Bullying

Beneath the surging tides of a great era, no one could escape unaffected. Yet even war could not dismantle everyone's lives in an instant. Most of the time, societal shifts were a slow boil, progressing layer by layer. After all, the collective nature of humanity always leaned toward conservatism and preserving the status quo. Tens of thousands unconsciously diluted the shockwaves of the era's currents; reform and tradition clashed and eroded until reaching a dynamic equilibrium, spiraling the world upward together. Only when you looked back many years later would you suddenly realize that on an ordinary, drizzling night, the lives of countless people were altered in utter silence. With the unification of the five realms led by Stars, the most immediate impact was the proliferation of technology—mature techniques from other nations could now be adopted directly. The colossal profits generated by an almost explosive surge in productivity were akin to countless unclaimed cakes suddenly appearing on a banquet table where the spoils had already been divided. Everyone could reach out—whether entrenched interest groups or those at the very bottom—for whoever grabbed a piece might well get to swallow it. Contention bred chaos, and chaos tolerated violence. This was why Gospel agencies had ballooned from dozens to nearly a thousand within six months. It was not just marginal sorcerers already lurking in the underworld; even many state-employed sorcerers with respectable, official posts chose to take the plunge, abandoning order to throw themselves into the fray. The entirety of Gospel had entered a state thriving with vibrant vitality and boundless competition. Yet the conservative establishment still held sway. The Empress's administration was still capable of extending imperial authority down to the grassroots, and the Gospel system continued to govern everyone's information. For now, Gospel existed as a coexistence of two worlds: an orderly surface world and a dog-eat-dog underworld, with the government tacitly permitting the gray zone to thrive. The agencies, in turn, exercised tacit restraint. A certain degree of property damage was fine, but harming innocent civilians was a red line never to be crossed. The Red Hats, who maintained public order, and the Bluebeards, who suppressed the Abyss, paid no heed to sorcerers slaughtering one another across agencies. But anyone who dared drag the sorcerer conflict into the realm of ordinary mortals would inevitably invite thunderous suppression. That was why, upon seeing someone still sitting inside the shop, the Voodoo Agency operatives' first instinct had been to drive him away. A normal person would have fled in terror long ago, yet this man insisted on finishing his noodles. This left the Voodoo members at a loss—after all, they couldn't very well stain their Gospel dossiers over a single bowl of noodles, could they? It wasn't that they feared a blemished record, but it simply wasn't worth the trouble. What was more, not only was he eating with great relish, but he was also watching the Voodoo crowd out in the rain with keen interest, as though an underworld gang war were merely dinnertime entertainment. It was infuriating to behold. "Friend, are the noodles good?" Gregory gestured for his subordinates to shut their mouths and asked with genuine amusement. "If you really want my opinion, they're decent, but not exceptionally good," the young man said with a shrug. "Passing grade for a midnight snack, though." "Care to come in and have a bowl? You could get out of the rain while you're at it, though the shopkeeper was scared off by your lot." "No need." Gregory raised a hand. A vacuum instantly materialized within the downpour around him; not a single drop of rain could touch his body. "I don't fear the rain." A Sanctuary! An absolute defense impenetrable to fire and water, impervious to blades and swords—once a Sanctuary was deployed, there were no flaws left to exploit! This was the first time Cecelia had ever witnessed a genuine Sanctuary. An adage circulated in the underworld: 'Beneath the Sanctuary, all are ants.' Even the most formidable Gold Sorcerer could be instantly decapitated by a sniper rifle, dying as cheaply and casually as an insect. Only Sanctuary sorcerers truly held dominion over their own lives. So long as their sorcery power could sustain the Sanctuary, they were impervious to all arts, fearless before every peril! Gregory had suddenly manifested his Sanctuary—could this young man be a sorcerer who warranted his utmost vigilance? Hope flared anew in Cecelia's heart. If a fight broke out between them, the ensuing chaos might just grant her a chance to break through toward Liwan District— "It really is quite convenient," the young man marveled. "The greatest advantage of a Sanctuary in everyday life is never needing an umbrella, and keeping oil from splattering when cooking." "Not bad courage," Gregory chuckled suddenly. "For an ordinary mortal to chat before me without batting an eye—many Gold Sorcerers couldn't pull that off. What a pity. If you were a sorcerer, you'd surely accomplish great things." *He's not a sorcerer!?