"Lead the way," Atbolde said indifferently.
Robb's eyes flashed with a hint of gloom, but he didn't say anything more, just pursed his lips and turned around.
He took a few steps forward and gave a low command to an Official Wizard.
It was only after he saw the Wizard use witchcraft to speed away that he slowly began to lead the way.
"The old fart is putting on airs... as if anyone doesn't know he's just for show."
It was at this moment that an almost imperceptible voice came from the ranks of the Wizards.
Atbolde's stride paused slightly, his gaze swept imperceptibly, and he spotted the speaker... it was Herard, who had just spoken out in the group.
But he did not say anything, instead pretending not to hear, and continued to walk forward following Robb.
He certainly could have lashed out.
But to lash out would mean that Lillian's request would definitely be hopeless, that he would not possibly be able to secure a chance for Colin to attend the Alus Association.
The group walked in silence.
Robb, as the only Second Rank Wizard, walked at the front.
Atbolde followed close behind.
The remaining First Rank Wizards spread out and enclosed Atbolde in the middle.
They walked on like this for a while longer.
A familiar grassland came into view for Atbolde.
An isolated, pointed grey castle stood alone in the center of the grassland.
Robb led him into it, to a meeting hall on the second floor.
Distinctive rough stone walls surrounded them, and the floor was covered with neat brown boards.
Atop the board floor was a brown long wooden table that could seat at least twenty people, with a circle of cushioned chairs placed around it.
At the main seat at the far end of the long table sat a middle-aged Wizard with rare white hair, his expression stern and serious, the deep wrinkles between his brows seeming as if they could never be smoothed out.
"Lord Larrel," Robb greeted respectfully, and then led the other Wizards to take their seats on either side of the long wooden table.
"Larrel," Atbolde greeted as well, pulling out the chair at the other end of the long table, directly opposite Larrel, and sat down.
"I'm already aware of your purpose here, Lord Rudolph," Larrel said, his gaze heavy on Atbolde.
"Then, what is the result?" Atbolde asked.
"I'm sorry," Larrel shook his head, "The contract cannot be changed, the agreement set in those days cannot be altered, Lord Rudolph."
"Is there no room for negotiation?" Atbolde asked expressionlessly.
"There is no room for negotiation," Larrel raised his hand to the table and shook his head again.
"It's been nearly sixty years... Has the School truly no leniency?"
The stern expression on Larrel's face softened slightly as he sighed,
"Lord Rudolph, the School has always shown goodwill. The Apprentices you've taken, aside from not being able to enjoy certain resources, have otherwise received treatment equal to other Factions...
That Apprentice... Colin, if he really can Advance to be an Official Wizard, the position and work allotted to him will not be downgraded one bit... apart from not being able to obtain certain resources, there is no difference from other Factions..."
Atbolde remained silent.
Seeing this, Larrel slowly stood up.
"Lord Rudolph, you are advanced in years and have been injured, why still concern yourself with these struggles?"
After saying this, as if something had occurred to him, Larrel sighed,
"Sometimes... perhaps it is ordinariness that is the greatest happiness."
With that, he turned and left the room.
Creak—
The wooden door shook and emitted a grating noise, while Atbolde sat silently in his original seat.
The conversation was brief, but there really wasn't much to be said.
It's either possible or it's not... He hadn't been without forethought on this outcome, but he had inevitably still clung to a sliver of hope.
Who would have thought, even after sixty years, the stance of the School had not loosened in the slightest...
'That incident from years ago...'
Atbolde's expression grew somber as he sighed deeply in his heart.
"Lord Rudolph, please go back,"
Robb, who was beside him, also stood up and spoke to him slowly.
Atbolde glanced at him indifferently, did not speak, and slowly rose to his feet.
Then he walked slowly towards the outside.
"I told you Lord Larrel couldn't change anything, coming here was just a waste of time... Ahhh!!!"
Swish swish.
Numerous green specks appeared beneath the skin of the speaking Herard, moving about like living insects, causing him to feel an excruciating pain as if ants were biting his flesh.
The other Wizards' expressions changed dramatically.
"Lord Rudolph!" Robb called out in a deep voice while simultaneously waving his hands and casting witchcraft.
Streams of witchcraft light continuously sprinkled onto Herard's body... but to little effect.
The anomaly continued.
The green specks gradually spread across Herard's skin, forming vein-like patterns, followed by the sound of poppoping resonating one after another.
Bright red flowers emerged from beneath Herard's skin at the intersections of those vein-like patterns and bloomed.
The process seemed exceedingly painful; Herard couldn't even groan and just collapsed to the ground, scratching at himself to no avail.
But he didn't dare touch those bizarre red flowers, scratching elsewhere instead.
With force, claw marks quickly appeared, followed by beads of fresh blood...
"Rudolph!!" Robb's expression grew more anxious as he shouted again!
Atbolde's footsteps paused slightly.