Fairy’s Box

Dean's interior at the top of the obelisk

On the disc-shaped tabletop in the room, only one candle was lit, and the scalding tears were ticking. The cold wind seemed to be unwilling to be locked out of the window, knocking on the window frame intermittently.

The fireplace was not lit, so it was dry and cold, and the whole space was shrouded in dim light, filled with the pungent smell of burning candles. The branches and leaves of the cypress trees by the door are slightly yellowed and drooping weakly, but the shadows swaying in the candlelight are very alive, and the dance is disturbing.

Dean Benedict picked up the copper teapot, poured himself a cup of plain water, took out another porcelain cup from the closet, and raised it in the direction of the sofa:

"Want something to drink? Coffee and milk are on the restricted list, only tea and boiled water here."

"Boiled water, add some salt." Archduke Cromwell held his cane in both hands and sat on the sofa that Yale had made before, without even raising his eyelids when he spoke.

"They've grown into bones, but this weird habit hasn't changed at all."

The old dean sighed slightly, took out a plate of salt cubes from the drawer, sprinkled a few grains into the cup, filled the cup and handed it over: "From the evening until now, you haven't said a word, what are you thinking about?"

"This time, I saw Maximilian's grandson."

The old duke seemed to be so engrossed in some kind of memory that he forgot to reach for the glass of salted water, and his beard trembled a few times:

"The outline is almost the same as he was back then. The moment the child entered the door, I almost thought that he would appear in front of me in a rejuvenation-if there were not a few black lines."

"Maximilian? I've heard of it, no wonder..." Benedict shook the cup in front of him, placed it lightly on the coffee table, and suddenly raised his eyebrows:

"No, if Yale is that person's grandson, his rank should never be Berserker."

"Humph." Cromwell squeezed out a nasal voice in his chest, his beard and hair stretched out one by one, and said in an indignant tone:

"It's not a good son that he was spoiled and raised. He was afraid of pain and tiredness. He left Nuoda's family business and did not inherit it, so he had to go into business. It's just business, and it failed... This useless thing! The inheritance is cut off, The family property is ruined, and a thousand-year-old famous family is so tossed and breathed."

The old dean took a sip of tea and said slowly: "I can't say that. If he is at ease and becomes a dude, his family property cannot be defeated so quickly."

"So, as a man, I am most afraid of devoting myself to a field that I am not good at. If a strong man can break his wrist at a critical time, it will be saved. The worst thing is the kind of idiot who is obsessed even to death!"

Benedict laughed dumbly and said, "A idiot who is obsessed even to death? Are you referring to you and me?"

"..." The old duke was choked by him, opened his mouth several times, and then said quietly:

"Perhaps, the biggest regret in my life is not being able to wrap the body in horse leather and die in battle. Instead, I have lived to this age and can only see myself a little bit old."

"Hundreds of battles have been won, they have returned to their hometown with honor, their children and grandchildren will hug their knees, and they will enjoy their years... How many people are willing to work hard all their lives, but they can't get what they want... Let's be content."

The old dean put down the cup and looked out of the window: "Besides... maybe there is a chance for you to reproduce your true body."

"What did you say!"

Cromwell suddenly stood up straight, sharp sparks shot out of his eyes, and with a crackling sound, the iron rod sank into the floor an inch deep.

"As of now, there's nothing to hide." Benedict stared into his eyes and said slowly:

"The reason we're isolated here and facing so many monster attacks is obviously being dragged into some kind of enclosed space.

But with his own strength, he wanted to isolate the entire Antrazu's rejection, and Mistertin during the victory period might still have a chance... With the dead soul who cheated the corpse, even if he added an egg of lies, Absolutely not possible. "

"What's the meaning?"

"Of course it comes from the blessing of the main world. The sea of ​​​​trees has lost its guardian. Mistertin wants to return to the main world. Isn't this an obvious fact?"

"In other words, did that weird egg of lies fall into Mistertin's hands?" The old duke stared, his eyebrows raised one by one:

"Look at this **** you've done, strictly speaking, it's a capitalist enemy! If you change to the past, you deserve to raid your family and destroy your family!"

"Cough cough... This is not the time to be held accountable." The dean seemed to have choked on the tea, and his face was red and white, and it was changing.

"I understand!" Cromwell's eyes suddenly lit up, his facial muscles trembled uncontrollably, his hands trembled with excitement, and it took a long time before he shouted:

"You mean...!"

At this moment, there was a sudden commotion outside the door, like the waves in the ocean, mixed with cheers and crying sounds, one after another spread into the room.

"Jehine, what happened outside?" Benedict flashed a hint of joy on his brows, walked quickly to the door, and vaguely guessed something.

A few seconds later, a thick middle-aged male voice came from outside the door:

"Your Excellency Dean, it's the students from the third district. Yale Bernstein brought them back. Everyone is celebrating. It seems to be out of line... Do you need to limit it a little?"

"It's okay, let them go." The old dean looked much more relaxed, and after a few seconds of silence, he asked again:

"How much have you been back?"

"Three thousand one hundred and sixteen people." The middle-aged male voice was much lower, and his voice was a little hoarse.

"Understood...you step back." Benedict's expression was calm, the light and shadow of the candle swayed slightly on his side face, revealing a decadent and lonely smell.

"Halfway back." He staggered to the seat and sat down with his legs stiff: "We lost nearly 5,000 students before and after... I have an unshirkable responsibility!"

"The blood debt must be paid by blood!"

Cromwell slammed the iron rod deep into the ground, his eyes flashed with uncontrollable anger, and his teeth clenched, like an enraged lion:

"I swear in the name of the ancestors of the Tudor dynasties, the scorching wind will blow the world of the sea of ​​trees, and the living will become corpses, not to mention living creatures, and even the lowest microorganisms will never be spared!"

"The temper is still as hot as before." There was a trace of worry on the old dean's face: "Compared to this, I am more worried about your body..."

"It's about to die, what's there to worry about."

The former general of Roservia, the great iron-blooded archduke raised his cane and pointed to the candle that was about to burn out, but seemed to be more and more dazzling:

"If it can be like it, before it is extinguished, the most scorching light can still bloom, for me, it is the supreme bliss."