The light surrounding his stick-like fingers gradually faded away as it swayed like heartless fire. It reminded one of the little lamplights on a windy and stormy night that seemed to extinguish anything yet it would never extinguish.
Ovid could feel the holy aura emitting from the light and became quite surprised. It was only due to his lack of knowledge regarding magic that he did not feel his world views shattering, and became too numb to think. Rather, the thoughts occupying Ovid’s mind currently were how, despite the young man’s state, the light did not give off any pressure.
The light-emitting from the man’s fingers were translucent, warm and bright. It was not blazing like the flames Julia summoned and was more similar to how the sunshine shone onto all living things on the earth, depicting and indescribable high state.
The young man grinned as he stared at Ovid and said, “For the past hundred thousand years, I have been brainstorming about the difference between saint and man. My organs would be eaten every day and grow back the next. Finally, I’ve discovered a possibility.”
“I have never been a saint, only a sage. But I have obtained canonization.”
In the midst of Gael’s burial chamber stood a sacred grove. Since the grave was first built, it had been dry and cold. Yet miraculously, the tree’s leaves were always able to produce a single dewdrop.
The young man slowly lifted his head as he gently lifted the corner of his mouth. A drop of dew fell from the vibrant leaf and onto his cracked dry lips, which formed a smile on the man’s face. That smile was full of compassion, which made one’s heartache upon watching it.
---
Since the moment he had entered the chambers and met the legendary man who had been imprisoned as atonement for his sins, Ovid had many doubts in his mind. How did Sage Glafx survive without food and drinks for decades? After recalling the immortal figures he had met, he guessed, that perhaps this man was already in a stage that was too difficult for science to explain, one that made him an inediate.
Now that he observed how the dew landed on the sage’s cracked lips, he could not help but be in a daze. He thought this man must have examined this process countless years, resulting in a terribly precision. How else would he be so proficient at this?
The scene of the sole dew serving the young man for countless years would make an ordinary person feel boundless respect and pity toward the sage. Yet while Ovid felt a great deal of empathy, his mind had always been rather unique. He raised a brow and thought; if he had long realised his sins, why even bother to survive?
The perfection of the man’s skill to lift up his head to catch the dew at the right moment clearly showed a will to survive.
The sage continued his teachings, and Ovid listened to it both intensely, yet with an absence of mind. The man truly was a sage that had roamed the elven civilization at its peak, after debating with himself over his teaching for who knows how many years, his argument came out flawlessly.
Furthermore, the man’s slightly hoarse and weak voice was filled with compassion toward this world, and wisdom reflecting himself. Though his voice was calm, it was very convincing.
After an unknown amount of time, the teachings reverberating both the trees’ leaves and Ovid’s soul had ceased. The young man gazed at Ovid, who was in deep thought. Upon seeing a troubled face, he smiled and said, “The tomb has finally been stepped foot upon. By estimation, I believe it’s time for me to leave soon.”
The young man looked at his hand, which was stained with his blood but full of holiness. He remained silent for a moment before he said briefly, “I have travelled through the many continents of the world and gained many insights. I was born a noble, lived as a scholar and sage, and became an ordinary prisoner. Now that I know my life is at an end, I recall Alexander, who was the closest person to attaining immortality. He said, only a person who is mad can achieve greatness.”
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“I certainly cannot achieve greatness atoning for my sins and at my last breath. I only hope to leave a mark on this world now.”
The sage slowly raised his head and looked at the youngster in red. He grinned and said, “I dare not say that I have achieved a lot but I did obtain something from the past years of isolation. I hope to pass down the little knowledge that is left in my decaying mind. Not sure which of you is willing to gratefully accept my mantle.”
It was widespread knowledge that those that attained the highest level below a god, due to their deep understanding of the world and themselves, could predict the day they will depart from the world. Since Sage Glafx had been locked up for one hundred thousand years, and in the end, met the talented Ovid. This is probably a turning point in life and death. Hence, when Ovid heard him say that he was leaving this world, he was completely unprepared for it.
Moreover, when he heard that Glafx had decided to leave his mantle with him, the calm and collected Ovid held his fist tightly and was shaken.
The most important thing for a peaceful life in solitude staring the stars is the ability to stand above the world. In his former world, that ability came from the capital, but in the current world, it came from strength and state of an individual.
