Only God

The next day, quite abruptly, Belvan said to the other scholars, "Before we part, let's have a feast."

For many years, they had been immersed in academic research, day and night, and due to differences in beliefs, customs, and ages, as well as academic constraints, they had never held a banquet.

And now, with their research on the "Path of God's Creation" at a standstill, and before leaving, they found themselves with leisure time almost every day.

Once the farewell banquet was suggested, the scholars unanimously agreed. Everyone knew this banquet was no ordinary affair, so they had the servants bring fine wines and cold delicacies from outside the Palace, and arranged for the Palace chefs to prepare the hot dishes on the day of the banquet.

There were countless dining rooms in the Palace, finding an unoccupied one was easy, and keeping it hidden from the likes of Aler was equally effortless. Perhaps the latter, even if aware, wouldn't care, let alone stop the banquet.

By evening, the scholars gathered in the dining room, where the servants had laid out a variety of foods. After the fire incident, a great amount of food had been brought to the Royal City, making the cost of hosting a banquet much less than before.

All scholars knew this was their last banquet; after this, it would be time to part. So, they temporarily cast aside past troubles, disputes with the Dwarves, and academic disputes, fully immersing themselves in the banquet.

Servants sprinkled gold dust inside the dining room, and under the torchlight, the entire room shimmered with golden brilliance. The tables were laden with food that, although not as luxurious as the banquet after Kafu's assassination attempt, was still fitting for the scholars from different countries.

Fine wine was poured into each glass, and the scholars, in high spirits, looked expectantly toward Belvan, waiting for the "host" to declare the start of the feast.

"Drink to your heart's content, eat to your heart's content.

You may not know,

we Dwarves have two great duties in life: one is forging, the other is drinking,"

Belvan said, raising his glass with a loud voice.

Like soldiers hearing the call to war, the scholars began celebrating at Belvan's command. They buzzed like bees in conversation, occasionally bursting into cheerful laughter.

"You Dwarves have two great duties indeed,

but to live joyously is a duty of all mortals,"

a scholar called out.

A burst of laughter erupted at the banquet. The scholars seemed more joyous than ever, shedding their philosophers' reserve and attacking the table's delicacies with abandon. They also discussed various gossips and anecdotes from Kaelonde, their hometowns, or other countries.

Romances in the Temple, high society divorces, restless spirits beneath tombstones, operas of Danschel... they excitedly discussed everything imaginable.

Even Belvan was lost in the fun. Usually, he was a cautious and serious scholar, but now he transformed into a Dwarf visiting the pleasure districts. Slightly tipsy, he began discussing subjects only men would, delving deeper into his tales as the onlookers gaped in amazement. No one would have thought an Alchemist like Belvan would discuss the rosy flesh, the scent of lilacs.

The scholars thoroughly enjoyed themselves at the banquet. Bound by academia, some from the same countries sang folk songs of home, while others glanced at the vases and potted plants in the dining room, unapologetically plucking flowers to weave into garlands to wear on each other's heads. Some, contemplating the sorrow of parting, embraced fellow scholars, shedding tears; those who couldn't find a scholar to embrace turned to the servants nearby and wept openly.

At this banquet, barriers of race, faith, age, Clan, and acquaintance all disappeared. People were like bodiless spirits, as in poetry about the Great Plain: where Heroes revel without restraint.

"This garland is for you!"

A scholar finished weaving a garland and placed it on Belvan's head.

Belvan laughed heartily, pleased. He stood up and looked around at all the scholars, who were now satiated and indulging in the pure joy of the banquet.

Holding the rugged garland, standing in the host's position, he was like a King surveying his subjects as he said,

"Laugh all you want, for we shall soon part.

When I reach the Netherworld, I shall surely boast to the Judges about today's joy."

Roaring laughter broke out once again. At this banquet, people freely joked about "life" and "death," knowing no one would actually end their life in the midst of joy.

"Are there female Judges in the Netherworld? As a True Believer, I won't go there when I die."

"There must be, or how can the Judges judge women fairly?"

"What are you saying, whether male or female, it's the same. Are you suggesting Judges could be seduced by women?"

"Hey, now that you mention it, maybe female Judges could be seduced by men too! Male or female, it's all the same!"

