Scum and Genius

"Good thing?" Siosand fell silent and muttered to himself, as if mocking himself. "Senior, sometimes I really don't know what you're thinking. Or maybe I've never truly entered your field of vision?"

He took a deep breath. "Senior Sart, do you even know how much favoritism our teacher has shown you?"

For a moment, they seemed to have forgotten that Aaron was also in the room.

Before Sart could react, Siosand continued on his own. "There's no need to mention all the treatment you received in the Star Tower. This time, when we left, our teacher even gave me a drop of Blazing Sun Potion for your sake. Not to mention that our teacher personally held an Advanced Prophecy for you."

As he said this, his voice involuntarily rose several pitches.

"Senior Sart, that was our teacher personally stepping in and becoming the assistant to you—a prophet who can't prophesy! You don't understand prophecy? That's fine; our teacher does! He's the greatest prophet on this continent. He's helping you, Senior Sart. He's doing everything he can to help you, and what about you?"

"Senior Sart, what exactly are you doing?" An unusual flush appeared on Siosand's pale face. "I'm not jealous of our teacher's favoritism toward you. I know about your past with our teacher, but!"

Each word rang out with force. "But why are you wasting his favor, Senior Sart?"

The room was filled with silence, unable to contain even the slightest sound.

Sart remained speechless. He lowered his eyes and stared fixedly at the floor, afraid to meet Siosand's eyes, which seemed to burn with flames.

"What exactly are you waiting for?" The more Siosand spoke, the higher his voice rose. He could not help stepping forward and grabbing Sart by the collar, forcing Sart to look into his eyes.

"I don't believe it. I don't believe that someone given such conditions could achieve only results like these!" Siosand stared at Sart. "Others may have seen only how you've stagnated for years, but I don't believe it. I don't believe someone like you could have mastered the ratios of spices and the structure of rituals so skillfully over all these years."

As he said this, Siosand directly raised Sart's hand. That unremarkable pair of Spice Gloves was still on it.

"Senior Sart, I know exactly how much these gloves of yours are worth. With just this pair of gloves, the old lunatics among the alchemists in the Tower of the Sun would fight to recruit you! Being able to precisely balance more than a dozen, even dozens, of spices, and flexibly use spices and streamlined rituals in battle... These unremarkable improvements and inventions are enough to be carved into the Star Tower's monuments. They could even be compiled into a book and serve as a relevant reference textbook for the Compendium of Prophet Combat Notes!"

Siosand listed Sart's achievements one by one, his tone growing increasingly furious. "So please, tell me, Senior Sart. What exactly are you waiting for?"

By the end, his roar filled the entire room.

This man, who appeared so refined that he seemed almost hypocritical, finally removed his mask at that moment and revealed his true nature, like a lion.

"I don't know." Even though Siosand was gripping his collar and shouting abuse at him, Sart showed no anger whatsoever. Or rather, he understood Siosand's anger so well that he was incapable of feeling any anger in return.

Every word Siosand had spoken was true. Sart was powerless to refute him.

If a prophet or diviner of the Gold Coin Path wanted to advance successfully from Bronze Tier to Silver Tier, the rules required them to perform one correct prophecy.

It could also be said that transcendent beings used and manipulated transcendent aura according to the methods they understood.

However, in all these years, not one of Sart's prophecies had ever truly succeeded. Some slight deviation would always appear in some inexplicable place.

Yet advancement required a precise prophecy. Only when a prophet sensed the aura of fate through a prophecy and came into contact with fate's feedback could they truly advance to Silver Tier.

If advancing from Black Iron Tier to Bronze Tier was merely an accumulation of quantity, allowing transcendent beings to gradually construct a system of understanding and lay a foundation, then advancing from Bronze Tier to Silver Tier required a qualitative transformation.

A transcendent being had to find a method they understood within the vast ocean of transcendent aura, and find the key suited to them to open the door to a new world.

It was just that, before this incident, Sart seemed not to have found where the key to that door was at all. Siosand had even begun to wonder whether Sart had truly reached the door in the first place.

"Ahem, ahem." Seeing that the situation was about to worsen further, Aaron could not help coughing several times to remind the two of his presence.

Aaron had really wanted to keep listening, but seeing that they were about to get into their private affairs, he could only give up.

Family scandals should not be aired in public. Some things were better left unheard.

The cough finally made Sart and Siosand realize something. Siosand glanced at Aaron, slowly released his grip, then casually stepped back several paces, putting some distance between himself and Sart.

Sart answered Siosand seriously. "I really don't know what I'm waiting for. Perhaps fate has abandoned me." He gave a bitter, self-mocking smile, his words filled with helplessness.

This time, his prophecy had indeed come true. He had found Aaron and experienced that indescribable feeling.

But what about next time?

After this advancement, he would merely be a Silver Tier prophet. There were countless others like him in the Star Tower.

He could not find an apprentice, nor was it possible for him to find one.

How much longer could his teacher protect him?

Sart did not want to know, nor did he dare to know.

He understood the current situation clearly and was willing to work twice as hard, but some things truly seemed to be beyond what effort alone could achieve.

After so many years of effort, with his teacher personally serving as his ritual assistant, he had finally advanced successfully.

But what about next time?

Would he have to shamelessly ask his teacher for help again?

What would the price be next time?

Could it be that the entire Star Tower would have to serve him?

At that thought, Sart sighed. "Siosand, stop. I understand. I'll leave."

"Do you really think this is the answer I need?" Siosand laughed in exasperation, even letting out several cold laughs. "Senior Sart, sometimes I have to admit that you're truly too good at disappointing people. You need to understand that what I need is a senior with enough weight to be my senior—not someone who retreats sheepishly halfway through."

He glanced indifferently at Aaron, who was lying on the bed, and left the room without another word.

As he stepped through the doorway, he threw back one final sentence without turning his head. "I don't feel any pain over using the Blazing Sun Potion. I simply feel sorrow over our teacher's expectations for you. Perhaps our teacher is unwilling to say it, so let this arrogant and conceited junior do the vile deed instead."

Sart stood silently, quietly watching the empty doorway. A trace of helpless bitterness appeared on his face.

After a long while, he finally turned around and said to Aaron, "Do you think I'm very..."

He struggled desperately to find a word to describe himself.

"Believe in yourself. After all, every senior who's repeated a year for decades is definitely an explosive genius." Aaron could not help tossing out a quip.

"...Explosive genius?"

"Ah, you know, 'Thirty years east of the river, thirty years west of the river. Don't bully the poor young man!'"

"Are you referring to the cycle of fate?" Although Sart could not understand Aaron's nonsense, he could vaguely grasp something from it.

However, he secretly sighed.

Fate?

If fate itself had no intention of favoring him, then where could this so-called destiny come from?