* Not only Cecelia, but the rest of the Voodoo Agency members were taken aback as well. They had assumed that any youth bold enough to stay behind and eat noodles had to be a sorcerer. After all, he was currently speaking with the 'Monarch' Gregory. Even if he weren't a Sanctuary sorcerer, he had to at least be a powerful Gold Sorcerer, right? "Huh?" The young man blinked. "I don't sense the slightest ripple of sorcery power from you. Either you are a sorcerer exceptionally skilled at concealment, or you are a mere mortal," Gregory sneered. "I hear the agencies over in Nabistin have trained a batch of carrier pigeons. Every one of them is an ordinary mortal, yet they plunge straight into sorcerer battlefields, using their lives to gather intelligence. If they die, they serve an even greater purpose by forcing the opposing agency to weather the wrath of the Red Hats. "Yet how could a sorcerer skilled in hiding dare show his face before me, Gregory? How could a coward who only skulks in the dark endure the majesty of a Monarch? Speak. Whose agency's pigeon are you? Let me see who dares reach their claws into my Azura!" "Is there any chance," the young man remarked wistfully, "that I really just came here for a late-night snack?" The rain grew heavier, pattering noisily against the pavement. The shop's neon sign flickered erratically before completely dying out. The oppressive majesty of a Sanctuary sorcerer submerged the entire street like spilled mercury, tightening the air as though it were saturated with gunpowder. Several Voodoo members began trembling at the knees, not daring to breathe too loudly. Cecelia, being the closest, suffered even more. Standing before her, Gregory felt less like a man and more like a savage beast cloaked in human skin. It was not merely the pressure of a Three-Wing Sorcerer, but a ferocious murderous aura honed through countless battles and slaughter. She had thought her long tenure in the underworld had made her immune to so-called bloodlust, yet even the Painter, whom she feared most, could not hold a candle to Gregory. Was this the majesty of a Sanctuary sorcerer—one who had traversed countless battlefields across the Knowledge Sea and the Time Continent, climbing to the pinnacle of sorcery through sheer perseverance? If even someone merely caught in the crossfire felt this stifled, what about the young man locked under Gregory's focus...? Struggling to lift her head, she peered forward, only to see a figure still casually slurping noodles. "Good. Truly not bad." Gregory broke into a sudden smile, and the suffocating tension instantly eased. "It has been a long time since I've met a young man with such spine... Regardless of which agency you belong to, come join me. I can offer you a position as my second-in-command." A trace of envy surfaced on the Voodoo squad leader's face. This was personal recognition from a Sanctuary sorcerer! This ordinary mortal who had done nothing but eat noodles might well be standing above him tomorrow. With mixed feelings, he barked, "Did you hear that? Hurry out and express your grat—" *Pfft.* The young man spat out a mouthful of noodles. Pressing his lips tightly together, he tried desperately to stifle his amusement, his shoulders quivering uncontrollably. In the end, he couldn't hold it back and burst into laughter. Wiping away tears of mirth, he waved a dismissive hand. "Sorry, nothing personal. It's just... there really are an awful lot of people who want to make me their second-in-command... Do I look like I have an exceptionally loyal face? Why does everyone want to entrust me with power?" Gregory's expression darkened. "So you mean to say..." "My apologies, but I've never planned on being anyone's second-in-command." The young man wiped his mouth. "Power feels far more secure when seized with one's own hands." The squad leader was utterly dumbfounded and couldn't help shouting, "Do you have any idea whose invitation you're turning down? He is—" "What a pity." Gregory waved a hand, his tone turning cold. "In that case, please leave. This area has been temporarily commandeered by the Voodoo Agency." "Sure, I'll head out once I finish this bowl of noodles. I got distracted chatting with you guys... Oh, right. That young girl doesn't belong to your group, does she? Isn't it a bit unseemly for you all to bully her like this?" The atmosphere seized with tension once more. Gregory glanced sideways at Cecelia, then back at the young man, a chilling gleam surfacing in his eyes. "You have an objection?" "If I'm not mistaken, you're trying to take her things by force, right?" The young man spread his hands. "A whole gang of grown men ganging up on a young girl—wouldn't anyone object to that?" With her wet hair plastered against her cheeks and her face pressed into the dirt, Cecelia stared blankly at the young man in the shop. Her heart had sunk upon hearing he wasn't a sorcerer, yet she never expected he would actually dare speak up on her behalf... Did he have reinforcements? Did he want to snatch the Sunseeker spirit as well? "I'll ask one more time: which agency are you with?" Gregory scanned their surroundings, searching for any potential ambush. "Does your group intend to contest me for the Sunseeker spirit?" "The Sunseeker spirit isn't yours; it belongs to that young girl, doesn't it?" The young man blinked. "I don't belong to any agency. I just feel... as the strong, you shouldn't bully people like this."