247 All Dignity Gone

A servant brought the report behind the curtain. There was no reply for a long while. The reporters buried their heads and scribbled furiously about the amazing plot twist.

After a long silence, Mephistopheles’ lamenting voice sounded behind the curtain. "I see now. It feels strange when one looks at it from the Revelations angle but this method feels familiar when one reads it closely.

"Ignoring the spirit and sense, using only basic patterns and rules, using the number theory to move forward. Your teacher must be an accomplished musician in the School of Abstinence, yes? It’s such a pity that I have never heard of his name or theory in all these years. What is the theory known as?"

"Just the translation method," the youth replied politely with his head lowered. "If one wishes to distinguish it from others, I call it ‘Abraham’s Translation Method.’ I hope more can know my teacher and this theory."

"A very simple and straightforward name," Father Mephistopheles mused softly. After a short suffocating pause, he declared, "The translation method is valid."

Everyone shuddered when the long wait finally ended. This was giant news! The Church had vouched for the translation method!

No matter how the gavel was pounded, the low rumbles would not stop. The discussions could not be restrained no matter how one yelled "Silence!" The people discussed in shock and excitement. No matter what the result was, they had witnessed the birth of a new theory.

As wooden as he was, even Abraham’s eyes turned red and his hands shook. He had never thought that his life’s work could one day be recognized by all. If Charles was here, he would definitely be jumping up and yelling in happiness.

Perhaps the only one in despair was Ingmar.

"Impossible! This is impossible…" Ingmar yelled, losing his temper. "Why is the Church disturbing the academic appraisal? The validity of the translation method should be decided by scholars. It has nothing to do with God!" He had completely forgotten that he had used the name of God to add salt to Ye Qingxuan’s wounds. In his anger, he had lost all of his original grace and calm. His features twisted and twitched as if he was possessed by a demon.

He roared, "I’ll never acknowledge it! I’ll never acknowledge the theory from that fool! A plagiarizer dares to be on the same level as me? I’m the grandmaster of the Royal Academy of Music! He’s nothing compared to me!!!"

His roars caused the entire room to fall silent. Everyone watched his hysteria in shock. In the dead silence, one person chuckled and clapped with enthusiasm.

"Well said!" Ye Qingxuan smiled brightly but the smile made one feel chills. "How can a plagiarizer be spoken of with a grandmaster of the Royal Academy of Music? How can the glory of interpreting the Voynich Manuscript be shared with lowly scums?"

"You…" Ingmar glared at Ye Qingxuan. Ripples of aether surged from his body but were forced down by the Union’s enchantment. Only his piercing voice burst forth. They grated one’s eardrums and made everyone wrinkle their brows.

"Mr. Ingmar is correct," the youth said hoarsely. "We are here today to decide the ownership of the Voynich Manuscript and who is the plagiarizer. Let us return to the main topic." He looked to the grandmasters before him with cold and menacing eyes that one could not look at directly. "Therefore, I request for the council to call forth our witness, a critical but overlooked player who had disappeared for dozens of days."

Ingmar froze. Suddenly thinking of something, his face grew even paler and he yelled, "Objection! I object! They didn’t request this beforehand. I refuse to acknowledge—"

The door was thrown open. The strong afternoon sun surged in like a thunderstorm, illuminating his white face.

The blonde youth entered the hall, pushing someone on a wheelchair. The chair passed through the stunned, dazed, and puzzled eyes before finally stopping before the podium. The youth on the chair looked at Ingmar and said quietly, "Professor, long time no see."

Ingmar gaped at him and fell into his chair as if he had truly seen a ghost. "B-Bart…"

-

Bart Williams. As the second son of a small family from Birmingham, he had neither a great nor horrible background. He did not have any big future either—he could become a tax official and work until retirement.

When he had revealed signs of musical talent, his father—a lord—made the biggest gamble in his life. He sent Bart to Anglo to enroll in the Royal Academy of Music. Since then, Bart had done many immoral things so he could become successful and never return to his home in the countryside. He threw away his dignity to be associated with Edmund and Banner’s families.

After enduring so many years, he finally became Ingmar’s close student and the future of the School of Revelations. It was celebratory news. But no one expected that he would fall to this state after a short few days.

Sitting on the wheelchair, Bart was covered in blood and seemed to be on his last breath. Tubes were stuck all over his body; an IV bag hung above the chair, endlessly sending lifesaving medicine into him.

Hearing Ingmar’s voice, he forced his head up and looked at Ingmar through his blurry vision. A weird sound—half laughing, half crying—came from his throat.

"Bart, let me explain." Shaken, Ingmar stumbled back.

"Professor, what did I do wrong?" There seemed to be a block of iron stuck in Bart’s throat. He looked at Ingmar and shed tears of blood. He lifted his ragged hand and tugged at his collar. "Why must you do this to me?"

Three large staples were nailed to his throat. The staples dug into his messy and bloody flesh; it was cruelly disgusting. They held together a gaping opening that covered his entire throat. It was the fatal wound that should have taken his life.

As Bart spoke, the wound opened further like an infant crying for help. "Why must you do this to me?! Professor…"

"It wasn’t me! Bart, it wasn’t me!" The stark wound was like a spear that pierced Ingmar’s forced calmness. "I-I never…Bart, you must believe me. Believe me!" He was telling the truth. It really was not him and he never thought things would turn into this. But he had some good friends who wanted to help him. Such as…making a student who knew too much disappear.

