Chapter 636: Cleaning House

Northern Wastelands, the Tower of the Arch Sage.

Sir David from the Duchy of Campbell removed his frost-laden cloak and handed it to his attendant, then followed the magic apprentice up the elevator to the upper levels of the Tower of the Arch Sage.

It was high summer, and Campbell Castle was sweltering, but none of that had anything to do with the wastelands of the Far North.

Usually, by June, the snow here had just melted, and after enjoying a few days of gentle spring warmth, the harsh winter would return again.

"Respected Envoy, we have arrived. The Sage Candidate is waiting for you in his office. Also, he has another meeting afterward—please keep your remarks brief."

"Then don't waste my time."

Leaving the still-chattering magic apprentice behind, Sir David adjusted the emblem of the Duchy of Campbell on his collar and strode into the spacious, almost empty office.

Sunlight streamed through the massive glass windows, bathing the man seated behind the long table in a soft halo.

Uriel Ackley, Sage Candidate of the Academic League and one of the leaders of the Holy Energy School.

He wore a simple, pristine white mage's robe, his flaxen hair combed with meticulous precision.

Through his crystal lenses, his gray-blue eyes regarded the southern guest with a compassionate, gentle smile.

"Please sit, Sir David."

Uriel's voice was calm and compelling, more like a cleric reciting gospel from a pulpit than a mage.

Too bad his "archenemy," Professor Colin, wasn't here—otherwise his expression would've been far more "entertaining."

"... This journey must have been arduous, coming from the warm river valleys to this frozen land."

But Sir David had no patience for pleasantries. He pulled out a thick stack of documents and slammed them onto the oak desk.

They were irrefutable proof of Edgar Kaufman's collusion with rat-men to produce "holy water" and his atrocities against living beings—complete with reports from the Thunder City Daily and other evidence too unsuitable for publication.

Every page was soaked in the blood and tears of the Lein people.

"... On behalf of the Duchy of Campbell, I lodge a formal protest. Our Emperor believes a nest of chaos is brewing within your tower, and now the corruption of chaos has seeped into our borders."

Uriel's eyes narrowed.

"That is a serious accusation."

Sir David met his gaze without flinching.

"Then you'd better look closely, because identical materials have also been sent to the Holy City."

The Holy City.

Uriel's lips curled slightly. Using this to scare him was childish—this wasn't some Holy City noble's child locked in a cave.

He didn't need to read them to guess: the dead were surely a bunch of insignificant people. Otherwise, Edward Campbell would've sent an envoy here?

If even one Holy City noble's child had been locked in a cave, that backwater duke would already be joyfully boarding a ship to the Holy City, courting its noble families.

"... Very well. We never imagined such an abominable demon would emerge from within our sacred ivory tower."

Uriel didn't examine the documents closely—just glanced briefly, his face showing precisely the right amount of sorrow.

"Professor Edgar Kaufman's actions defile knowledge and trample upon life. Please believe, we are deeply heartbroken and regretful."

"Regretful?"

Sir David's voice turned cold.

"Is 'regret' all you have to offer? We demand an explanation."

"Of course. Justice may be delayed, but it never fails—we have always upheld this principle."

Uriel smiled, leaning forward slightly.

"Edgar's mentor, the master of the Soul School Tower, the venerable Arch Sage Aumont, has personally cleansed the household. Edgar has been taken back to the Soul Tower and is receiving the punishment he deserves."

The atmosphere in the room grew strangely heavy.

Sir David's eyebrows lifted, his eyes narrowing into slits.

"When exactly did you act?"

"Does that matter?"

Uriel countered, his tone as gentle as asking about lunch.

"Of course it matters."

Sir David suppressed his rage, speaking in a low, steady voice.

"According to the laws of the Austrian Empire, before arresting a criminal, we must first conduct a trial and secure a conviction—otherwise, how do we know he's guilty?"

Skipping the trial may be convenient, but what he truly wanted to ask was—

When exactly did you, these "omnipotent" mages, learn this man was a demon? And what did you do after you found out?

Uriel let out a light laugh, as if he hadn't heard the envoy's question—his condescending tone brimming with mockery toward an inferior civilization.

"Forgive me, Sir. Your efficiency is too low. That's why you cannot build a glorious magical civilization—you're stuck in the mud... though I mean no disrespect to you."

He leaned back, sinking into the plush chair, fingers interlaced over his abdomen.

