Chapter 311: The Final Book

“Then fill it in according to the Oath Knights’ vow. Priest Agamemnon said that even the Pope praised it.” Puniel said.

“Idiot, that’s the resource-lacking North, not Greenwood.” Councilor Jeffrey casually remarked, lowering his head to continue writing his letter.

Puniel’s face flushed red again but he still held back, shutting his mouth and saying no more.

After finishing, Jeffrey said, “Didn’t we say earlier that Bishop Marl was involved in this? If we take care of this ourselves, it’s easy for something to go wrong. It’s better to leave it to Bishop Marl. Besides, I doubt the church would shirk such matters.”

Puniel ignored him.

At that moment, the squire who had gone to find Bevan’s contact returned with news.

“Ha, as expected. That man gave him a Holy Relic from the Dark Creatures to pass on some messages to that former Church knight.” Jeffrey couldn’t help but say, “What a generous move.”

Upon hearing it involved a Holy Relic of the Dark Creatures, even Puniel couldn’t help but ask, “A merchant dares to handle something like that?”

Jeffrey glanced at Puniel, swallowing back the word ‘idiot’, and said, “Someone who can casually trade with such a Holy Relic—do you think they’d allow a merchant to have a choice? Say what you will, but you don’t really believe there are no mages in the North, do you?”

Puniel asked, “Then what about that merchant?”

Jeffrey no longer looked at Puniel. He turned toward the map and said, “That’s a betrayal of Greenwood, a betrayal of the Kingdom of Lundex. Give this information to Bevan. Ultimately, that man is a merchant—his man. He’ll know how to handle it.”

Puniel bared his teeth and said, “I’d be happy to assist.”

Jeffrey replied, “You’re welcome to try. After handling a Holy Relic of the Dark Creatures, let’s see if you’re still able to sit here.”

Puniel gave up and said, “Then what about further communication with that man?”

Jeffrey said, “After using that merchant, the second round of communication had already been replaced with his own men. No one would want to keep someone who’s already betrayed them once. Especially since the merchant came from Greenwood, that former Church knight might even think we’re the ones reaching out to him.”

Puniel said, “Like you said, the merchant had no choice.”

Jeffrey said, “But after completing the task, he still didn’t report back to us. So, that’s betrayal.”

…

Jeffrey’s letter was delivered to the Great Church of Adrian, and Bishop Marl soon sent a reply.

Looking at the densely packed words on the letter, Jeffrey sighed, “Seems like Bishop Marl, even though he hasn’t contacted us for a while, has still been keeping a close eye on the North.”

Despite saying that, he felt even more wary in his heart.

News from the North was always gathered at the Senate, but before this, he had never heard of the Church—or Bishop Marl—making use of that information.

Still, his face showed nothing as he said to Puniel, “I’ll visit the Monastery and ask Scholar Caleb to help refine this content.”

Puniel asked, “Not going to Dean Oscar?”

Jeffrey said, “This is the real core. Can’t have Dean Oscar scribbling nonsense.”

…

But Jeffrey didn’t enter the Monastery. Scholar Caleb had already been admitted to the hospital.

Scholar Caleb was the eldest of the original three scholars. He had celebrated his seventieth birthday just last year.

Of course, Caleb himself had long forgotten his actual birthday, only estimating his age roughly.

Seventy was already a miracle in this era. After two relatively peaceful years, the Monastery’s biology department had investigated and found that, barring deaths from war, the average age of death was thirty-two.

However, with commoners now able to eat their fill, that average was gradually increasing.

After turning seventy, Scholar Caleb had already arranged his affairs.

“But when I was admitted to the hospital yesterday, all those arrangements were thrown into disarray.” Scholar Caleb lay on the hospital bed, his pale, gaunt face still bearing a warm smile.

“Agamemnon came and told me that after I die, I can enter the Hall of Heroes—just like that old fellow Nyx.”

“You deserve it.” Jeffrey said, his face solemn.

Scholar Caleb had compiled records of all historical events documented in the past five thousand years and included the precious administrative archives of the former Principality of Corlay, which had been delivered to the Monastery by Bishop Jeven. Together with scholars from the history department, he had turned all of this into books. He had also authored Kings, Nobles, and Commoners, which detailed the relationships between various societal roles in this era, and Material and Thought, which discussed how to manipulate a nation’s ideology through material control.

Jeffrey had copies of both books in his home, and had even requested Caleb to write a prologue modeled after the Church’s Holy Scriptures.

Now, everything Jeffrey was doing in the North was based on the theories from those two books.