It was rumoured that the manual for passing down one’s strength had been lost when Alexander ascended into godhood. It was this technique that allowed the ancient elves to enjoy a hundred years of peace and prosperity, as a master’s strength could accumulate through countless generations as long as they offered the initiative before death. If Sage Glafx was wishing to leave his mantle, he should be using this technique as well!
What kind of person was Sage Glafx? Ovid was never very clear, but he knew for a certainty that he was definitely the strongest being in the whole world*!
If Ovid were to obtain this mantle, how many years could he save on this long and arduous path toward immortality? How powerful could he get? What knowledge will he gain after that?
Like an invisible hand that lifted from the ground, Ovid stood up with great difficulty and made his way toward that tree root. However, as he walked, the ruins of his leg, which had healed a great deal due to the pills he had consumed, began to tear apart as blood flowed out from them.
Yet Sage Glafx did not rush him nor appeared impatient. Instead, he gazed at Ovid peacefully and a gentle yet sorrow smile stretched across his skinny and dried face. Perhaps he was hoping that Ovid could overcome that barrier and made his own choice.
Like streamwater, the pain and unsettledness gradually faded. Warm spring water like aura filled Ovid’s senses instead as his heart slowly settled and his tension eased. As such Ovid felt much more secure. Sage Glafx was a righteous and wise person who had no apparent reason to cheat him into his path. As a man of high status and strength, it would be absurd to spend such much effort on him.
The cause behind this relaxation was a sort of temptation. The temptation of true freedom in the world after inheriting a strong ancestor’s mantle. The temptation of eternal life.
This temptation was similar to the starry sky, or the candy his mother would give him when Ovid was young. The feeling one would get from one’s name being imprinted onto a wall or statue, and passed down for many generations.
As long as he was willing, he could enjoy the world, and even leave it to mingle among the beautiful stars in the universe.
When Ovid was finally before the young man, his heart serene and peaceful. Many thoughts suddenly appeared in his mind, making him think that the situation was twisted in some manner.
A bright light flashed in his mind, like the strong downpour that washed away the stains on a window. This rid Ovid of his confused state and he recalled his thoughts before previously.
If Sage Glafx acknowledged his imprisonment was rightful, when would he need to put himself through the senseless torture of an eagle eating his insides? Why be so desperate as to calculate the moment a dew would drop from the trees? Furthermore, Glafx clearly had a strong understanding of this world. Hence, why would he be in a foreign continent when the elves and their collective knowledge were at their moment of crisis?
After seeing such slaughter, when the soft and squish person from the modern era would stand upright and protect their homeland. Then why couldn’t someone hardened by poverty does the same?
These doubts kept hitting Ovid’s mind like an endless torrent, in the end, they gathered like a cloud into a possibility. Sage Glafx had never willingly atoned for his crimes, and still, struggle to this day!
With such a thought, Ovid suddenly woke up. He realized the warm spring water that surrounded him and the peaceful yet sorrow aura had all disappeared. Instead, he found himself in a dry and windy environment. He then discovered that all the emotions and feeling which he felt previously were actually controlled by the young mans’ power!
Yet he was already kneeling on a thick trunk infront of the sage. A feeling of fear and panic overtook his body as the young man’s hand landed atop his head.
Immediately, Ovid quickly took out the sword in his spatial ring and slashed at the once sagely yet now cunning and dark-looking young man who sat next to a haunting eagle.
---
The assembly of bones covered with thin skin gradually landed on Ovid’s head. As it gently touched the lady’s silky black hair, a slight sense of painfulness from his struggle with lust appeared in the young mans’ gentle looking eyes.
The struggle was only for a moment before the young mans’ gentle expression on his dried skinny face was torn apart in an instant to reveal the craziness within. In the end, his expression became extremely cold and quiet, like the clouds covering the sky on the nights’ sky. There was no emotion on his face.
A thick and pure, but not powerful aura was forced out from the bottom of the old man’s palm.
When the blade made contact with Glafxs’ body, it had even failed to make the slightest of blemish on the young man. Even a scratch was not present on his paper-thin skin.
After his attempt failed, Ovid sensed his mana being drained out and his body becoming weaker. He lowered his head to hide his emotions.
So many kilometres underground, where the faintest of starlight cannot reach. What a horrible grave this was.