Incineration

When he stepped into the yard, Bede came to a halt, gazing at the detached villa before him. "What's wrong?" Piaget asked. Bede waved a hand beneath his nose and said, "I caught a scent that makes me rather uncomfortable." "Hm?" Piaget sniffed the air. "I don't smell anything. Are you allergic to something?" Bede shook his head, his gaze sweeping over the villa once more, lingering particularly on the windows across each floor. For someone of his standing, traveling abroad meant either moving with grand fanfare, surrounded by a heavy escort of bodyguards, or keeping a low profile to conceal his movements. That didn't mean an assassination by hostile forces was entirely out of the question, but it reduced the probability to a minimum. Yet this sensation right now... Bede turned his gaze back toward Piaget. Had Piaget sold him out? It didn't seem likely. Then what was going on? *Bang!* At that moment, the front entrance door swung open, and Gerson stepped outside. In the next instant, windows on both the ground and upper floors shattered as six Raphael family bodyguards clad in black suits burst forth. There was no greeting, no pleasantry, and certainly no polite introduction. Bede was merely standing in the yard, looking as though he had no intention of going any deeper inside. Had Gerson tried delivering a line like, "Well, what a surprise, Mr. Bede, meeting you here," Bede would likely have sprinted back into his car before the words were even finished. Among the six bodyguards behind Gerson, two displayed skin that had petrified into stone as they sprinted forward. Their physical mass seemed to have shifted as well; every heavy footfall stamped a deep imprint into the garden soil. Another two sprouted razor-sharp bone spurs from their arms, piercing straight through their sleeves. As they charged, they lagged half a pace behind their stone-skinned companions—a seasoned combat habit of using their petrified comrades as shields. The final two darted their tongues out, their limbs contorting unnaturally as they crawled along the ground like a pair of spiders, flanking swiftly around both sides to cut off the rear. Gerson himself spread his arms. The red sweater he wore ripped apart, revealing a pair of bright red wings as his body drifted into the air. From this alone, one could tell just how chaotic the Raphael family's faith system truly was. Their earliest ancestor had started out as a pirate serving under Count Rekar—and not the kind who swung onto enemy decks for close-quarters slaughter or held the helm to read the wind; that ancestor's assignment had been procuring prostitutes for the other pirates. Strictly speaking, the Raphael family had no "pure" progenitor. Yet by latching onto the Allen family, they completed their initial accumulation of wealth and power, and through extensive intermarriages, they subsequently gathered the bloodlines of faith systems from numerous other lineages. If the Allen family was like an aging, destitute aristocrat, then the Raphael family was a pack of wild curs clawing their way up from the grass roots, willing to devour anything just to fill their bellies. Back when they stayed at Allen Manor, after hearing Old Anderson recount the Raphael family's "history of an ungrateful wolf's rise," Karen had lain in bed that night and remarked to Purr, curled up at the foot of the bed: Setting aside their allegiance, the Raphael family's rise was undeniably inspiring. Of course, allegiances could never truly be cast aside—after all, Karen's fiancée was an Allen, not a Raphael. At that moment, the family driver who had stepped out of the car alongside Bede threw himself in front of his master and shouted, "Patriarch, get back in the car!" With that, two clusters of fire elemental energy ignited in the driver's hands, which he hurled toward the two petrified men charging at them. The flames set their clothes ablaze, but failed to slow their stride. Shielded behind them, the two bone-spurred attackers pressed forward completely unharmed. Piaget froze in place, muttering, "What's happening?" Bede's brow furrowed. Was the mural's prophecy really about to be proven wrong twice in a row? Bede didn't try to run backward. By the time he turned around, the two crawling "spiders" of the Raphael family had already sealed his retreat. Facing the encroaching stone men and the bone-spurred assailants coiling to strike from behind them, despair flickered across the driver's face. He was only a Rank Two. In this situation, there was very little he could do. Even so, he pressed