Stobel has always considered himself a very lucky guy.

Born rich, you don't have to run for a living. When he became interested in magic, he became a disciple of the great Stone Shaper - to this day he still doesn't understand what Santo had taken a fancy to him at the time.

At a time when many mages like to give their poor disciples boring theories and complex techniques to comprehend on their own, Santo the Stone Shaper tells Stonebell all sorts of stories—more or less because Stonebell was too young at the time.

At the time, he didn't realize it, but as he got older, he realized that there was so much hidden in those "stories" that even the way Santo told them to him was enough to benefit him for the rest of his life.

Unlike the legend of a saint-like mage who often utters some warnings, Santo rarely evaluates a certain event, preferring to let Stobel make his own judgment, and as for whether that judgment is right or wrong, he usually uses another story to make Stobel think from another perspective.

"There may be no absolute right or wrong in this world. He told Stormbell that.

But he has in fact expressed his position implicitly on the altercation between Tuchman and Harold — just not as fiercely as Tuchman.

"Harold, he's not greedy or selfish, he's just too attached to something. At that time, the voice of the old and dying mage was low, with a hint of sadness, "Persistence makes people firm, it makes people strong...... But it can also be blinding. ”

Tuchman's unexpected death makes "that girl" a thorn in Harold's heart. He even acted like he had completely forgotten about her existence. But when Santo begins to sort through the manuscripts of his deceased friends, he discovers that he may have given up on the girl, but he has not given up on his research.

"The strength of that girl...... Unlike us mages, or even priests who claim to be the Chosen One, they don't require devout faith or long-term effort. She was born like a dragon as a magical creature. "A long time ago, people like her were called 'whisperers' by the elves, and for a time they were even persecuted as messengers of demons, so that now there are very few left and no trace of them can be found......

The mages always talk about their talents, but the so-called talents are nothing more than the ability to learn and comprehend, which is completely different from the "talents" of that girl.

When Harold discovered that the power that existed that day, no matter where it came from, seemed to be connected to the bloodline, self-contained, and could be suppressed, but never gone away or taken away, he left a sentence in the manuscript that priests would angrily denounce as "disrespectful" when they saw it.

"It's like a god in some sense. He wrote, "Perhaps what we call God is nothing more than that—only more powerful." Perhaps, if the gods had not favored this world, would it be possible for the dragon to be called a god?"

"He was trying to find a way to ......" Santo lowered his eyes, rubbing a freshly dusted manuscript, the crumpled skin on the back of his hand as dry and yellow as old paper under his fingertips, "he tried to make everyone feel like a whisperer...... Like dragons, they don't need any external force to cast spells...... He felt that would solve the dilemma we might face once and for all. ”

After saying this, he was silent for a long time, until Stobel couldn't help but ask, "...... Did he succeed?"

Santo looked up at him.

"Sounds like you'd like to hope he succeeds?" he asked.

His expression remained gentle, without the slightest hint of reproach, but Stobel began to reflect almost instinctively on his question.

He did subconsciously feel that that wasn't a bad thing—especially if even someone as not very smart as him could be born with great power and never lose ...... It's really exciting. For this reason, he didn't even pay much attention to Santo's last words.

But he heard it.

“...... What kind of dilemma will we face?" he finally chose to ask rhetorically.

Santo chuckled slightly, and threw him another question: "If one day, there will be no magic in this world anymore...... Neither the priest nor the mage is gone, what do you think will happen?"

This time, Stormel thought about it for a long time, and as the son of a merchant, even with a passion for magic, he honestly replied, "Also...... It won't be the case, people will still survive. It's a pity...... Magic is magical. ”

"Yes. Santo sighed under his breath, "Magical...... What price can we pay to keep this 'magic'?—— what price should we pay?"

He didn't give an answer after all.

But the conversation left a lasting impression on Stobel, and even now, decades later, Verona can recall it quickly when he talks about Harold's circle based on his research on the "whisperers".

He remembered that Santo divided the manuscript left by Harold into three parts, one for copying and lending at will, one for Amber Room, and one for Verona. The last one he naturally didn't have the chance to see, but the one in the Amber Hall he had the right to consult.

He didn't know what he could find out of it. Sensing that Santo did not in fact agree with Harold's claims, he did not look at the manuscripts either before or after Santo's death—he had enough to learn.

At the moment, he sincerely wished he had studied it.

Books from the Amber Room cannot be borrowed. Sitting in the empty oval stone hall as usual, flipping through the pile of manuscripts, Stobel felt more than once the reproachful and disgruntled eyes of the manager, but he didn't care so much.

He knew that the manuscripts were fragile, but he became increasingly unable to control his inner agitation. Ignorant apprentices and low-level mages almost filled the hall outside, and even the silence put a lot of pressure on him—no matter what the cost...... At least, none of them should be able to bear it.

And Tumus didn't give them a choice – he probably didn't think about it at all.

Or, their presence is what he needs?...... No, Verona may have a perverse temperament, but it is impossible for Verona to allow that to happen......

He let go of his hand as the manager coughed aggravated, letting the paper that he had almost crushed fall back to the table, rubbing his fingers to calm himself down.

At this moment, he wished that Ed could be here. The young man who spent one night figuring out what he needed from the thick book of the dead should be able to figure out something faster than he did......

There was a glint of light at the edge of the line of sight. He turned his head sharply and saw the huge white wings outside the window, like sails on the crest of the waves.