Chapter 11: The Forsaken and the Conceptual Deity

Yalin was a man forsaken by the gods.

He found himself unable to wield magic, for nearly every deity had withheld their aether from him.

Yet, there remained one remarkable exception.

This particular deity, acting on an inscrutable whim, showered Yalin with an abundance of aether, as if it were a boundless fount. Such an extraordinary display of favor even led Yalin to ponder if he might, in fact, be their clandestine offspring.

The annals of the gods stretched back to an era beyond human recollection, yet the vast majority of deities had their histories meticulously documented and carefully preserved.

It was precisely this meticulous record-keeping that allowed mortals to acquire their aether through prayer, thereby channeling their respective divine authorities.

The crux of the matter, however, was that Yalin had no notion whatsoever of this benevolent deity’s identity.

Despite scouring every tome within the academy’s vast libraries, he had failed to unearth a single mention of this enigmatic god.

This was an unknown god!

Consequently, the situation had grown rather awkward.

While brimming with an immense reservoir of aether, Yalin remained ignorant of the deity’s specific authorities, rendering him utterly incapable of casting any related spells.

It was akin to someone possessing billions of Zimbabwean dollars: outwardly appearing fabulously wealthy, yet in reality, unable to afford even a single meal.

Could such a precious resource truly be allowed to lie dormant and unused within him?

After considerable deliberation, a sudden idea sparked within Yalin’s mind.

Deities existed as beings in a higher dimension, and aether, in essence, was the projection of their divine will onto this world.

Therefore, beyond merely enabling mortals to tap into divine authority, aether possessed yet another profound application—

It was the direct summoning of a fragment of a deity into this earthly realm.

Indeed, centuries prior, scholars had entertained similar conjectures, and numerous studies had theoretically affirmed the feasibility of such an endeavor.

The insurmountable obstacle, however, was the minuscule amount of aether ordinary individuals could ever hope to acquire.

Even someone as inherently blessed as Celeste possessed insufficient aether to fully manifest a deity’s will upon the world.

Consequently, research into this domain was swiftly abandoned, never to be revisited.

Yalin, however, was an anomaly.

The aether within him flowed ceaselessly, an abnormal abundance that ensured even a fraction of its power would be more than sufficient to accomplish the summoning.

Drawing upon long-lost records and ancient knowledge, Yalin successfully harnessed the aether to forge what he termed a ‘Conceptual Deity’.

This was a ritual art (TL Note: A magical technique or spell) designed to actualize the divine form, constructed entirely from aether, within this very world.

Naturally, being merely a conceptual construct, it could never truly compare to a genuine deity, nor could it achieve complete physical manifestation.

Nevertheless, even in its incomplete state, it represented a devastating, dimension-shattering blow (TL Note: A Chinese slang term, ‘jiangwei daji,’ referring to an overwhelming attack or advantage where one operates on a completely different level of power) to anyone in this world.

For instance, while his previous sword strike had merely severed Totomia’s waistband, Yalin, if he so desired, could effortlessly cleave an entire classroom in two.

Could such an invincible ability truly come without a price?

‘Indeed, my friend, there is a cost.’

The sole price for summoning a Conceptual Deity was—an exorbitant drain on funds.

This wasn’t merely a small expenditure; it was an utterly outrageous, soul-crushing expense!

After all, a ‘Conceptual Deity’ could not simply materialize from nothingness; it required a tangible, material medium in the real world to anchor itself.

The materials demanded for such a medium were, quite frankly, ludicrously expensive!

While the necessary equipment for its creation had been “borrowed indefinitely” (TL Note: A humorous way of saying Yalin got it for free or stole it from an ‘old man’ figure, implying either a mentor or someone he frequently ‘borrows’ from without permission), he certainly couldn’t pilfer these precious raw materials from the laboratory on a daily basis.

With no other recourse, he was forced to purchase them with his own hard-earned money.

These were the very funds he had so painstakingly amassed while acting as a ‘simp’ (TL Note: A Chinese slang term, ‘tiangou,’ referring to someone who excessively fawns over another person, often for romantic attention, similar to ‘bootlicker’ or ‘sycophant’).

Yet, in less than three fleeting seconds, the expended medium had already amounted to nearly a thousand Lire.

Yalin’s heart ached at the thought; such a sum could easily cover his and Carol’s meals for an entire week.

To think it had been squandered on something so utterly mundane…

‘I am still far too immature,’ he mused.

