Allen took a deep breath, smoothed the wrinkled sleeve of his robe that Livia had crumpled, raised his hand, and gently knocked three times on the thick oak door.
“Please, come in.”
An old, gentle voice came from inside the room.
Allen pushed the door open and walked in side by side with Livia.
The scene inside the office was just as familiar as he remembered.
There was none of the luxury or ostentation of an ordinary noble’s study.
Huge floor-to-ceiling windows let in the morning sunlight without reservation, illuminating the dust floating in the air and the bookshelves that nearly reached the ceiling.
The shelves were packed with all kinds of books—from hardcover, finely bound classics to yellowed, ancient manuscripts—exuding a rich, scholarly scent of accumulated knowledge.
An old man in a simple scholar’s robe stood by the window, trimming a pot of thriving orchids.
Hearing the noise, he put down his small scissors and turned around.
He was Grégoire de Montbazon, the headmaster of St. Nora Sigil Academy.
Time had carved deep wrinkles into his face, but it hadn’t taken away the clarity and wisdom in his eyes.
Those deep brown eyes were gentle and calm, as if they could see through all the problems in the world.
A kind smile on his face, he quickly walked over to greet them.
“Sir Allen, Miss Livia. My apologies for not being able to welcome you in person—I’ve been busy.”
“You’re too kind, sir.” Allen gave a slight bow, his tone respectful but not humble. “It’s we who have disturbed your peace.”
Livia also performed a bow, her voice clear and cold: “It’s been a long time. You look as hale as ever.”
When she first arrived in the capital, it was this very headmaster who had personally invited her to enroll.
But her “long time” also carried the weight of countless cycles of reincarnation.
“Haha, you young people are the ones who truly shine.” Grégoire laughed heartily and gestured for them to sit in the seating area by the window. “Please, sit down. No need to be formal.”
They took their seats as instructed.
Grégoire walked over to an antique wooden cabinet, took out a delicate set of white porcelain tea utensils, and skillfully began preparing tea for them.
He used a small silver spoon to scoop several curled, dark green leaves from a tin tea canister and placed them into the warmed teapot.
Then, he lifted a long-spouted copper kettle and poured hot water—steaming and at just the right temperature—into the pot in a rhythmically elegant motion.
The tea leaves slowly unfurled in the water, and a faint, elegant fragrance mingling sea breeze and grass instantly filled the office.
“The tea culture of our Kingdom of Lorraine may not have the long history of those ancient nations, but it has its own unique flavor.”
Grégoire smiled, pouring the pale green, clear tea into small cups.
“Different teas require different water temperatures and steeping times to bring out their best flavor. The principle is not much different from education.”
“Every student is a unique tea leaf, needing to be guided in the way that suits them best, so they can shine with their own light.”
He handed the two cups to Allen and Livia, then picked up his own, took a sip, and wore a look of enjoyment on his face.
Allen lifted his cup. The fresh, brisk aroma made his spirits rise.
Sea Mist Tears. The top-grade green tea from the Brittany province of the kingdom—named for the constant sea mist that shrouded the tea gardens.
He hadn’t expected the old headmaster to treat him to this.
Livia curiously examined the clear liquid in her cup.
The Empire had no tea-drinking tradition, and she had never been interested in such refined aristocratic pastimes.
But seeing Allen’s appreciative demeanor, she imitated him, brought the cup to her lips, and took a small sip.
A refreshing sweetness, tinged with a slight astringency, bloomed on her taste buds, as if she had swallowed the first breeze of a morning by the sea.
She was slightly startled.
Since being healed by Allen, her numb taste buds seemed to have fully recovered, allowing her to clearly distinguish such complex layers of flavor.
“How does it taste?” Grégoire asked with a chuckle.
“A very unique flavor,” Livia answered honestly.
At that moment, the headmaster turned his gaze to Allen, a hint of examination shining in his wise eyes.
“Sir Allen, since you also understand tea, could you tell me how the unique tea culture of our Kingdom of Lorraine actually came to be?”
This sudden question caught even the top student Livia off guard.
She looked at Allen, only to find no surprise on his face—instead, he wore a knowing smile.
Allen drank tea often in his daily life. As a meticulous freak and a transmigrator, he had indeed done in-depth research on how the people of the kingdom managed to get their hands on tea.