his blazing hands decisively against his own chest. Fire erupted across his entire body, and in the next heartbeat, he threw himself at the lead stone man. One of the petrified men extended both arms to block him, but the driver drove his fist directly into the man's chest. The stone man shrieked in agony; the flames that had previously barely scratched him now burned straight through his petrified flesh, scorching a massive wound across his chest. Yet an instant later, a long bone spur thrust clean through the driver's neck. With a savage horizontal slash, the driver's head was severed from his shoulders, and the flames cloaking his body sputtered out. The injured stone man dropped into a crouch, clutching his chest, while the others continued closing the perimeter at their steady, measured pace. The two crawling "spiders" behind them didn't pounce, remaining focused on cutting off any line of retreat. Suspended in the air, Gerson held back from joining the fray carelessly, waiting for the optimal opening to strike. It was almost comical. The only reason they were being so meticulous was that they had no idea the patriarch of the Allen family hadn't awakened the family bloodline at all—he was nothing more than an art enthusiast! This was simply because the Allen family's secrecy had been airtight. As a result, the Raphael squad remained constantly on guard against the Allen patriarch abruptly summoning a suit of fire or water armor to carve a path through them. Yet no matter how cautious they were, the moment of clash had arrived. The uninjured stone man charged toward Bede, while the two bone-spurred attackers darted out from behind him, brandishing their lethal spikes as they lunged. With a powerful sweep of his wings, Gerson conjured an emerald-green steel saber in his grip and dove straight toward Bede! It was all about to end. And indeed, it did. Because at that very moment, a flash of brilliant light erupted above Gerson. Before he could even turn his head to look up, a long object pierced clean through his chest, slamming him violently into the ground. An elderly man robed in white stood with one foot planted firmly on Gerson's back, a wand inlaid with magic stones thrust entirely through Gerson's body. "Light—Incineration." A burst of milky-white fire surged from the tip of the wand, spreading over Gerson's entire frame. Under the scorching heat, Gerson's body instantly began to vaporize before he could even utter a scream. *Buzz!* *Buzz!* Two spinning chakrams of light flew out from an unseen corner, slicing across the two spider-men. Deep fissures tore through their chests, and their bodies split apart in the next instant. "Shield of Light!" A barrier of radiant light materialized directly before Piaget. By sheer coincidence, Mr. Bede was standing right behind him. So although the stone man had been charging at Bede, he slammed straight into the luminous barrier. His furious momentum was completely deflected, sending him flying backward. All at once, a swordsman shrouded in a layer of white radiance appeared beside the light shield. One of the bone-spurred men thrust at him on raw instinct. Yet instinct could sometimes be a laughable thing, for it rarely rivaled disciplined experience. With a simple flick of the longsword, the bone-spurred attacker was thrown off balance. The swordsman shifted his frame, his razor-sharp blade sweeping cleanly across the man's throat. An instant later, the swordsman appeared before the second bone-spurred man. Operating purely on instinct as well, this attacker swung his spur toward him, but as he did, the swordsman simply leveled his longsword and drove it forward, piercing directly through the man's forehead. Yanking the blade free, the swordsman advanced toward the stone man still crouching from his earlier burn. The stone man suddenly let out a low roar, springing upward to lunge at the swordsman, but a ray of white light punched through his chest from behind. As he collapsed, the robed elder holding the wand was revealed standing behind him. The elder spoke in a heavy voice: "Vernon, gather all their corpses together." The white radiance clinging to the swordsman receded, revealing the face of a young man. He wore no armor, only a white trench coat. "Understood, Elder Doke." "Helen, you will see to incinerating every corpse. Leave no trace." A young woman in a blue overcoat and a red hat stood up from the shrubbery. Despite her vivid attire and the withered, yellowish shrubs around her, she had remained completely imperceptible until now. Furthermore, those