Chapter 364: The First Newspaper

These commoner children are learning this at the academy?!

Gawain stared in disbelief as Santis stood at the podium, calmly recounting one of the most pivotal moments in magical history. Interspersed with the narrative were demonstrations of classic magic circle models—runes and lines of mana arranged on the blackboard into intricate, arcane patterns. And those children—children of farmers, fishermen, blacksmiths, and laundresses—they were all listening intently, diligently taking notes!

Gawain Orlando swore to himself—back in the capital, even the children of wealthy merchants might not grasp such material.

Because this was knowledge from the realm of the extraordinary!

The curriculum these children were studying far exceeded Gawain’s expectations. Even more astonishing was their mastery of magical runes.

In just a few simple questions, he realized these kids were no novices encountering runes for the first time, nor were they rote-memorizing dullards. They not only knew the shape and stroke order of each rune, but also how to rearrange them within a magic circle!

This lesson was revolutionary—at least for Gawain Orlando, it was a revelation.

When class ended, the children burst out joyfully, running off in groups to the playground. Some stayed behind, continuing to read or chat noisily in the classroom. Santis stepped outside, raising his voice to remind them not to horse around in the hallways, then came over to Gawain.

“Mr. Orlando,” the second-level arcanist said with a gentle smile, “what do you think?”

“I never expected… they’d be learning this here…” Gawain’s eyes were dazed. “These children… do they all have magical talent? Are they your chosen apprentices?”

Santis shook his head slowly. “First, not every class covers runes and magical theory. Only the children’s classes and some special adult classes do. Second, these kids aren’t my apprentices—they’re just ordinary commoners from the territory. Only one of them has even a faint magical gift; the rest will live their whole lives as ordinary folk.”

Gawain blinked. “Then…”

Santis interrupted him, which was rare. “You’re curious, aren’t you? Curious how they can understand these lessons, how they can access such extraordinary knowledge?”

Gawain nodded silently.

“Why shouldn’t they be able to?” Santis countered. “Why can’t they?”

Gawain hesitated, about to launch into the usual arguments—that commoners can’t grasp complex knowledge, that they lack the wisdom to comprehend the extraordinary—but he swallowed the words before they escaped. He knew that if he said those things aloud, he’d be the biggest fool in the room.

“They can understand and learn. At least in the children’s classes, I’ve met many bright kids—like Gesang and Pea, who have exceptional talent in drawing,” Santis said with a smile, gesturing for Gawain to follow him toward the classroom door. “And since the lord implemented a series of nutritional meals for children, these kids will grow up stronger and smarter than their parents. Aside from their birth, they are no different from us, from the gifted, from the nobles, or from any so-called ‘upper class.’”

Gawain followed Santis out to the academy’s large courtyard—or, as they called it here, the “playground.” Many children were playing, and as evening approached, some adults who finished work early gathered nearby. Still dressed in rough work clothes, with mud on their legs, they stood under the glow of the magic crystal street lamps, flipping through letter cards.

A factory worker in uniform paused briefly beside Gawain, removed his felt hat, bowed slightly to Santis and Gawain, then moved on.

“Do you know why he bowed to you?” Santis asked.

“He probably knows I’m a scholar recruited by the lord…”

“No, it’s because you have knowledge. He’s saluting your learning, not you,” Santis said calmly, then pointed to a tall white wall on the other side of the playground. On it, Gawain saw a bold inscription:

“Neither knowledge nor people are noble, but knowledge ennobles.”

“That’s the principle here. Everyone has the right to pursue knowledge—it’s even a duty of every citizen of Cecil,” Santis’s voice pulled Gawain from his reverie. “And once that rule is accepted, I’ve found that under equal conditions, even a serf’s child is no less capable of learning than a knight’s child.”

Santis wasn’t telling the whole truth—there are differences between serf and noble children. Poor nutrition and harsh early conditions mean serf children generally lag behind in intellectual and physical development. According to the lord, it takes at least a generation or two to close that gap.

