“Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. François.”
Allen, in a good mood, closed the study door, isolating the faint bustle from the rest of the mansion.
François — once a minor clerk at City Hall and now a culture teacher for Dawn’s Children — appeared somewhat constrained.
His fingers subconsciously twisted one slightly aged button on his coat.
Despite it being summer, he still wore this gentleman’s outfit, which seemed to be his most respectable.
Allen could not help but complain internally: ‘Aren’t you hot? Even a Noble like me has changed into light clothing; is there really a need to keep up appearances like that?’
Of course, Allen did not know that François simply did not have the money to buy new clothes, or rather, he believed that money should be spent where it mattered most.
“A calm heart naturally keeps one cool. Why care about external things?”
Although François held such thoughts, his sweat continued to flow uncontrollably. He could not tell if it was because of the heat or nervousness.
François watched as Allen walked behind the desk, casually pushing aside the stacks of account books, unfinished manuscripts, and various design sketches.
Then, Allen looked up, revealing a defenseless, calm smile that François had never seen on the faces of other Nobles.
“Please sit, Mr. François. Did you need something? I thought I gave you the day off today,” Allen said, pointing to the armchair across from the desk.
“Actually, My Lord — ” François chose his words carefully as he slowly sat down, “I have… some confusion.”
“Oh, are you worried about losing your job as a teacher?” Allen said understandingly. “Rest assured, you have performed very well. It is just that everyone has been quite busy lately, so classes need to be suspended for a while. However, you are on paid leave; your salary will be issued as usual.”
It seemed that was not what François wanted to say.
He looked into Allen’s eyes, which had turned golden for some reason, and suddenly felt an impulse to be completely honest.
He let out a soft sigh and said, “The light flickering in the eyes of those children, their pure thirst for knowledge, and everything you have done for them… it does not seem like simple charity, or even an ambitious Noble cultivating private forces. This… is very different.”
Allen knew François was a clever man. He was not worried that this small citizen, who had nowhere else to turn but to him, would betray him.
He was more curious about why François wanted to have a deep conversation with him after vaguely guessing that neither the students nor the employer were simple.
“How is it different?” Allen leaned forward slightly, asking with great interest.
“The purpose.” François summoned his courage and looked Allen directly in the eye. “They are not learning literacy to better recite prayers; they are not learning arithmetic to more accurately exploit tenant farmers; and they are certainly not learning history to pledge loyalty to Nobles.”
“You seem to be igniting… something I cannot precisely describe. A… spirit of doubt? The courage to ask ‘why.’ This is dangerous, My Lord. What exactly are you trying to do?”
Allen did not answer immediately.
He remained silent for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the manuscripts he had just written that afternoon, as if organizing his words or perhaps scrutinizing the bold yet meticulous little figure before him.
“Mr. François,” he finally spoke, his voice steady and clear, “you once worked at City Hall and saw with your own eyes how the Bureaucratic System of the Kingdom operates. How do you view everything we have now?”
This question seemed to open a floodgate within François. Bitterness and resentment surged into his heart.
“Corruption! Deep-rooted corruption! Nepotism! Incompetent fools occupy high positions simply because of their noble bloodline or because they are wealthy! True talent is worthless, just like I — “
Halfway through his sentence, François felt it was inappropriate.
‘How could I praise my own talent in front of this humble Master?’
Moreover, it was this man who had recruited him when he was unrecognized and frustrated. ‘I should say less of these complaints.’
Thus, François shifted his attack to his former superiors. “The bureaucrats only care about how to fill their own Bank Vaults and how to please their superiors. As for the starving farmers outside the city or the struggling craftsmen inside? No one cares!”
“Documents pile up like mountains, but only for the purpose of delaying time and soliciting bribes! It is a massive machine serving only a few — cold, inefficient, and devoid of any mercy!”
His voice trembled slightly with excitement; these long-accumulated frustrations had clearly been boiling in his heart for a long time.
Allen listened quietly, and only after François finished did he slowly nod.
“You are right. These are all nauseating, festering sores. However,” he changed the subject, “they may not be the most core disease.”
François was stunned. “…What?”
“This system, for now, might be ‘efficient’ — of course, in the sense of maintaining the rule of the Crested Noble.” Allen’s fingertips lightly tapped the desk.
“Think about it. A powerful Crested Noble possesses personal strength enough to rival one small army. In a world where such individual great power actually exists, does a knight system based on bloodline, loyalty, and land enfeoffment not seem like the most ‘natural’ and ‘stable’ choice?”
“The Absolute Monarchy promoted by the Kingdom of Lorraine can also be seen as a difficult attempt to incorporate this personal martial force into the national framework. From the logic of pure power, this system… has its own internal rationality.”
François frowned, clearly unable to agree completely.
“So, the root of the problem may not lie in whether the design of the system itself is perfect,” Allen continued to explain his viewpoint, “but rather in the thoughts driving the operation of this system — those deep-rooted feudal privilege ideas that believe people are born unequal, that some are born to rule, and others are born to be ruled!”
“It is like the air, omnipresent, penetrating into everyone’s marrow, allowing the ruled to endure with a clear conscience and the rulers to extract with perfect justification. This is the foundation that most needs to be shaken.”
“Thoughts… how can they be shaken?” François felt himself being led into a territory he had never heard of before.