two silent chakrams of light earlier had clearly been unleashed by her. Holding a wand of her own, the woman immediately answered upon hearing Elder Doke's command, "Yes, Elder." Elder Doke scanned their surroundings once more and instructed, "Once the corpses are incinerated, perform two rounds of baptism over the entire grounds." "Understood, Elder. I know what to do; I won't slack off." Elder Doke gave a nod, then let out a sigh. Originally, the message sent from the Envoy indicated that the lad from the Berry religion would arrive shortly to put on a show with those family vermin, thereby absolving their side of any connection to a matter that had nothing to do with them in the first place. The absurd part was that the esteemed Envoy had specifically emphasized in the message that no matter what unfolded between the Berry lad and those vermin, their side was strictly forbidden from intervening. Then the family vermin had shown up. Yet where was the lad from the Berry religion? The one who had returned was Piaget! Though Elder Doke had long harbored a measure of dissatisfaction with this Envoy dispatched from headquarters, he could not stand by and watch Piaget suffer harm before his very eyes. Otherwise, what had been the point of taking such immense risks to linger in York City all this time? On top of that, those family vermin seemed to be gunning straight for Mr. Piaget, rushing in to kill without so much as an opening remark. Left with no choice, Elder Doke had intervened. Moreover, given the delicate position the Church of Light currently occupied, they either refrained from acting entirely, or when they did, they eliminated every trace without mercy. Had the Envoy not claimed that the fellow had ties to Piaget and insisted that no one Piaget valued should come to harm, Elder Doke might have moved long ago to silence that Berry adherent permanently. A company of believers devoted to the Light, forced to skulk in the dark—what a bitter irony. Elder Doke coughed twice and walked toward Piaget. At that moment, Piaget turned to Bede and asked, "Are these people... your bodyguards?" Mr. Bede glanced down at the driver, who was already burnt to a crisp on the ground, and replied, "They weren't here to protect me." Elder Doke stepped up to Piaget, speaking with utmost respect: "Boss..." Piaget found it difficult to adapt to the title. He could accept the physicians and staff at the clinic calling him "Boss," and had even looked forward to Karen addressing him that way a few times (though Karen never seemed to). Yet facing these figures who had just shone with dazzling brilliance, butchered that pack of ravenous thugs in a handful of moves, and were now methodically destroying all bodies and evidence—hearing them call him "Boss" made Piaget deeply uncomfortable, both physically and mentally. Elder Doke seemed to realize the title was inappropriate as well. Wouldn't that blow Miss Bertha's cover, essentially telling him that their people had been placed inside his enterprise? Even if, in reality, nearly half the staff across his entire company belonged to them. To make up for his slip of the tongue, Elder Doke corrected himself: "Mr. Adams, greetings. We are a family from the Mosuri Islands that observes a secluded family faith system. Due to certain matters, we traveled to York City. By sheer coincidence, we happen to live right next door as your neighbors, haha. It is only natural for neighbors to help and look out for one another, wouldn't you say?" As he spoke, Elder Doke pointed toward the detached villa next door. Even he felt the explanation was clumsy and contrived, yet the elder stubbornly maintained the smile on his face. Adams licked his lips, staring at Elder Doke. "Um..." "Please, Mr. Adams, speak freely. We are neighbors and friends. Though we just saved your life, there is no need to stand on ceremony." Adams nodded and said, "I have studied many religious murals." Elder Doke smiled. "Oh, is that so? It turns out Mr. Adams is an enthusiast of religious culture, haha." Mr. Bede fought hard to keep a straight face, as the elder's excruciating attempt at small talk was becoming nearly unbearable to endure. Piaget continued, "The radiant form that gentleman displayed earlier is something I have seen depicted in murals. He must be a Light Knight. Therefore, you are not some family from the Mosuri Islands; you are faithful of the Church of Light. Furthermore, to my knowledge, the Church of Light is currently being hunted down and eradicated across mainstream church circles." Elder Doke: "..." "And another thing." Piaget pointed toward the adjacent villa. "That villa next door is also a property registered under my father's name. It's just that I have no need for so much space on my own, so the grounds next door have remained untended." Elder Doke: "..." *** Seven in the evening. Night had fallen. A black, secondhand Ponce sedan pulled up along the road outside 3-06 Apple Street. Karen cut the ignition, turning his gaze toward Alfred, who was sitting in the front passenger seat. "I hadn't intended for you to be discharged from the hospital so soon." "Young Master, my wound is no longer an issue. Since infection is no longer a concern, once it was properly bandaged, it hardly affects me at all. It's like grazing your skin while sharpening a pencil—there's no need to lie in bed for long. Most importantly, your safety takes precedence over everything else, Young Master. Still, I was truly astonished; so much happened during the few days I was bedridden in the hospital. My greatest regret is that when you advanced to God's Shepherd, Young Master, I couldn't be standing at your side to witness it firsthand. Fortunately, there will be plenty of opportunities ahead, and I believe they will come very soon." Sure enough, after hearing the full account, Alfred had not displayed the confusion Purr and Kevin had shown, nor did he harbor the slightest urge to advise Karen to reconsider. Whatever Karen chose to do, Alfred would offer his unconditional support. "Young Master, since I am accompanying you inside to perform this act, what about my cover identity?" "Just make something up on the spot," Karen said. "Wouldn't that be too perfunctory?" Alfred said hurriedly. "I'm not questioning you, Young Master; I simply don't want any misstep on my part to introduce a flaw into your performance." Karen replied, "Mr. Tardel swung both ways." "Oh, I see." Alfred needed no further explanation from Karen, grasping the meaning behind the phrasing at once. Karen had not deduced this from Little John mentioning that his father visited a lover at the monastery. In truth, when an ordinary person heard that a man visited a lover at a cloistered institution, they would naturally assume he was seeing a nun. Karen had observed it himself during Little John's consultation that day, picking it up from Mr. Tardel's body language and fleeting micro-expressions. A man toward an attractive woman, or a woman toward a handsome man, possessed a primal instinct of pure physical desire. Even if a person was remarkably refined and upright, subtle behavioral feedback would inevitably leak out under the sway of that instinct. When Mr. Tardel had faced him that day, precisely that sort of feedback had been present. "I suspect the investigators on their side are well acquainted with Mr. Tardel and should be aware of this trait. Furthermore, since Miss Bertha arranged for me to stay at the boss's home, we might as well play along with that rhythm. We can lead the investigators to believe Mr. Tardel sought me out for psychological therapy merely out of romantic pursuit. That way, the narrative logic becomes neat and straightforward, and they won't bother squandering further effort digging along this thread. So, isn't it perfectly natural for me to have someone as handsome as you by my side? When the time comes, I'll simply say I intended to introduce you to my boss, Piaget." "Your arrangements leave me thoroughly impressed, Young Master." "It is the most efficient and straightforward way to clear myself of suspicion. Otherwise, if they fixated on me and kept investigating, my own subsequent inquiries would be severely compromised. I have no wish to receive the same treatment as Mr. Pavaro." Karen and Alfred stepped out of the car together. After walking into the yard, both came to a halt almost simultaneously. "Alfred, do you notice how remarkably fresh the air became the moment we walked into this yard?" "Young Master, the entire yard has become far cleaner—abnormally clean." "The atmosphere is rather strange," Karen remarked. "Indeed, Young Master," Alfred agreed, nodding. "Heh, all of a sudden, I'm almost hesitant to walk inside." Right then, the front entrance door swung open, and Mr. Bede walked out. He moved with composure and confidence, projecting the distinguished bearing befitting the patriarch of an ancient family. Karen sized up his prospective father-in-law, his peripheral vision sweeping across the house behind him. As Mr. Bede descended the steps, Karen brought both hands to his chest: "Praise Nature. May I ask who you are?"