Chapter 79: I’ve Already Called You Grandpa

Merlin shrank back slightly, his body curling in on itself like a startled animal. A trace of fear flashed in his eyes. No matter what happens, the fact that I’m a transmigrator can never be exposed. That secret was too dangerous, a truth sharp enough to cut his very life away if it slipped out.

Weber, meanwhile, studied him with curiosity that refused to fade. “Let’s put aside the matter of you being able to preserve the power of faith for the moment. What I really want to know is—what exactly have you done to gather such faith?” His tone carried both genuine puzzlement and a faint edge of disbelief. The old mage narrowed his eyes. This boy… what trick could he possibly have pulled to make people worship him?

Especially here, of all places—inside the Arcane Academy, the very heart of Weber’s domain. Wasn’t Merlin essentially stealing faith right out from under his nose?

True, the amount of faith wasn’t large, and Weber didn’t care much about such scraps. Yet, curiosity burned at him regardless.

Merlin scratched his head, offering an answer that was both sheepish and sly. “Maybe… it’s because of the food I make? The students enjoy my cooking, and since they like my food, they ended up liking me too. That’s probably how I ended up receiving their faith.”

As he spoke, another thought simmered in the back of his mind. Or maybe it’s not just the food. Maybe it’s because I gave them jobs, paid them wages, and in return, their gratitude turned into faith.

The idea planted another seed inside him. So this is how gods are made… If one day I really do become a deity, what sort of god would I be?

The answer burst out in his mind like fireworks. Of course—it has to be a god who can harvest faith efficiently. The God of Wealth! Yes, that’s it!

Merlin’s lips curved with secret delight. There’s no God of Wealth in the entire Aize Continent. If I seize that vacant throne, I could become the very first. After all, money opens every door—even the gates of divinity.

But his excitement cooled as quickly as it had risen. I’m still only a third-tier mage, a far cry from even touching demi-godhood. The God of Wealth can wait. For now, I should focus on survival.

That practical line of thought made him shift to another question: If I can condense faith and even preserve it, maybe I can use it for something real, something tangible.

“Since the power of faith is what the gods need,” Merlin ventured aloud, his eyes gleaming, “then it must be transferable, maybe even tradeable. Otherwise, why would gods go through all the trouble of raising so many divine emissaries? Old man, do you think I could use faith to trade with the gods? And if not gods, then at least with demi-gods?”

His words struck like thunder. Both Weber and Jones stiffened, their expressions twisting into disbelief.

This brat… is he insane? Weber nearly laughed, nearly scolded. You’re just a third-tier mage, and you actually dream of bartering with gods? At best, a god would swat you flat and pluck every drop of faith from your soul. You should count yourself lucky if they don’t crush you for sport.

Still, he admitted inwardly, Though… with the pitiful amount of faith this kid holds, no god would bother lowering themselves.

With a gruff shake of his head, Weber finally spoke. “Faith can indeed be transferred. But as for trading with gods? Forget it. Your scraps wouldn’t interest them, and besides—you’ll never meet a god face-to-face. If you want to deal with someone, a demi-god is the closest you’ll get.”

Jones added with his steady, calm voice: “To communicate with a god, one of two things must happen. Either the god takes notice of you directly, or you go through the church. That means finding clergy, offering prayers and sacrifices, and only then—if you’re lucky—receiving a response.”

Merlin nodded slowly. He hadn’t expected much to begin with. Yes, my faith is tiny now. But later… later, the truly priceless things in this world won’t be bought with gold. By then, faith will become the only currency worth anything.

He flashed them both a grin. “I was only talking. Actually, I came to you for something else.”

Casting his gaze toward the garden, he spotted several small red-crested white-feathered chicks waddling about behind their mother hen. The sight warmed him, though he quickly shifted back to business.

Weber gave a short snort. “I knew it. You never come to us just to deliver drinks. Out with it.”

Merlin chuckled mischievously. From inside his robes, he pulled out a white stone—the protective talisman Jones had given him earlier. He held it up between two fingers. “Grandpa Jones, this amulet you gave me—it seems to have been triggered already. Of the three magic inscriptions, only one remains active.”

Jones spared him a long, knowing glance. “I thought you might not have realized.”

Merlin’s expression turned serious. “Of course I realized. It’s a matter of life and death, after all.”

It was true. His reckless confidence these past days had rested entirely on this stone. He didn’t know exactly what level Weber and Jones had reached, but he wasn’t naïve. Old men who lingered unnoticed within the Arcane Academy, especially here in the tower’s private gardens, were never simple characters.

The Mage Tower was forbidden to ordinary students—only top professors had access. And today’s conversation had revealed even more. These two could perceive faith itself and speak of divine secrets. That alone marked them as at least seventh-tier archmages. Perhaps even eighth-tier—legendary mages whispered about in hushed tones.

But demi-gods? Impossible. A demi-god would never lower themselves to joke around with a mere first-year student, nor covet the food he made. That would cheapen their very status. Demi-gods had already transcended mortal cravings.

Merlin had once guessed they might be sixth-tier at best. Now he realized he had sorely underestimated them.

Weber broke his train of thought with a casual question. “Do you know who’s trying to kill you, boy?”

“How could I know?” Merlin sighed, frustration leaking into his voice. “I don’t even know what they see in me that’s worth my life.”

Jones, without ceremony, etched fresh spells onto the stone—Light’s Vengeance and Shield of Holy Radiance. For a demi-god, such magic was no more difficult than breathing. With a casual flick, he tossed the newly fortified stone back to Merlin.

Merlin caught it with a beaming smile. “Thank you, Grandpa Jones! If I manage to live a safe, peaceful life, I’ll definitely take care of you in your old age.”

Jones twitched at the corner of his lips, torn between amusement and irritation. This boy… what kind of sweet talk is that? He gave a cold snort. “Spare me. I have children of my own. Just remember me when you cook something delicious.”

Weber, meanwhile, tapped his cane against the ground with emphasis. “Anyone daring to make a move inside the Arcane Academy… Do they take the professors for clay dolls? This is nothing less than a challenge to the authority of the Academy’s headmaster.”

Merlin nodded gravely, seizing the chance. “Exactly! If someone acts inside the Academy, they’re not just insulting me, they’re slapping you, Professor, right across the face. And the headmaster’s too. You really should investigate thoroughly.”

Weber gave him a long, silent look, then waved dismissively. “Enough. The Academy will handle it. Since Jones’s stone was already triggered, whoever is targeting you won’t act again so soon. But you’d better stay cautious, or you’ll end up dead by accident.”

Merlin’s eyes brightened mischievously. “Weber-grandpa, is that concern I hear? Why don’t I just move in with you? With your protection, those villains lurking in the shadows wouldn’t dare make a move.”

The old mage nearly choked. This brat wants a demi-god for a bodyguard? Do you think you’re my actual grandson? Fuming, Weber raised his staff and bonked Merlin on the head.

“Get lost! The only reason I care is because if you die, nobody will make me delicious food again.”

Merlin rubbed his sore head, his expression falling flat. So that’s all it is. Here I was, touched by your supposed concern, and it turns out you just don’t want to lose your meals. And I even went out of my way to call you grandpa.

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