Sart's Resolve

Most diviners envied and resented Sart, because his teacher was Julian of the White Robe, the master of Star Tower.

In a sense, his mentor was the strongest prophet on the continent.

That meant Sart would receive the highest level of guidance and the most lavish resources.

And that was indeed the case.

Every day, he could freely enter the peak of Star Tower and directly experience Fate Aura—a privilege reserved for transcendent beings above the Gold Tier.

Only a tiny number of Silver Tier transcendent beings could make an exception and queue up to enter, such as Siosand.

But Sart was the exception among exceptions.

Every book in Star Tower was freely open to him.

It had to be known that after the three towers of the continent achieved knowledge sharing, Star Tower's catalog of books had expanded to an unprecedented scale, practically representing all the information in the supernatural world.

There were countless classics and secrets here, as well as ancient books that ordinary people could hardly finish reading in their entire lives.

Moreover, all the spices he spent on rituals were charged to Julian's account.

That meant that while the other apprentices were still struggling to save enough spices for a single ritual, Sart was troubled by which spices he should choose for practice.

Well, it was the trouble of happiness.

His spices were allocated according to his needs.

Sart could even meet his teacher regularly and have Julian personally answer his questions and clear up his confusion.

As Siosand had gnashed his teeth and reddened with envy over, every one of the above conditions was enough to make Gold Coin Path transcendent beings envious, let alone having several of them at once.

With such high-quality resources being poured into him, even a pig should have been tainted by supernatural energy and become a powerful magical beast by now.

But Sart...

It had been five years since Julian became the master of Star Tower. Despite an enormous amount of resources being poured into him without regard for cost, he had successfully advanced from Black Iron Tier to Bronze Tier and had begun searching for a path to advance to Silver Tier.

However, his junior, Siosand, had accomplished all of this long ago. It had taken him only one year. He was now the most outstanding Silver Tier prophet in Star Tower, yet he did not receive Sart's treatment.

If Star Tower had not faithfully recorded the enrollment records from that year, and if Sart and Julian had not looked even slightly alike, everyone would probably have suspected that Sart was Julian of the White Robe's illegitimate son.

Only an illegitimate son could receive such treatment, right?

However, Sart's talent was as famous as the treatment he received—only in the opposite way.

He knew the true reason for receiving such treatment: when Julian was at his most desperate, when not a single apprentice was willing to follow him, Sart had chosen him.

At that time, Julian was merely an unremarkable Silver Tier prophet, sitting obediently in his seat and waiting for apprentices to choose.

As a newly promoted mentor, the silver badge shining on him was dimmed by the surrounding mentors of the Gold Tier and even Platinum Rank.

According to convention, if a Silver Tier transcendent being failed to recruit even one apprentice within three years, he would graduate from Star Tower and could only rejoin it later as a visiting student.

For everyone studying at Star Tower, leaving in this manner was undoubtedly the most humiliating outcome—it meant they had failed to receive recognition from others, or even from Star Tower itself.

That recruitment was also Julian's last chance.

Yet of the hundreds of apprentices, Sart was the only one who ultimately chose Julian. Or rather, he was the only one willing to take a serious look at Julian.

However, of those two unremarkable people back then, only one was truly unremarkable.

Sart's talent was mediocre. Yes, he knew that.

In fact, "mediocre talent" ought to be considered praise in his case.

If he had even the slightest talent, he would not still be only Bronze Tier.

He was a prophet who could not prophesy. Yes, he knew that.

That was why he had to protect Aaron at all costs. Because this time, his prophecy had finally come true!

Go east, Player of the Strings of Fate.

This was his advancement prophecy.

He had set out from Star Tower and traveled east all the way to Leyden City. When he thought he would have to continue east, he had encountered Aaron by chance.

Coincidence? Or inevitability?

For the first time, he truly experienced what fate was, and finally felt fate's attention.

Five whole years!

At last, he felt what others called "fate's favor," as if the hazy veil covering the world had lifted a corner for him.

Everything seemed predestined, and he was overjoyed.

To him, Aaron was not merely his opportunity for advancement, but also a symbol.

A symbol that, after enduring five years, he had finally seized the direction himself for the first time in the vast River of Fate and seen the faint image ahead, even if it might only be the tip of the iceberg.

But he did not care.

He had done it.

He had truly done it.

This was the first successful prophecy of his life!

He had to save Aaron. No matter what, he had to save him, regardless of the cost.

Ten years as an apprentice, five years of hardship, one prophecy.

