High School of Demon Hunting-Chapter 1444 - 188 June 5th

Alpha Fortress.

The Karen Family’s lounge.

The sunlight outside passed through the spacious balcony, falling upon the platinum-colored carpet, where the fine Kalkos Golden Sheep wool shimmered in the light, with halos of magic interwoven, adding even more enchanting hues.

It was within this wash of color that Friedman Karen stood.

He stood before a desk, one hand in his coat pocket, the other propping the back of a chair, gazing at a sunflower oil painting hanging on the wall, as if looking into a mirror.

On any ordinary day, as the sunlight kissed the canvas, the sunflowers within would race to stretch their necks and unfold their petals, basking in the solace of sunshine. But today, the usually vibrant petals on the canvas looked wilted and dispirited, the edges of the beautiful heart-shaped green leaves starting to curl and yellow.

Just like his mood.

Sir Friedman murmured to himself while staring at the sunflowers on the canvas.

Behind him on the desk, a piece of Dragon Skin Paper lay quietly there, while the Parrot Tail Pen floating in midair followed the sound of his voice, tracing beautiful curves and leaving behind strings of elegant script on the Dragon Skin Paper.

The blanks on the Dragon Skin Paper grew fewer, and the Duke’s voice sank lower and lower until it was barely audible.

After a long while.

The ink on the tip of the Parrot Tail Pen gradually dried up.

The blue feather swayed, sweeping out a sliver of glittering dust in the sunlight. Then the dried-up tip of the pen fell onto the end of the Dragon Skin Paper, pausing heavily a few times.

The gentle knocking sound awakened the pondering figure in front of the desk.

Sir Friedman turned around, glanced at the restless Feather Pen, walked back to the desk, and sat down with composed serenity. He then reached for the Parrot Tail Pen floating midair, tapped in the air, and a gold spark emerged from the pen’s tip.

The Parrot Tail Pen, unaccustomed to being held while writing, twisted its beautiful blue feathers, emitting a squeaky sound from the nib.

The Duke paid no attention to the agitation.

He held the Feather Pen, solemnly signing his name on the end of the Dragon Skin Paper.

—Friedman Black Karen.

The sparks trailed the moving nib, leaving a winding golden trace on the Dragon Skin Paper, and the gold hue faded gradually after the Duke finished his signature, leaving behind a burnt yellow color.

As if someone had seared the name into the paper with a branding iron.

Sir Friedman casually tossed the pen away, and the blue Feather Pen, like a little bird, flew in an arc through the air, bypassing the pen holder and falling into the wastepaper basket beside the desk.

The Dragon Skin Paper letter automatically lifted, folded itself twofold, and slipped into the envelope prepared earlier beside the desk.

The Duke’s gaze was not on the letter and envelope.

His fingertips fumbled in the drawer. There was a black box within, padded with soft Ice silkworm silk, upon which lay several pieces of sealing wax in different colors.

There were fire lacquers mixed with dragon blood, their color as molten lava; fire lacquers that had bathed in moonlight, a deep blue speckled with tiny stars; and the congratulations gifts from the Duoni People to the Karen Family, perhaps those alien spawn were unaware of the distinction between Alpha and Atlas, thinking all noble guests liked yellow, hence that piece of fire lacquer was golden.

Friedman’s fingertips lingered among the variously colored and sourced fire lacquers for a long while, ultimately choosing the most ordinary blood-red piece.

It was a piece of fire lacquer made from a mixture of pine resin, paraffin, tar, and ordinary red pigment.

The young Blood Race watched the piece of lacquer quietly melt into a gentle liquid in midair, watched the liquid roll and blend, watched tiny bubbles emerge from the fiery red.

Crackle.

He suddenly smiled, shook his head, and reached out with a finger to dab the liquid on the envelope’s seal.

Then he took out his own seal from a drawer, dabbed it in a powder box with a little silver powder, and pressed it heavily onto the fiery red liquid. Under the pressure of the seal stamp, the lacquer quickly solidified and shaped, with the scent of pine resin flowing over the thick envelope.

"Give it to Sepulano."

Sir Friedman softly ordered.

A small figure flashed by, and the desk was clean once again.

In the waste paper basket beside the table, a parrot tail pen whose tip had been burnt off weakly twitched its body. After losing its tip, no matter how beautiful its feathers were, it held no value.

...

...

"...Sir Friedman’s letter puts an end to the battle between the two student leaders of Alpha for their successors, also creating favorable conditions for the unity of the entire academy, for mending the academy’s rifts, and for the easing of the relationship between Sepulano and Karen."

"Before this, both Friedman and Sepulano had been extremely cautious, each unwilling to reach out to the other in front of their many supporters—Sepulano wouldn’t reach out because he was leading in the competition for Augustus, and his stance was always focused on reform, with no reason to embrace stubborn traditionalists; Sir Friedman, on the other hand, would not reach out because he did not want to show any weakness in the face of danger and threats, as it would destroy his prestige and position among his bloodline supporters, especially in groups like the 3A Club." fгeewebnovёl.com

"But the course of events does not shift with an individual’s will. Faced with the aggressive momentum of Jiuyou Academy, the revealed crisis within and beyond the First University, the chaos within the Alpha Academy, both sides needed to ease relations, and both wanted to. They just didn’t want to be the first to show it."

"The result turned into a duet of mincing steps, elusive and complicated, where both parties could say there had been no physical contact, and neither had to face the embarrassment of a possible rejection while maintaining a beautiful curve, allowing each to keep their positions without the need to negotiate starting over from scratch..."

Reading this, Zheng Qing couldn’t help but approvingly pat his thigh.

"This is brilliantly written," he didn’t disguise his praise for the sharp commentary, turning to look at Xin Fat Man sitting on the other side of the desk: "Who is this writer, this Henry Alfred? He writes incredibly well, especially that metaphor, precisely... no, like a beautiful poem."

Banna lifted his eyelids, glanced at the newspaper in Zheng Qing’s hand, and immediately knew which page and which article he was reading, responding:

"Henry? He’s a special commentator for the Beta Town Post and a senior advisor to the Mage Alliance. An elder wizard so old that he needs magic to walk and sprites to feed him... We’ve always thought he was a bit senile. But seeing this new commentary, he’s still as sharp as in his youth."

"A senior advisor of the Alliance?" Zheng Qing’s interest piqued: "Then why would he be concerned with matters between two youngsters? Seems a bit overqualified for the job."

"Matters concerning the succession of Augustus and the unity of Alpha are far from trivial." Another voice interrupted Zheng Qing and Xin Fat Man’s conversation, simultaneously requesting: "Excuse me, please pass me another frog, thank you."

Nicholas, with hands in silkworm gloves and holding them up front, looked earnest: "I need to practice this Chaos Spell again... It’s definitely going to be on the test."

On the table before him, the residual ash from the frogs used in practice was already half an inch thick.