Karen helped clean Ms. Annie's body, but he was not Aunt Mary, after all, and had no way to apply detailed mortuary makeup.
Alfred set up a ritual array in the downstairs bathroom, placed Ms. Annie inside, and activated it. It was the simplest sort of array, meant to nourish skin and beauty, which naturally served just as well for preservation.
After finishing this, Karen checked the time. It was already morning.
"Young Master, would you like to get some rest?"
Karen shook his head, glanced toward the upstairs study, and said, "We could have rested under normal circumstances."
Karen had never felt any overwhelming psychological burden that finding the place sooner would let him rescue those women earlier.
The real issue was that Mr. Pavaro had entered the final countdown of his life. Leaving him to sit blankly in the study while the rest of them slept felt far too cruel.
"Can you hold out?" Karen asked.
"Young Master, you need not worry about my stamina."
"Then I'll catch a quick nap in the car."
Karen walked upstairs, pushed open the study door, and stepped inside. Mr. Pavaro was seated behind the desk.
"Do you want to come with us to continue the investigation?" Karen asked.
"I do."
Pavaro's answer was straightforward. At the same time, he held out both hands, and two plumes of black flame immediately flickered to life upon his palms.
"My mobility is compromised, but I can still be of some use."
"All right."
"Thank you. Oh, forgive me, I shouldn't be so polite."
Purr and Kevin, exhausted after a long night, stayed behind to rest at home. Alfred carried Mr. Pavaro downstairs and settled him into the back seat, while Karen took the passenger side.
The car started and headed toward the Tardel family's textile mill.
Along the way, Mr. Pavaro kept his gaze fixed outside the window. "Seen in a different frame of mind, even the scenery truly looks different."
"I have paper and a pen here. If you'd like, you could write a poem."
"I lack the talent for that, nor do I care to join the crowd. The world was overcrowded with poets long ago; there's no need for me to squeeze in."
"Heh."
Karen leaned his forehead against the window, resting while turning things over in his mind.
Did Mr. Pavaro see the scenes of his God's Revelation and God's Shepherd because experiencing them had left some sort of imprint that resonated with Pavaro's own faith?
Count Rekar had seen none of that back then... nor had Karen witnessed Count Rekar awakening his family faith system to praise their Ancestor, unlike what had happened this time.
Was it because both he and Mr. Pavaro believed in Order?
Karen unconsciously reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose, then spoke:
"Mr. Pavaro."
"Yes?"
"After seeing those visions of me, why did you still think I was an 'exalted one'?"
Karen believed in Mr. Pavaro's integrity. The man had gone this far and sacrificed his life at his post for the sake of 'justice.'
"Because I only saw the scenes of your God's Revelation and God's Shepherd. I assumed they were your past memories. Huh?"
As he said this, Mr. Pavaro himself seemed surprised. After pausing to reflect, he spoke again:
"In that vision, when I saw you, I... I truly saw you and heard your inner monologue. But thinking back on it now, the you in that vision actually had no face... No, there was a face, but I cannot remember it. I didn't think your face was unusual, yet I simply cannot recall it."
From the driver's seat, Alfred asked, "Wasn't it identical to Young Master's face?"
"It was identical," Pavaro confirmed. "Yet in the vision I saw, the face both existed and did not exist."
"Hahaha!"
Alfred suddenly burst into laughter.
Then his expression turned solemn, and in the husky, mature tone of a radio broadcaster, he said, "A god must not be gazed upon directly!"
Pavaro asked Alfred curiously, "What faith do you follow?"
"The Church."
"Of course I know it's a church. The Church of Principles?"
"Ahem, the church I believe in is still rather small at the moment."
Alfred was too embarrassed to admit that the church seemed to have only a single believer right now—himself.
In the front passenger seat, Karen pondered Pavaro's words. The scene Pavaro described aligned with a fragment of his own memory: during his purification, when he saw the God of Order walking toward him out of nothingness, he, too, had been unable to remember the face of the God of Order.
Karen had listened to Pavaro's prayer, and Pavaro had seen the visions of Karen's thoughts.
This was not a simple exchange; it was a cycle.
