Chapter 360 : A Child’s Question

Chapter 360: A Child’s Question

Jeffrey’s scholar sequence had received Agamemnon’s recognition—he had finally found a viable path forward.

For this reason, Agamemnon had even stated personally that from now on, any member of the Lawyers’ Guild who wished to gain formal acknowledgment must at least meet the Scholar Guild’s Third-Tier evaluation.

With Agamemnon’s endorsement serving as Jeffrey’s backing, the other councilors naturally realized that this matter had found a breakthrough.

Thus, they too began to explore the sequence system.

After receiving approval, Jeffrey hastily established three tiers and began implementing them from York City, gradually expanding to all academies throughout Greenwood. He required all academies to reform their curriculum from a one-year system to a five-year one.

This reform was undoubtedly immense. After all, the Monastery had just expelled seventy percent of its apprentices not long ago, and since the days of the Old Testament were still recent, anyone daring to rebel against authority still risked their life.

However, in truth, there weren’t many objections to the change from a one-year to a five-year system.

For both apprentices and nobles, allowing students to study more and spend additional time interacting with others in the academies was naturally a good thing.

Especially outside the Monastery—the number of students being “trained” in just one year had already exceeded the demand for lower officials in York Territory.

Furthermore, most of those graduates were only thirteen or fourteen years old. Having such immature children serve as officials or join the workforce only increased the chances of trouble.

Even the Monastery’s first batch of apprentices, whose average age had been fifteen or sixteen, had nearly all perished after graduation despite the scholars’ careful guidance.

Not to mention those so-called “scholars” from the other academies—whose qualifications were not even comparable to those from the Monastery.

Still, even these watered-down “scholars” were barely acceptable to the Monastery’s true scholars.

Therefore, those serving as teachers in other academies also supported the reform from one to five years. After all, they too had their own research to pursue—they couldn’t spend all their time on teaching alone.

Most of them were surviving apprentices from the shattered scholar associations of other Greenwood duchies; a few were scholars recruited by forward-thinking nobles with generous rewards.

However, they were all curious about how they themselves would be evaluated under this new system.

From the First to the Third Tier represented an apprentice’s entrance, successful graduation as a scholar, and eventual mastery—the point where one could apply theoretical knowledge to practical affairs.

The scholars didn’t feel offended by being called “scholars” only from the Third Tier onward. For those who had already been scholars since the old era, seeing new structures emerge was exciting—it represented the future.

To Jeffrey, the classification of apprentices mattered little, but the scholars themselves deserved respect.

Thus, he gathered the Monastery’s scholars—many of whom were now idle after their apprentices had been expelled—for a council.

After three days of discussion, they finally determined the titles for the Fourth to Sixth Tiers of the scholar sequence.

Those who delved deeper into their fields were called Researchers; those who explored the underlying principles behind established knowledge were Investigators; and those who had thoroughly investigated a specific discipline, becoming recognized masters of it, were Knowers of Truth.

As for the Seventh and Eighth Tiers, they agreed those should belong to the realm of legendary scholars—levels no living scholar could yet claim to have reached.

A debate arose over whether the three deceased scholars—Rudolf, Caleb, and Dennis, regarded as the Monastery’s founding scholars—should be recognized as legendary scholars.

According to the Old Testament’s standards, a legendary scholar had to be capable of altering curses.

But now, in the New Testament Era, the Lord had established new laws—those “curses” no longer existed.

Thus, defining them as legendary scholars would also mean establishing the standard for legendary scholars under the New Testament.

They spent two and a half of the three days arguing over this point.

In the end, among the three, Scholar Caleb was recognized as a Legendary Scholar.

He had not only compiled and codified the history of politics but also separated political science from historical studies. It was through him that the mechanics of power had become standardized—and even the current Senate’s governance followed his political logic.

Hence, the title for a Seventh-Tier scholar was set as Theorist.

The other two scholars were acknowledged as Sixth-Tier Knowers of Truth.

After concluding these debates, Jeffrey finally felt relieved.

By early February, he had completed the basic framework for the Scholar Guild. Though only the main sequence was done—and the subsidiary branches Oscar had mentioned remained unfinished—it was sufficient for now.

Jeffrey believed that starting simple was best. Once the main sequence was implemented, the subsidiary branches could be introduced more easily.

