Chapter 650 (2/2)

Just for this job, they had to dedicate an entire lifetime, vowing never to seek fame and fortune, never to leave offspring, and only for their ideals to be passed down from generation to generation. In return, they earned the ability to create such wonderful pages that were almost indestructible.

On that shelf, there were several other books; those belonged to his teacher, and his teacher’s teacher. Those books belonged to the many generations of historians of their faction, the fruit of the painstaking labor of their entire lifetime. And this house was the sacred place of the historians. It was their temple, their altar, the place where they prayed and fought.

The young historian finished his work for the day. After putting away all his tools, he walked out of the room wearily. He felt very tired. He needed to go out for a walk to get some fresh air. Then he would eat a hearty meal and take a good rest.

Walking through the streets full of tourists and workers, he watched the scenery that was increasingly lively with all the bustling activities and could not help laughing.

After a while, he arrived at the public square. There was a bard who had used oils to paint strange shapes all over his face but could not be described as funny. Donned in a suit of flowery clothes, he was strumming away on his balalaika, singing a merry tune.

Around the bard, many tourists were listening with interest. After he finished a song, he did not take off his hat to ask for tips. Instead, he took a whole lot of green jellyfish gummies from out of nowhere and distributed them to the surrounding children.

Munching on the gummies, the children ran about happily while the adults quickly thanked him before leaving.

“Today’s work seems to be quite pleasurable,” said the historian, who had walked over to the bard. With a smile, he said, “But it’s truly surprising how someone like you, in your capacity, could actually do something like that.”

“What’s so surprising about this?” asked the elector of the God of Art and Culture. With a smile, he said, “I’m a bard. Performing on the streets when I’ve nothing much to do, bringing joy to the people, isn’t this just how I should naturally be?”

“It’s just like how you, an elector of the God of Knowledge and Culture who is in the field of ‘scholars,’ are busy all day long, either with teaching and educating people, or documenting history.”

An elector of the God of Art and Culture with the name of “Schwarier von Stolovsky Franz,” who was known to people all around the world as a great author, playwright, musician, and bard—Shoggoth was also the bellwether of the field of art and culture in the Republic of Northwest. With a smile, he took a wine jug and passed it over to his companion.

Owen Hart, an elector of the God of Knowledge and Culture who was from the Hart Family that was well-loved by their people, whose family had worshipped the God of Scholars for hundreds of years, was someone who could inherit the title of Baron anytime. He smiled and received the wine jug.

“Honestly, I don’t fancy spirits,” he said; yet without hesitation, he opened the lid and tilted his head to take a big gulp.

Then his face turned red immediately, as though there was a blazing flame.

“How can a man not drink spirits!” said Shoggoth. With a smile, he said, “You’re a grown-up now. Don’t be so wishy-washy like when you just came here.”

“Age doesn’t mean anything to me,” said Owen. “Just like how the intensity of this wine holds no significance to you. I just simply dislike the taste of this wine, that’s all.”

Electors had deathless bodies that were also immune to many abnormal conditions. Being “drunk” was one of them.

If there was a need to, both of them could easily drink the strongest wine in the mortal world as though it was cold water, and no matter how much they drank, at best they would drink until they felt full, but they would never get drunk.

So Owen had never been able to understand why Shoggoth liked drinking so much.

But that did not affect their friendship.

“Speaking of which… you have never attended the great celebration ceremony, haven’t you?” asked Shoggoth, as he took the wine jug from Owen. He raised his hand and brushed it across his face. The colorful paint on his face instantly vanished without a trace, and even his flowery clothes were changed to a long and simple robe. He now looked very similar to Owen in his scholar outfit, who was sitting next to him.

This was their usual daily attire. As for that fanciful outfit, it was just a costume he wore when he was performing on the streets.

“Yes, I have not been to one before. So I am also looking forward to it,” Owen said. “After this celebration ceremony, I will record it down in detail and especially make a golden scroll for it.”

“To that extent? Making an entire volume in gold is not an easy job for you right now.”

“But I feel that there’s a need to. All this while, historians have been overemphasizing on documenting the “major events,” but they think nothing of the lives of people and the various aspects of the society. Or maybe, from their perspectives, the joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness of civilians are simply not worth a mention,” Owen said solemnly. Then he added on, “This is wrong! No matter how great some people are, they too came from ordinary people. No matter how major an event is, it still began from the accumulation of minor things where it first started to develop. As a historian, I want to record all the joy, anger, sorrow and happiness; these are emotions that ordinary people should remember, and I also want to record the causes and effects of major events influencing the world.”

“That is quite difficult,” said Shoggoth as he himself took a sip of wine. Then he went on to say, “Your lifetime, I’m afraid, will be spent doing this.”

“What’s wrong with that? Finding something worthy for you to spend a lifetime doing, then spending your lifetime to do it well. Such a life is simply perfect.”

Shoggoth nodded and said, “In a way, you are also right. Being able to spend a lifetime doing something worthwhile and doing it well, such a life could be said to be perfect. Oh how envious I am, of you!”

“What about you?” Owen asked.

Shoggoth laughed and said, “I’m not as solemn as you are, and I’m also not as serious as you. I only need to be a good bard, to bring laughter and joy to people and spread those wonderful ideas, interesting stories, beautiful music. That’s enough for me.”

“This is good too.”

“Of course, I’m also an elector, after all. If I don’t do well, it will be as good as an insult to His Majesty’s judgment!”

“Haha! It’s getting late, and I’m also feeling a little hungry. Shall we go have a meal?”

“Great, it’s your treat.”

“Great writer, I think you are much richer than me.”

“You are a nobleman, right? The noble one does not pay, while I, the civilian, has to give a treat, does that make sense to you?”

The two gradually walked afar; then slowly, they walked into one of the nearby restaurants.

The public square was filled with people who marveled and laughed.