Because the textile mill was located in the Blue Bridge Community, the drive was short. Alfred pulled the car over ahead of time.
"Young Master?"
"Snatch someone to question," Karen said.
"Understood, Young Master."
Alfred opened the car door. As he stepped out, Karen remarked, "The sun is quite nice today."
"Yes, Young Master, wonderful sun."
Alfred smiled and walked toward the factory wall.
Pavaro, sitting in the back seat, sounded astonished. "So direct?"
"Yes."
Alfred would go straight into the workshops, find a core manager, and interrogate them under hypnosis. It was the simplest and most efficient way. As for whether doing so would leave traces and put the other side on alert, of course it would.
Yet there was no need for fear or worry—they merely had to praise the Light.
For the Light was forever darkness's natural enemy!
Karen was confident that with Elder Doke's group around, they could easily take the fall.
"You know Lemar?"
"Why do you ask?"
"A feeling," Pavaro replied.
"Perhaps there is a sliver of hope that he might help me."
"That's wonderful. That is probably the best possible outcome for my family. You value family deeply as well, Young Master Karen. I could tell from when you mentioned your grandfather earlier."
"Not just my grandfather. My uncle, aunt, cousins—they are all my most cherished family. Back in Rojia City, I have a very warm and wonderful home."
"I do too. My two daughters are very sensible. It's actually all my fault, truly all my fault. If I had inspected a few more times back then, or delayed pursuing that aberrant demon a little, or caught it and returned home earlier, my two daughters wouldn't have been contaminated to this degree.
"I am not a qualified father.
"My wife used to be very gentle, too. It was all brought about by my own hand.
"Thank you, Karen, for helping me take on this responsibility.
"If this matter can be brought to a successful conclusion, it means Tyers, Ruke, and that Jurist will have their wicked deeds brought to light. Their end will be miserable, and retribution will find them.
"And as for me, who should have died—surviving will seem perfectly natural, hehe.
"Because no one will believe the word of a vile criminal claiming: 'He's dead, I killed him with my own hands!'"
Karen said, "People prefer to believe that justice ultimately triumphs over evil. For the Church of Order, the person who carves out its rotten flesh is best suited to be a member of the Church of Order itself, turning a tragedy into a celebration."
"That sounds... quite worth looking forward to. Heh, in the past, I would never have uttered such words, nor would I have liked this way of thinking and acting."
"Probably because you've died once. It's hard not to let loose a little. An elder I know was the same way back then."
"Is that so?"
"I'm going to sleep for a bit. Keep an eye out for me."
"All right. I don't need rest anymore anyway."
Karen reclined his seat and lay back to genuinely sleep, completely undefended against Mr. Pavaro.
Before long, Karen truly drifted off.
Two hours later, Pavaro nudged Karen awake. Opening his eyes, Karen looked out the window and saw Alfred walking toward them.
Opening the door, Alfred slid into the driver's seat and spoke immediately:
"Young Master, I caught two managers. One of them is even a member of the Raphael family. According to what they revealed, a batch of female workers is moved away at regular intervals, but they don't know the transfer location. That link is handled exclusively by Mr. Tardel, his butler, and a separate group of people."
"So we still need to go to Mr. Tardel's home," Karen said. "How about I drive and you catch some sleep?"
"No need, Young Master, I'm fine."
Alfred restarted the engine.
"If it were me, I would look into newly constructed factories and buildings from recent years to see which ones have basements, including underground garages. It would just be a bit slower," Mr. Pavaro said.
"I understand," Karen replied. "But I find that too slow."
"I imagine your grandfather must be an impatient man as well."
"Yes, you guessed right. My grandfather is the most impatient person in the world, haha."
"Hehe..." Alfred laughed along.
"Forgive my impudence, but is your grandfather still around?"
"Yes, alive and well. He's waiting for me to go home."
"That's wonderful."
"Young Master, when I restrained them in the office and interrogated them under hypnosis, praises for the Light never left my lips. I even set up the simplest little Light-attribute array to purify the office for them."
"Are they dead?" Mr. Pavaro asked.