They did not dare define an Eighth-Tier title—and tacitly avoided mentioning it altogether.

Jeffrey wanted to immediately grant all existing scholars the title of Fourth-Tier Researchers, but they refused.

They said, “Now that we live in the New Testament Era, we who come from the Old Testament should start anew—as apprentices.”

After dispersing, each began to design their own examination questions.

Jeffrey thought they were simply too idle after losing their teaching duties and now sought something new to occupy their minds.

Still, he fully supported their decision—after all, their actions symbolized acceptance of the Scholar Guild’s establishment. With these scholars’ participation, the guild’s status was now secure.

It also allowed them to formalize the promotion ceremonies for each tier.

Indeed—Jeffrey added the term Ritual after each promotion title.

Oscar’s earlier suggestion had left a small echo in his heart.

Odo Village

A councilor’s carriage approached, bearing a white swallowtail butterfly insignia on its side.

Though called a village, Odo had already grown to the scale and prosperity of a small town.

When it was first established, it housed around three hundred people. After the werewolves were driven away, many who had fought as warriors chose to settle here. Combined with the recent surge of newborns, the population now neared a thousand.

Though lake transport had declined before the Old Testament, by the end of the New Testament’s first year, the Monastery and the Adrian Academy of Magic had jointly established a circulating wind over the lake—reviving the importance of water routes.

While not as prosperous as during the blockade years, Odo Village still profited greatly from the lake trade, thanks to the large volume of goods it could carry.

At the very least, it had been classified as a wealthy village by the Senate, and the motion to elevate it to town status had already been approved earlier that year.

When the carriage stopped, Priest Agamemnon stepped down.

The administrative officer and tax official hurried forward to greet him.

Agamemnon smiled warmly, exchanged a few words of encouragement, and told them that Odo Village had officially been approved to become a town. If all went well, the formal decree would be issued in the second half of the year—making them town officials.

The two officials were overjoyed. Though the titles of “administrative officer” and “tax officer” remained the same, the difference between a town and a village post was significant.

After dismissing them, Agamemnon thought to himself that perhaps the titles of officials should also be subdivided.

But after some thought, he dismissed the idea.

It was only a title—if he truly wanted to change it, no one would object.

Yet Agamemnon felt it better to wait until the scholars’ framework was fully established and the lawyers properly trained—then he could reform everything in one go.

Having decided, he led his accompanying knights, who served as guards, toward the lake.

Even within York Territory, Odo Village was known for its devout faith. Cross symbols were visible everywhere.

This was because the villagers—many of whom had been saved by Vito and Leo during their year-long campaign deep within werewolf territory—were steadfast believers, unwavering in their devotion. As a result, many ordinary workers of the Church of the Sanctuary came from this very village.

Both Vito and Leo owned homes here and often stayed during their rotations of rest.

Today, Vito was in the village.

When Agamemnon found him by the lake, the Church knight was dressed in tattered fisherman’s clothes, standing beside a small boat—and looking rather awkward as a child bombarded him with questions.

“…Sir George the Holy Knight is called a hero, and everyone calls you a hero too. So why aren’t you a Holy Knight?” the child asked curiously.

Vito didn’t know how to answer.

Should he say it was because he wasn’t strong enough?

Or that it was a matter of Church hierarchy?

Or perhaps that George was of Sixth Tier and thus called a hero, while he himself wasn’t?

But linking the noble title of “hero” to mere ranks would be an insult to the very meaning of heroism.

Having spent years training children at Glory Fortress, Vito knew the Pope’s hopes for them—he didn’t want his careless words to misguide them.

Even if they were only children.

Thus he stood, embarrassed, unsure how to respond.

“Holy Knights and Guardian Knights are merely positions,” Agamemnon spoke up, saving him from the awkwardness.

“They represent one’s duties. A hero is someone whose deeds are worthy of song—that is why they are called heroes.”

Vito turned toward Agamemnon, his eyes filled with gratitude and relief.

Agamemnon was someone worthy of trust—favored by the Lord Himself, mentor to bishops of the Church, and now a ruling senator of the Senate. His words naturally carried weight.

The child’s eyes turned to Agamemnon.

Agamemnon crouched down, meeting the child’s gaze directly.

With a gentle smile, he asked, “Curious-eyed child, what is your name?”