It Begins!

"Get in the car." "Okay." Little John climbed into the front passenger seat. Karen opened the rear door and sat down next to Mr. Pavaro. "What about the butler?" Mr. Pavaro asked. "Dead. Poisoned." Sitting in the front, Little John immediately defended himself: "It wasn't me! He was the one trying to poison me." "Did he undergo 'Awakening'?" Pavaro asked. "No." Karen shook his head. "You didn't get the location out of him?" "No need to bother. He knows." Karen pointed at Little John. "It's right where he was corrupted." "Are we going right now?" Pavaro asked. "No, tomorrow. If we're going into a viper's nest, the first thing we must do is lure the snake out—or at the very least, wound it. Otherwise, even if we find the place, we'll hardly stand a chance." "You're going to lure them toward the Light remnants?" "I already have. The dead don't just keep secrets; what the dead say is often far more believable." The people Alfred had killed earlier in the textile mill's executive office, and the words Karen had spoken at the Tardel residence to Little John—which were actually meant for the dying butler—all of it would be presented to the Church of Order as clues and evidence once those corpses were subjected to "Awakening." Pavaro chuckled. "Other people kill to silence witnesses, but you kill to deliver a message." Pausing, Pavaro added, "Still, it's a bit obvious." "It is," Karen nodded. "Direct and obvious don't matter, though, so long as it works." "Fair enough." "The Light remnants are a thorn in the side of the entire church circle. Today, the Church of Order's status rivals that of the Church of Light from the last era, so they've always been the most vigilant and wary of the Light remnants." "True." "Of course, the most important factor is that this group of Light remnants can actually fight. If they were just a couple of small fry, it wouldn't accomplish anything. Besides being tough, they're reckless." Karen thought of Elder Doke, who was practically a hot-tempered brute. These Light remnants were split into several factions forced together, with three known branches so far: Miss Bertha's faction as the divine envoy, Elder Doke's faction, and the group holding secret evangelical gatherings across from the clinic. In name, they all answered to the divine envoy, but in private, they acted willfully according to their own habits and pace. Even if the Church of Order was cautious enough to send scouts to make preliminary contact, Elder Doke's faction would treat them just like the Raphael family last time, meeting them with the harshest, most lethal force. "Another thing: from our perspective, the Light remnants have no reason to meddle in this affair. It seems completely bizarre for them to get involved. But to the people who tried to kill you, it doesn't look that way. They've bypassed that whole 'bizarre' phase and jumped straight to the conclusion that the Light remnants are indeed investigating this, and investigating it deeply. "When you were an Inquisitor, the reports you submitted were intercepted, and you were suppressed, imprisoned, and ultimately sentenced to death because you were under their control the entire time. Those Light remnants aren't. "They have to worry that the Light remnants' movements will draw attention from other branches of the Church of Order. If a clash erupts between the two sides, their secret might very well be exposed. That's why they'll be the most restless of all. To them, the safest and most reliable move is to use their own power to snuff out that cell of Light remnants as quickly as possible." Hearing this, Mr. Pavaro felt like laughing, yet couldn't: "To think that my reporting channel as an Inquisitor couldn't even match the Light remnants." "It really is dark humor." "Young Master, where are we going now?" "Home first." "Understood, Young Master." On the way back, Karen leaned his head against the car window again, seizing the moment to catch up on sleep. Little John sat bolt upright the whole way, looking very ill at ease. Mr. Pavaro looked at Karen beside him, occasionally touching his own face, and then glanced out the window, taking in the scenery that he had fewer and fewer chances to see. When the car pulled up beneath the apartment building, Karen opened his eyes for a second before closing them again. Little John was the first to step out. He opened the rear door and took the initiative to support Mr. Pavaro as he got out. "Supporting me won't do any good," Mr. Pavaro said. "I'll be dead in two days anyway." Little John pretended not to understand, putting on an innocent, endearing child's smile. Pavaro looked back at Karen, who was still resting in the car, and said nothing more. With Little John's help, he walked upstairs, Alfred trailing behind them. The apartment door was open. The maid, Xili, was tidying up, tear stains clearly visible on her face. Seeing a strange disabled man and an unfamiliar boy appear before her, Xili looked bewilderedly toward Alfred behind them. "They're guests. They'll be staying here for a few days." "Oh, alright. I'll take care of them." Xili forced a smile. Alfred gave her a curious look, then walked inside. Only after stepping into the apartment did he realize why Xili looked so shaken. Because Ms. Annie was still lying inside the ground-floor bathroom. Imagine a maid arriving at her employer's home in the morning, finding only a cat and a dog around, humming a tune while cleaning, and then opening the bathroom door to see a woman's corpse surrounded by candles on the floor, a hole drilled through her forehead. Alfred stepped back outside toward Xili and asked, "You didn't call the police, did you?" "Ah, no, no, I didn't." "That's good." "Mr. Alfred, do... do you need me to help carry that... that out?" "Just pretend a relative passed away