Alfred replied nonchalantly, "Does scum like that deserve to live? Both of those managers were in the know."
"Are you waiting for them to be awakened for questioning? But simply pinning the suspicion on the Church of Light seems a bit too rudimentary, doesn't it?"
Alfred looked toward Karen; it was not his place to answer that.
Karen answered directly:
"A sizable and capable group of Light remnants is currently operating inside York City."
Mr. Pavaro opened his mouth, and it took a long moment before he closed it again. "You are far cleverer than I am."
"When you made your first report, you blocked off all other avenues."
"If it were you, when you first uncovered the situation, would you have chosen to report it?"
"No." Karen looked out the window. "I didn't even trust him, so why would I trust the people beneath him?"
***
The Tardel family villa;
First floor, living room.
Butler Mune was signing a document with a fountain pen. Once finished, he picked up the folder and handed it over with both hands to the man before him.
"Mr. Butler... oh no, Mr. Mune, this division of inheritance is essentially complete. From now on, all assets under Tardel's name, including this villa, will be transferred to your name."
"I will dedicate everything I have to Raphael!"
"Mm, very good. Tardel already disappointed the Raphael family once; I hope you take that as a warning."
"Of course, of course."
"Ensure the operations run smoothly."
"Yes, I understand. However, I have one more matter to report to you, which I ask you to present to the family."
"Oh? What is it?"
"I found this in a hidden compartment in the villa. It's something Tardel hid away."
Butler Mune opened the box in his hands. Inside lay a thick stack of letters alongside three thick, exquisite notebooks.
"Have you read through these letters?"
"I wouldn't dare conceal anything from you—I have read them all. I had to ensure that what I presented to the family was a useful and valuable lead."
"The God of Light..."
"Yes, these letters were all written by Tardel to the God of Light."
"Hah, writing letters to a god? Where did he plan to mail them? The Church of Light perished in history long ago."
"Therefore, I suspect Tardel's betrayal stemmed from being bewitched by the Church of Light. These three notebooks are filled with Church of Light doctrines that Tardel transcribed himself.
"He believed his wife's death and his son's mental affliction were divine retribution for his wicked deeds, falling upon his family instead.
"So in the letters, he repented again and again to the God of Light, hoping to atone for his sins."
"Is that the reason for his betrayal? You have done very well."
"It is only my duty."
"Conduct a thorough screening. Though the Church of Light perished, remnants of the Light have always existed. He must have come into contact with one of them and become corrupted by their ideology."
"I will conduct a search and screening to root out the Light remnants."
"Good. I will deliver these items to the eldest young master and put in a good word for you."
"Thank you for your guidance and support."
"We are all merely working for the family. Oh, right, did Tardel's son return to normal after psychological treatment?"
"After Tardel died, he suffered a relapse. Previously, he only imagined his mother was by his side; now, his dead father has joined her as well."
"In a little while, have him disposed of. The notarization of the inheritance is complete anyway."
"Sir, he is still just a child, and I watched him grow up."
"Sigh, do not indulge in such cheap mercy; it serves no purpose. Dispose of him soon so you can fully assume Tardel's responsibilities all the sooner."
Butler Mune's face displayed a look of pain and inner turmoil. In the end, he bit his lip tightly and nodded hard.
"I shall return to the family now."
"Allow me to see you out."
"No need. By the way, for the newest batch of goods in a few days, the headcount must be doubled. That is an order from above."
"Understood, I will certainly arrange it."
"Mm, do your work well."
"Safe travels, sir."
The man walked out of the villa. After getting into his car, he looked down at the box containing the envelopes and notebooks, murmuring to himself:
"Could the Second Young Master's sudden disappearance also be connected to the remnants of the Church of Light?"
***
Once the man from the family left, the grief on Butler Mune's face vanished, replaced by a cold sneer. He walked over to the drink counter, picked up a glass, and poured soda into it. Immediately after, he took out two white pills, dropped them into the soda, swirled the glass, and watched the pills dissolve.
Then, carrying the glass, he walked up the stairs to the third floor.
Inside the third-floor bedroom, Little John was curled up on the bed. His face cycled through fear, innocence, childish wonder, panic, and an assortment of other emotions.
