Ancient Scroll: Your Majesty, Please Behave Yourself

Chapter 5 The Academy of the Bards

That night, Chen Mo had many dreams.

I dreamt I was still in that cramped rented room, the mod manager interface still lit up on my computer screen. I dreamt I pressed "Start Game," the screen loaded, and the familiar opening animation appeared—a carriage jolted along, prisoners sat silently, and in the distance, a snow-covered pine forest stretched out.

I dreamt that I was actually in a carriage, with a man named Ulfric sitting next to me. His hands were tied, but he still stood up straight and looked into the distance.

I dreamt that the carriage suddenly stopped, and a gigantic black dragon descended from the sky, its wings blotting out the sun, its breath igniting the entire world in flames—

Chen Mo suddenly opened his eyes.

ceiling.

Dark wooden beams, rough wood grain, and wrought iron candlesticks.

It's not a rental property.

He slowly sat up, looking at the greyish-white light streaming through the gap in the curtains. Dawn had broken. He had truly woken up again. The world was still here, and so was he.

Chen Mo sat on the bed for a long time.

It's like an eternity.

At this moment, as those fragments of dreams slowly dissipate in my consciousness, and as the weight of reality gradually presses back onto my shoulders.

That world—the world with computers, instant noodles, endless KPIs, and never-ending overtime—is gone forever.

This world—a world with dragon roars, necromancers, magic, and swords—is the reality he must now face.

Chen Mo took a deep breath, threw off the covers, and stood up.

His feet touched the cold stone floor, and a chill crept up from the soles of his feet, making him shiver. But this real, uncomfortable feeling actually made him more alert.

He walked to the window and drew back the curtains.

Dugu City awakens in the morning light.

Ships were already moving in the harbor, and people were bustling on the docks. Smoke billowed from the chimneys of the commercial district, and the faint aroma of freshly baked bread wafted through the air. In the distance, the sea stretched out in a greyish-blue hue, waves crashing against the rocks and splashing up white foam.

This is the capital of Skyrim Province.

This is where he wants to live.

Chen Mo clenched his fists, turned around, and went downstairs.

Before leaving the house, Chen Mo spent some time getting ready to look as much like a local as possible.

He tucked his wool coat into his trousers, tightened his cloak, hung his sword at his waist, and tucked the rusty dagger he'd picked up from the enchanting table behind his back. He tried to recall the location of the Bard's College in his mind—turn left from his house, walk up the main road, past the market, and you'd see a stone building with a pointed roof.

Stepping outside, a cold wind hits you in the face.

There were more people on the street than he had imagined. Vendors were setting up their stalls, housewives were buying groceries, and several children were chasing each other, their laughter ringing out. A soldier in an Imperial uniform stood on the street corner, watching the passersby with a bored expression.

Chen Mo tried his best to appear natural, blending into the crowd as he walked upwards.

As he passed the market, he couldn't help but slow down and take a few glances. There were fish stalls, their fishy smell pungent; there were vegetable stalls, their leaves still glistening with dew; and from a blacksmith's shop came the clanging of hammering metal, the furnace glowing red on the stone pavement in front of the shop.

A vendor called out to him, "Top-quality wool! Imported from Riften! Want to take a look?"

Chen Mo shook his head and continued walking forward.

After rounding a bend, the Bard's Academy came into view.

It was a gray stone building, taller than the surrounding buildings, with a small spire on top. The lintel above the main entrance was carved with a relief of a seven-stringed lyre, and the door was half open, from which the sounds of people and musical instruments could be faintly heard.

Chen Mo stood at the door for a few seconds, took a deep breath, and pushed the door open to enter.

A warm feeling wafted over me.

The academy's hall was more spacious than he had imagined. Several candlesticks hung from the high dome, their candlelight illuminating the entire space brightly and softly. Portraits—presumably of famous historical bards—hung on the walls, and below them were rows of bookshelves filled with various books that Chen Mo couldn't understand.

In the center of the hall, two people are talking.

A young man in a student's robe—probably an apprentice here—was holding a zither and respectfully facing a middle-aged man in a gray robe. The middle-aged man wore glasses and held a thick book in his hand, appearing to be a teacher at the academy.

"You're preparing your poem, about classical heroes of the skies, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir, Professor Gemani!" He paused, puffing out his chest, "This is a love poem about the elven assassin Perinnar and Queen Elisia!"

Professor Gemani nodded, a satisfied expression on his face: "Very good. The bard's duty is to commemorate the deeds of heroes. Keep up the good work."

The apprentice nodded excitedly, picked up Shiqin, and hurried away.

Chen Mo stood at the door, watching this scene, and suddenly felt a little dazed.

Perinnar the Elf Slayer. A legendary hero from the ancient scrolls of history, said to have single-handedly slaughtered countless elves before falling in an epic battle. He's probably the hero the apprentice is to write about.

But what kind of anecdote is this about Perinnar's affair with the slave queen Elicia? Did Morihouse approve of it?

The minotaurs were enraged!

He snapped out of his reverie and began to examine the layout of the hall.

Directly opposite the main entrance is a wide staircase leading to the second floor. The walls on both sides of the staircase are adorned with more portraits, as well as display cases containing antique musical instruments and yellowed sheet music.

Chen Mo walked up the stairs.

The second floor was much quieter than the first. A corridor stretched into the distance, with closed wooden doors on both sides, each with a brass plaque bearing the words "Archives," "Music Sheet Room," and "Professor's Office."

At the end of the corridor was an open hall with several tables and chairs, seemingly a place for students to study on their own.

Right there, near the window, sat an old man.

