This Damned Persona

Watching Karen hang up the phone, Purr said, "Acting as an informant to monitor yourself like this really is amusing." "It brings peace of mind too. Think of it as self-reflection." "Mm, sounds like a remarkably high level of awareness." "The scrolls will be finished in three more days, right?" "Yes, that's right. If the dumb dog and I didn't need to constantly catch up on sleep while making them, back in the day, with materials ready, they would've taken three minutes. "We imprinted our own mental imprints inside, so it'll be far easier for you to learn. With your comprehension, I think you'll master them shortly after they're finished, just like Diss back then." Purr now viewed Karen entirely through the lens of Diss in his earlier years, having long since adjusted its standards of judgment. Yet it also understood that the path Karen wanted to walk was not Diss's path. While the grand direction would be arduous, his speed on specific details would still remain astonishing. "Thank you for your hard work. Once the scrolls are done, I'll take you to the funeral parlor. By the way, I plan to renovate and remodel the parlor. I'll have Alfred handle the design, so tell him what you need as well." "Just build a doghouse in the yard. I'm sleeping in the master bedroom with you anyway." "Woof!" *** The next day, Alfred officially accompanied Karen into Pavaro Funeral Parlor. Pike and Dinkum assumed Alfred was Karen's subordinate, and Alfred didn't hold back in the slightest, immediately treating the two as his assistants and ordering them around to help decorate the mourning hall. The two had originally fantasized about pushing around a newcomer, only for reality to hand them a two-rank drop in parlor hierarchy. Even so, their enthusiasm for work improved considerably. They were no longer listless while working or staring blankly at the sky when idle; after all, they now had something to look forward to. The original Mr. Pavaro had indeed been an outstanding, competent Inquisitor, but if his subordinates' mindset didn't align with his own, they truly wouldn't consider him a good boss. After a full day's work, the mourning hall was basically complete. White served as the primary tone, with elements of "vampires" and "romance" from literary works woven into the details—romantic and warm, yet without losing its solemnity. Karen came out for a look in the evening and found nothing to complain about. When it came to "flair," Alfred was utterly dependable; he was, after all, a man who practically personified style. All throughout the day, Karen had stayed in the study reading notes, finally finishing all of Mr. Pavaro's work logs. Reading the logs naturally wouldn't turn him into a seasoned, experienced Inquisitor overnight, but he had at least grasped the procedural logic. In addition, he had brought several of Mr. Hoffen's notebooks to browse through, focusing especially on records concerning bloodthirsty aberrant demons. The primary subject of Mr. Hoffen's notes was the major churches, touching upon aberrant demons and family faith systems only in passing while introducing those churches. Tracking down information was somewhat complicated as a result—though one could also say that from Mr. Hoffen's perspective, family faith systems and aberrant demons weren't worthy of dedicated chronicles. One record proved quite interesting: the Church of Principles had once studied an extremely high-ranking bloodthirsty aberrant demon, though it didn't specify which family it belonged to. The phrase "extremely high-ranking" rarely appeared in Mr. Hoffen's notes, as he preferred straightforward factual descriptions over approximate adjectives. This could only mean that the bloodthirsty aberrant demon sliced up for research by that group of Church of Principles scholars had possessed an exceptionally high tier. Mr. Hoffen had transcribed an excerpt from their research notes: they discovered that the higher the bloodline rank of a bloodthirsty aberrant demon, the more susceptible they were to "lostness." Lostness, not corruption. Corruption meant passively enduring external influences, whereas lostness referred to an internal cognitive disorientation within oneself. Churches and family faith systems alike experienced instances of lostness. Mr. Mike, for example, had blown off his own legs in an effort to follow and emulate his ancestor—that too was a manifestation of lostness. Mr. Hoffen noted that within the direct lineage of high-ranking bloodthirsty aberrant demon families, vast amounts of consciousness lingered in the bloodline. This made it easier for them to communicate with their progenitor. Outstanding clan members