"In the mage tower, truth requires no ornate ceremony, and judgment needs no performance for an audience. Since the error has occurred, our duty is to correct it—with the utmost speed and efficiency..."

The office became Uriel's lecture hall. His incessant arrogance left Sir David gasping for air; his fists clenched involuntarily.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself, and while Uriel drank water, he firmly stated his duchy's position.

"The Duchy of Campbell demands a clear accounting. Simply saying 'he has been taken back' is insufficient—it will not convince my Emperor or the families of the victims."

"Even if we say he is repenting in the Soul Tower's alchemical pool, you'd still suspect us of shielding him."

Uriel shook his head, as if facing a spoiled child.

He tilted his head slightly and gestured.

A young apprentice standing in the shadows immediately stepped forward, carrying a square redwood box.

The box was exquisitely crafted, edged with silver filigree, resembling a container for precious gifts.

The apprentice placed the box gently on the table before Sir David.

Sir David glanced at the box, sensing something wrong, and cast a suspicious look at Uriel.

"What is this?"

"Open it and you'll see."

Uriel nodded toward the box, urging him to act.

The ominous feeling intensified.

Sir David reached out, pressed his palm against the lid, and slowly lifted it.

A pungent odor of alchemical preservative flooded out, mingled with a faint sandalwood scent, yet still unable to mask the underlying stench of blood.

"Saint Sis above..."

Sir David's pupils contracted violently; his body recoiled instinctively. He rapidly traced a cross over his chest, staring in shock at Uriel.

Inside the box, lined with black velvet, rested a pale human head in the center.

It was Edgar Kaufman.

His eyes were wide open, gray irises frozen with the terror and disbelief of death; the neck wound was smooth and clean, clearly treated with precise preservation techniques—like a meticulously crafted specimen.

Uriel watched Sir David's reaction with a smile, his sidelong glance tinged with amusement.

"Is this explanation satisfactory to the Campbell family?"

Whether the Campbell family was satisfied or not, he personally admired Arch Sage Aumont's method immensely—even though he wasn't close to the old man.

These half-evolved "feudal monkeys" were fundamentally obsessed with such primal, brutal rituals.

Most castles in the northern reaches of the Rod Kingdom used guillotines as decorations. He'd never been to the southern Lein Kingdom, but he imagined it was the same.

Offering them a head as an explanation was, after all, catering to their tastes.

Uriel didn't fully understand why Arch Sage Sulfur demanded such patience and feigned deference toward these backwater "divinely chosen families."

But if the Arch Sage had decided it, there must be his reason.

As for Professor Edgar Kaufman...

That poor fool's soul was likely already dismantled into components by the old monster Aumont—platinum-grade souls were rare experimental materials, nearly impossible to obtain under normal circumstances.

Since the soul had been fully utilized, what happened to this empty husk didn't matter... "Edgar Kaufman" probably had no time to care about such trivialities.

Sir David stared fixedly at the head, then slammed the lid shut with a sharp snap, sealing away those unblinking eyes.

"I cannot answer that."

He spoke slowly, each word deliberate.

"Only Emperor Edward can decide whether this is sufficient."

"Then take it to him."

Uriel made no effort to detain him.

He glanced at the wall clock, clearly feeling the polite charade had dragged on long enough, and his gaze drifted indifferently toward the door.

"If it's not enough, you may return to me."

After releasing the message pigeon, Sir David left the Tower of the Arch Sage in silence, not even staying one night.

Not one night—not even one extra second—could he bear to remain.

Though unfamiliar with Sir David, a platoon leader stationed on the front lines of the Ten Thousand Swords Mountains was unsurprised by his failure.

Only envoys truly understand the helplessness of envoys—even faced with mountains of evidence, the Academic League's mages felt no shame.

They were even worse than feudal nobles.

At least nobles knew they were nobles—they didn't see themselves as "alien superiors," and thus still had some sense of dignity.

Outside the Crow Frost Camp, afternoon sunlight filtered through the leaves, dappling the wooden crates arranged as a tea table.

The black tea on the "table" steamed gently, its swirling liquid like transparent amber, capturing the distant rolling mountains within its surface.

As usual, enjoying afternoon tea with the Prince, Edward's expression was clearly distracted—and Luo Yan knew exactly why.

Just now, they received word from the envoy sent to the Scholar Domain: Edgar's head is en route to Campbell Castle.

This man not only silenced the lead, but also packaged it as a "gesture of accountability" and delivered it to the Duchy of Campbell to humiliate those seeking justice for themselves.