He wore a faded gray-green robe, his hair was gray, and his face was covered in wrinkles. He was looking down intently at a large book in front of him, a quill pen in his right hand, occasionally writing something in the book. Sunlight streamed in through the window, falling on him and casting a long shadow.

Chen Mo stopped in his tracks.

My heart suddenly started racing.

It's him.

Benjamin Dunn.

That mod follower he'd dealt with countless times. That sharp-tongued, spell-wielding, trashy old bastard who was always spouting dirty jokes.

In the game, Benjamin is a chatterbox, always spouting witty remarks during conversations. But in this real-life version, Benjamin sits quietly, focused on his writing, like an ordinary old scholar.

Chen Mo suddenly felt a little nervous.

He took a deep breath, walked over, and tapped lightly twice on Benjamin's desk.

The old man raised his head.

His eyes were grey-blue, murky with the weariness of time, yet sharp. He scrutinized Chen Mo, his gaze moving from Chen Mo's face to the sword at his waist, then back again.

Then he spoke.

"I won't tolerate fools easily."

Chen Mo paused for a second.

Then he laughed.

She smiled so brightly that her eyes were almost burning.

That's the tone, that's the style, that's the kind of mouth that can insult people to death.

"Professor Benjamin Dunn?" he said. "My name is Chen Mo. I'd like to speak with you."

Benjamin raised his gray eyebrows and put down the quill pen in his hand.

"Want to talk?" He looked Chen Mo up and down. "What do you want to talk about? Poetry? History? Or those decadent 'dragons and girls' written by those good-for-nothing idiots?"

Chen Mo's smile deepened.

"I'd like you to witness an adventure," he said. "How about this story: the evil queen returns from hell, and the last royalty ascends to the heavens?"

Benjamin stared at him for a few seconds, then suddenly laughed.

That smile was completely different from his previous composure—it carried a hint of roguishness, a touch of cynicism, and a hint of the cunning of an old fox.

"Interesting." He closed the large book in front of him, folding his hands over the cover. "A stranger barged into the Bard's Academy early this morning, knocked on my desk, and asked me to witness a great adventure."

He tilted his head and looked at Chen Mo:

"What makes you think I would agree?"

"Because you are Benjamin Dunn," Chen Mo said, "a highly skilled mage, a propagator of writing and a guardian of ancient wisdom, a person—in your own words—who 'does not easily tolerate fools.'"

Benjamin's eyebrows were raised even higher.

"You know me?"

"I've heard of it."

"Who told you that?"

Chen Mo smiled and said, "A friend."

Benjamin stared at him for a long time. His gaze was scrutinizing and probing, as if trying to see right through Chen Mo.

Then he suddenly stood up.

He was a little shorter than Chen Mo had imagined, but he stood very straight. The gray robe seemed a bit too big on him, yet it exuded an indescribable air of authority.

"Tell me more about it."

Chen Mo felt a sense of relief, knowing that he was probably safe.

He wasn't in a hurry. He pulled Benjamin down to sit, picked up the water jug ​​next to him, poured himself a glass, and said as he drank:

"Are you aware of the strange things that have been happening in Wolf Skull Cave lately?"

Benjamin leaned back in his chair without frowning, tapping lightly on the book cover with his fingers.

"Wolf Skull Cave," he repeated. "I have indeed heard that the place has been rather unsettled lately."

Chen Mo continued, "Everyone is saying that many pedestrians have recently gone missing there, and strange lights appear at night."

Benjamin looked at Chen Mo: "So, you know the reason behind this?"

Chen Mo didn't keep him in suspense. He nodded and said to Benjamin, "You should know the story of Queen Portma, right?"

Benjamin's finger remained motionless on the book cover.

"Potterma," he repeated the name slowly, "the wolf queen of the last era."

"Yes, what happened in the wolf skull cave wasn't caused by ordinary necromancers," Chen Mo said. "There's a group of arrogant necromancers who are preparing a resurrection ritual."

Benjamin's brow was furrowed deeply.

"You mean..." His voice was a little hoarse, "that someone wants to resurrect the Wolf Queen?"

"Not only that." Chen Mo shook his head. "They covet the Wolf Queen's power and want to take advantage of Potterma's weakened state after her recovery to completely enslave her."

Benjamin leaned back slightly, seemingly processing the information, and looked at Chen Mo suspiciously: "How did you know that?"

Chen Mo didn't explain: "I can't tell you the source of the information. You just need to know that this information is absolutely reliable."

He looked at Benjamin, his tone becoming seductive:

"You mock the bards of today for only writing lavish songs about 'dragons and maidens'—because those things are fake, made up, fabricated to please the audience."

"But have you ever thought about it—that you yourself could be part of a hero's story?"

Benjamin's pupils contracted slightly.

"A real adventure," Chen Mo said. "It's not about sitting by the fireplace listening to others tell stories, but about going in yourself. It's not about writing about the deeds of those who are already dead, but about living, breathing people and using your own hands to stop a disaster."

Chen Mo looked directly into Benjamin's eyes.

silence.

A long silence followed.

Then the old man suddenly laughed.

That smile was completely different from his previous composure—it carried a hint of roguishness, a touch of cynicism, and a complex mix of emotions that only the elderly possess: a world-weary yet still unwilling spirit.

"You little rascal," he said, "you've got a sharp tongue."

He leaned back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling, as if deep in thought.

"A great adventure..." he murmured, "I'm this old, and you're telling me about a great adventure."

He lowered his head and looked at the book on the table.

"An old man like me doesn't have many years left to live, so writing my books in peace is what I should be doing," Benjamin said calmly.

Chen Mo listened quietly.

"You're right about one thing." Benjamin suddenly looked up, something flickering in his grey-blue eyes. "After writing for so many years, I do... kind of want to see it for myself."

He stood up.

"When are we leaving?"