“Through ‘Enlightenment’.” Allen uttered this heavy word.
“Enlightenment?”
“Imagine an underground cave,” Allen’s voice lowered, carrying a mysterious sense as if telling a fable. “
A group of people has been bound by chains since childhood, facing the wall of the cave. Behind them is a burning fire, and the light of the fire projects the shadows of moving objects outside onto the wall. Throughout their lives, they can only see these flickering shadows, so they believe this is the entirety of the real world.”
François was involuntarily drawn in by this metaphor, as if he himself were a member of that cave.
“Later, one person breaks free from the shackles, turns around, and sees the firelight and the objects themselves. He struggles, enduring the piercing pain, and crawls out of the cave. For the first time, he sees the real world under the sun — the flowers, trees, mountains, rivers, lakes, seas, and the vast starry sky. He suddenly realizes that what he saw in the past was nothing more than crude imitations and phantoms.”
“He… he can never go back,” François murmured, as if he were that escapee.
“Yes, he cannot go back. He can no longer argue endlessly with his companions in the cave about the size and order of the shadows on the wall. His only thought is to return to the cave and tell everyone the truth, even if he is mocked as a madman or even killed by those companions who are accustomed to the shadows and fear the truth.”
Allen’s gaze became incredibly burning, and his golden eyes began to shimmer with a majestic light.
“To leave the cave and see reality — that is ‘Enlightenment.’ And once one has seen the light, one can no longer settle for the darkness. This ‘seeing’ itself contains the power and necessity for change.”
The study fell into silence, with only the faint chirping of birds coming from outside the window.
François felt his heart beating violently in his chest.
Recalling his realizations from today, Allen paused and switched to a more realistic way of speaking.
“Or, think about the ultimate predicament each of us is born with — death. We all know we will eventually die. This is an ultimate, irresistible negativity. However, strangely enough, it is precisely the awareness of this negativity that can stimulate the most flourishing vitality of life.”
He thought of his experiences through countless cycles of reincarnation, and his tone became deeper.
“A life that only pursues positivity — one that only cares about living with its head down, only wanting to survive, avoiding all pain and risk — has actually already lost its vitality. The anxiety of being unable to survive will drain a person’s last bit of spiritual energy, causing the soul to wither long before the breathing stops.”
“Living like the walking dead, only surviving until death. What does that look like?”
“This… this is simply being a slave,” François whispered.
He remembered his days at City Hall, trembling with fear of making mistakes, only wanting to keep his job. Was that not just “surviving”? Was he not a slave to thought?
“Exactly!” Allen affirmed. “‘Enlightenment’ is truly realizing the existence of these chains and summoning the courage to rid oneself of that self-induced state of immaturity — no longer willing to let others think for us, no longer willing to accept a destiny that has been arranged, seemingly stable but actually hopeless.”
“It is a movement calling upon people to use their own reason to boldly examine everything, including the meaning of our existence and the source of power.”
François took a deep breath, feeling something inherent in his mind being completely shattered, only to begin reassembling in a dazzling light.
He was silent for a long time, struggling to digest these shocking yet seductive thoughts.
“What… what do you want me to do?” he finally asked, his voice somewhat hoarse with excitement.
“There are many forms of battle, Mr. François. Picking up a weapon and taking to the streets is one of the most intense, but often the last, choices.” Allen’s tone became incredibly sincere.
“But before that, we need to cultivate the soil of thought even more. We need more people who have walked out of the cave; we need to awaken those sleeping souls who are used to merely surviving.”
He handed François a book he had just finished writing that afternoon.
“I hope you can serve as the Headmaster of Morning Star Night School. It is not a Noble salon, but a night school for all craftsmen, apprentices, peddlers, and even housewives.”
“Go there, not to teach them how to better obey, but to teach them how to think. Ignite the light in their eyes, just as you have already done with the children.”
François took the book. The large words on the cover made his heart nearly stop — *The Social Contract*.
He tremblingly flipped through a few pages, quickly scanning the discussions on “General Will,” “Popular Sovereignty,” and “Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains.” His face turned pale one moment and flushed the next.
What he held did not seem to be a book, but a burning coal sufficient to incinerate the entire Old World.
François slammed the book shut and held it tightly to his chest.
This book was both a dangerous secret and a heavy hope.
He looked up, the last trace of hesitation in his eyes replaced by a firm light.
“I… I do not know if I can do it well, My Lord. But you are right. Those who have seen the light can no longer return to the darkness with a clear conscience. I… I am willing to try.”
A brilliant smile instantly blossomed on Allen’s face, making him look like a young boy who had received his favorite toy.
“Wonderful! Mr. François, you have made an incredibly important choice. To celebrate…” He winked mischievously.
“Please do me the honor of attending a dinner at the Laval House tonight. I will personally cook a… well, a mysterious dish from The East for you and my father. I call it ‘Curry.’ It has a rich aroma and a unique flavor. I guarantee you have never tasted it in Lorraine, or even in the entire world.”
“Cur… ry?”
François struggled to repeat the strange word, his curiosity completely piqued.
Knowledge, philosophy, and a cuisine he had never heard of… how many more unexpected “Enlightenments” could this young employer bring?
He looked at Allen’s warm and powerful smile, and the unease in his heart was gradually replaced by an unprecedented sense of expectation.
He nodded vigorously. “It would be an honor, My Lord.”