Alfred took off his coat, folded it in half, and held it up beside Karen.
Karen placed Mr. Pavaro's face onto it, and Alfred carefully wrapped it in the garment with gentle hands.
A breeze blew continuously, carrying fallen leaves and withered twigs onto Mr. Pavaro's body.
A face shorn of its skin did not actually look that frightening. Deep down, one knew what kind of person Mr. Pavaro had been, and how could anyone guard against or fear someone like him?
Even Purr, having read his notes, had spoken aloud without the slightest hesitation upon meeting him.
"Young Master, I think Mr. Pavaro was worried you wouldn't use his face, and that you'd simply give him a proper burial after his death. That's why he tore it off himself beforehand."
"Go bring the car around. We can go home now."
"Right away, Young Master."
Alfred hurried over to where the car was parked and returned with it shortly after.
Karen moved to help move the body. He intended to lift Mr. Pavaro upright first, but the man's kneeling posture seemed frozen in place, as if his knees were nailed to the earth.
Yet having Alfred simply pick Mr. Pavaro up in that pose and keep him kneeling in the car for the ride home seemed terribly disrespectful.
"Young Master, Mr. Pavaro must be apologizing to you for morally coercing you like this."
Someone had once visited Pavaro offering an ample monthly supply of blood spirit powder so his two daughters could live relatively normal lives. All Pavaro had to do was drop his investigation, but he had refused.
Every night, all he could do was stand outside his daughters' bedroom door, listening to them muffle their unbearable agony by sobbing into their pillows.
He had watched his once-gentle wife grow increasingly short-tempered.
He was not a heartless man. He had simply remained steadfast in his loyalty to Order, strictly upholding the inner moral compass of Order. But in truth, deep down, he had always felt profound guilt toward his family.
Thus, this was likely the most coercive thing he had ever done in his entire life: forcing his family into Karen's care.
Although he had repeatedly mentioned the advantages of using his "identity" to Karen back in the washroom, any advantage naturally came with complications. After all, Karen could easily have acquired a clean identity to enter the Church of Order through the Allen family's channels.
By taking the initiative to tear off his own face, Pavaro had left Karen no room to back out. And by handing over that face on his knees, he was begging Karen's forgiveness for this moral coercion.
Karen bent down, looked at Mr. Pavaro, and said softly, "Mr. Pavaro, thank you for giving me this identity. It truly helps me a great deal. I will take good care of your family. After all, you did cover my surgical expenses once."
Alfred tried lifting him again. Strangely enough, Mr. Pavaro's knees suddenly bent normally.
Just like that, Alfred successfully settled Mr. Pavaro into the back seat in an upright position. Little John tactfully climbed into the back as well, leaning against Mr. Pavaro to keep his body from sliding over.
Purr and the golden retriever jumped into the car as well, leaving Karen standing alone outside, gazing at the spot where Mr. Pavaro had just been kneeling.
Karen could not quite understand why someone who had defended Order until his dying breath had to be so humble even in death.
If gods did not exist in this world, it might have been easier to accept. But gods truly did exist.
And it was precisely because gods existed that seeing this ignited a smoldering anger in his chest, filling him with an urge to curse aloud.
At this moment, Karen finally began to understand the emotion Grandfather had felt when he cursed the God of Order back then.
It was not, as Karen had initially assumed, that Grandfather had grown so powerful that he started looking down on the divine.
Rather, that grandfather—a man who had once placed absolute faith and devotion in the God of Order—had watched his own son and daughter-in-law struggle and suffer in contamination with his own eyes.
When those above made mistakes, if they were merely humans, one could find a shred of understanding amid the fury and resentment.
But the problem was, those above were gods!
If there was no difference between a human and a god sitting above,
then by what right did you, a god, sit up there so comfortably, accepting worship and offerings meant for something greater than mortals?
Where was your... shame?
Sitting in the driver's seat, Alfred did not rush his young master.
After a brief wait, his young master finally walked over, opened the passenger door, and sat down.
Alfred started the car, and the radio resumed playing the music from earlier. Alfred reached to turn it off, but seeing that Karen did not frown, he pulled his hand back and continued driving.
As many had come, as many were returning—not a single person was missing.
After all, Mr. Pavaro was already dead when they arrived, and now he was simply still dead.
One thing was certain, however: the events of tonight were bound to trigger a series of upheavals. The scale might be minuscule—hardly a blip to the beings within those two pillars of light—
but to the low-level figures entangled in this affair, it was nothing short of an avalanche.
The faction associated with Jurist Qihe would undoubtedly face investigation and purging. And at the very bottom, responsible for practical operations, the Raphael family... would likely cease to exist.
The formidable enemy that had once made the Allen family tremble in fear of being swallowed whole was about to bow off the stage in this manner. From an outsider's perspective, it almost seemed ridiculous.
Yet glancing down at Purr dozing on his lap, and thinking back to how she had stolen the God of Light's finger from her own family, Karen seemed to arrive at a new understanding.
