Code of Order!

The car drove along. Karen prepared to catch a little more sleep. Just as his head leaned against the car window, Alfred, who was driving, freed one hand and offered a cushion. "Young Master, use this." "Where did you find that?" "I went and bought it myself after dropping you off at Apple Street, Young Master." Karen pressed the cushion against the glass, leaned his head into it, and closed his eyes. "Very comfortable." Alfred smiled and refocused on the road. Little John had assumed that mentioning the word "pigsty" would pique Karen's interest. Anyone who had ever curried favor with superiors understood that having the person you were trying to flatter speak a few extra words with you felt like a blessing. Yet Karen's nonchalant response left Little John feeling rather dejected. Pavaro reached across the seats, placing his hand atop Little John's head. Little John felt a sudden chill across his scalp and shuddered instinctively. This gentleman felt just like a dead man. "In truth, it has a soul." Puzzled, Little John asked, "When you say 'it,' sir, what do you mean?" "What you just mentioned." "The pigsty?" "It is seeking vengeance." "That's..." "You are the target of its vengeance." "Me?" "You might find having these special abilities interesting right now, but later, when your contamination deepens and spirals out of control, you'll regret your parents ever brought you into this world." Pavaro drew his hand back from Little John's head, but Little John shivered all over again. "Then what... what should I do?" Alfred chimed in, "You should learn to have faith!" "Faith... Which church should I believe in, then?" "Believe in the true First Church!" "Specifically... which one is that?" "Do you think you can just believe whenever you feel like it? This church enforces rigorous screening requirements for every single follower!" At present, the only followers of this church were Alfred himself, plus half a cat and half a dog. "Oh, alright." Little John had no idea how to respond. A brief silence settled over the car. "Mr. Alfred, could you play a song?" Pavaro asked. "Of course. Which one would you like to hear?" "Anything is fine. I used to think listening to music was a terrible waste of time. Now, however, I feel that wasting time is a form of beauty in itself—a very luxurious beauty." Alfred switched on the car radio, and soon melody and singing flowed forth. It was the same song Karen had heard before, *A Letter to My Past Self*. Pavaro drew his neck down into the collar of his coat, relaxing his body as much as he could. Of course, this was merely what relaxation felt like to him; his muscles had long since stiffened. With his eyes closed, Karen spoke up. "Feeling sentimental?" Pavaro chuckled. "Whatever I see and hear right now stirs something in me." Little John chimed in, "So sensitive." And so, Karen kept his eyes closed and slept, while Pavaro went on listening to the song. Little John sat bolt upright with his eyes wide, nervously scuffing the tips of his shoes together in awkwardness. Thanks to Alfred, the car radio functioned like a CD player, and the song looped continuously. Karen genuinely drifted off to sleep. The past few days had been far too eventful, leaving him without any proper rest. He didn't know how long he slept before Alfred's voice woke him. "Young Master, Young Master." Karen opened his eyes, put the cushion aside, and rubbed his neck. "Are we there?" "Almost, Young Master. Um, take a look at that truck ahead—doesn't it look familiar?" Karen leaned toward the center of the car and peered through the windshield. "It does look familiar. The advertisement printed on the side..." "Yes, Young Master. Last time, when you were driving us home, there was a traffic accident ahead—a collision between a car and a truck." "From the same company?" "One of its taillights is broken and hasn't been fixed yet. I remember it; it's the exact same vehicle." "What a coincidence." Karen paused. "Playing the same song, too." "Young Master, further ahead is the Misu Sausage Factory. That truck is heading in the exact same direction as us." Karen nodded. They reached the sausage factory. Its gate sat at the bottom of a slope off the road. The factory entrance opened, and the truck drove inside while another truck hauled out. Even at this hour, the facility remained bustling. "I truly never expected us to come knocking directly on their door like this," Pavaro remarked with feeling. Karen smiled. "This is the way my grandfather taught me." Alfred drove straight past the main gate without stopping. After putting some distance between them and the entrance, he turned off the road and parked in an alley below. *Screeech...* A grating scrape rang out. *Hsss...* Alfred sucked in a sharp breath, his heart aching. "Damn it, the car got scratched." Little John immediately offered comfort. "It's just a car, isn't it?" Alfred ignored him completely, throwing open the door to inspect the damage. "..." Little John fell silent. He had no idea what was wrong with him tonight. Every time he tried to fit in and butter people up, he only managed to say the wrong thing. Karen helped Mr. Pavaro out of the car. Alfred sighed in frustration. "Who would've thought there'd be a utility pole in an alley like this? We'll have to get the paint touched up." Karen consoled him, "It's fine. A car is just a tool for transportation." Purr, who had been sleeping the entire way, was now perched on Kevin's back. "Woof!" "We scouted this place before, but couldn't detect anything out of the ordinary. It seems there must be a simple concealing array here." "I'll investigate," Alfred said. Alfred retrieved a small pouch, shook out some white powder onto the ground, and placed several charcoal-like black lumps atop it. These were