Blasphemy

Rain began to fall on the drive home. A traffic accident had occurred ahead: a sedan and a truck had collided. It was not severe, and both drivers were negotiating in the rain. Because the road was temporarily blocked, Karen brought the car to a stop and waited. He rolled down the window, letting in a few drifting raindrops that brought a chilly freshness into the car. "We are still rather weak," Karen said. "Young Master, your progress is already terrifying." "Still not enough." "Young Master..." Karen raised a hand. "It's fine. I was just voicing a passing thought. No need to comfort me." "Yes, Young Master. In fact, I harbor similar feelings. If I could grow stronger, much stronger, you would be able to handle matters with greater ease." "Yes, indeed. If you had been stronger back when we first crossed paths, I probably wouldn't have been able to break free from Ms. Molly's mouth, and my soul would likely have been chewed to bits and swallowed by her." "Going by that logic, Young Master, if I had been weak back then, Old Master Diss might not have spared me a second glance either." "So we met at just the right time after all." "It was destiny's arrangement. It was your divine will." "Remember when I first saw you? Right in Ms. Molly's house. I was sitting on the edge of the bed, and you appeared before me. Oh, right—Mrs. Hughes was just getting ready to kill me back then." "Actually, I arrived long before that, standing outside the courtyard gate for quite a while." "You should have come up sooner. I was genuinely terrified by Mrs. Hughes back then. But do you know what my first thought was when I saw you?" "I do not, Young Master." "I thought the way you dressed was so *sao*." Karen had spoken the word *sao* in his native tongue, as he felt in that instant that only this single word possessed the greatest descriptive power and the truest fit. Yet when this word fell upon Alfred's ears, it struck like a clap of thunder. He keenly caught that it was a word from that mysterious, ancient language! Alfred asked with boundless excitement, "Young Master, are you bestowing a prefix upon me?" Just as certain kings throughout history were granted epithets like "the Mad" or "the Short," and commoners acquired monikers like "Broken-leg" or "Scarface," adding a prefix before or after a name served to distinguish people easily. After all, many people possessed lengthy names that overlapped considerably. Karen immediately said, "No, not this one. I can pick another for you later." "Understood. Thank you, Young Master." In his heart, Alfred chanted it several times, experimenting with permutations: *Sao Alfred Bask.* *Hmm?* *Why not use it directly as a surname? After all, this is a prefix bestowed upon me by the Young Master. On future murals, this word—this syllable—must be depicted, and in the most prominent place!* *Alfred Bask Sao.* Ah Fu felt thoroughly satisfied. "Purr and Kevin went out to search for clues today. I wonder if they'll turn up anything." "Young Master, Mr. Pavaro took so long because he had to uncover clues to narrow the scope. For us, locating that place is no longer difficult. "The primary issue lies in how to make the matter public once it is found." "We'll cross that bridge when we find it," Karen said. "Yes, Young Master." "Thinking back, going door-to-door with Diss to call roll and sign in back in Rojia was far quicker and more convenient. "This time, I hold a roster just the same, but I lack the power to call roll at their doorsteps." "Young Master, isn't that precisely what makes this interesting? I believe that before long—perhaps only a few years from now—when you suddenly recall this matter, you will miss your present self. You will miss the intricate, winding journey of resolving problems and troubles while still relatively weak. "Therefore, please enjoy this joyful time, Young Master. For even if you wish to savor it later, you will never recapture this feeling again." "Alfred, I get the sense that after spending a few days in the hospital, your silver tongue has sharpened." "It is because your servant has grown more devout." "Heh." "Young Master, would you like to listen to some music?" "Sure, pick a song." Alfred tuned the car radio. A burst of static hissed through the speakers, followed by a gentle song tinged with faint melancholy, its lyrics steeped in reminiscence: *"Gone is the sunset I once watched sitting by the brook; gone is the gentle breeze I once chased across the ridges; gone are the stars I once sat on the roof to count;* *"Only now do I realize that I have lost so much beauty;* *"Only now do I realize how wealthy I once was..."