He could ignore the powerful House of Iris and confront Alice head-on to protect Aaron, because he was Julian of the White Robe's student.

He could abandon himself and give up his status as Star Tower's heir, paying the price of his teacher's disappointment in exchange for Siosand's protection of Aaron.

But now, Siosand was not here, and his teacher was far away.

This time, he had no one to rely on. There was only himself—a Bronze Tier prophet who could not prophesy.

The last bit of Spirit Powder burned silently. Bands of azure light drifted erratically, and subtle changes began taking place in this small space.

Azure papyrus flew out of his crystal ball. All the scattered motes of light clung to it, forming some obscure and incomprehensible language.

"Starlight Above, Ward Evil." Sart spoke with difficulty but steadily, one word at a time.

Using a Spirit Letter as the ritual's primary material and Spirit Powder as the auxiliary incense, while burning his soul without regard for the cost, he could bypass the other necessary materials and forcibly perform the Silver Tier protective ritual, "Ward Evil."

The motes of light rapidly gathered, eventually condensing into a seemingly solid silver-white barrier that completely enclosed Aaron.

Sart quietly stood outside the barrier, beneath the dim candlelight, and in front of Aaron, calmly watching Tog.

The "Ward Evil" ritual worked best when applied to one person. If it protected two people, its defensive effect would be weakened.

Facing a Silver Tier Tog, Sart had no choice but to go all out.

"Sart, you..." Aaron stared at Sart's back, stunned, his palm instinctively pressing against the icy wall of light.

He had imagined Sart abandoning him, standing by indifferently, or attempting to fight back.

He had already imagined countless reactions from Sart, but no matter what, he had never expected Sart to be so unyielding.

"Sart, think this through!" Tog roared furiously. The black mist beside him boiled and surged, occasionally sending one or two thin, pitch-black arms reaching out to claw at the empty air.

Tog had never imagined that Sart would truly dare to provoke him for Aaron's sake!

That was right—provoke him.

Did Sart really think that merely relying on his teacher's name could solve everything?

Did he really think Tog would not dare kill him?!

If this had happened before, perhaps Tog really would have left.

But he could not do that now. He had no time.

The time to present the sacrifice was approaching. If he did not offer a fresh sacrifice to satisfy the Crawling Lord, it would drain his vitality and soul to fill its emptiness and loneliness.

In the darkness, faint sounds stirred restlessly, while barely audible wails lingered around their ears.

"Sir Aaron," Sart said solemnly, "thank you for letting me obtain what I've always wanted."

"What is it?"

"Proof, Sir Aaron." Sart turned to look at Aaron. "Thank you very much."

There was no fear, panic, or regret in his eyes—only calmness.

A calmness like starlight.

Even if he survived this, what meaning would it have?

He would merely have successfully advanced to Silver Tier.

But he had been stuck between Bronze Tier and Silver Tier for five whole years, and his reputation had spread throughout Star Tower.

Would anyone be willing to become his apprentice?

In the end, would he not still be advised to leave?

An apprentice taught by the master of Star Tower could not even remain in Star Tower as a mentor?

Perhaps his teacher would be willing to accept that, but Sart could not.

He looked at Tog with a tranquil gaze.

The pain coming from his arm reminded Tog that the Crawling Lord's gaze might descend at any moment.

He could not break through the Silver Tier protective ritual for the time being, but he had another target.

So what if Julian hunted him down?

So what if he were hung from the peak of Star Tower and tortured for a year?

If he did not offer a sacrifice now, he would become the Crawling Lord's sacrifice!

"Sart, you'll regret this!"

Regret?

Julian had said those words too.

"Will you regret becoming my apprentice?"

That had been the first thing Julian said when teacher and student met. Julian had not even known his name yet.

The last remaining candle flame was pressed down by the darkness, giving off a bean-sized glow.

It witnessed the black mist surging like a tide, countless arms waving as they rushed toward Sart.

From its high vantage point, it saw several blue-black hands charging toward Sart.

It saw the shadows of wooden barrels and crates writhing, silently devouring Sart's shadow.

He threw himself alone into the ocean of darkness, like a pebble that could not stir up even the slightest splash.

Sart lowered his eyes and quietly waited for the end, silently reciting the words that had been pent up for ten years.

"Teacher, I only hope you won't regret taking on an untalented apprentice like me."

The update schedule will be adjusted slightly from now on, okay?

It'll probably be around nine in the morning and five-thirty in the evening.

Today's updates will still be at the old times~

Thanks to Little Brain for the tip~ And thanks to the Peanut Butter big shot for the nine recommendation tickets...

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