Once fitted with the gemstone, the puppet temporarily acquired the power of a follower of the Mural God.
Karen could not help but marvel inwardly: at Order University, not only was the faculty of high caliber, but the teaching resources were also extravagantly lavish.
That giant crab from the previous night had been specially deployed to transport students from a certain department for specialized field cultivation.
The female professor announced, "Now, following our tradition, we shall conduct an experiment in direct perception. Will the student sitting in the very last row please come forward to serve as our subject?"
The seated students all turned around with gloating expressions to look at Karen at the back.
Understanding dawned on Karen. No wonder no one sat in the back; this class had such a tradition.
"You, come down," the female professor said, pointing at Karen again. "I believe this student volunteered to try."
Daring to sit so far back in my class?
Karen stood up, stepped out of his row, and walked toward the lectern.
He wore no veil or mask. Earlier, sitting alone in the rear corner, he had kept his face partly concealed with his robes, but as he walked down, students began recognizing him.
Several young women covered their mouths, their eyes widening; several young men clenched their fists, their faces flushing red.
The female professor noticed the unusual stir among the students, though older instructors naturally paid different attention to news than the younger crowd. She did not recognize Karen, merely smiling as she said, "This student is quite handsome. Did you sit alone in the back out of fear of being pestered? Heh."
Karen walked up to her and said, "My apologies, Professor. I didn't know your class had such a custom."
"Do you skip class often?"
"No, I am an audit student on secondment."
"Ah, no wonder. Well, consider it a unique experience. Rest assured, there is no danger—it will actually be rather amusing."
"Understood, Professor."
Once Karen came down, the white skeleton raised its brush and began painting rapidly. Soon, the classroom setting took shape, followed by the figures of the students, and then the lectern...
The perspective of the painting seemed to look down from above the classroom entrance.
Finally, it began painting Karen.
No one noticed that when the white skeleton began depicting Karen, the hand holding the brush trembled slightly.
Karen's position in the painting was at the classroom doorway. Facing inside, he was kneeling down to bow before all the teachers and students.
"What should I do now?" Karen asked.
The female professor smiled gently. "Nothing at all. Just act as natural as possible."
Turning to face the class, she said, "You may all wait patiently. It won't take long, nor will class run late, for you are all present in the painting, proving that when the prophecy comes to pass, class will not yet have ended."
However, the scene of eager, collective anticipation the female professor expected failed to materialize, leaving her wondering whether her preparation had been lacking.
By all rights, the students should have been waiting with rapt excitement for the prophecy to come true.
In truth, Karen's identity had been recognized, and word was spreading rapidly among the students below. Practically everyone now knew who this young "classmate" was, and their attention had completely drifted away from the lecture.
Some had already readied pen and paper to ask for an autograph after class, while others were folding spell paper to send out messenger crows, urging their friends to hurry over and see Karen.
Karen's effect on them was far beyond a celebrity dropping by a university hall to elicit superficial gasps; that was far too shallow.
This was Order University. Except for international and exchange students, the vast majority were followers of Order who would inevitably work within the church after graduation. While the university was divided into departments, in essence, Karen and every one of them belonged to the exact same department.
Consequently, their sense of admiration and adoration carried an infinitely stronger personal resonance.
***
"I'm an idiot, I'm an idiot, I'm an idiot! Damn it, curse it all, and yet..."
Mavaglio marched angrily down the corridor while sucking on his wounded finger. He wanted to find Karen for a drink, for he felt utterly miserable, and his face was burning hot with shame.
After parting with Karen, he had returned to Hiderod's home.
He had seen Gaspol clearing the broken plates—and her finger was actually cut!
He had rushed forward immediately to ask if it hurt.
Gaspol had said nothing.
Then, Mavaglio had done something that, in retrospect, was stupid beyond measure: he had actually picked up a shard of the broken dish, sliced his own finger, and said to her:
"Ah, it's fine. Doesn't hurt much."
Gaspol had stared at him in utter shock.
Ahhh!
Karen was right—is there truly something wrong with my damn head?!
Fleeing that home as if for his life, Mavaglio had transformed into black mist and entered the academic building. Remembering which class Karen was attending, he scanned the schedules posted on the walls.
Finally, he found it.
Mavaglio materialized from the black mist, stood in the doorway, and waved to Karen, who happened to be standing conspicuously before the lectern.
"Karen, let's go!"
Karen walked over to the entrance and asked, "What happened to you?"
"It's humiliating, completely humiliating! Come drink with me right now, or I won't have the face to see her tonight. You have no idea what an idiotic thing I just did."
Just then, the female professor caught sight of the divine robes Mavaglio wore at the door. Her face instantly shifted to shock, and she cried out, "Lord Holy Child!"
The other students rose from their seats upon seeing this. Everyone's robes were predominantly black; only a tiny minority were permitted to wear divine robes bordered in gold.
Within the church, the status of a Holy Child was unquestionably transcendent, for to a degree, he was the living incarnation of a deity.
"Greetings, Lord Holy Child!"
Inside the hall, all the instructors and students turned toward the entrance and fell to their knees, bowing toward Mavaglio—who was standing right beside Karen.
Chapter 728