Many things had happened within the past ten days.

When the Shaman’s eyes in the school told Ye Qingxuan that Bart had secretly packed his belongings and left school, Ye Qingxuan did not think much of it. To stay safe, he had secretly told them to follow and capture Bart on the road. It could have been his winning card. But he had never expected that what happened next would be more evil and cruel than he had ever imagined.

The Shaman’s men had kept an eye on the entire event: first, the carriage exploded. No one died with a complete body. When Bart managed to survive with his alchemy equipment and crawled out, someone slit his throat and left soundlessly.

Thanks to priceless medicine and the intensive care of Choir musicians, Bart was able to stay alive and return to his professor in Avalon.

The professor and student had reunited. What joy. But there was nothing joyous about the current atmosphere. There was only undisguisable guilt and fear, as well as chilling sadness and hatred.

Seeing them like this, the scholars who had guessed things instantly booed. The commotion could not be stopped by the gavel.

"Mr. Bart Williams," Ye Qingxuan said loudly as he gazed at the stunned faces. "Please tell everyone where you were on that afternoon, thirteen days ago, the day the second trial of the school day ended, when Mr. Ingmar reported that he successfully interpreted the Voynich Manuscript."

"The music history department," Bart replied hoarsely as he looked at Ingmar. "I was in Mr. Abraham’s library."

"Oh?" Ye Qingxuan smirked. "Why were you at the history department?"

"Someone at the school board meeting proved that my professor had unreasonably tried to harm Abraham. My professor wanted to pretend to be nice and allow Abraham to be the associate dean of the School of Revelations. And then—and then frame him to destroy his reputation."

"Irresponsible nonsense!" Ingmar roared. He charged forward to stop Bart but was held down by people from the Union. He yelled, "Shut up! Bart, you’re lying!"

Ye Qingxuan snickered. "Bart, please tell everyone what you saw after you got to the music history department."

After a long pause, Bart uttered, "I saw that nobody was there so I wanted to leave a note, and then…then I saw Mr. Abraham’s interpretation results. So I took pictures to copy it and gave it to my teacher."

"Then what was Mr. Ingmar’s reaction?"

"His sound of heart broke down. If not for me…if not for me…" He looked back at Ingmar with bitter resentment. "If not for me, he would have died." His voice was so sharp and high that it was as jarring as a steel wire scraped against rock. His wound almost reopened and fresh blood seeped out.

"What happened next is as you all can see," Ye Qingxuan said with a cold laugh. "Mr. Ingmar reported the findings overnight. Unfortunately, he couldn’t copy the last part, which is why there’s such an obvious break in logic."

"It’s all false!" Ingmar picked up the ink bottle in anger and hurled it at Bart crazily. "Slander! It’s all slander!"

Bart did not dodge and let the bottle crash into his face. The ink rolled down his cheeks, dying the ugly wound on his throat black. The wound was happily distorted like a ghastly smile.

Ye Qingxuan continued to ask before everyone, "Bart, what did he say after we filed the case?"

Bart fell silent. He raised his damaged hand and ran it across the huge wound on his neck. When he spoke, his voice was calm and mocking as if telling someone else’s story. "He said he’d take care of everything. I could go home and stay away from the trouble. I believed him. But on the way there…ha. An accident happened and I turned into this."

"I didn’t! I didn’t do anything! It was all Abraham!" Ingmar roared, but he could not see any believing eyes. It was all suspicion and disdain. In the end, he no longer had the strength to yell. He collapsed onto his chair and mumbled to himself, "I clearly, I really wanted to protect you. Bart, I only wanted to protect you."

Bart closed his eyes and no longer spoke.

Ye Qingxuan patted his shoulder. He had never seen Bart as a mortal enemy and even thought he was despicable before, but seeing him like this, Ye Qingxuan could not help but feel pity.

The last round of conclusions had ended. Charles began pushing Bart’s wheelchair again and took him away from the noisy hall. He was no longer able to stay in the academy after this treatment.

According to his deal with the Shaman, a Choir musician would give him plastic surgery and a new identity after he recovered. Then, he would go to India or Asgard. Perhaps he would be able to start a new life there.

No matter what, the youth named Bart Williams had died the moment he was abandoned by his teacher and had his throat slit. He would not appear on this world again.

Now, Ye Qingxuan no longer had to argue with Ingmar about the truth or validity. He only had to let everyone see Ingmar’s ugliness.

The curse known as Bart would forever haunt Ingmar. All dignity was gone and his reputation was destroyed. The world was so large but there was no longer a place for him. It was just how Ingmar had said himself: he would send trash back to the landfill!

-

After witnessing this mess, the five grandmasters who acted as judges fell silent.

"The witness was not approved beforehand and his proof is too wild. It’s not impossible that it was fabricated. We must consider it carefully," Heisenberg said coldly. "I suggest we adjourn for fifteen minutes and give the last judgement afterward. What think you all?"

The first to nod was Barthélémy who had a heavy expression. Sergey followed closely after. Finally, all members agreed.

The gavel pounded and it echoed like a mourning bell, startling a crow in the distance.

This was the last moment of respite.