CHAPTER 358: CHAPTER 137 EXCELLENT TRADITIONS

Behind the observation window, the decrepit figures were silent, even the heavy breathing had vanished, leaving only the occasional ticking sounds from the life-support machines.

After a brief resuscitation, the condition of these old fellows stabilized, the sunken eyes beneath flickering with the light of wisdom.

After a while, the breathing returned again, accompanied by coughing and wheezing that broke the silence, stirring up a renewed commotion.

They no longer cared much about this Triple Trial; someone would record it all anyway, and they could review the records later.

Their gazes were all focused on the elderly man in a white robe leading the group, whom they all believed should have died many years ago, yet he appeared so vividly before them now.

Some people had already realized why this was by looking at the old man’s body. Despite being clad in a white robe, the flesh underneath long ceased to exist.

To prolong the life of the man in the white robe, most of his internal organs had been replaced with artificial creations many years ago, and what flowed inside him was no longer flesh and blood but some kind of alchemy solution undergoing dialysis periodically.

But this is not why the man in the white robe is still alive; what truly allows him to endure the ages and extend to now is his glorious tier.

His body underwent Etherealization, breaking free from mortal confines, and buoyed by the vigorous life force of his own Secret Energy, he stood firm against the torrents of time.

"Professor..."

An elderly person beside him was exceptionally emotional, eager to converse with the man in the white robe.

"Shut up."

The elderly man in the white robe sternly interrupted him, causing the elder’s expression to freeze. Living so long had turned him into an old man, yet his face now bore a hint of grievance.

The others prudently maintained silence, pondering why the old man in the white robe would appear now.

Official records indicated he had died more than forty years ago, yet he was vividly present before them, followed by shock, as these elders realized that the man in the white robe had transcended the shackles of mortality, approaching over two centuries old.

Many words lingered unspoken, yet under the pressure of the white-robed elder, these renowned masters remained silent, like young apprentices, afraid to speak.

Yas from the back gradually deduced the identity of the man in the white robe from the reactions of these elders, falling into the same state of shock.

Startled by the identity of the man in the white robe and even more so by why he was still alive and appeared here suddenly.

There was no prior report, nor any notification; he simply appeared directly.

It felt like working normally, and suddenly the Director of the Order Bureau came with breakfast to see you, asking if your work was going smoothly or if you needed a raise.

Yas swallowed, wondering what was going on recently, with bizarre happenings increasing in frequency.

The man in the white robe was indifferent to the thoughts of those around him; he was solely focused on Bologue below, his aged and frightening face relaxing slightly at the sight of Bologue, as if seeing an old friend not seen in years... although Bologue did not know him.

"Has it been so long? Even he has been released and become one of us."

The man in the white robe muttered softly, though he seemed unsurprised by Bologue’s current situation, as if it had been destined many years ago.

He merely sighed softly.

"You still chose to do this, Albert."

Gently shaking his head, the man in the white robe turned his attention to another person crouched on the ground, holding their head and crying.

"Who is she?"

"She’s Belli Yiyeta, Teda’s student, and the current Minister of the Sublimation Furnace Core," said the student nearby, "sort of your... grandstudent?"

The man in the white robe glanced at the student beside him, who had turned into an old man like him, bald-headed, prompting him to sigh, "Didn’t expect you haven’t died either, Morgan."

"Well, if you haven’t died, teacher, how could I pass first?"

The previously reserved Morgan suddenly began teasing his teacher.

"Teda... Teda Yazhede?"

Recalling these names, though no longer in public view, he was somewhat aware of the current situation of the Order Bureau.

Quickly, the relevant information resurfaced in his mind; old yet sharp-witted.

Recalling those confidential files, his eyes grew sharper, as he continued to ask, "Who is now in charge of the Scholars’ Hall?"

"Since your ’death,’ I have taken charge," Morgan said.

The man in the white robe glanced at Morgan, then stood up with a cane and looked at the other old folks.

Calling them old folks, yet in his eyes, each one could be considered young compared to him, excluding the Undead, it’s rare to find someone older than the man in the white robe.

"So... now I’m in charge of Scholars’ Hall; you will be my assistant."

The man in the white robe proclaimed with irrefutable authority.

Morgan froze, realizing something was awry; this old man had emerged from the grave not to see his disciples but to seize power.

"Teacher, you know I always respect you, but this kind of thing requires official notification from the Decision Room," Morgan raised an eyebrow.

The man in the white robe silently stared at him.

Morgan felt a chill in his heart and reluctantly said, "Teacher, you are also a veteran of the Order Bureau; you should know that the rules are paramount."

Upon hearing this, the ominous face of the man in the white robe unexpectedly smiled, and he patted Morgan’s shoulder.

"Good disciple, unchanged after all these years."

"And teacher, still robust as ever."

They laughed together; if Bologue were here and witnessing this interaction, he would surely sigh, realizing his mistake.

He thought that the act of betraying teachers and ancestors was limited to Teda and Belli, but it appears more like a longstanding tradition within the Sublimation Furnace Core.

The smile vanished from the man in the white robe’s face as he proclaimed loudly, "Now I’m in charge of the Scholars’ Hall; who objects?"

Everyone remained silent, implicitly acknowledging the man in the white robe’s position.

Partly because they can’t protest; the man’s expertise in Alchemy overwhelmingly surpassed everyone present, as the first Minister of the Sublimation Furnace Core, his credentials similarly crushed everyone. As for strength?

The comparison is futile; as a Seeker of Glory, he could easily pulverize each oldster physically, smashing them to pieces, and repeat the process several times.

"Anyone still has something to say?" He turned to Morgan.

Morgan pondered for a few seconds, his aged face displaying a flattering smile.

"Teacher, I’ll help you push the wheelchair!"

...

This time, the Triple Trial ritual proceeded without any incidents, but if there were unexpected occurrences, it was only Belli’s.

"Bologue, you ungrateful!"

Inside the infirmary, Belli held an ice pack to her forehead, which had turned red.

She just wanted to observe Bologue’s condition; no one expected him to abruptly sit up like a carp, delivering a headbutt that left Belli feeling dazed.

As an expert, even an unintended headbutt was so fierce that Belli still saw double when looking at things now.

Bologue’s expression was somewhat complex, as he obediently sat beside her, remaining silent.

"You nearly killed a minister," Belli remarked sarcastically, "Is this Bologue Lazarus? Easily doing what even the King’s Secret Sword couldn’t achieve."

Bologue’s mouth twitched slightly, wanting to say something, but understood that if he began a conversation with Belli, it would evolve into a foolish dialogue, inevitably ending by him paying some price.

He was well-acquainted with it, as Belli often tricked him like this.

"Cough... sorry." Bologue couldn’t resist speaking.

Belli’s eyes lit up, ready to launch an offensive on Bologue, but he quickly interjected, "I saw something strange."

"During the ritual, I hallucinated a lot. I know it’s considered normal, but I seem to have encountered the ’lost’ you mentioned."

Bologue poured out the doubts in his heart, leaving no chance for Belli to interrupt.

"I saw a blazing storm that seemed... capable of pulling my soul outward."

Belli’s glib words were stuck in her throat by Bologue’s inquiry, freezing her expression, leading her to instinctively ponder these matters, forgetting her earlier plans.

Bologue sighed in relief; when professional matters arise, Belli becomes serious, focusing on them and ceasing foolish dialogue.

"Lost? I’m not quite sure about that," Belli said.

"Why are you unsure?" Bologue didn’t understand.

"Literally," Belli waved her hands, "lost is lost, if you’re able to return, then it’s not lost."