Chapter 152: Looking Back at the Past

There is no such thing as a winner or a loser in a debate between a priest and a group of mischievous brats. If a few words could truly persuade someone, they wouldn't have been "battling" each other for over a decade. It has become a habit for the brats, and clearly for the priest and his followers as well. Given the fundamental differences in their ideologies, it is exceedingly difficult to turn someone's thinking around with just a few slick remarks. Even if one side is temporarily tongue-tied, left speechless by the other's arguments, they will never concede to the opponent's viewpoint. At worst, they will simply go back, ponder over it, devise a sharper debating tactic, and seek retribution the next time.

The same goes for tavern bards trading insults, as they all rely on sophistry. If your wits are faster than your opponent's, your arguments sharp enough, and you manage to rile up the patrons in the tavern, the moment the crowd starts mocking you, you have no choice but to tuck your tail and run. Yet, no matter how many times Kevin roasted people on the topic of formulaic web novels, those bards would still come back a few days later and tell the exact same stories. Their way of thinking was not going to be altered by a few words from Kevin.

Of course, nothing is absolute. When Kevin confronted that group of bandits, he genuinely managed to lecture them into a sudden awakening. But then again, the bandits' protagonist logic was utterly absurd, and their own baseline of common sense was far too low. By comparison, both the brats and the priest here were on an entirely different level.

Naturally, the priest possessed far more knowledge than the brats, but the brats had the advantage in numbers and agile minds. For a while, both sides argued fiercely based on reason. What started as calm responses eventually escalated into raised voices and flying spit, bearing almost no difference from a shouting match in a tavern.

Naturally, the priest was gritting his teeth in frustration. The Church of Light certainly had violent measures at its disposal, such as trials and inquisitions. However, holding a trial against a bunch of local brats—especially right here on Elven territory—would inevitably provoke the revulsion of the Elven race. By then, spreading the faith here would be completely out of the question.

"Call their parents here," the priest finally decided he had enough of the nonsense. With a wave of his hand, he instructed the acolytes to fetch their guardians.

However, the Elven territory was vast. Even though these brats' parents had been summoned hundreds of times before, parents are never available at a moment's notice. Seeing that it was growing late, the priest took matters into his own hands. "All of you, you are staying here tonight. Did you hear me?"

"Hmph." The kids turned their heads away in disdain or pulled funny faces, though they didn't dare to openly rebel.

"Get inside." With a wave of the priest's hand, the brats were herded into a side room. That was where the priest usually listened to the confessions of the faithful; it was extremely cramped with practically nothing inside for them to wreck.

"You will stay in there to reflect and repent properly until your parents come to pick you up tomorrow!" The priest finished speaking, slammed the door shut with a loud bang, and bolted it from the outside.

The mischievous brats inside showed no fear whatsoever. Instead, bursts of laughter echoed from within, completely unbothered.

Kevin lay there for a little longer. As the night grew deeper, he began to feel hungry. Figuring that suspicion wouldn't fall on him anymore, he "slowly awakened" and carefully propped himself up on his elbows. The wooden bedboard immediately let out a creaking sound, which instantly caught the attention of the priest and the others outside, prompting them to walk in together.

"Where is this?" Kevin put on a look of total bewilderment—there was no help for it, he had to commit to the act fully.

"This is the church, my child." The priest still wore a benevolent smile, showing no trace of the exasperated state he had been in just moments earlier.

Kevin nodded. "Thank you, Father, for saving me."

"Don't mention it. How are you feeling?" the priest asked.

"My head still hurts a lot. Ah, well, it's an old ailment," Kevin said, rubbing his forehead with a pained expression.

"How did this happen?" The priest sighed. "What caused it?"

"An old injury from the past," Kevin replied. "I was once hit on the head by a stone thrown by some mischievous kids, and I've been feeling a bit dizzy ever since."

"That sounds very serious," the priest said, turning solemn. "You need to get it checked. What if there is internal bleeding in your skull?"

"No, I'll be fine as long as I get some sleep." Kevin smiled, though it looked like a forced one.

"No, no, my child, you don't understand the severity of this," the priest said, taking Kevin's hand. "Some illnesses are hidden dangers. If you don't take them seriously in the beginning, they become troublesome later on."

"But I don't have money for medical treatment," Kevin replied.

The priest: "……"

"Oh right, I still have some matters I wish to confess," Kevin said, sitting up. "Father, are you willing to hear my confession?"

