Chapter 296: Last Semester (3)
"Oh my, I'm thirsty. Where is the well here, old man?"
A plain-looking old woman asks.
But Vikir couldn't treat her like an ordinary old woman.
"...Nabokov L Quovadis I.
Pope of the Lun Order. Quovadis Family. The oldest of the few remaining Classical Saints. A literal 'living legend' who has been alive for over 200 years, from the time of the Warring States of the Unified Empire to the present day.
'Before the regression, she was only a figure in history books.'
Pope Nabokov had been dead and buried before Vikir's regression, when Vikir joined the War of Destruction as a middle-aged man.
She was originally thought to have been poisoned by Humbert, a man blinded by power.
But now that Humbert is missing, her life has been extended beyond the future she was supposed to live.
'The future has changed.'
That's why she was the biggest variable in the parent observation class.
How much will Pope Nabokov help the future of humanity?
It was something Vikir didn't know, as it hadn't happened to him before his regression.
'Seeing it in person like this...I don't think it will be of much help.'
In person, Nabokov I was not in good shape.
It's hard to tell from appearances, but Nabokov I had a small physique, sunken eyes that could barely recognize things in front of her, and a slight hint of dementia.
Then.
"Water, where's the water~ you old man!"
Pope Nabokov began to protest.
She slapped Vikir's head with a trembling hand.
Vikir was momentarily silenced by the attack, which lacked any real power.
" ...Among the comrades who crossed the front lines of destruction together, those who were priests always lamented whenever they got the chance. If only Pope Nabokov were still alive, the Humanity wouldn't have fallen so far.'
Of course, Vikir was at a time when he didn't believe in anything unless he had experienced it himself.
But no matter how he looked at it, he saw no strength or power in the woman with dementia in front of him.
It was a far cry from when he'd met Count CaneCorso, who was of a similar age.
Finally, with a small sigh, Vikir shook his head.
"The drinking fountain is this way. I'll get you some water."
"I'm thirsty old man. Hurry up!"
Vikir led Nabokov to the water fountain in front of them.
It was a large jar-shaped drinking fountain, filled with crystal clear water, and beside it was a bowl hanging on its side.
It looked like an ordinary spring.
Vikir grabbed one of the bowl.
With it, he scoops up clear water.
...Jruuukk!
Water began to leak out from under the bowl. There was a hole in the bottom.
"Oh no. It's leaking, let me get you another one."
Vikir puts down the bowl and picks up another one.
with a plop-
The bowl sank into the water.
"?"
Vikir turns his head and sees Nabokov standing next to him, tossing the cracked bowl into a jar of water.
"This way it won't leak."
"...."
Nabokov is laughing hysterically, and Vikir stares at her.
The cracked bowl was indeed not leaking, because it was completely underwater.
Nabokov turned to Vikir and said.
"Old man. Whatever is natural is best."
"...Natural? What is that?"
"What is natural is natural. Do I really have to tell you that?"
Nabokov's eyes curved in kindness as she studied Vikir's face.
"The answer is to leave the cracked or holed bowl as it is. A hole or a leaky bowl can be filled by wrapping it in something bigger and embracing it. Holholholhol-"
But.
"But won't that make it undrinkable?"
Nabokov's eyes narrowed at Vikir's words.
"If this happens, the bowl will sink to the bottom of the water and you won't be able to drink it."
"Huh? So what...."
"And since this is drinking water that everyone drinks together, you should not engage in such unhygienic behavior."
"......."
Nabokov's mouth is half open, at a loss for words.
"Pope!"
In the distance, Dolores could be seen running toward them, panting.
Behind her came a contemplative-looking Mozgus.
"Pope! You're here! I've been waiting for you for ten years!"
"Holholholhol...."
Mozgus quickly approached and picked up Nabokov.
"And Luther?"
"Unfortunately, he couldn't make it, as he has a performance for the elderly today."
"Eih- so typical of him."
"Are you here for water? Would you like me to pour you a glass?"
"No thanks. I'm not drinking."
"Then why are you here...."
Nabokov pulled her gaze away from the bewildered Mozgus and looked back at Vikir.
Vikir stood still, Dolores shuffling beside him.
Nabokov's eyes curved more benevolently once more as she watched them.
"Don't try to force the gap, It's best to embrace everything naturally."
"?"
"Thank you, young man. You've put my mind at ease."
Nabokov patted Mozgus on the shoulder as she finished speaking.
As she turned away with unintelligible words, behind her was a cracked bowl filled with water that had sunk into a water jar.
"...."
"...."
Vikir and Dolores were left alone.
"Bye, Samchun!"
A moment ago, even Pomeranian had taken Nabokov's hand and left.
....
After a moment of silence.