* "What is the song called?" "'A Letter to My Past Self.'" Karen nodded. "A rare decent song title." The dispute ahead had reached a resolution, and the two vehicles finally drove off. As Karen started moving, he remarked, "I had promised Alaye I'd examine his son, but tonight was delayed." By the time the car pulled up to the entrance of their residential area, it was already nearly eleven at night. Inside the security booth at the entrance, Alaye's figure was visible. He had been chatting with two guards, but the moment he saw Karen's car return, Alaye immediately retrieved a bag of meal boxes wrapped in a quilt from the chair beside him and hurried over. Karen rolled down the window. "Young Master, you haven't eaten dinner yet, have you? Here are some meat patties, sauced noodles, and fried chicken. They're still warm, and here's a bag of fruit. "Oh, Mr. Alfred, you've been discharged?" "Yes, I went to pick him up," Karen said. "Congratulations on your recovery, Mr. Alfred." "Thank you." Alfred smiled at Alaye. "Where is Hand?" Karen asked. Alaye waved his hands in a fluster. "No, no, no, it's far too late tonight. You should eat something and get some rest, Young Master." "Go call the boy over." "He's already asleep, Young Master, haha." "Wake him. I was the one who delayed things, but the child's matters cannot wait." "Understood, Young Master. I'll bring him over right away." "Right. And another thing—once I finish speaking with the child, you, as his father, must apologize to him immediately and promise that nothing like this will ever happen again. "There are no real grudges between a child and their parents, but you need to take the initiative." "Yes, yes, yes, I understand. I'll remember." After parking the car and heading upstairs into their residence, Karen saw that Purr and Kevin had not yet returned. He set the meal boxes on the table and opened them one by one. They were indeed still warm and required no reheating. Taking a pair of chopsticks from Alfred, Karen sat down and began eating straight away. Alfred poured Karen a glass of ice water, set it beside him, and sat down to eat with him. When they finished dinner, Karen let out a rather unrefined sigh of satisfaction. He had not had a proper meal all day. Alfred checked the time and saw that half an hour had passed. Puzzled, he asked, "Why hasn't Alaye brought Hand over yet?" Karen said, "He intentionally gave us time to eat. Go open the door. He's probably waiting out in the hallway." Alfred stood up, opened the door, and glanced outside. "Come on in." "Of course, right away." Alaye walked in, leading Hand. "Hand, come with me to the study. Alfred, do we still have any orange crystals in the house?" Alfred opened a cabinet. "Yes, Young Master. I'll mix a cup and bring it up." Orange crystals were a powdered drink mix, sweet and sour, with a flavor reminiscent of orange juice. Ever since Purr started following Karen, her standard of living had skyrocketed. Now she demanded not only daily coffee and afternoon pastries, but fruit juice as well. However, after leaving Allen Manor, there was no staff to make fresh-squeezed juice for her, so she had to settle for this substitute. A dedicated cabinet in the kitchen was stocked almost entirely with Purr's personal snacks. Karen led Hand upstairs into his study. Pointing to a chair, Karen said, "Sit." Hand sat down, but remained stubbornly mute. Karen began conversing with him in sign language, counseling and consoling him. Gradually, Hand began to respond, signing back to Karen of his own accord. The progress was promising. Of course, the root reason was that Alaye had only subjected Hand to a single session of electroconvulsive therapy before bringing him back the next day. A few more sessions would likely have ruined the child. As a deaf-mute, the sunnier the child had seemed on the outside, the more fragile he was within, born into a world where he naturally lacked a sense of security. Just then, the study door was pushed open, and Alfred entered carrying two glasses of orange crystals. "Leave the lighter behind." "Yes, Young Master." Hand's cup was warm, while Karen's had ice cubes added. Karen took a sip. It was very sweet and could easily become cloying, yet it carried the flavor of nostalgia. In his past life during his childhood, drinks like this had been quite popular. After Hand took a drink, a smile broke across his face as well. Karen continued his conversation with Hand. During their talk, Karen tore off a sheet of paper and sketched Alaye's likeness upon it. Alaye was a slightly chubby, middle-aged man, easy to draw. When the sketch was finished, Karen noticed a shift in Hand's eyes; the boy clearly recognized his father. Picking up the drawing of Alaye, Karen joined Hand in flicking their fingers against the paper as if thrashing Alaye. Hand flicked with great delight. It was much like a child clutching a doll and crying out: *Bad daddy, stinky daddy, take that, take that!* Finally, Karen picked up the lighter Alfred had left behind, sparked a flame, and made a motion as if to burn the drawing of Alaye. Seeing this, before the flame could draw near, Hand snatched the paper bearing his father's likeness and clutched it tightly against his chest. Karen smiled, nodded, extinguished the lighter, and led Hand out of the study. Seeing his son come down, Alaye—having been instructed by Karen beforehand—rushed forward and embraced his son right at the foot of the stairs. He signed promises ceaselessly, repeatedly slapping his own cheeks in self-reproach. Soon, father and son held each other tightly, and Hand broke into tears. Karen saw the two to the door. Alaye showered Karen with endless gratitude, and Hand, his liveliness restored, bowed to Karen and then bowed specifically to the newly discharged Alfred. "It's getting late. Go get some rest," Karen said. "Then I won't