naturally at home, but we don't have time to arrange the funeral right now. It'll be fine in a couple of days." "Passed away... naturally?" "Go on with your work." "Yes, sir." Xili took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. By all rights, she should have gone to the police. But legally speaking, as an illegal immigrant, she didn't even have the standing to walk into a police station. *** Alfred returned to the car. Karen shifted his head with his eyes still closed and said, "To Apple Street." "Yes, Young Master." Starting the engine, Alfred said, "Young Master, Xili saw Ms. Annie's body." "Heh, she must have been terrified." "Yes." Karen didn't inquire further, knowing Xili wouldn't call the police. After another brief nap, the car turned onto Apple Street and stopped outside Piaget's house. Karen stretched. His intermittent naps had provided just enough rest. For normal work, pulling an all-nighter at his age wouldn't be an issue, but chanting spells required mental energy to sustain, so he had to prioritize rest. "Alright, you can head back." "Young Master, even though you gave the neighboring address, it might not be safe for you here." "It's precisely because I know it won't be safe that I have to come." "Understood, Young Master." Karen got out of the car. Pushing open the unlocked courtyard gate and stepping inside, he paused and glanced up at the second-floor window sill of the neighboring villa. Vernon stood there, looking like a poet in heat. Covering his mouth with the back of his hand, Karen yawned and continued inside. He stopped before the front entrance, but before he could knock, the door opened. The curtains on the first floor's French windows weren't drawn, and Piaget and Bede had been sitting right there, watching Karen walk up. Piaget had opened the door. "You're here." "Yeah, just dropping by to see you both." Entering the living room, Karen saw an easel as large as a classroom blackboard, though the canvas was blank, untouched by paint. Bede, who had been sitting on the sofa, stood up and smiled at Karen. "Has the Church of Light kept the agreement?" Karen asked. The agreement stipulated that aside from Karen and Miss Bertha, no one else was allowed to enter, nor were they permitted to probe this place. Bede said, "No probing. If there were, I'd sense it the moment I picked up my brush to paint." "Good." Karen sat down on the sofa. The Church of the Mural God truly possessed many miraculous abilities, yet it also had one fatal flaw: none of them knew how to fight. "Would you like some coffee?" Piaget asked. "Oh, certainly. I could really use some right now, but skip the sugar." "There was a reason for that last time." "Yeah, I tasted it." Piaget poured Karen a cup of coffee that had been brewed earlier. Karen took a sip. Compared to that horrifying sweetness, he far preferred pure bitterness. "Have you two painted anything yet?" Karen asked. "We're still in the conceptual stage," Bede replied. "No rush, take your time," Karen said. "Oh, right, there's another thing: I lured a swarm of stinging bees to the neighboring house. I don't know when they'll arrive—could be dusk, could be late at night." "Next door?" Piaget pointed in that direction. "Yeah. Do you have any concerns?" "None," Piaget said decisively. "I thought you'd care about Miss Bertha's feelings." "People always have to move on; we can't dwell in the past forever. Look at you—aren't you living just fine after parting ways with Miss Eunice?" "*Cough...*" Karen choked on his coffee and reflexively glanced at Mr. Bede, who was sitting there. Mr. Bede's expression remained placid. It seemed they hadn't shared any deep conversations; everything was strictly confined to collaborating on a painting. "There will be danger tonight," Karen warned. "However, our way of handling it is simple: pretend we know nothing, and pretend nothing happened. "I even suspect that when the bees scout the area, they might drop by here first. So if someone suddenly shows up, don't panic. "Piaget, you're still a clinic owner. Mr. Bede, you're a painter. Understood?" "Mm." Piaget nodded. "I didn't hear any danger in what you just said. Instead, it sounded a lot like freedom. After tonight, will Mr. Bede and I finally be free instead of remaining under house arrest?" Bede spoke up: "If you want to use a lighter to burn through the rope binding your hands, you can't be afraid of getting scorched." Karen looked out the window. "That fool on the second floor next door has been staring into the yard the whole time." Vernon hadn't broken the agreement; he hadn't used any special methods to probe this villa. He was merely using his eyes. After thinking for a moment, Karen said, "How about this: we can be a bit more proactive. Piaget, do you have a phone directory here?" "I do." "You haven't torn out the advertisements, have you?" Usually, the colored pages of a directory listed phone numbers for nearby banks, restaurants, and other businesses for easy contact. "No." "Order a pizza in a bit, and order some late-night snacks later. Order plenty of food. When you answer the door, hold a brush and palette, pretend you're too busy to take the delivery, and have the deliveryman carry it right inside." Piaget chuckled. "Sounds like opening the sheep pen ourselves to invite the wolf in." "Any other questions?" Karen asked. "None from me. Aside from the Church of the Mural God, I don't know much anyway. What about you, Mr. Bede?" "Given the current situation, I have no problem either. After all, the main battlefield isn't here." "Good, then that's settled. By the way, Piaget, do you have any unworn pajamas?" "Could you grab me a set? I want to take a shower first." Having stayed up all night and only managed fragmented naps in the car, he felt greasy and uncomfortable. "Go take your