“Hahaha… cough cough…” Scholar Caleb began coughing as he laughed. His arms were so withered they were mere skin and bone, too weak to even lift.

After coughing, he said, “This is not what I deserve. It’s the Lord’s mercy upon this old man that allows me to enter the Hall of Heroes. Compared to what Nyx has done, I’ve only scribbled a few insignificant words over the years.”

Jeffrey said, “Those words are anything but insignificant. I’m using your theories to transform a kingdom.”

Scholar Caleb chuckled and said, “Ha, if you’re just blindly following those words, you’ll never truly change a nation.”

There were only the two of them in the room.

Originally, many people had wanted to visit Scholar Caleb, but Scholar Rudolf had driven them all away.

Among them, how many had genuine intentions? The Monastery’s history department had trained many current mid-level officials in Greenwood. Though not nobility, since the start of the Eastern Crusade, even nobles had frequently sought Caleb’s counsel.

Scholar Caleb’s fingers trembled slightly, but he couldn’t lift them. At last, he said, “In the left drawer, there’s a book I wrote before being admitted to the hospital.”

Jeffrey paused, gently opened the drawer, and retrieved a manuscript. The cover read: The Eastern Crusade of the Crusaders.

Scholar Caleb turned his eyes slightly toward it, his gaze slightly blurry, and said, “The Eastern Crusade wasn’t about conquering land or Fishmen. The true conquest was of people’s hearts—giving all of Greenwood a common enemy. And in that campaign, we showcased strength that overpowered conflicting interests, reshaped the relationship between king, noble, and commoner, and used material to transform will. In the end, we needed an enemy to unify that will into one. This was a crusade of the mind and soul for all people of Greenwood.”

“The Church never minds when we interpret its actions—that is true compassion. It’s just that I mentioned the Pope in the preface, which made me feel guilty. So I selfishly wished for Rudolf to place this in the archives after I die. But now, I think you need it.”

Jeffrey nodded, handling the manuscript even more carefully. “If it’s possible, like the two books you gave me, I’d like you to dictate a preface. Once copies of this are made, I’ll write it in myself.”

He wouldn’t dare take the manuscript away. Though Caleb had said Rudolf would place it in the archives, Jeffrey knew that, like the other two, this one would be stored on the second floor of the Clock Tower.

Scholar Caleb didn’t refuse. After a moment’s silence, he said, “War soaked in blood and cruelty is the only path to define political relations.”

Jeffrey nodded. “I’ll remember that.”

Caleb raised his voice slightly, “Enough of the pleasantries with a dying man like me. A busy councilor visiting me—there must be something you need me to do.”

His tone was affirmative.

Jeffrey hesitated for a moment. A trace of reluctance rose in his heart, but he still opened his mouth. “Things in the North are progressing smoothly. Now we need to instill a new value system. Bishop Marl has already provided the material. I had hoped you could refine it, but I think Dean Oscar could also manage.”

The murkiness in Caleb’s eyes seemed to clear, turning bright again. He said, “That idiot Oscar? He could never write something like this. Help me up. I’ll do it myself.”

He tried to lift his arm to let Jeffrey support him.

But before Jeffrey could help, another hand pressed his arm down.

“Still calling me an idiot on your deathbed, old bastard. And you get to enter the Hall of Heroes?”

It was Oscar, who had suddenly appeared. He pressed Caleb’s arm down, his expression annoyed. Still, for once, he was almost completely uncensored.

Oscar interrupted before Caleb could argue back. “Save your strength. You can’t even sit up, let alone hold a pen. You refuse to use magic to extend your life, but at least you’ll let me use magic to help you write this last book, right?”

As he spoke, silvery liquid flowed from Oscar’s palm into Caleb’s desiccated arm, climbing upward.

Caleb didn’t speak further. His eyes only grew clearer.

“Get out the document Marl wrote.” Oscar prompted Jeffrey.

Jeffrey quickly unfolded Marl’s letter.

At once, it was pulled by some force and floated before Caleb’s eyes.

Caleb’s gaze trembled as he read through it quickly. Then the letter dropped onto his chest.

At that moment, a stack of blank papers on the desk began to flutter like caught in wind, swirling around the bed in a vortex.

Jeffrey looked up and saw that words had begun appearing on the papers. Soon, every page was filled.

Then, the pages flew back to the desk, neatly stacked. On the topmost page, he could read the words: Hall of Honor.

When Jeffrey turned back, Oscar had already vanished. And when his gaze returned to Scholar Caleb’s face, he froze—then his face turned sorrowful.

Scholar Caleb’s eyes were closed, and at the corners of his lips, a smile of contentment remained.

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