Chapter 22: Chapter Twenty-One: An Opportunity

In the stunned gazes of his grandfather and Professor Anderson, Kraft laid on the table the badge, the black robe of the Medical Academy, and the book given by the professor.

He also felt this was hard to explain—better let the objects speak for themselves.

Ryan said nothing beside him; he didn’t believe Kraft’s claim about having “read some book from his grandfather’s collection,” but he didn’t want Kraft to be cornered, so after starting the conversation, he stayed silent and let Kraft speak for himself.

Anyway, after I treated a student from the neighboring Law Academy, Professor Kalman probably overestimated my abilities and invited me to become a lecturer at the Medical Academy.

It’s well known that when something is absurd enough and already settled, and every corner is full of objections, people simply don’t know where to begin questioning it. Old Wood had been stunned by the possibility that his grandson might be a genius—he knew lecturers at Wenden Harbor Academy were high-culture elites, but he had no idea how high their actual level was.

Just as he knew Anderson was a lecturer from the Literature Academy, but that was all—he only knew Anderson could read and write fluently and had a fancy, ornate handwriting. As for the finer details of poetry, history, or literature, Old Wood understood nothing.

Fortunately, Anderson still caught the key point: “You can heal people?”

He knew his student’s abilities well—three parts of his fluent reading and writing came from Anderson’s own efforts, the other seven from Old Wood’s cane. To say he’d taught himself? Even the fish in the river below the mountain would laugh until they floated belly-up.

“Ah yes, it was that stack of scraps my grandfather bought cheap last year—I pulled out a bundled pile and took a look.” Kraft’s gaze drifted away as he scratched his head to hide his embarrassment.

“How come I never heard of this? Show it to your teacher.” Old Wood did indeed enjoy buying such things—or rather, in this era, minor nobles all had a bit of this habit.

Whether to decorate bookshelves for appearances or like Old Wood, a mysticism enthusiast, they were all loyal customers in this market.

Complete, properly revised books were far too expensive, but scattered sheets collected from various sources were different. These sheets might have once been neglected volumes, or merely casual scribbles, and their contents ranged wildly.

Some contained stories, scholars’ notes, poetry albums, and medieval versions of “I Love Inventions”—after scattering, their prefaces didn’t match their endings, their beginnings had no conclusions, and “incoherent” was too mild a word—they were merely the wreckage of books, stripped of their original value.

Those who bought them for show would casually rebind them and place them on shelves so they wouldn’t look empty when taken down; while mysticism enthusiasts with limited funds would sift through them, hunting for possible relics left behind by predecessors.

Aside from the occasional genuine old book, the bulk of what Old Wood bought and studied with Anderson were these scattered “books.” He never expected much—purely out of hobby—and never examined them closely.

“I don’t know. I thought they were useless, then I couldn’t find them anymore.” Kraft resolved to leave no evidence, but seeing his grandfather and Professor Anderson’s rising anger, he wavered—“But I did write it all down.”

“You wrote it all down?” Anderson and Ryan both felt their intelligence had been insulted.

“Yes, I remembered every word.” Given Kraft’s current state, combining a random passage from an old textbook with modern monographs was a mere thought away—he immediately launched into a lecture for Anderson, pouring out anatomy to pathology from his own teaching material.

Joy, pure joy! As the saying goes, wealth without returning home is like walking in brocade at night. In this world, Kraft had never once recited fluently before Anderson—today, for the first time, he could finally enjoy his “supernatural ability” in front of his teacher and his grandfather.

For ten full minutes, he spoke without pause—from the production of yellow fluid in the liver, its concentration and storage in the gallbladder, to the relationship between jaundice and liver disease—leaving Anderson, a Literature Academy graduate, dizzy and confused, beginning to doubt whether his own education had been flawed, wasting such a talent over years of teaching.

When Kraft finally fell silent, everyone present was utterly convinced: the Wood family had produced a medical genius.

“Excellent! I have no objections—Kraft, return to the Medical Academy at once.” The happiest was Old Wood—not only because the family’s prestige had soared, but because he saw his years of guidance on Kraft’s future path had borne fruit.

In the future, when Kraft inherited the family, he wouldn’t be likely to impulsively lead a band of men onto the battlefield to earn glory. He could build connections through the Academy to the city’s great nobles and merchants, guiding the family toward urban development—this was the best path Old Wood could envision.

He was a noble forged on the battlefield, yet he hadn’t bound his vision to it; his son’s death had only confirmed this. Such instability was not what Old Wood wanted.

“Come on? No need to rush so much—I still want to rest longer in the castle.” Kraft wasn’t as eager as his grandfather; he felt he needed time to quietly reflect and sort through everything that had happened.

“True—the Academy isn’t in a hurry. I understand.” Anderson picked up the badge, examined it, then placed it back atop the folded black robe. “I’ll write a few letters to some former colleagues—you should get to know them when you arrive.”

…

…

In the following days, after long travel, Kraft finally received a chance to rest.

Each morning he rose with Ryan to revive their old skill of the “windmill” two-handed sword technique in the castle courtyard, enjoyed vegetable soup with milk and ham, and carefully read the professor’s texts: “Humoral Theory” and “Human Anatomy.”

Amid this life of barbaric physical training and civilized mental cultivation, Kraft set aside large stretches of time lying on the hillside grass, thinking.

When he finally quieted down, he had the chance to reflect on everything that had happened recently.

The inexplicable transmigration, the fusion of souls, the unspeakable things in the night, the “gift” they left him—the liberated consciousness, and the incomprehensible “cost” buried deepest within.

No, he couldn’t call it a “cost”—he sensed faintly that it was the true “gift.”

His situation was like Plato’s prisoner in the cave, trapped his whole life in a cave where he could never see the outside world, occasionally catching sunlight that cast shadows of objects on the cave wall.

The prisoner had only ever seen the shadows, and believed they were the essence of things, the true reality of the world.

But one day, for unknown reasons, this prisoner was briefly dragged outside. He saw sights he’d never imagined—blinding light, rich colors flowing across ground and sky, plants, animals, rocks—all in three-dimensional forms utterly foreign to his mind, which had only ever known flat shadows on stone.

Unfortunate, yet fortunate, the poor man soon fell back into the familiar cave, carrying with him a single rose that had brushed against him.

He thought the shadow of the rose on the cave wall was his precious keepsake, yet feared the rose itself—because he couldn’t comprehend three-dimensional objects, let alone pick it up; merely attempting to touch it would leave his hands bleeding from its thorns.

He would probably never understand what it was, nor know whether he should ever reach for that “reality.”

But he knew that, as a mortal mind, the bonus—his liberated consciousness—was already precious enough: it allowed him to scour every corner of his memory and endowed him with immense cognitive power.

He could use it to become a decent lecturer, an excellent family heir, a fine physician, a future professor, a transmitter of knowledge…

At least for now, he had a good opportunity to become the person both souls wished to be.