"Hmm. Hey...."
Dolores was the first to speak.
"I thought you were talking about filling a cracked bowl with water earlier. The Pope is a bit distracted these days. Don't pay too much attention to her. She has been saying strange things a lot lately..."
But as she says this, Dolores seems to be pondering Nabokov's words from earlier.
'I need to be able to manipulate the 'resonance' phenomenon that I felt when I put the blessing buff on Night Hound, and to do that, Pope advice is essential.'
The Pope. The oldest of the Classical Saints, and the one with the highest divine power.
'You know, the old classical saints often talked about awakening back in the day, and I wish I'd taken them to heart instead of dismissing them as empty words.'
It's something that Dolores realized when she fought Dantalian.
Ever since then, Dolores has needed Nabokov's advice to be more helpful to Night Hound.
Nabokov was showing signs of dementia, so her advice was limited.
Dolores set her jaw in a serious expression.
She thought back to the fight with Belial not long ago.
'Don't be so hard on yourself. We're allies.'
Night Hound's words made her cry and laugh at the same time.
The moment he recognized her as an ally had ignited a fire inside her.
But it was a world away from the resonance she'd felt in her fight with Dantalian, so Dolores plucked up the courage to ask.
'Night Hound, tell me your name!'
Dolores asked for his name in order to close the distance between her and Night Hound, to understand him more deeply.
'I need that 'resonance' phenomenon to increase my divine power! It doesn't have to be your full name, I don't mind, but could you at least give me a small portion of your name... that I can call you?'
...And with a little selflessness, of course.
And that's when she heard his name for the first time.
'...Van.'
His name, the one She was curious about.
The touch of his hot breath, which she could still remember clearly, made her ears burn red once more.
A common name. The process of getting to know each other through their names.
There was indeed a mystical power in names.
Just by hearing it, Dolores could propel her exhausted body to perform incredible miracles.
'Yes, that's it, that's it!'
A phenomenon that could not be done to anyone else and could not be explained.
A miracle that could only happen when she was with Night Hound... or Van.
Dolores felt her heart beat rapidly once more as she recalled that moment.
At the same time, her mind raced.
'When I heard the name 'Van', which is part of Night Hound's name, the resonance width increased dramatically. Perhaps the distance between us was the problem. The closer the distance, the stronger the effect of the divine buff. How can I reduce the distance between Night Hound and me further, so that we can create a stronger resonance....'
Night Hound and Dolores, the gap between them is still wide.
As long as there is this gap, Dolores' divine power cannot resonate perfectly with Night Hound's soul.
Soul Mate. The element for a saint's awakening.
Soul resonance requires the assimilation of emotions, and that can only happen with an understanding of each other.
Dolores wanted to get to know the character of Night Hound.
She wanted to understand his fate, empathize with his pain, and be ready to sacrifice herself for him.
And yet? Dolores was getting impatient.
And the more impatient Dolores became, the more impassable the road ahead became. It's true of dreams, hopes, futures, and relationships.
'Night Hound. I want to know more about you, I want to meet you.'
A look of determination that reporters once mistook for a declaration of holy war.
Now it's a look of pity.
Right then.
[...Yep! That's it, we have a winner of the second year ranking battle, and now it's on to the much-anticipated third year – the final ranking battle to determine the third year head of class!]
In the distance, the announcement for the third year finalists could be heard from the training center.
Dolores gasped and said.
"Ouch! Vi, Vikir, over there. I was actually looking for you because I had something to tell you, but alas, I've run out of time."
"I was intending to go down, too. Why don't you tell me as you go?"
"Uh, sure, thanks. Actually, it's about Sinclair. I'd like to talk to her, and I was wondering if you might be able to arrange a meeting with her...."
Vikir nodded in agreement with Dolores.
'Even if we talk, there probably won't be much gain.'
Sinclair's mind was already made up. A few words would probably not change it.
So instead of focusing on Dolores' words, Vikir looked at other things.
"...A tree, and a magic stone.
The trees that lined the path down to the training grounds, and the magic walls that rose up along the Academy's outer walls.
Vikir scanned them with a sharp gaze.
'The arrangement of the tree roots and magic stones is quite exquisite.'
If the trees and magic stones were placed separately, it wouldn't matter, but if they were mixed together in such a clever way, it would be a security risk.
Moreover, these newly arrived magic stones had a very slight but distinct 'scent' to them.
A 'demonic scent' that only Night Hound could smell.
'It's time to leave the academy.'
A considerable amount of time has already passed since I stayed here. A place that I have become attached to in my own way.
"...."
But even so, Vikir turned his head resolutely away.
Making all his wishes come to nothing.
A terrible fight will soon take place from which he may never return.
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