“Hey, have a little faith in them, kid.”
Orphal dropped his cynical attitude and patted Ms. Cecil’s shoulder. He leaned back into the exceptionally luxurious leather sofa, his somewhat hunched body sinking in. A few specks of arcane glimmer clinging to the hem of his robe trembled slightly with the movement, then vanished into the darkness.
“Prince Edric has already requested the Royal Maritime Advisory Board to review the reasons for deploying the Octowin.”
The old man tugged at his slightly disheheveled collar.
“Not only that, but the anti-Wayland councilors are also pushing for a proposal to temporarily withhold authorization.”
“Withhold?”
Ms. Cecil softly repeated the word, her cool voice echoing faintly in the empty room. She didn’t turn around, still gazing out the window.
“Teacher.”
Ms. Cecil turned, the hem of her black trench coat arcing through the air. “Thomas Wayland’s specialty is turning the official ‘withholding’ into ‘you left us to die’ in the eyes of the public.”
Orphal raised his slightly graying, bushy eyebrows but remained silent, merely giving her a questioning look.
Ms. Cecil walked slowly to the heavy mahogany table and pushed a stack of confidential documents, obtained with great effort, across to him. The papers glowed palely in the dim light, covered with glaring red official seals from various departments.
“Take a look at this.”
Orphal casually opened the file, and what met his eyes were Wayland’s post-disaster relief accounts. Further down were the Hope County Chamber of Commerce’s handwritten petition lists, densely covered in red seals, and compensation announcements for the victims’ families. At the very bottom of the file lay a copy of Chester Works’ reconstruction contract.
“Wayland won’t say he wants to command the Kingdom’s naval cannons; he’s not that foolish. That would be political suicide.”
Ms. Cecil clasped her hands, leaning against the desk, a deep flicker of sarcasm in her eyes.
“He will only stand on the moral high ground, gravely telling the entire Kingdom that Hastings Port needs protection.”
“Then he will place the dead, the Chamber of Commerce, the dockworkers, the relief supplies, and the temporary piers all on the Council table.”
“He is using the corpses and tears of an entire city to force the Royal Family and the Council to bow.”
Orphal rapidly flipped through the documents, his fingers making a harsh rustling sound against the paper. He looked at the last page and let out an exclamation of unknown meaning:
“Chester Works moved quickly.”
Ms. Cecil turned her head as well.
“That’s the only good news these past two days.”
“So you think Prince Edric can’t stop him?” Orphal asked, somewhat puzzled. He tossed the documents onto the coffee table and leaned back into the sofa.
Ms. Cecil nodded.
“He can’t stop him.”
“As long as Thomas actively accepts supervision and puts on a show of cooperating with the Kingdom’s procedures—whether it’s genuine cooperation or just an act—as long as the process is flawless, we can’t continue to obstruct him.”
“He will make everyone believe that Wayland Capital isn’t reaching for power, but rather taking responsibility in a time of crisis.”
“Such a hassle…” Orphal narrowed his eyes, systematically stroking his beard.
“Or maybe I should just go kill him.”
“…”
Ms. Cecil’s words instantly caught in her throat; she was speechless. She looked helplessly at her teacher, who never failed to shock with his words.
“Didn’t you, old man, used to say that ‘transcendents need rules’?”
“How come ever since you surpassed Scale Five, you’ve always been like this…”
Always talking about physical transcendence at the drop of a hat. How was his style increasingly resembling a Knight of Combat?
“What’s wrong?”
Old Man Orphal showed no embarrassment whatsoever, his eyelids snapping open at the question. He retorted self-righteously:
“When I was weak, I had to assess the situation.”
“Now that I’ve become strong, I still have to assess the situation?”
“Then what was the point of getting strong?!”
The old man slammed his hand on the armrest of the sofa, making a dull thud.
