Cycle of Destiny

Chapter 60 The Imprisoned Holy Magician

The goddess paused here. She gently shook the silver bell on the table. Soon after, Veronica quietly entered and brought them fresh hot tea.

Harry took the opportunity to pick up his cup, carefully blowing on it to warm his throat, which had become dry from listening intently.

The tea brought warmth and also made Harry's thoughts more active.

Harry knew that direct descendants of nobles were eligible to make political donations, but the limit was their father's title, and it was extremely expensive, frighteningly expensive.

The wealth of an ordinary duke in his lifetime is only enough for one of his sons to buy a marquisate.

Odell's wealth at the time was enough to buy him a count, or even the marquisate that originally belonged to him, but his knightly skills only qualified him as a viscount.

But an even bigger question, like an iceberg emerging from the darkness, crashed into his mind:

What happened to this "loser" who was sentenced to "death" on the path of the samurai, suffered a crushing defeat in the succession duel, and barely managed to retain his noble status by spending money, that turned him into the holy magician who now sits high in the clouds and is looked up to by the entire continent?

This transformation was so drastic and incredible that it was completely beyond the scope of common sense.

After Veronica left again, gently closing the door behind her, and the study returned to its quiet state with only the two of them, Harry carefully chose his words, his voice filled with emotion and inquiry:

"I never imagined that Lord Odel had such a... eventful past. In particular, the contrast between his later achievements and the past you described is truly astonishing."

"No one could have predicted this," the goddess immediately added, her tone carrying a sense of fateful感慨. "At the time, everyone—including the Grand Master of the Knights who made the accurate judgment, and the Cardinal who saw through everything—was right. On the path of the warrior, he indeed couldn't break free from the limitations of his talent and stopped at level six."

"But who could have predicted it?" Her voice lowered, as if revealing a secret that even she found hard to believe. "He couldn't break free from the shackles that prevented him from becoming a high-ranking warrior, but on another seemingly hopeless path, he found a whole new world. He not only broke the long-standing curse of the continent lacking high-ranking mages, but also surged to the top, becoming the only holy mage, reaching a height that all warriors and mages could only look up to in awe."

She paused, a subtle pause, as if preparing for something even more impactful to come. Then, she added the crucial second half of the sentence clearly and slowly:

"Especially...after he got out of prison."

"what!"

A short, completely uncontrollable gasp escaped Harry's throat.

Holy Magician...Prison?

The two words seemed forced together, exuding an absurd and discordant feel that shattered all of Harry's mental preparations.

His body, which had been leaning slightly forward and listening intently, suddenly stiffened, as if nailed to the chair by an unseen force. His fingers, resting on the armrests, clenched involuntarily, his nails almost digging into the hard wood.

His mouth was agape, his blue eyes fixed intently on the goddess, his pupils contracting sharply from shock, reflecting two small, flickering flames.

Time seemed to freeze in the thick air of the study, with only the sound of his heart pounding in his chest, clear as if it were right next to his ear.

Several seconds passed before he seemed to struggle out of a sudden dizziness, pulling himself back to reality from a blank state of shock. He subconsciously swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing, trying to relieve the sudden dryness in his mouth.

The goddess paused briefly, letting the message settle in the silence, before adding in a voice that was almost a whisper, yet exceptionally clear:

"Moreover, from the time he walked out of the prison to the time he became a holy magician... it only took a month."

What?

A person who had never been exposed to magic and was judged to have limited samurai talent, after serving time in prison, spent only one month crossing a distance that countless magicians could not reach in a lifetime, and directly stood at the pinnacle of power.

This completely defied any common sense he knew, even surpassing the most bizarre legends.

Magic requires accumulation, understanding, and a deep connection with the elements; it requires countless trials and failures. It's not something you can suddenly grasp by simply locking yourself away for a while. Let alone starting from scratch and going directly to the Saint rank?

Countless questions churned and exploded in his mind like boiling magma: Why was he in prison? What happened in prison? How did he manage to do it? What miracles happened during that month?

His body recovered from its stiffness, and almost instinctively, he moved forward slightly. This subtle movement brought him closer to the goddess and completely revealed his eagerness to know everything.

"Prison..." Harry repeated, his voice much lower and hoarse than before, filled with disbelief. "You mean, after... being released, only... only a month later, he... reached the Saint rank?"

He paused, then almost unable to contain himself, pressed on urgently, "How...how did he do that? What happened that month?"

The goddess watched Harry's anxious expression, almost to the point of collapsing onto the table, and slowly shook her head. Her face held no answer, only the same bewilderment.

"Nobody knows, Harry. At least, I don't know, the Church doesn't know, everyone who was watching this at the time... nobody knew. It's a mystery, a mystery that still hasn't been solved."

"How did he get into prison?" Harry asked urgently.

Harry leaned forward, his hands clasped tightly, all his attention focused on listening.

Harry barely interrupted during the goddess's subsequent narration, allowing himself to be drawn into her smooth, steady storytelling, which unfolded like a long scroll of destiny.

The goddess told the following story:

After a decade of glory, Odell lost the duel for succession at the age of thirty, and neither the Church nor His Majesty the XIV could help him anymore. He then used political donations to buy a noble title, becoming a viscount.

As their titles declined, their lives also plummeted.

Only then did the goddess realize that the food they prepared for each banquet was very expensive, and the dresses made for the banquets were also quite pricey.

During that period, some nobles had already begun adding magic to their clothes, hoping to achieve a noble effect at a low price.

Laura had never done this before; she insisted on using genuine elegance, but that elegance required a constant infusion of money.

With the "Fake Cholera" becoming history, the mystique surrounding the orchid grass gradually faded. Although Odell's business was still profitable, it no longer brought in the same substantial income as before.

But the Odells, especially Odell, seem to be trapped in their past glories.

They still insisted on using the finest ingredients to entertain their guests—the apples in the castle fruit platter were said to be worth two gold coins each, and the green peas on the banquet table were three months earlier than those on the tables of other nobles.

Laura had privately confided to the goddess that their income could no longer afford such expenses. She urged her husband to save money, but Odell stubbornly believed that in this circle, once financial hardship was discovered, one's social life would immediately end.

He said, "My rank has already been lowered. If the banquet becomes shabby, which nobleman in velvet would want to sit with us?"

Despite Odell's great efforts, the quality of his guests was rapidly declining.

One reason is that he is now only a viscount, and the dukes and marquises no longer need him as a means to obtain orchids.

Gradually, Odell found it increasingly difficult to put together a banquet where everyone was dressed in velvet, and the invitations he used to receive from dukes for dinner or marquises for afternoon tea were noticeably fewer than before.

But Laura's donations to the church remained as generous as ever.

The goddess had hinted to Laura that the amount of the donation didn't have to be the same as before, but Laura told the goddess that instead of letting Odell use the money to entertain those nobles, it would be better to donate it to the church to help those who really needed it.

This piety and kindness deeply moved the goddess.

Odell, however, clearly could not accept the reality of being reduced to an ordinary viscount. He could not bear the thought of those he once looked down upon becoming his neighboring guests at banquets.

He had never accepted an invitation to a banquet from a nobleman of the same status, not even an invitation from an earl; he would only reply with an apology. Not only did he not attend, but he also forbade Laura from attending.

At his family's banquets, except when entertaining devotees of the goddess, he never allowed guests to wear silver velvet—even though he himself had lost the right to wear gold velvet.

The reduction in social activities allowed Laura to focus more on her faith. She was present at almost every church event.

Odel held on for five years. Unfortunately, he didn't see a miracle, but instead faced a catastrophe that swept through the empire and completely broke him.