“The tea of the Kingdom of Lorraine originally came by sea trade. Because it was rare and expensive, it was once a luxury enjoyed only by a few great nobles.” Allen set down his cup and spoke freely.
“Precisely because it was expensive, some people wondered whether our kingdom could also grow this miraculous crop. However, tea plants are delicate and have extremely strict requirements for soil and climate. Countless attempts ended in failure.”
“It wasn’t until a hundred years ago that a botanist discovered that the western province of Brittany—with its mild winters, cool summers, ample rainfall, and hilly terrain—perfectly suited the growth characteristics of tea plants.”
“Through the efforts of several generations, by hybridization and selective breeding, they miraculously managed to cultivate green and black tea varieties adapted to our kingdom’s terroir.” Allen’s tone carried a note of respect.
“The tea we drink today is the result of the wisdom and hard work of countless common people. Precisely because it was hard-won and low-yield, the tea farmers of Lorraine emphasize terroir—the influence of local unique soil and climate on the flavor of the tea.”
“The tea plants in Brittany have a long growing season and moderate day-night temperature differences, giving our tea a particularly fresh, sweet taste with a unique mineral-like note reminiscent of seaweed.”
“The nobles of our neighboring empire always think they can get everything by force, but they can’t even get a taste of this small leaf.” Allen’s tone turned somewhat teasing.
“They covet the wealth and prosperity of our kingdom, but they completely fail to see that all of this is rooted in our people’s inexhaustible creativity. And they habitually ignore their own subjects—that’s why they will never create true wealth.”
After hearing Allen’s almost perfect answer, Grégoire nodded repeatedly with satisfaction, his eyes full of approval.
“Well said! Very well said!” He clapped his hands in admiration.
“Sir Allen, your understanding of the kingdom far exceeds my expectations. Tea is part of our daily life, yet few people would go as deep as you to uncover the story behind it, to see the wisdom and achievements of the common people buried by history.”
Livia listened quietly, a ripple stirring in her heart.
She raised the cup to her lips again. This time, she savored the sweetness carefully.
She wanted to understand and try the things Allen liked.
This unfamiliar urge to share left her feeling new and even more curious about Allen’s world.
Grégoire looked at the young man before him, his heart full of emotion.
Not to mention the Crest Encyclopedia, which was enough to stir up a storm in academic circles, but just from what he had heard from His Majesty the King about this “God’s Messenger” and his various deeds, he knew that this small academy had welcomed a true heavyweight.
Therefore, Grégoire personally graded Allen’s entrance exam.
He could tell at a glance that the person who wrote that paper had the ability to get a perfect score, but had deliberately left “flaws” in many questions.
It wasn’t a mistake; it was a way of mocking the outdated and rigid curriculum with a near-sarcastic attitude.
Didn’t Grégoire himself understand, just as well?
St. Nora Sigil Academy was essentially an army camp disguised as a school, not a temple of knowledge.
Its primary goal was to tame the students, not to teach them to pursue the truth.
Grégoire had served three generations of kings and had been headmaster for decades.
But as he spent his long years in the academy, devoting his whole life to the field of education, his mindset gradually changed.
He had seen generation after generation of students leave—some fading into obscurity, some shining bright—and then welcomed more young people.
One generation would eventually grow old, but there would always be those forever young.
Being with young people, Grégoire’s passionate heart never grew old.
He loved the academy, he loved the cause of education, and he loved these ever-vibrant lives.
“A teacher is one who is learned and upright.”
As a scholar and educator, Grégoire embodied what it meant to be a true teacher.
Even now, he still taught on the front lines, holding a professorship.
It was precisely because of this that, within his power, he silently protected those students who truly sought knowledge and upheld justice.
In past cycles, both Allen and Livia had been his students, and when they faced injustice and bullying, they had received shelter from this old man.
It was this warmth that prevented Allen from completely despairing of humanity during his endless cycles of hopelessness.
“Speaking of which, what are your impressions of the academy? Are there any areas that need improvement?” Grégoire’s tone shifted as if he were chatting with an old friend.
Allen’s stomach instinctively clenched at those words.
He hated it, he absolutely hated the academy. Even paradise, after dying hundreds of times over and over, would turn into hell.
For Livia, too, this place was a prison—nothing good to say.