To expand and thrive, the Raphael family had clung to the church's coattails, willing to act as the dirty gloves for church factions, only to be wiped out overnight.
The Allen family dragged their feet, practically waiting around to die like frogs boiled in lukewarm water, yet they were still alive and kicking...
You laugh at the tortoise for crawling slowly, yet the tortoise outlives you to see your grandson laid in a coffin.
Perhaps this was simply a different philosophy of survival.
Dawn was already breaking by the time the car drove into the apartment complex.
Alfred wrapped Mr. Pavaro securely in his coat and carried him upstairs on his back, encountering no neighbors along the way.
Xili, ever diligent and conscientious in her work, had already arrived at her employer's home. When they opened the door, she was busy cleaning inside. Seeing Alfred carry Mr. Pavaro's body in and place it side by side with Ms. Annie in the ground-floor washroom,
she blinked hard, then went back to mopping the floor, murmuring,
"That gentleman looked so gravely ill yesterday. Poor thing, he couldn't make it through the night."
Karen took a bath in the second-floor washroom and changed into a clean set of clothes Xili had left in the basket by the door.
Ever since Alfred was discharged from the hospital and the maid returned to work, life had indeed become much simpler and lighter. At least he didn't have to wash clothes himself, and the household pets didn't have to hang them out to dry.
Walking downstairs, Karen sat down at the table.
Xili brought over hot milk and meat pies. Karen began eating. He was exhausted and sleepy, a state in which it was hard to feel hungry, but he still had to force himself to eat something.
"Young Master, will you be getting some rest shortly?" Alfred walked over, holding a gift box, and asked.
Karen shook his head. "Drive me to Lemar Pottery Studio in a bit. I don't want to delay and let Mr. Pavaro's good intentions go to waste."
Reattaching severed fingers required promptness, and while Karen didn't know whether making a mask out of a face had similar constraints, most matters benefited from "freshness."
"Understood, Young Master."
"Mr. Alfred, let me wash that coat for you. It's quite dirty."
"Ah, wait a moment." Alfred opened the coat Xili held, retrieved the human face from inside, and placed it into the gift box in his hands. "All right, go ahead and wash it."
"..." Xili said nothing.
Alfred sat down, poured himself a glass of milk, and took a sip before asking,
"Young Master, you need to take care of your health."
"Once this period passes, things will be fine," Karen said. "Right now, there's no helping it."
Karen recalled that it had been quite a while since he last opened his black notebook to write in it.
Once the matters at hand were settled, he would take a little break... Well, he was unemployed now anyway.
After finishing breakfast, he checked the time. It was seven-thirty, right in the middle of morning rush hour.
"I'll take a nap on the sofa. Wake me at nine."
"Understood, Young Master."
Karen sat back on the sofa and closed his eyes.
Drifting between sleep and wakefulness, Karen felt someone draping a blanket over him. He opened his eyes to see Xili.
"I'm sorry, Young Master, I woke you."
Karen glanced at the wall clock; he had already slept for an hour.
"Young Master, your eyes are completely bloodshot. It looks frightening. You really should go upstairs to the bedroom and get some proper rest."
"No more sleep. I have to work. If I don't work, how will I afford a maid?"
It was only a joke, but Xili took it seriously, immediately saying, "Young Master, you can cut my wages in half, or even a bit more."
"I was joking."
"But I'm serious, Young Master. Before this, my family wanted me to get married to help pay for my younger brother's schooling and ease the household burden. I didn't want to get married, so a few of my cousins and I were planning to apply for jobs at a textile mill according to a hiring notice."
"Oh? When was that?"
"If you hadn't hired me, I'd probably be working at that textile mill right now. Those cousins of mine have already started."
Karen nodded and did not ask further.
Hearing the conversation, Alfred stepped out.
Karen rose from the sofa, walked into the ground-floor washroom, and washed his face. He then glanced at Ms. Annie and Mr. Pavaro resting inside the preservation array and said,
"I'm heading out."
He walked downstairs and got into the car.
As Alfred started the engine, he said, "Young Master, if it weren't for us, Xili might also have..."
"Perhaps she was headed to a legitimate textile mill."
"When we get back, I could ask about her cousins..."
"No need to ask."
"My apologies, Young Master. It's just that seeing the clear, positive feedback from what we do feels good."
"Yes, I know."
"Then, Young Master..."
"I'm just afraid you'll get addicted to it. Heh, and afraid I'll get addicted to that feeling too."
"You make a great deal of sense, Young Master. I understand."
During the drive, Karen intended to lean against a cushion and doze off a little longer, but his drowsiness had vanished entirely. He simply watched the scenery slip past the window in silence.
Perhaps that was how Mr. Pavaro had looked at the view outside while sitting in the car earlier.
Karen suddenly felt a lovely sensation wash over him, knowing that he still had plenty of scenery left to see. The road ahead was still long—barring any unforeseen accidents.