disturb you any longer. Young Master, Mr. Alfred, please get some rest as well." Just as Karen was about to close the door, Alaye suddenly braced his hand against it and said, "I almost forgot something, Young Master. The matter you asked me to look into at noon." "Oh? You have results already?" "A preliminary finding. There are several factories in our Blue Bridge Community, mostly textile mills. These days, for ordinary folk—especially illegal immigrants—finding a stable, long-term job is very difficult. They tend to treasure the work they have, so in most textile mills in Blue Bridge Community, worker turnover is quite low. "There's only one where the turnover is extraordinarily high. The feedback from several labor recruiting agents I asked was entirely consistent. It's a textile mill—probably the largest one in Blue Bridge Community—owned by a Mr. Tardel. "Every year, his business pays recruitment fees to agencies on a per-head basis to recruit illegal immigrant workers for him. Those agent friends of mine have lived quite comfortably for the past few years relying almost entirely on his business." "Didn't they ever wonder why he needed so many new workers every year?" "Well, the explanation the factory gave was that Mr. Tardel owns textile mills in other cities across Wien, including Sangpu City. Once the workers here become skilled, they are transferred to the newly opened plants. "That reasoning actually holds water, since York City has the highest concentration of illegal immigrants." "Understood. Thank you." "Young Master, I'll continue looking into it." "No need. This is enough." "Uh, really?" "Really." "Alright, Young Master, understood." The reason Karen had asked Alaye to investigate was that Alaye was a recruiter himself. Inquiring among other agents was completely normal for him and would not arouse suspicion from higher-ups. Closing the door, Karen sat down on the sofa. "Young Master, it really was Mr. Tardel. So why did the Raphael family want to kill him? Was it because he was planning to betray them?" "Most likely. Just as the businesses under the Allen family have multiple figures managing operations, the Raphael family probably follows a similar model. Mr. Tardel used factory recruitment as a cover to absorb large numbers of female illegal immigrant workers—after all, textile mills employ primarily women. "As for the reason behind his betrayal... I can't say for sure. "I even suspect that his appointment to see me for a consultation wasn't to tell me about this matter at all. Perhaps he wanted me to help him make up his mind, or screw up his courage—using me like a priest." "Young Master, I think we could inquire with his son. Though, of course, contacting his son right now won't be easy." "It wasn't easy before, but we can give it a try now. When making contact, we can intentionally leave behind some traces of Light." "Well said, Young Master. With traces of Light and the undeniable presence of Light remnants, they won't waste their efforts investigating us." To conduct an investigation smoothly while erasing one's own trail, the best approach was not to conceal oneself as thoroughly as possible, for as the investigation progressed, the opposing side would inevitably notice something. Thus, the truly effective method was to divert the trail. Judging from today's impressions, the remnants of Light were still a force to be reckoned with; they were more than qualified to take the blame. "Why haven't Purr and Kevin returned yet?" Karen mused, noting that midnight had already passed. "Should I go out and look for them, Young Master?" "No need. How could you even begin to search?" Karen shook his head. "They'll probably be back in a bit. Let's get some rest first. Tomorrow we'll visit Tardel's textile mill." "Yes, Young Master." Karen walked halfway up the stairs, then abruptly stopped and turned around. "What's the date today?" "Young Master, it's the twenty-sixth. Past midnight." "Which means yesterday was the twenty-fifth." Karen briskly climbed the stairs to his bedroom, opened the nightstand drawer, and retrieved a slip of stationery. Alfred had also come to stand by the bedroom door. "What is it, Young Master?" "Do you remember this note?" "Of course. That night, Purr and Kevin caught that carrier crow together and took it off the bird." "Take another look." Karen handed the note to Alfred. Alfred read it carefully: *"Conference Hall No. 3, Curtis Building, 2:00 PM, the 25th. Light shines eternal."