He glanced to his left, then to his right:
"Daddy, you're so mean, tickling Mommy like that."
"Hahaha..."
Little John suddenly burst into laughter, rolling around on the bed, shouting:
"Mommy, Daddy tickled you, so why are you tickling me? Hahahaha..."
"Young Master?"
Mune knocked on the open bedroom door.
Little John stopped laughing, sat up, and beamed. "Mommy, Daddy, look! Uncle Mune is here!"
Even though Butler Mune knew the boy was mentally unstable, hearing these words sent a chill down his spine, as if the deceased Tardel and his wife were truly sitting at the bedside watching him.
In truth, Little John had played tricks on many people in the household—maids, footmen, and his father—but he had never played a trick on Butler Mune.
He only played games with interesting people, or rather, with people who were kind to him.
That difference in treatment meant he found Butler Mune neither interesting nor... kind.
"Young Master, you must be thirsty from playing so hard. Why don't you drink this soda?"
"I'm not thirsty."
"Come now, after you drink it, you can keep playing—keep playing with Mommy and Daddy, all right?"
Mune offered the glass to Little John.
Little John looked at him and smiled.
Mune smiled back. "Drink up, Young Master."
Little John nodded and reached out to take the glass.
Yet the hand holding the glass suddenly pulled away.
"I want to drink it! Don't pull it back, Uncle Mune."
Mune's eyes widened. He realized that his own hand had retracted the glass, and right now, his right hand refused to obey him at all.
"Uncle Mune, don't take it away! I want to drink!"
"All right, I'll give it to you."
Butler Mune grabbed his right hand with his left, trying to force it forward, but suddenly discovered that his left hand had stopped obeying him as well.
"Uncle Mune, do you want to drink it?"
"No, I don't want to drink it. I'm not thirsty."
"If Uncle wants to drink, Uncle should drink first! Daddy said so too—let Uncle drink first!"
"No, I won't drink it, I won't..."
Mune's eyes bulged as he watched his right hand lift the glass to his own lips, pressing it toward his mouth.
He clamped his lips shut, but in the next second, it felt as though invisible hands were violently prying his mouth open, inflicting excruciating pain.
"Uncle, Daddy says you're thirsty and wants to give you a drink."
Terror filled Mune's eyes. His mouth was forced wide open, and the entire glass of soda was poured straight down his throat—glug, glug, glug...
Once the whole glass was forced down, Mune found that his body had finally returned to normal. He collapsed onto his knees at once, thrusting his fingers down his throat in a desperate attempt to induce vomiting.
Before long, however, white foam began to spew from his mouth, and his limbs convulsed violently. The poison had already taken effect... and he had deliberately added two pills.
"No... no... no..."
Mune clutched his throat with one hand while flailing blindly forward with the other.
Little John asked with concern, "Uncle Mune, what's wrong? What happened to you?"
"How... how could this..." Mune gasped out with difficulty.
The smile on Little John's face slowly faded.
He answered very calmly, "Ever since the year I hid in Father's car and visited that place, I realized I had become a little different."
Just then, another figure appeared at the bedroom door.
When Little John saw the newcomer, his expression turned solemn for an instant before brightening into another smile—one far purer and more sincere than the one he had shown Mune.
Standing in the doorway, Karen spread his arms wide and proclaimed with deep piety:
"Praise the Light!"
Little John froze, at a loss for words.
As the poison rapidly took hold and choked off his breath, Mune twisted his neck around with agonizing effort to look at Karen in the doorway.
"The Light has witnessed your father's loyalty, and your father's soul has already been guided into the Paradise of Light.
"Now, I have come to take you away. The place we are going is also a detached villa with a large yard, not a bit inferior to your home here."
*Thud!*
By now, Mune had collapsed to the floor, facedown and motionless. His eyelids still twitched faintly, his life ticking down its final seconds.
Little John hopped off the bed, walked over to Karen, and asked curiously, "Where is that big house?"
Karen took Little John's hand, smiled, and answered:
"3-07 Apple Street."
Next door... to Piaget's home.
Chapter 137