Listening to her teacher’s unreasonable argument, Ms. Cecil couldn’t help but be amused. She looked at the old man, who was now huffing and puffing, and couldn’t help but smile.
“Alright, alright, you’re absolutely right.”
“So, you don’t need to worry about all this scheming.”
“I’ve got it handled.”
She said, taking out her pocket watch and glancing at it. Then, her smile vanished, her tone became serious, and she urged:
“Teacher, it’s time.”
“Sarah’s condition is very unstable; she needs to be transferred to the Dawn Church’s Holy Fire Sealing Chamber. You must personally escort her.”
“Hmph, are you trying to get rid of me?” Orphal grumbled, his eyes full of reluctance.
Then the old man slowly stood up, hands behind his back, sighing repeatedly as he paced the spacious suite, beginning his traditional act.
“Oh! The children grow up and don’t want to see their teacher anymore!”
“What are you talking about, teacher!” Ms. Cecil said, a mix of tears and laughter in her voice, quickly stepping forward to tug at his wide robe sleeve.
“I’m not trying to get rid of you, teacher,” Ms. Cecil reassured him, her tone becoming incredibly sincere. “Throughout all of Hastings Port, who else but you can I entrust with such an important task?”
“I barely have time to mend the gaps in our defenses; someone needs to keep an eye on the rear.”
“Aren’t I putting the most reliable person in the most visible position for the enemy?”
At this, she winked slyly, mimicking Orphal’s earlier tone as she retorted:
“And you just said it yourself, a high-level transcendent shouldn’t get strong for nothing, right?”
“You taught me that.”
This clever use of his own words against him completely flustered old Orphal, who had just been preparing to lecture from the moral high ground. Orphal, who was in the midst of feigning victimhood, suddenly froze, the grievance and indignation on his face solidifying in his wrinkles.
He said, annoyed, “You’re still as clever as ever, girl!”
Just then, there was a knock at the door. The knocking was very measured.
Ms. Cecil and Orphal simultaneously sobered, their personal emotions fading instantly from their eyes.
Ms. Cecil quickly walked to the door and pulled open the heavy mahogany entrance. Standing outside was Avery Taylor, the Deputy Director of the Seventh Agency’s Hastings Port Branch.
“Special Envoy Cecil.”
Seeing the door open, Deputy Director Taylor respectfully greeted Ms. Cecil, leaning slightly forward, his posture extremely low. However, his peripheral vision soon caught sight of the room’s interior.
Upon seeing the bearded old man sitting by the sofa, Taylor quickly added, “And Your Excellency Orphal.”
Orphal immediately shed his childish demeanor from moments before, his previously slumped facial muscles instantly tightening. With one hand behind his back, his loose robe billowed without a breeze, exuding the profound and unfathomable aura of a powerful expert.
He straightened up, not even bothering to cast a glance, merely nodding imperiously and emitting a deep, resonant, “Hm.”
His speed in changing expressions was that of a theatrical master in the supernatural world. Ms. Cecil had to stifle her laughter, thinking of every sad thing in her life to keep from breaking character.
Under Taylor’s almost impeccably polite deferral, she watched her teacher leave the room with an air of gravitas, striding grandly and slowly receding down the red carpet.
However, as he passed Ms. Cecil, the old man’s impassive profile momentarily revealed a subtle, sharp glare directed at her.
“Safe travels, teacher!” Ms. Cecil said, suppressing her laughter, waving gently at the figure who looked incredibly imposing under the gaslight, her voice as soft as a thoughtful little sister.
Orphal flicked his robe, let out a cold huff, and quickened his pace, as if afraid that another second’s delay would expose his disguise as a peerless master.
After Deputy Director Taylor entered Ms. Cecil’s room to report, Orphal walked alone to the somewhat empty and desolate corner of the Coast Hotel corridor.
The old man touched his forehead, furrowing his brows, and muttered to himself in a bewildered tone, “Hmph—why did I use the door?”
Rate on N.U.