array materials. When Karen left Allen Manor, Alfred, who had been practicing arrays there, had brought some along for emergencies. "Do we have enough materials?" Karen asked. Alfred shook his head. "Young Master, moving forward, we'll need to figure out a way to earn some point coupons." "The stupid dog and I need specific materials, too," Purr added. Pavaro spoke up. "Once I collect my salary, we can purchase them through the Church of Order's channels. You can hand the point coupons to the courier who visits three times a month, and he'll buy them from the regional headquarters and bring them back." Purr muttered, "Your monthly salary isn't even enough to buy blood spirit powder, so how could it cover our needs?" The moment the words left her mouth, Purr realized her blunder and quickly added, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way." Pavaro replied, "Sometimes, I wonder myself whether I made the wrong choice." "You weren't wrong," Karen said. "And yet, looking ahead, it is hard to see where I did anything right." "How could someone as conscientious and dutiful as you be in the wrong? As for not seeing where you did right, that's because the fault doesn't lie with you, but with this church." "I am beginning to understand why you said that, given your identity, the last people you want to deal with are the Church of Order." "Order is Order, and the Church is the Church. What we believe in is Order." Karen refrained from adding: *Order is Order, and the God of Order is the God of Order.* "You see things far more clearly than I do." "You have gone far deeper into the work than I have." "Suddenly, I feel rather honored that you will be using my name and identity going forward. Oh no, that's not the right way to put it. I should feel honored that the mask forged from my name and identity can offer you some measure of convenience." "Woof!" Hearing this, Kevin barked and wagged his tail excitedly, shifting his back to nudge Purr to translate for him. "He says the same goes for him." "The array is set. Let me test it." Alfred stood up and began chanting an incantation from the Church of Principles. This was a rudimentary detection array—exceedingly low-level, serving solely to sense whether any array was actively functioning nearby. It wouldn't even detect anything slightly more advanced. The black objects resting in the white powder caught fire, quickly extinguished, and sent up plumes of white smoke. Alfred tracked the drifting patterns of the smoke before confirming: "Young Master, there is indeed an array operating in the direction of the sausage factory." "How should we get in?" Pavaro asked. "Barge straight through?" "What a coincidence. My grandfather taught me how to handle that, too." Hearing this, Alfred ran off without waiting for further orders. Roughly a quarter of an hour later, a truck pulled up before them. The driver stared blankly ahead, with Alfred seated in the passenger side. "Young Master, Mr. Pavaro, please get in. The factory complex is massive; walking all the way in would be exhausting, so riding is much more convenient." Alfred stepped out and opened the cargo bay doors. Upon seeing what was inside, he froze. This was a truck he had hijacked just as it left the factory grounds, and he hadn't had a chance to inspect it yet. Karen supported Mr. Pavaro as they walked over, only to see piles of white skeletons stacked inside. They weren't human bones, however, but the carcasses of livestock. "Young Master, why don't you ride in the front passenger seat?" Alfred suggested. "No need to fuss. I'll sit back here." They still had to pass through the factory gates shortly; having too many people in the cab would draw unwanted attention. Karen helped Pavaro climb inside, and they both sat down. The golden retriever bounded into the bed, plopped down, and sniffed the air, looking almost comfortable in such surroundings. Little John scrambled in after them. The moment he boarded, his face drained of color, and he crouched in a corner, clutching his knees and trembling uncontrollably. Pavaro spoke softly. "Do you know what kept me investigating this case all along?" "Tell me." "Over the past few years, nearly every night, I would stand outside my two daughters' bedroom door for a while. I could hear their muffled sobs. They were tormented by agony, suffering immensely. As a father, I felt their pain as my own, and I prayed countless times, hoping I could take the contamination from my daughters onto myself. "Once I began looking into this matter, the crying I heard every night as I tried to sleep was no longer just my daughters'. I seemed to hear countless girls weeping. They were in terrible pain, too. They were so pitiful, and most of them were roughly the same age as my daughters. "They were at an age when they ought to have blossomed like flowers. Why should they be subjected to such cruelty? "If I didn't see this investigation through to the end, I could not sleep." Karen closed his eyes and nodded. "So, I must thank you. I thought that even if I couldn't finish the investigation, I could at least close my eyes forever. I never imagined you would hear my prayer." "Can I speak frankly?" "Of course. What is there to hide from a man who likely has only a day left to live?" "I cannot empathize the way you do. Perhaps it's because I don't have children, or perhaps it's simply because by nature, I have always been somewhat detached." "Yet you still accepted my investigation journal from Annie's hands. You still brought me back to your home, performed the 'Awakening' on me, and now, you've even brought me here. "You may think yourself emotionally detached, but that doesn't prevent you from doing these things. "Or perhaps you aren't detached at all—you simply adhere strictly to your own code of conduct. People with strong executive ability rarely have the leisure to dwell on a rich tapestry of emotions. It's not just a lack of time; they mostly find it unnecessary." "I am a psychiatrist." "I've heard of the profession. Sounds like it pays well." "So, do I need to pay you a consultation fee?" "Oh, certainly. Forty riels, non-negotiable." "Hehehe." Both Karen and Pavaro chuckled. Purr extended a paw and swatted Kevin on the head. "Meow, meow." *(Look at you, looking so smug just because you're enjoying the stench. Look at them—that's what real class looks like.)