Eugene stared in surprise for a moment. Once again, Freed read the expression on his face and continued.
"Didn't Musa tell you at Melissa's birthday that imprints and cultivators are divided into six or seven types?"
Eugene closed his eyes, placed a hand on his chin, and sank into his memories. A few seconds later, he opened them and nodded.
Freed raised his closed fists, then extended seven fingers. In his usual calm, gentle tone, he said,
"There are roughly six main Paths. Each one is a classification—a type of imprint or cultivator.
As I told you, the one who designed this place belongs to one of those Paths, known as the Path of Geniuses. It centers on intellect and reason—design, construction, development, refinement, dreams, and the like."
Eugene lifted his brows in astonishment, interlacing his fingers. "But doesn't every person possess an inner world of their own—a cultivation path unique and distinct? How, then, can they all be classified into only six or seven types?"
"They're not confining people's unique paths into six rigid categories," Freed replied. "Think of it like a mathematics book. Within it are many different lessons—varied, overlapping, sometimes similar. The classification of Paths works the same way. Each Path contains countless imprints—some valuable, some worthless—but they share a single core essence. As I said a moment ago: development, refinement, creation, intellect, planning. Those are the foundational principles behind all imprints within that Path."
"Then what's the point of classifying them?"
"There isn't much of one. Humans simply like to categorize things."
"Musa told me each Path has a different pinnacle. How does that work?"
Freed tilted his head slightly to the left and clasped his hands. "I don't know. That's material taught to second-year students."
A new question flashed across Eugene's mind. "How did you know Musa told me that at Melissa's birthday—that there were six or seven Paths?"
Freed fell silent for a few seconds before answering, "I was there. Near the balcony. About fifteen steps away."
"What were you doing there? And where did you go during the birthday? You said you were meeting someone."
Freed stretched his arms forward, a faint trace of drowsiness visible on his face. "I went to meet Edios."
"Isn't he the same person who came to your apartment yesterday?"
"Yes. The same."
They reached a stone door adorned with carvings along its sides, smooth to the touch despite its imposing appearance. Freed opened it, revealing Station Eight—the closest station to the academy.
They stepped through. A strong, cold wind greeted them.
Freed's hair swept across part of his face as he murmured softly, "Seems winter is coming."
He brushed his hair aside with his fingers and looked at Eugene with curious interest. "Was winter very harsh in the village of Eliso? Since it's near the mountains and along the Empire's border, I'd imagine it was bitterly cold."
Eugene removed his coat and draped it over his arm. "No. The village lay deep within a mountain hollow. Most of the wind scattered and dispersed through the rocky passages between the hills."
They stopped at the train platform. Clouds began to gather overhead. Voices echoed around them, and steam rose steadily into the sky.
Eugene dropped onto a bench, his body slack as though made of dough, his gaze fixed on Freed, who leaned against a polished black pillar nearby.
"Why did you choose the Justice Organization?" Eugene asked suddenly.
Freed glanced around, hands tucked into his pockets. "Because… I like justice. And investigation."
"And why do you like justice and investigation?" Eugene's tone was calm, almost inquisitorial rather than merely curious.
Freed smiled faintly. "And why are you asking that?"
Eugene adjusted his posture, leaning forward with his hands clasped, eyes resting on a small yellow flower beneath the bench. "Nothing important. I just want to understand the way you think."
Freed raised an eyebrow, his gaze deepening. "And why do you want to understand my way of thinking?"
"Simply because, to me, you're a uniquely strange person."
Freed smiled again, his tone confident, almost teasing. "I'm not strange to you. You're just not used to meeting people who think the way I do."
"Still, I truly want to know."
"I don't think it requires much thought," Freed replied. "You know I love reading, and you know the environment I lived in for a time. Naturally, that shapes how I think—whatever it is you mean by 'way of thinking.'"
Eugene rubbed the back of his neck. "What I mean isn't just your style or personality. It's also your perspective on certain things."
"Such as?"
"Things like…" Eugene's voice quickened with curiosity. "Good and evil."
"Good and evil?" Freed said plainly. "Good is good, and evil is evil. There's nothing complicated about it."
"Then what's your definition of them?"
Freed answered without hesitation. "Good is every righteous act. Evil is every unrighteous act—or anything that violates the law."
"That's it?" Eugene's brows lifted again, surprise coloring his voice.
A sharp hiss cut through the air.
The train pulled in, smoke billowing from it.
The doors opened. Eugene and Freed boarded and took their seats.
The carriage was furnished with dark brown leather chairs. A magical cooling system kept the air crisp. Soft yellow light bathed the interior, and the faint scent of jasmine lingered. Wide, gleaming windows lined the walls. The passengers kept a respectful distance from one another, and a deep quiet settled over the space.
"They really need to change these seats. They're not comfortable," Eugene muttered lazily, as usual.
Freed remained silent, gazing up at the ceiling of the train.
Meanwhile, Eugene's thoughts churned.
The world of cultivators is far greater—and far more complex—than I ever imagined as a child.
And yet… I still want to see more. For now, I'm only learning. But soon I'll begin my own journey in this world, no longer just a student. I wonder what I'll witness.
A faint smile touched his lips as he whispered with dry humor,
"That is… if I stay alive."
End of Chapter.