That icy arrogance drove a nail into the Duke's heart, making it impossible for him to smile at this "victory."

It was more like a stepping stone.

Or rather, the "courtesy" in the phrase "first courtesy, then force."

"Sometimes I think Saint Sis is already dead," Edward sighed softly, blowing away the floating foam in his teacup—but didn't drink a drop.

"Don't think that way. If even you no longer believe in the Holy Light, then we may truly have fallen into nothingness."

Seeing Edward's wavering faith, Luo Yan gently urged him.

Though he had long been undermining Saint Sis, he did not wish to tear down Saint Sis's castle outright and shove its people into the arms of chaos.

Most problems of the Second Era trace back to hidden dangers planted in the First Era. Both transmigrants were masters of destruction: one succeeded in tearing down the God of Death's house, and thus Hell was born. The other, thankfully, failed—if he had succeeded, it would surely have been a catastrophe.

But since Lin Te had given him a divine core, Luo Yan would spare him the blackening—better to blacken his own pet.

"Perhaps," Edward smiled faintly. "Your family truly serves the Holy Light. I understand your position in trying to persuade me."

"This has nothing to do with what my family serves. The current Holy Clement Church has its own problems, but the Scholar Domain's issues are purely its own—unrelated to the Holy Light."

Luo Yan sipped his black tea, his gaze sinking into thought, then recalled a memory unrelated to the present.

"It was long ago. I had just arrived in the Scholar Domain and, out of curiosity, decided to test the exam's credibility. I ended up accidentally triggering a giant cockroach."

"Oh? A beast?" Edward smiled, intrigued by Prince Colin's sudden story.

"Not a beast," Luo Yan shook his head with a smile, continuing in a casual tone. "It was a fellow who, after gaining some wealth, forgot his own surname. To help his worthless son pass the exam, he bribed insiders to swap my test paper."

"Swapped your… test paper?" Edward stared at him in shock, then laughed. "That fellow must have suffered eight generations of bad luck."

Luo Yan smiled.

"Perhaps. But I think it might have been the will of the Holy Light. Why else would he pick not someone else's paper—but Colin's?"

"You're remarkably calm—you didn't even get angry," Edward sincerely praised. If it were him, he'd have dragged the fellow in and whipped him.

"I didn't need a test paper to prove my strength. But what I want to tell you isn't about that incident—it's about what happened afterward."

Here, Luo Yan paused, set down his teacup, and continued with what followed.

It was a night of heavy snow. Because of this accidental incident, he met a young man who called himself a poet. Then came the famous tale of Hector chasing the prince through the snow.

The old professor not only brought the Scholar Domain's acceptance letter, but also its belated "apology"—and a remote control that made the old professor sit up straight on the spot.

Edward didn't catch Colin's joke. He frowned.

"They sent you a head too?"

"Not quite. They weren't as crude to me as they were to you."

Luo Yan shook his head, a wry smile curling at his lips.

"When I arrived at Hector's office, the old professor handed me a newspaper. The front-page headline showed the execution ground in Dragonwatch City: the unfortunate apprentice Milo, who had swapped the papers, and the elderly examinee 'Marko,' both knelt before the guillotine, their heads fallen."

As he spoke, his gaze naturally fell upon the patrolling guards nearby.

"In that photo, I knew one of the heads was fake—but it no longer mattered. First, I held a decent impression of Professor Hector; second… killing more ordinary people is pointless, isn't it?"

Still, despite his words, Luo Yan had never truly let the masterminds go free.

The vast entity known as the Thorne Society, along with its shadowy master, Alistair Thorne, ultimately fell into his hands over another matter.

With Alistair Thorne's guilt in colluding with Chaos confirmed, the Thorne Society collapsed like monkeys scattering from a fallen tree.

And Uriel Ackley, always wearing a gentle smile, climbed atop the corpses of his predecessors through his research into "Soul Weaving," becoming the next "Sage Candidate."

Looking back now, this may not have been a good thing.

Alistair was greedy, but he fed only on resources from the Illusion Realm. Uriel… his diet, I suspect, would make even demons frown.

Chronologically, Luo Yan believed Uriel had little to do with the events in Leyn Kingdom—he hadn't even been at the table then.

Yet the cruel methods discovered at Burial Peak—methods that disassembled, filtered, and purified souls—were inextricably linked to Uriel's "Soul Weaving" research.