The scholars laughed heartily, speaking carelessly about the Netherworld's scenes.

Amidst the laughter, Belvan had his glass refilled, then discreetly took out a bottle and sprinkled a bit of powder-like substance into it, unnoticed by anyone.

"Death comes to all mortals, unavoidable in any case!"

Belvan declared, holding up his garland-adorned glass,

"Perhaps, after I drink this, I'll be off to the Netherworld in an instant."

Another round of laughter filled the banquet.

A scholar said,

"When you get to the Netherworld, you must write to us to tell if there are female Judges!"

Another tipsy scholar said,

"Oh, I've always hoped to meet a female Judge. Don't mind my size, when I was young, I was quite the genuine handsome man."

In the hall, laughter erupted again, even the servants joined in.

Belvan, following the rhythm of the banquet, joined in the laughter, as if it were all just a trivial joke.

Then, under the watchful eyes of everyone, Belvan drained his glass in one gulp.

"This is truly bitter wine!"

Belvan stuck out his tongue and then looked around at everyone:

"But even if it's a cup of poison, I must drink it to the dregs."

The scholars erupted in a chorus of agreement.

"Right, poison is still wine after all!"

"If there is only one cup of wine left in the Mortal World, even if it's poisoned, it's our duty to drink it."

"Drink, drink, let's drink to the 'poison'!"

As the toasts continued, no one noticed Belvan's face growing paler by the moment.

After everyone had finished a round of drinks, Belvan pointed to the empty cups and said seriously:

"This truly was a cup of poison!"

At that moment, everyone laughed; no one believed him, taking his words for a trivial joke, a mere seasoning to the feast.

Belvan called over a servant, asking him to bring some paper and a pen.

Then, straightening his garland, he faced the crowd:

"Sing to your heart's content, drink to your heart's content, for the time to drink bitter wine has come."

People laughed, immersed in joy; the servants added more wine, more dishes, and the thick aroma of wine resonated in the dining hall as people began to discuss all kinds of strange tales, condemning the despicable actions of Aler and others.

Belvan laughed along with them, buzzing like a bee, and under the dim light of the torches, his face was extremely pale.

His gaze grew dimmer, his consciousness hazier, and his body weaker, as if a knife had stabbed into his belly.

When people noticed his pallor, the servants had arrived with paper and pen.

"Truly, it's about time I died."

Belvan said with a smile, eliciting another burst of merriment from the crowd.

Amidst the laughter, he grabbed the feather pen, dipped it in the ink, and began to write one character after another on the paper. As he wrote, he supported his garland, carefully crossing out and rewriting the unsatisfactory parts; his complexion grew increasingly pale, prompting a sudden sense of foreboding among the people.

"Ah, this world causes so much pain."

He said, looking at everyone,

"You are all my friends; after this, turn my life into a story to tell others."

The scholars were confused, looking at Belvan with puzzled expressions.

"Belvan, we'd be more than happy to take on the task. You are a pioneer, a forerunner!"

"Your story deserves to be celebrated by everyone."

"Belvan, we praise the knowledge you've brought us over the years, and today's joy!"

As this sentiment was echoed, people once again joyously raised their glasses.

Belvan managed a forced smile and, supporting himself, instructed:

"In many stories of this world, when people recount their heroes, they always downplay their suffering and emphasize their glory.

My dear friends, let me remind you,

Do not conceal my suffering,

Because it is in my pain that I am truthful..."

After these words, Belvan's strength ebbed away. He fell straight down onto the dining table, slumping backward into the chair, as if he had fainted or fallen asleep. His garland, along with the paper and pen, tumbled to the floor.

Belvan was dead.

For at life's end, one drinks the bitter wine.

Everyone was stunned for a moment before it dawned on them, and they began to react in a delayed frenzy, hastily surrounding Belvan.

Joy vanished in an instant, replaced by chaos; everyone acted like ants on a hot pan,

Amid the pandemonium, someone picked up the paper that had fallen to the ground beside Belvan, his final testament.

On the letter, smeared and revised, crookedly written were the words:

Many years later, many years later…

When God creates the Path, spread throughout the world, people will remember me,

Perhaps some will consider me as a Prophet, a Shepherd, or even Divine.

But my friends,

Please remember,

I, Belvan, was merely a genius.