* "Yesterday was actually the day of the gathering," Alfred said. Karen had never intended to attend, so the note had remained tucked away in the drawer. "From the fact that they could take control of both Piaget's clinic and his home, it's clear that a substantial number of the Church of Light have gathered in York City. Didn't we hear that woman mention tonight that Miss Bertha is a divine envoy? And she clearly doesn't get along with the old man who was at Piaget's house today. "As remnants gathered from various places, the chain of command among them isn't clear-cut. On the surface, they may act like allies, but in reality, each faction pursues its own agenda." "Young Master, I'm still not quite following." "Two in the afternoon was roughly the time of Mr. Tardel's appointment. And at that exact same time, across the street from the Saint Torr Building where the Adams clinic is located, a secret gathering of Church of Light believers was taking place in the Curtis Building. "Therefore, Mr. Tardel never intended to visit the Adams clinic for a consultation at all. The place he actually wanted to go was right across the street." "Then... hasn't Miss Bertha known Mr. Tardel's true identity all along? Has she been deceiving us?" Karen shook his head. "No, she has no reason to do that. "In the real world, the Church of Light is not merely suppressed; it is completely banned. Even ordinary believers must conceal their faith. "This gathering used black crows to deliver messages, much like a spy ring arranging clandestine contacts. The crows would have delivered messages to seasoned, veteran believers. Once they received the gathering details, those veterans would inform the new converts they had recruited, and everyone would attend together. It served as a reward for the veterans and a means to solidify the new recruits. "During the gathering, all the believers likely wore concealing robes to keep their identities hidden from one another, preventing the risk of an entire network collapsing if a single leak occurred. "Mr. Tardel had probably been suffering from the pangs of conscience over his actions for a long time, feeling burdened by grievous sin. Recently, or in recent years, he came into contact with the Church of Light and became a believer to cleanse his soul of guilt. "When proselytizing, veteran believers certainly wouldn't blurt out that the Church of Light was already destroyed and actively suppressed by the entire ecclesiastical circle—how could they recruit new converts like that? "Thus, in Mr. Tardel's eyes, the Church of Light and the God of Light were bound to be an immensely majestic and powerful presence." "So yesterday, Mr. Tardel was carrying the evidence he had prepared, intending to attend that gathering and use the occasion to report this wicked affair to the Church of Light? "However, people from the Raphael family discovered his suspicious behavior and inclination toward betrayal beforehand, so he was intercepted and murdered en route." Karen nodded. "Yes. That is also why I believe Miss Bertha and that old man had no idea Mr. Tardel was a believer of the Church of Light. "Would Miss Bertha and that old man instruct their own follower to go undercover, gather evidence of corruption within the Church of Order, and deliver it to them? "And then take that evidence to the Church of Order's higher-ups to report it and claim a bounty?" "Heh..." Alfred could not help letting out a laugh, though he quickly composed himself. For if this truly had been Miss Bertha's plan, it would be equivalent to an escaped death-row convict taking evidence of a police captain's corruption directly to that captain's precinct to file a report. "Heh." Karen licked his lips. "Earlier, when we discussed pinning all our investigative tracks on the Church of Light, I felt a slight twinge of guilt. Now, there's no burden at all—because this was supposed to be their business in the first place." *** A rainy night. On an adjacent rooftop, a cat and a dog slowly poked their heads out. Down on the street below, five figures in black robes had cornered a man. "Pavaro, you shouldn't have run. I thought you would realize that flaw was left intentionally for you." "Of course I knew. Because that way, you could 'legally' execute me on the grounds of resisting arrest and fleeing from guilt, sparing your superiors from an investigation into the unnatural death of an active Inquisitor." "Then why did you still run?" "Because I discovered that the Jurist in charge of presiding over my trial is actually one of your men as well." Tyers, squad captain of the Whip of Order, shook his head. "No, no, no. Rather, we are his men." "Heh..." "I know you submitted to arrest obediently because you intended to report everything to the Jurist during the trial. You were too naive, Pavaro. How could we ever give you that chance? "This works out nicely, too. It saves me the trouble of drafting and fabricating charges against you. "Do you have any idea what agony it was to compile charges against you? Inquisitors as clean and conscientious as you are practically unheard of. "Honestly, if you hadn't taken the initiative to break out, you could have stayed in that cell for quite a long time, giving you a chance to think things through and compromise in the end." "The moment I learned the Jurist presiding over my trial was corrupt, I couldn't bear to sit in that cell for another day. At the thought of those wicked deeds continuing in that place while I sat in a cell, my soul burned with torment." Tyers raised his hand, and a black leather whip materialized in his palm. He sneered, "Our esteemed Inquisitor is surprisingly virtuous. Tsk, tsk. You should have converted to the Church of Light—that would have suited you far better." Pavaro spread his hands open, two clusters of black flame igniting within his palms as he braced for battle. At the same time, he spoke: "What torments me most of all is that people like you, who claim to believe in Order, commit such blasphemy against Order itself!"