shower. I'll leave the pajamas outside." "Alright." Karen stood, gave Mr. Bede a nod, and headed upstairs to the second-floor bathroom. While he was showering, Piaget knocked on the door. "I left the pajamas outside. I brought three new sets; pick whichever you like." "Thanks." "I also left a razor and shaving cream here." "Thank you." After a refreshing shower, Karen opened the door, selected a set of blue-and-black plaid pajamas from the three options, and put them on. Instead of heading straight downstairs, he stood in front of the vanity mirror. In truth, Alfred's warning had been entirely correct. There was danger here. If it were anyone else, Karen wouldn't have hesitated to abandon these teammates for the sake of his own safety. Yet this time, he had no choice. One was a friend who had handed him money multiple times, and the other was his future father-in-law. There was another, more awkward reason: much like a killer who couldn't resist returning to the crime scene, he had orchestrated the upcoming showdown with his own frame-up. Missing the chance to witness it up close felt like too great a regret. *Hopefully, everything goes smoothly.* Karen picked up the razor box, opened it, leaned toward the mirror, looked closely, and touched his face. He didn't really need to shave; he was simply too young. After wiping his face again with a warm towel, Karen walked down the stairs to the first floor. He caught a rich aroma of tomato sauce and saw Piaget munching on a slice of pizza while idly dabbing at the large canvas with a brush. Mr. Bede reclined on the sofa, holding a cigar between his fingers, his gaze unfocused. On the living room coffee table, a deliveryman wearing green clothing emblazoned with "Proco Pizza" was kneeling on one knee, unpacking food from a delivery box one item at a time. There were pizzas, other savory dishes, and even red wine. Even if Piaget had called the pizza parlor the moment Karen went upstairs to shower, this delivery speed was remarkably fast. Karen glanced at the wall clock: a quarter to four in the afternoon. He didn't linger his gaze on the deliveryman, however. Walking over, he picked up a slice of pizza and took a bite. Likely because it had been rushed over fresh from the oven, it tasted surprisingly good. "Open the wine, please," Karen said. "Right away, sir." The deliveryman immediately produced his own corkscrew to open the bottle. "Hey, did you tip him?" Karen asked Piaget while chewing. "This gentleman already did, and very generously. Thank you," the deliveryman smiled. *Pop!* The wine bottle was uncorked. "Gentlemen, do you have glasses here?" "Just use the cups you brought," Karen said casually. "Certainly." As the deliveryman poured the wine, he remarked curiously, "I assumed you gentlemen would have a wine cellar." Still painting, Piaget replied, "I just moved in and haven't had time to stock it. Without friends over, I don't drink alone anyway." "Indeed, wine is only enjoyable when shared with friends." Having poured the wine, the deliveryman stood up and took the initiative to clear away the trash from the coffee table and floor. Mr. Bede blew out a smoke ring and said with slight impatience, "Alright, alright, you may leave." "Yes, sir. I'll take this trash out with me." The deliveryman picked up the bag he had tied and walked toward the foyer. Just before reaching the door, he stopped and turned. "Oh, by the way, gentlemen, is the house next door number 307?" "It is. Why?" Karen asked. "Nothing, sir. Just that when I passed by earlier, I saw someone upstairs watching me. I almost mistook it for their delivery." Piaget poked his head out from behind the canvas and called out, "How could that be? The house next door belongs to my family too, but it's been empty the whole time. No one lives there. Your eyes must be playing tricks on you." "Ah, then I must have been mistaken. Sorry for the trouble." The deliveryman quickly opened the door and left. Through the French windows, they watched him walk out past the courtyard gate. Piaget stretched, just about to say something, when he noticed Mr. Bede set his cigar in the ashtray, stand up, take a brush, and walk over to the canvas. Right beside where Piaget had been painting, Bede began working. "This pizza really is pretty good," Karen remarked. "Yeah, though the wine is lacking," Piaget shook his head. "I need to hurry up and stock the cellar." "Hey, aren't you going next door to check? The deliveryman said he saw someone in your house. What if a thief broke in?" Karen asked. "Even if there is a thief, what would I do? Thieves only steal things, and I don't want to get hurt. My safety is worth far more than some furniture." As they spoke, Karen and Piaget were both watching Mr. Bede paint. His brow was furrowed in intense concentration. Yet the way he held the brush was odd—the handle was tilted sharply upward. Meaning: upstairs. At that very moment, in the second-floor bathroom, Squad Captain Tyers of the Whip of Order stood before the vanity mirror, fiddling with the opened, unused razor. *** Karen said, "Boss, which one of us will you choose first tonight?" Piaget froze for a second, but quickly slipped into character, grinning. "He's wine; he needs to be savored slowly. You're a cocktail, good for a fresh kick. Come on, you come up to the second-floor bedroom with me first. Tonight, you can take turns." Standing in the second-floor bathroom, Tyers wore an expression of disgust and nausea. He set the razor back into the sink, took two steps back, and his body dissolved into a plume of black mist, drifting out through the window. Mr. Bede set down his brush. "He's gone." The three of them sat back down on the sofa. Karen lifted the glass of red wine, took a sip, and smiled. "Now, all that's left is to wait for the curtain to rise."