"There isn't much time left today, let's do it tomorrow." Clearly, the priest had very little inclination for such things today.

"Then I'll head home." Kevin nodded and stepped down from the bed.

"Wait, let me take another look at your head." The priest reached out to feel Kevin's head, even casting a Light Spell that emitted a soft white glow. With his eyes closed and a serious expression on his face, Kevin cooperated fully, stretching his neck out without moving an inch. After a moment, the priest finally withdrew his hand. "Well, it seems there is nothing major. Just go back, get plenty of rest, and drink lots of plain water, and you'll be fine."

"Thank you, Father."

"You are welcome."

With a smile on his face, Kevin walked all the way out of the church, without even glancing at the confessional room. Everything looked completely ordinary. Truth be told, Kevin dumping all those fish into the river today was a bit deliberate. But since Kevin was an adult now and his face was quite unfamiliar here, it was hard for anyone to believe he was in cahoots with the brats. Yet, if someone were to investigate diligently, they could still unearth a few flaws.

After all, there were adult elves here who knew Kevin and remembered his relationship with these mischievous kids from back when he was little. By combining those memories with today's events, one could easily piece things together and reach a conclusion.

Fortunately, Kevin was banking on the fact that he wouldn't be staying here long, and the investigative efficiency of the Church of Light could never rival that of an army, so he should be safe.

However, this matter wasn't over yet. If he simply washed his hands of it now, those brats would certainly be unhappy. But if he joined forces with the brats to stir up trouble again, that would be a bit... Was he really going to spend his hard-earned vacation this way?

Walking all the way back to his house, his mother was naturally absent. The indoor air felt stagnant, and a layer of dust covered the floor, showing that no one had lived here for quite some time. Fortunately, there were no spider webs yet; a little tidying up would make it ready for habitation.

Kevin's home was a very ordinary brick house. Within the Elven community, such dwellings were inhabited by middle- and lower-class elves. The house was quite spacious because land was abundant here, allowing for larger structures. It was a two-story cottage with a courtyard where vegetables were occasionally grown, though it was now overgrown and abandoned.

At first glance, the interior furnishings looked quite decent. Many paintings hung on the walls, but upon closer inspection, they were all works painted by Kevin's father. They weren't masterpieces by any stretch of the imagination, but to the untrained eye, they looked rather sophisticated. Against the wall stood a large bookshelf filled with rows of books, now covered in a thick layer of dust. These were the books collected by Kevin's father—national geography, biographies, poetry, mythology and religious texts, local customs and traditions, science and magic, totaling over two hundred volumes. Regrettably, there were no forbidden books among them.

Kevin had spent five years reading through every single one of those books. Looking at them now inevitably stirred up memories of the past. He picked one up at random, dusted it off, and flipped through the pages. Some insect damage had already set in, which was a great pity.

Still, with no one to tend to the place, insect damage was inevitable. Now that his mother was away traveling, they didn't have the money to hire domestic help, and Kevin couldn't possibly carry a huge stack of books while wandering as a bard. If he wanted to preserve these books, he might have to try asking for Sterling's help.

Thinking as he worked, he briskly picked up a dust cloth and wiped down all the books. After his stint in the army, his hands and feet had become much nimbler. But since he hadn't been back long, he could only manage a rough cleaning for now.

Suddenly, a particular book caught his eye. Kevin froze for a moment. It was the diary he had kept as a child. Subconsciously, he picked it up and flipped it open. The handwriting was extremely childish, yet it was filled with meticulously detailed "strategic deployments." He had been dead serious back then; every single battle was recorded, and every defeat was followed by a post-action review. Spanning over four years, he had exhausted every ounce of imagination in his struggle against the priest of the Church of Light, totaling 349 clashes, of which he had won 234 and lost 115.

Lying on the bed and lighting an oil lamp, Kevin flipped backward through his diary, page by page. Scene after scene of those past battles resurfaced before his eyes, bringing back the "pride of victory" and the "vexation of defeat." Reviewing history is important, even if it is one's own history. To forget history is equivalent to forgetting the meaning of one's own existence. A person needs constant reflection and retrospection to truly clarify the path ahead.

It was not until the early hours of dawn that Kevin finally reached the very last page of the diary. *Snap!* Closing the journal with a sharp sound, Kevin muttered to himself, "It's time for a real performance."

And then, Kevin fell fast asleep in style—after all, he had spent the entire night reading his own diary.