The two exchanged a glance and, with unspoken understanding, said some harmless pleasantries and offered some neutral suggestions.
Grégoire seriously wrote them down in his notebook, then changed the subject to Allen’s Crest Encyclopedia.
“In the Crest Encyclopedia you gave me, the analysis of various sigils is extremely insightful. But I’m curious—how did you come to know these secrets that are not passed down?”
He then turned to Livia, curiosity in his scholarly eyes. “Miss Livia, is the description of the Stellar Sigil in the book accurate?”
Hearing the detailed content that matched perfectly without a single deviation, a strange joy surged in Livia’s heart.
This man understood her better than she understood herself.
But that joy was soon replaced by her warrior instincts.
She immediately gave Allen a reproachful look that said, “How could you sell my information like that?”
Allen shrugged innocently. “We were enemies before. Sharing intel on our opponents is normal, isn’t it?”
Livia humphed softly, and then she decisively supplemented Grégoire’s Crest Encyclopedia by telling him the abilities and weaknesses of the powerful enemies she had fought in past cycles.
Seeing the unspoken understanding between the two that left no room for anyone else, Grégoire stroked his beard with a glint of amusement in his eyes.
He suddenly remembered the gossip about them and joked, “Although the academy encourages free love, you two had better remember your identity as students and not cause any ‘incidents’ here, okay? Otherwise, as headmaster, I’ll have a hard time dealing with it.”
Allen nearly choked on his tea. He thought, ‘You’re old and still so gossipy. And shouldn’t you be forbidding campus romance?’
But Livia, upon hearing this, actually blushed—a faint, unnatural red staining her cool, beautiful face, and she silently lowered her head.
Allen looked at her in confusion.
No way? Was she blushing over that?
In past cycles, she had killed quite a few cultists and villains in the academy.
So Livia could actually feel shame for being a battle maniac who didn’t fit the “student” identity?
Ah well, she was a girl after all; she still cared about others’ opinions.
After chatting for a while, Grégoire felt it was time to get to the point.
“The Holy Scripture says: ‘When an orange tree is planted south of the Huai River, it becomes an orange; when planted north of it, it becomes a trifoliate orange.’”
He skillfully steered the conversation back.
“Sir Allen, just as this foreign tea leaf eventually adapted to our kingdom’s terroir and became part of our culture—you are an excellent scholar and know the academy well. For the reform of the academy, what kind of plan do you intend to propose?”
The moment he finished speaking, the atmosphere in the office changed.
Allen’s sitting posture immediately straightened.
The mild-mannered student facade faded from his face, replaced by the scheming look of the “Child of the Dawn.”
“Sir Grégoire, before I talk about my plan, may I ask you a few questions?”
“Of course. Please, go ahead.”
“How much do you know about Livia and me?”
“As much as His Majesty knows, I know,” Grégoire answered without any loopholes.
“I see.” Allen nodded.
Since that old fox Louis XI had already laid his cards on the table, today’s conversation could be fully delved into without holding back.
In a sense, as the behind-the-scenes leader of the kingdom’s reforms, Allen was the one coming to assign tasks.
“Then you must also know how important the academy’s reform is within the overall reform of the kingdom?”
“Naturally. That’s exactly why I wanted to discuss this in detail with you. It’s a matter of great importance, and it has to be completed within just a month or two—there’s no room for carelessness.”
“Then I have one last question.”
Allen’s gaze grew intense, looking straight into Grégoire’s eyes. “It takes ten years to grow a tree, but a hundred years to nurture a person. Sir Grégoire, what do you think about the future of St. Nora Sigil Academy?”
This question made Grégoire fall into deep thought.
He stroked his white beard and answered seriously, “You’ve really stumped me with that question. I’m old; any day I might pass away in this position. The future of the academy… I think I can’t see clearly.”
“No, you’re still young.” Allen’s tone suddenly turned deep and forceful.
“But your academy—it is truly old and decrepit.”
“I’m afraid that before you return to the Paradise of the Lord, your academy… will lose its future.”
The office fell silent instantly. Even the chirping of birds outside the window seemed suppressed by the heavy atmosphere.
Livia’s heart tightened as she looked at Allen’s expressionless profile.
The smile on Grégoire’s face gradually faded.
He stared at the young man who had suddenly transformed into a stern critic, and his brows deeply furrowed.
“How… do you mean?”