As the car passed between the Saint Torr Building and the Curtis Building, Alfred asked,
"Young Master, do you want to visit the clinic again?"
"No need. Consider me to have fled as well."
They drove across another street before finally pulling over along the curb outside Lemar Pottery Studio.
"Young Master, shall I come inside with you?"
"No need, I'll go in myself."
Karen rolled down the car window and checked his eyes in the mirror.
"Young Master, are your eyes bothering you?"
"Not really. I'm just worried they're so bloodshot that people will mistake me for an aberrant demon the moment I walk in."
Holding the gift box, Karen stepped out of the car and pushed open the studio door. The storefront was not very large, but the space inside was considerable. That made sense; very few people wandered into a pottery studio while out shopping, so a large storefront was unnecessary.
The display cabinets inside held many pottery pieces, mostly small items valued purely for aesthetic appeal and casual handling rather than practical use. Selling practical goods alone would never cover the rent in a commercial center.
A bearded middle-aged man sat inside, painting a ceramic figurine shaped like an elderly man.
Sensing someone enter, he offered a perfunctory greeting without looking up:
"Hello."
Karen walked over and looked at the figurine.
The bearded man said, "Ordered by an elderly lady, made from a photograph of her husband."
"She must miss her husband dearly."
"Oh no, her husband is still very much alive."
"Oh? Then they must have a wonderful relationship."
"Heh, the lady previously ordered a whole crate of twelve. In less than two weeks, she placed another order. Every time she fights with her husband, she smashes a figurine of him to vent her anger."
"Being able to get angry is its own form of affection."
"I like that phrasing."
The bearded man finally set down his paintbrush and looked up at Karen.
"Lemar. As you can see, I'm the owner here."
"Karen."
"What line of work are you in, Mr. Karen? You look thoroughly exhausted, especially around the eyes."
"I just lost my job. I'm currently unemployed."
"Ah, no wonder. Unemployment brings sleepless nights and bloodshot eyes."
"Heh."
"Did you come to browse, or do you have business with me?"
"Business."
"All right. What would you like to drink, black tea or coffee?"
"Coffee."
"Please wait a moment."
Lemar walked behind the counter to prepare the drink. Karen noticed another figurine on the workbench before him. He could tell it was modeled after a man, but the face looked remarkably abstract—likely the result of poor craftsmanship.
"Here's your coffee. Ha, that's my sister's work. Her dream lover."
"A lover out of a dream, indeed."
"Hahahaha!"
Lemar caught Karen's implication and burst into laughter.
"You mustn't let her hear that. She looks at that figurine every night before going to sleep. Fortunately, she isn't here right now. She's out shopping, trying to manufacture another chance encounter."
Karen suddenly felt he could recognize who the figurine was supposed to be;
and felt it was sculpted even worse than before.
"You may tell me your business now, Mr. Karen."
"A friend told me you're skilled at crafting masks."
Lemar took a sip of coffee and smiled, gesturing for Karen to continue.
"I'd like to ask you to make a mask for me."
"I rarely make masks for strangers, because I don't know what they will use them for. Perhaps you could help me get acquainted first. For instance, was this friend who told you about my shop a customer of mine?"
"Not quite."
"Oh? And whose mask do you intend to make?"
"That very friend who told me about your shop."
"Tsk, what a great friend."
"We can discuss the compensation."
"No rush to talk about compensation. I'd like to see your friend's... face first."
"Certainly. It's right here."
Karen placed the gift box on the workbench and opened the lid, revealing Mr. Pavaro's face inside.
"I know him." Lemar looked at Karen and asked, "Do you intend to make his mask to infiltrate the Church of Order?"
"Yes."
"What deep vendetta do you hold against the Church of Order that requires hijacking his identity? Strictly speaking, he was a very decent Inquisitor."
"As I said, he and I were friends. He was the one who asked me to do this."
"Oh, is that so?"
Lemar extended an index finger, touched the skin, and closed his eyes.
Soon, he opened them and said, "It seems you speak the truth. I can feel that he gave this face to you entirely of his own free will. For mask-making, having such gentle and willing emotions embedded inside reduces the difficulty by a full fifty percent."
"So, would you be willing to..."
"No, I am not willing. I don't know if you're aware, but I dislike the Church of Order."
"I am aware."
"Logically speaking, since I dislike the Church of Order, helping someone with ulterior motives infiltrate them ought to align with my personal preferences. But the problem is, if your identity is exposed, it will bring me immense trouble.
"I want no part of that trouble. I hope you can understand."
"Perhaps we could discuss the details further."
"There's nothing to discuss. This isn't something riels or point coupons can resolve."
Just then, the studio door was pushed open. Serena walked in, clad in a red trench coat and dark sunglasses. The moment she saw her brother and the person standing beside him, she froze.
She immediately pulled off her sunglasses
and squealed with delight,
"Oh—oh my god! Did you come to see me?!"
Lemar pointed at his own face and said,
"No, he came to see me."
"..." Serena stood speechless.
Chapter 148