Yalin silently chastised himself, his thoughts a whirlwind of self-reproach.

Capitalizing on the ensuing commotion, he swiftly departed the classroom.

‘No more dwelling,’ he thought, ‘time is pressing; I must hasten to my next client!’

Within the confines of the laboratory.

Wendy gazed blankly at the half-finished manuscript resting on her desk.

Typically a paragon of focus, she could usually immerse herself in research with remarkable speed; yet, today, her mind remained stubbornly unsettled, refusing to find peace.

After a prolonged, fruitless stare, Wendy finally conceded defeat to the dense thicket of formulas, exhaling a soft sigh.

Her gaze drifted to the now-empty plate beside her, and a strange tightness constricted her chest.

The coffee had been exquisite.

Not only were the beans ground to a delicate smoothness, but Yalin had also thoughtfully added honey and milk to soften its flavor, creating a truly mellow brew.

The sandwich, too, had been delectable.

The bread slices, chosen from the softest part of the loaf, cradled crisp, vibrant lettuce and ripe, fresh tomatoes, all complemented by perfectly fried bacon. Both the texture and flavor had been impeccably balanced.

Even a single bite revealed the considerable thought and effort Yalin had poured into its preparation.

But why…

Why had it taken her until this very day to finally notice these small, thoughtful details?

In truth, Wendy had never cultivated the habit of eating breakfast.

Even amidst the most demanding research, if hunger truly struck, she would merely appease it with dry bread and tap water, never indulging in such exquisitely prepared meals.

It was only after Yalin’s arrival, with his daily, inventive preparations of breakfast, that Wendy had slowly, almost imperceptibly, adopted the habit of eating in the mornings.

She lifted her gaze.

The laboratory, a chaotic mess just yesterday, now stood impeccably clean, not a speck of dust in sight.

Everything was meticulously organized, a sight truly pleasing to the eye.

This, too, was Yalin’s doing.

No matter how many times she left the space in disarray, Yalin would unfailingly and patiently tidy it, as if the laboratory were his own personal abode.

Yet, despite all his efforts, she had never once offered Yalin a word of praise, not even a simple ‘thank you’.

Having been born into a prominent mercantile family, Wendy had witnessed the sordid dance of transactional exchanges from a tender age. This upbringing had instilled in her an innate revulsion for those driven solely by monetary gain.

Such individuals, she knew, would readily abandon anything—

Familial bonds, moral integrity, even the fundamental tenets of human decency—all were deemed inferior to the cold, hard gleam of gold coins in their eyes.

To Wendy, they were nothing short of utter scum.

Thus, when Yalin first proposed a salary, Wendy had, without a second thought, relegated him to the same contemptible category.

Preparing breakfast, tidying the room—she had convinced herself these were merely ploys to extract more money from her.

‘If he desires money so greatly, then I shall simply give it to him,’ she had reasoned.

After all, she was hardly short of funds; as a distinguished professor at Arcadia Academy, her wealth was such that she could squander it for a lifetime and still not exhaust it.

Yet, was Yalin truly the mercenary individual she had so readily imagined, one who would stoop to any depths for monetary gain?

Wendy’s mind drifted back to the image of Yalin awkwardly concealing his injured hand within his sleeve.

Had he truly been motivated solely by avarice, he could have righteously accused her, perhaps even feigned pitiful helplessness to extort additional compensation.

Yet, he had uttered not a single word.

He had even deliberately concealed the extent of his injury, all to spare her from the pangs of guilt.

Reflecting upon it now, from the daily breakfasts to the meticulous cleaning, it had always been Yalin who silently, tirelessly, gave his all.

Beyond the salary they had initially agreed upon, he had never once requested anything additional from her.

How could such a gentle and considerate soul possibly be equated with those despicable scoundrels?

And what of her own conduct?

Shrouded by her initial prejudices, she had never truly regarded Yalin as her student.

In Wendy’s perception, he was merely a hired tool, paid to maintain the laboratory.

Despite being a student under her direct tutelage, she had never once shown genuine concern for Yalin, taking his diligent efforts entirely for granted.

Even this very morning, in a fit of irritation, she had spoken to him in an unnecessarily aggressive tone.

What kind of behavior was this?

Was it truly she, then, who had been blinded by the allure of money all along?

A torrent of regret and shame washed over her. Wendy lowered her head, her lips pressed into a tight, crimson line.

“Next time… I must sincerely apologize to him.”