But precisely because these avoidable disparities exist, Santis deeply appreciated the order Gawain was establishing here—a truly great undertaking.

He didn’t want Gawain Orlando, a scholar who had abandoned all prospects to travel all the way from the capital to the southern lands, a genuine seeker of knowledge, to miss out on this grand endeavor.

Gawain was silent for a moment, then asked, “So all the things I’ve studied for most of my life… are they worthless now?”

“Of course not. Knowledge is always valuable, just used differently,” Santis shook his head. “In other words, knowledge isn’t noble or base—it’s about whether it fits the current context. I believe the lord didn’t assign you to write that newspaper to bury your talents. And you should understand this yourself—does using your literary skills to write popular news really diminish your ‘honor’ as a great scholar? No. You just can’t accept having to put yourself on the same level as commoners, can’t accept having to understand the thoughts of so-called ‘lower people.’ But in truth…”

Santis smiled. “We’re all in the same position—we’re all seekers of knowledge.”

Seeing Gawain’s thoughtful expression, Santis continued, “And here’s something you might not have considered, Mr. Orlando—those commoners educated in school can read your writing, and some even understand runic language. Their research in these fields may not be as deep as yours, but at least they understand something. But you… do you know even a bit about drying rice or tanning leather?”

After saying this, Santis fell silent, leaving the moment to the elder scholar. This was probably the most direct expression of his views outside the classroom since returning from the capital. The second-level arcanist had truly changed.

Gawain exhaled softly, paused, then smiled and shook his head. “I really don’t understand those things, but I can write the current affairs and the lord’s decrees. And I can write them more clearly and concisely than anyone else.

“For the parts I don’t understand, I—and my apprentices—can ask those who do. They know the knowledge but don’t know how to write it down. That’s where I excel.”

“Mr. Orlando,” Santis bowed his head slightly, “you’d better act quickly. The lord usually gives second chances—but you’re not the only scholar in the territory.”

“Thank you for your help and insight,” Gawain said solemnly. “And you can just call me Gawain—using surnames feels too distant.”

With that, the elder scholar bid Santis farewell and strode toward the academy’s main gate.

After he disappeared beyond the gate, a shadowy figure materialized beside Santis, gradually taking the form of Amber.

The half-elf lady glanced at Santis in surprise. “You’re quite the orator, Santis.”

“It’s not oratory, just saying what I think,” Santis replied, bowing to Amber, who spent her days roaming the territory but was actually the lord’s shadow master. Curiously, he asked, “I’m just wondering why the lord cares so much about this—Gawain is an excellent scholar, but not exceptional.”

“Think of it as an experiment,” Amber said casually. “Don’t read too much into it.”

“An experiment…” Santis muttered, then smirked. “Anyway, the lord must have his reasons.”

Amber didn’t respond. Her form gradually faded into the air and soon vanished.

Four days later, the people of Cecil gathered in front of the government hall square in the city center to witness something entirely new.

Stacks of neatly arranged printed sheets emitted the distinctive scent of ink, placed on a small concrete platform—a unique feature of Cecil, usually used by officials to showcase new things to the people. Two soldiers stood guard beside the platform, protecting the printed materials and explaining to the crowd what they were.

Newspapers.

Reading material belonging to everyone.

The crowd buzzed with discussion. Early arrivals explained the lord’s new invention to those just arriving. Some speculated about the content, others about the price and purpose.

At first, only a few curious people would try them.

But soon, those with spare money would realize they now owned their very own “booklets.”

A short distance away, Gawain Orlando, dressed in a gray scholar’s robe, watched the scene with his two apprentices—temporary editors and “reporters.”

Santis stood beside Gawain, quietly murmuring, “From today, another privilege has been broken.”

Gawain pondered, “The privilege of knowledge and free reading…”

“How does it feel to be personally involved?”

“Not bad at all.”

(End of chapter)