* "Woof..." Kevin whined, looking utterly wronged. The truck started back up, made a U-turn, and halted at the factory gate. Muffled voices drifted in from outside, but soon the truck was moving again, continuing forward. Alfred had evidently used his control over the driver to clear security. "The defenses here are very lax," Pavaro noted. "Because finding this place is difficult," Karen said. "Their real defenses lie on the perimeter, not inside." "Is it because of what happened tonight? I thought I saw light flaring in one direction earlier this evening." "Mm," Karen acknowledged. "They will be severely short-handed tonight." The members of the Raphael family had been deployed as cannon fodder and suffered devastating casualties; The Church of Order's forces had been assembled to hunt down the Light remnants; Tonight was indeed the moment when this factory's defenses were at their weakest. "I'm beginning to feel that being hasty and direct can actually be a good thing," Pavaro smiled. "That way, you don't overthink and second-guess yourself. Hesitation might cost you an opportunity, and even after weighing every option, you might still fail to come up with a safer, more foolproof plan." "Indeed." "So, did your grandfather teach you this, too?" "No." Karen shook his head. "When I was with my grandfather, I could be as reckless as I liked without needing to weigh anything, because I never had to worry about bearing the cost of failure or mistakes." The truck tilted forward and began descending, likely entering something akin to an underground parking garage. Finally, the vehicle came to a stop. The cargo doors swung open. "Young Master, we've arrived. You can step down now. The workers in this section just finished their night shift, and the handful of guards left are only Rank One of the Faith System." Karen helped Mr. Pavaro out of the truck, while Kevin leaped down with Purr on his back. Little John remained huddled inside the bed, his body trembling even more violently. He had once hidden in his father's car and sneaked here. When his father caught him, he slapped him across the face—the only time in his memory his father had ever struck him. Now, Little John felt an all-encompassing chill, as if he had fallen into an icehouse, making it difficult even to breathe. "He shouldn't have come," Pavaro remarked. "This is the place where he was contaminated." "Let him repay a bit of his father's debt. Come down!" Little John looked at Karen, then struggled to his feet with immense difficulty and clambered down from the truck. His footing gave way upon landing, sending him sprawling. Yet he didn't cry out in pain; instead, he wrapped his arms around himself, cowering in terror as if dodging unseen horrors around him. Finally, he instinctively leaned toward Karen. The moment he made physical contact, words he had spoken during his psychological consultation resurfaced in his mind: *"Your words shattered my pride. It turns out I was nothing more than a fool dancing in a pigpen, flaunting the fat on my body."* Now, Little John shuddered uncontrollably, mumbling under his breath, "I was wrong, I was wrong, I was wrong..." "Young Master, this way." Alfred led the path—or more accurately, a guard was leading the way under Alfred's control. Ahead stood a massive sliding door. Alfred stepped forward and pulled it open, revealing the scene within. Karen and the others stood atop what looked like a raised viewing platform. Down below, bathed in the glaring light of bare ceiling bulbs, was a layout identical to a hog-breeding facility. Only within each pen, there were no pigs—only human beings. Some were ghastly pale, others emaciated to the bone, all tortured beyond human recognition. Not a single person was standing; every one of them lay on the floor, perhaps lacking even the strength to rise. Many of them noticed the commotion from above and turned their eyes toward the platform, but their gazes were hollow, filled only with despair and apathy. Below sat a row of buckets filled with stored blood. Behind the buckets ran a drainage ditch filled with black fluid, atop which floated numerous discarded corpses. The air was thick with a foul, suffocating stench laden with heavy decay. It was a sight that overturned all sense of reality—witnessing members of one's own kind being raised like livestock. Karen stood there, gazing down at the horrors below. At that moment, Pavaro's emotions breached their breaking point. He sank to his knees, clenching his fists and shutting his eyes, letting out an enraged, guttural roar: "How dare they do this?! How could they possibly dare?! How could they... they represent Order!" Karen was about to crouch down to comfort him, Yet just then, Mr. Pavaro pushed himself to his feet with great effort, gently brushing away Karen's supporting hand. He opened his eyes, Looked down once more, And spoke with grave, pious solemnity: "According to the investigation, the conduct of evil ecclesiastical activities here through the mutilation of ordinary people has been confirmed; "Pursuant to Article 1, Chapter Thirteen of the Supplementary Code of Order, these premises are hereby sealed, and all Church members involved shall be held accountable!"