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“Hmm? Are you… inviting me?”
In response to the young girl’s question, Mu’en’s eyes suddenly became sharp.
This shy expression.
This hesitant speech.
Could it be…
But that’s not right; I’ve only met Shali twice, haven’t I?
“Mu… Mu’en, please don’t misunderstand. It’s… actually just my dad… yes, it’s my dad who asked me to invite you over to our house as a guest.”
Mu’en’s gaze made Shali’s face turn even redder, as if it were on fire, and she hurriedly explained:
“I wrote to my dad before, telling him about all this, and recently he replied and scolded me for saying how could I just send you off with a few cakes?
So he asked me to invite you over; he’s a renowned chef in the area and wants to make a big meal to apologize to you.”
“I see…”
Mu’en understood. It wasn’t Shali who wanted this, but her dad.
That made sense; after all, the more one experiences society, the more one cares about status and interpersonal relationships.
He must be worried that his daughter was neglecting the son of a duke.
“I appreciate your and your dad’s thoughtfulness, but I’m sorry; I already have plans for the open days.” Mu’en said apologetically.
“But there are three days for the open days.”
“I can’t be certain if I can squeeze out the time. If I accidentally leave you and your dad hanging, that would be even worse, wouldn’t it?”
“Is… is that so?”
Shali visibly looked disappointed.
“Well, it can’t be helped. After all, someone like Mu’en must be very busy during the open days.”
She spoke as if I were a scumbag going on multiple dates at the same time.
Mu’en’s mouth twitched, and he continued to comfort her:
“I’m sorry, Shali. I appreciate your kindness, but you really don’t need to do this. As I said before, that little misunderstanding, I never took it to heart; you can just let your dad know my words and he can rest assured.”
“That’s not the reason…” Shali mumbled softly.
“Hmm? What?”
“Nothing… nothing.”
Shali hurriedly shook her head and suddenly shoved a note that seemed pre-written into Mu’en’s hand:
“Since that’s the case, come visit when you have time.”
“Eh? Wait.”
“I’ll be waiting for you for these three days!”
Before Mu’en could react with anything else, Shali fled as if escaping.
…
“Downtown, 15 Durank Street.”
Standing still, Mu’en looked at the note in his hand, seemingly with an address written on it, and sighed:
“This… could be a bit tricky.”
“Quite youthful, Mu’en Campbell.”
A stern, rigid voice suddenly sounded.
An elderly man dressed in formal attire, holding a silver cane, stood not far away, like a silent old pine, quietly observing Mu’en.
“Professor Plon? What are you doing here?” Mu’en jumped in surprise and hastily stuffed the note into his pocket, questioning.
What a coincidence to be visiting the hospital as well?
Professor Plon did not answer, instead turned around and said:
“Follow me.”
“Eh? Do you need something from me?”
Mu’en looked bewildered, wanting to inquire.
But Professor Plon simply walked away, and without considering much, Mu’en quickly jogged to catch up.
…
The Clock Tower.
Underground.
The Silver Well.
With a “ding,” the magic-powered elevator opened its doors, revealing a strange underground world before Mu’en.
Underfoot, the metallic floor reflected a clear image like a mirror, stretching to the end of his sight. Pipelines emitting soft blue or red lights intertwined like giant pythons, gathering at the corners before flowing into the dark depths.
In the shadows on both sides, massive precision mechanical creations stood like giants. The moment Mu’en stepped onto the ground, he felt two terrifying gazes sweep past him.
Under such overwhelming pressure, Mu’en couldn’t help but hold his breath, as if he were deep under the sea.
“Don’t be afraid.”
Professor Plon extended his hand and patted him on the shoulder:
“That’s the guardian of the Silver Well. As long as you have permission, there’s no danger.”
The pressure lifted suddenly, and as Mu’en took a deep breath, he couldn’t help but ask cheekily:
“What if I don’t have permission?”
“Don’t have?”
Professor Plon’s tone rose slightly, seeming to mock.
“Any enemy wishing to invade the Silver Well must first deceive the guardian’s eyes.
If they can’t…”
“Those who can’t have already died.”
His gaze flicked to the ground near the elevator, where a large dark red stain lay, like dried blood.
For decades, that spot where many strong ones were turned into minced meat remained uncleaned.
Mu’en felt a chill run down his back at Professor Plon’s words, shrinking his neck and quickly hastening his pace to keep up with Professor Plon.
The sound of footsteps echoed crisply in the empty, silent corridor, like countless people clapping in the dark, somewhat eerie.
Mu’en rubbed his arms, wanting to spark a conversation to dispel the chill in his heart, but because the person in front was the stern and serious Professor Plon, he didn’t know what to say.
“Your father was also my student,” Professor Plon suddenly said first.
“Eh?”
Mu’en was slightly surprised, and then quickly regained his focus:
“My dad also studied at St. Maria Academy?”
“Since the establishment of the academy, the heirs of the Campbell family have all attended here.”
Professor Plon paused and then said:
“After all, the Campbell family is one of the founders of the academy and is still one of its major shareholders, having a say in significant matters of the academy.”
“I had no idea the Campbell family was a shareholder of the academy,” Mu’en exclaimed.
“Don’t think too much about it.”
Professor Plon said coldly:
“According to the original agreement, only Duke Campbell has the authority to intervene in certain affairs of the academy, so neither your father back then nor you now are anything more than a student here, without the right to dictate affairs.”
“I have no such thoughts.”
Mu’en scratched his head innocently.
Dictating affairs at the academy, besides easily getting slapped by Professor Plon, seems to have no advantage at all.
He is not that kind of unruly aristocrat who would use privilege to fill a swimming pool with champagne and steal glances at young girls’ smooth thighs beneath their white dresses during a ball.
He preferred black silk.
“So what was my father like when he was studying at the academy?” Mu’en asked.
“Your father…”
Professor Plon paused, seemingly lost in distant memories.
Then, with a hint of nostalgia in his tone, he continued:
“At that time, Long En Campbell was just like he is now, living up to his title.”
“Title?”
Mu’en thought for a moment: “The Lion King?”
“Exactly, the leader of the pride.”
A glint flashed in Professor Plon’s aging eyes as he said:
“From the moment he entered the academy, he shone like a lion among a hundred beasts, dazzling to the extreme.
Humble, brave, studious, dedicated—these admirable qualities expected of nobility shone like badges on his chest. Many students were captivated by his character, genuinely following him, and he was always moving forward amid the crowd.
And the things he accumulated during his student days became a vital cornerstone for him to swiftly uphold the Campbell banner during that turmoil, the event in which your grandfather unfortunately perished.
He was a man who made everyone exclaim at first sight that he was worthy of the Campbell name.
So…”
Professor Plon turned to look at Mu’en, his expression complex:
“A year ago, when I first met you at the academy, I felt so disappointed.”
