Chapter Fifty-Five: You Are the First Person Who Can Understand

“All right, Harold. I’ll tell Stuart not to trouble you in your dreams anymore,” Louis withdrew his gaze and looked at Harold.

“Thank you for your magnanimity, and for showing mercy. I know I’ve killed many, but they all deserved it…” A flicker of pain and anger flashed in Harold’s eyes.

On the way over, Louis had glimpsed some of Harold’s dreams. Regarding what Harold had just spoken of, Louis refrained from judging too harshly.

Harold looked at Louis with a complicated expression and said, “Sir, Stuart told me that you are Polst, but I don’t believe it…”

Louis said nothing more. After seeing those dreams, he had no intention of tampering with Harold’s subconscious—such methods were beneath him.

It was enough to leave the agents with the impression that the Faceless One was Polst.

“Harold, you’re a discerning man. Some things need not be said aloud.”

Suddenly, Harold burst into laughter. He gave a slight bow and said, “Sir, in this world, I fear only the ‘Thousand-Faced Lantern Reaper’ is worthy to be your shadow.”

Louis nodded, recalling the scripts Stuart had mentioned—Polst, under the alias “Gale” in the mundane world, was a legendary writer, revered almost as Shakespeare. Even Osyclis owned several collections of Gale’s works, and the script enthusiast in the office practically worshipped Gale’s masterpieces.

It was evident that Polst possessed a far richer imagination and creativity than Harold.

“He is indeed a man of great talent,” Louis couldn’t help but nod.

Suddenly, Harold’s eyes lit up. If even the Faceless One spoke of Polst with such certainty, then Polst must truly have spared him on purpose.

In this stay at Hexagonal Magic Prison, he absolutely must have some more fun with him!

“All right, Harold, you mentioned you had some interesting things to share—let’s hear them,” Louis said, drawing his gaze back from the sky to Harold. “I just glimpsed some of your ideas in your dreams, but it seems there are quite a few errors.”

Harold stood there, mouth agape, stunned for a moment. Then a feverish excitement burst into his eyes. He’d longed to tell someone about these things—so few ever understood, but perhaps he could finally communicate with the Faceless One.

At first, out of fear for the Faceless One, the fat man recounted his ideas rather timidly. But as he went on, he grew more and more animated, soon gesticulating wildly and talking with abandon.

Louis would nod from time to time, offering Harold a few words of praise—creativity, after all, is founded on knowledge and experience, and in this era, to imagine so much was already rare.

Many of Harold’s magical ideas were ahead of their time, even bordering on madness. Some notions were so wildly imaginative as to be downright hilarious.

Yet Louis never mocked or dismissed him; instead, he would step into Harold’s shoes and seriously consider his perspectives.

Occasionally, he would correct some of Harold’s “common sense” mistakes. When Harold questioned him, Louis didn’t frown but instead used complete logic to explain.

After listening, the fat man was dumbfounded—much of what the Faceless One said seemed obviously “wrong,” even fantastical, but Harold believed the Faceless One was right and he himself was mistaken.

And when Harold pondered further, he realized the Faceless One’s ideas, though they upended all common knowledge and were deeply unsettling—because they lacked perfection—were, in fact, logically consistent. They could truly explain many laws of the world and magical knowledge that had no answers!

There was one statement that left Harold speechless and perplexed—the Faceless One claimed that only theories which could be “falsified” were real theories.

Otherwise, they were merely theology.

This shattered Harold’s understanding of magic, for every magical theory he’d ever seen was unfalsifiable, all so-called perfect systems!

The Faceless One had negated every theory ever devised by the world’s wizards.

Which meant, in the Faceless One’s eyes, everyone who “played” at magic was a wild sorcerer.

Or, in the Faceless One’s view, in this world, no one truly knew magic—there was no difference between wizard and mundane.

As the conversation went on, Harold grew ever more astonished, until finally cold sweat began to drip from his face.

Because he realized that the Faceless One seemed to be right about everything.

Perhaps Louis had spoken a bit too much, for he noticed Harold standing there, mouth agape, speechless.

Louis couldn’t help but shake his head and sigh to himself.

Evidently, all the things Harold found difficult to grasp, fearing that no one would understand, Louis understood perfectly. But those things Louis considered simple, Harold listened to as if they were an alien tongue.

Louis regressed to the stage of apprentice enlightenment, explaining the most “basic” material from Modern Magical Theory I.

At first, Harold still wore a thoroughly bewildered look, but through Louis’s clever analogies and engaging demonstrations, after much hard mental effort, he managed to digest a little.

And after that, Harold began to tremble all over.

“Incredible that you would be willing to share such ‘secrets’ with me…” Harold was overcome with emotion, gripping his hat tightly, unsure what to say.

He began to suspect that the Faceless One before him might be the god of magic himself—for what he knew about magic exceeded the limits of Harold’s imagination.

In the eyes of the Faceless One, who qualified to be an apprentice?

Clearly, he himself was unworthy...

“Mr. Harold, there’s no need to be so reserved. Speaking with you has been a genuine pleasure.”

After saying this, Louis sighed deeply. “You’re the first person who’s ever managed to understand the things taught in the ‘first grade’.”