Exploring Technology in a Wizard World-Chapter 294 - 293 The Identity of Great Scholar Socrates
Chapter 294: Chapter 293 The Identity of Great Scholar Socrates
Chapter 294: Chapter 293 The Identity of Great Scholar Socrates
Time shifted back a little.
Just minutes before.
The imposing Lance, accompanied by the wiry and sleazy Heit, stepped into the Black Gold Association’s house.
Once inside, Lance noticed the house was eerily quiet, as if no one was there.
“Hmm?” Lance was puzzled because normally the house was bustling, filled with people carrying titles like Vice Group Leader, Group Leader, and Sub-Minister, and also included newly recruited members. Only the innermost room—the esteemed resting place of Winkle Chairman—would be somewhat quieter.
So today was…
Lance, with a frown, continued forward with Heit. As they walked, Heit suddenly tugged at Lance and pointed with a trembling finger to one side.
Lance stopped and looked in the direction Heit was pointing, only to see a body lying in a pool of blood in a corner. He recognized the body; it was one of his biggest rivals in the Black Gold Association, an Official Group Leader who had always competed with him and snatched away the members he had worked hard to recruit.
He had intended to humiliate his rival after promoting Heit and securing the position of Vice-Minister, but he did not expect the man to be dead.
Seeing the body, Lance felt no joy, only a tingling scalp and a head that seemed to shrink, and he managed to stay composed and avoid panic.
Heit, however, was terrified, his face pale and his words unclear: “Lance… Big Brother Lance, what… what’s going on? Didn’t you tell me the Black Gold Association was great? Why is there a dead person? I… I’m not joining, can I back out?”
Lance gave Heit a fierce glare, said nothing, and rushed toward the innermost room of the house.
Heit, left behind, quickly followed: “Lance… Big Brother Lance, wait… wait for me…”
Soon, the two arrived at the door of the innermost room.
At the doorway, Lance stopped, took a deep breath, and forcefully pushed open the door.
The next moment, Lance was startled, overcome by immense horror.
Inside, the Chairman of the Black Gold Association—the respected Winkle—was sitting in his chair, his neck twisted at an exaggerated angle, obviously having been killed by a broken neck.
Moreover, on the ground lay a multitude of people, all members of the Black Gold Association, none of whom were alive. The whole room looked like a slaughterhouse.
Amidst the numerous bodies stood two figures adorned in Black Robes, their faces obscured.
The two Black Robed Men seemed to sense Lance and slowly turned around.
In an instant, Lance felt as if targeted by a venomous snake, a dangerous sensation bursting forth instinctively. He turned and ran, attempting to grab the nearby Heit but finding him frozen with terror. Deciding to abandon him, Lance sprinted toward the door alone.
Just then, one of the Black Robed Men lifted a hand, extending a finger to draw in the air.
“Crackle!”
A golden flame appeared at the tip of the Black Robed Man’s finger, floating into the air, then exploded violently.
“Boom!”
The explosion rapidly swept through the house, the shockwave and flames catching up to the fleeing Lance, engulfing him.
Amidst his screams, Lance fell, while the two Black Robed Men, not even sparing a glance, stepped over the flames and walked outside. On their bodies, an imperceptible Energy Film protected them from the flames.
Soon, two Black Robed Men emerged from the burning house, about to leave, when they spotted a panting fat man, appearing before them with a huge bathtub in his arms.
The fat man looked over, obviously frightened, stammering as he spoke, then tipping the bathtub over with a shove, he shouted, “I… I’m just dumping bathwater, yes, that’s right, I’m dumping bathwater.”
One of the Black Robed Men imperceptibly shook his head and the next moment raised his hand, aiming at the fat man.
The fat man collapsed to the ground, and the water flowing out of his bathtub rapidly congregated and froze into a pattern.
Having carried out this task, the two Black Robed Men turned and left.
After walking a good distance, one of the Black Robed Men spoke up with a magnetic male voice, asking, “Suo Men, why didn’t you kill that fat man?”
Foll𝑜w current novℯls on ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm.
“He’s not a part of any chain transmission organization, whether we kill him or not doesn’t really matter. Besides, by not killing him, we naturally have someone to spread the news for us.
That way, it won’t be long before people know that a gang bearing the Black Spirit Empire emblem is attempting to disrupt the established order of White Stone City, and we would have completed two tasks. Next, let’s see how White Stone Tower reacts.”
“Uh.” The other Black Robed Man nodded, and the two disappeared into the darkness together.
The night had yet to end.
In a subterranean chamber somewhere in White Stone City, more than a dozen high-backed leather chairs surrounded a long table. People sat in the chairs on both sides of the table, waiting for something.
And on the table’s surface, a black cat lay sprawled, eyes closed, its posture lazy and haughty, completely ignoring the seated people as if they were nothing more than its slaves.
The seated people wore strange expressions, and just then, the reclining cat sensed something, suddenly arching its body, looking toward the chamber’s entrance, before rapidly scampering across the table. Reaching the edge of the table, the black cat leaped fiercely, tracing an arc in midair, reaching the apex of its jump before descending, landing neatly on the shoulder of a person who had just entered the chamber.
The newcomer was an old man, moving somewhat slowly yet exuding great authority, his black robe adding a touch of mystery. Behind him followed a slender, stern-faced young man.
The black cat jumped onto the old man’s shoulder, to which the old man showed no surprise, extending his hand to gently stroke the cat’s spine as he walked towards the high-backed leather chair specifically left vacant at one end of the long table.
Upon reaching the chair, the old man sat down, while the young man accompanying him stood stiffly at his side.
“Let’s begin,” the old man said after settling in, looking over at everyone on both sides of the table, “You must have heard some news, given the hurry in which I called you all here.”
“Master, we heard that at the scene of a fire in the northern slums of the city, a freezing emblem of our Council appeared?” someone spoke up.
“That’s correct,” the old man nodded, “And what does that signify, you all should be well aware, right?”
“…,” a moment of silence ensued.
The old man slowly spoke up, “The rule of our Council has always been seclusion, hiding our presence. Now, someone has exposed our whereabouts so flagrantly, and just at this critical time.
White Stone Tower is about to hold an event that only comes around once every decade or so, which they value highly. If anything out of the ordinary happens now, it will definitely catch their attention. Therefore… we must find out who is responsible for this!”
“Do you all understand?” the old man lifted his head and asked, revealing the face hidden under the hood slowly—Great Scholar Socrates, his gaze sweeping over everyone in the chamber, commanding and undeniable.
“Meow!” The black cat on his shoulder chimed in.
“Yes!” The group answered in unison.
“Good,” Socrates nodded in satisfaction.