could advance continuously through such communion, akin to divine revelation, while mediocre ones were doomed at some stage of life to lose their sense of self amid the progenitor's incessant whispers in their hearts. Even so, the scholars had developed certain medicines capable of suppressing these bloodline whispers. So had Elisa, whose funeral was about to be held here, left her family, lost access to the medicine, failed to suppress the progenitor's "voice" in her bloodline, and ultimately fallen inevitably into lostness? Having pieced together the cause and effect, Karen stepped out of the study. Passing by the locked workshop, he couldn't help pausing, feeling a touch of respect for the aberrant demon lady lying inside. Fully aware that leaving the medicine behind would likely plunge her into lostness, she had still fled her family for love. Sensing that she was on the verge of losing herself, and terrified of harming ordinary people, she had chosen suicide beforehand. Karen tried putting himself in her shoes. If he were faced with a similar situation, what choice would he make? As he pondered, he shook his head. He couldn't put himself in those shoes, because he had always avoided letting himself fall into such a predicament to begin with. The perk of being both boss and employee was that he could clock out right on time. Dinkum was on snoring duty for the night watch tonight. When Karen stepped outside, he didn't encounter the blue sedan from the previous night. *** Returning home, Karen looked at the telephone. "Young Master, do you need to call and report?" Attentive as ever, Alfred had already crouched down, clutching the phone cord with both hands, his eyes preparing to flush red. Karen hesitated. Logically, he shouldn't report so frequently. Neo merely viewed him as a casual informant planted on a whim—a disposable informant. Unless he wanted to project the image of an eager lackey desperate to become a member of the Whip of Order squad. Karen didn't care for such an image; given the choice, anyone would prefer to maintain some dignity. And yet... Karen still dialed the number, even though nothing had happened today. "Hello?" a woman's voice answered. "This is Karen. I have something to report to the captain." "Hello, this is Neo." He picked up remarkably fast. A picture formed in Karen's mind of Neo sitting right beside the woman, seemingly waiting for the call as well. "Captain, the funeral arrangements are complete. Tomorrow night at eight o'clock, the service begins." It was a completely redundant report, but Neo showed no impatience on the other end, nor did he fault Karen for placing a call just for this. Karen continued, "The hall's decor uses white as the primary tone..." Karen described the layout. The other end didn't interrupt, listening quietly throughout. Once Karen finished, silence lingered on the line for a moment before Neo spoke: "All right, I understand." His tone had shifted—was he suppressing an emotion? Karen caught it sharply. This didn't mean Neo, as a Whip of Order captain, lacked the skill to hide his feelings; rather, he was dealing with an insignificant informant planted on a whim. From his perspective, there was no need to remain guarded before Karen. "I will continue to keep an eye on things, Captain." "Mm." Karen hung up. Alfred stood up, his eyes returning to their normal color. "Just simple friends?" Karen murmured. "Young Master, do you feel Captain Neo and Elisa aren't merely simple friends?" "Mm." "But didn't that man last night say he and Miss Elisa fled the manor out of love?" "Alfred, do you know why stories of a noble lady and a servant falling in love and running away from their family are so popular?" "Uh..." "Because in normal circumstances, it's impossible for a noble lady to fall for a servant in her house." Just then, Karen saw Purr walk out of the bedroom yawning. He asked directly, "Purr, back in the day, would you ever have fallen for a manservant in Allen Manor?" "Are you out of your mind?!" "See? That's reality." Purr rubbed its eyes with a paw, looking baffled. "Wait, what were you two just talking about?" "Nothing." "Asking me such a bizarre question out of nowhere makes me really curious about your conversation!" "No need to be curious. A cat that's never dated has no right to join this topic." "..." Purr froze. Little John walked over with a glass of ice water and handed it to Karen. Karen took it with his left hand and patted the boy's head with his right; an honest, goofy smile spread across Little John's face. "Nothing's happening during the day tomorrow. Alfred, go handle his school enrollment procedures." "Understood, Young Master." "..." Little John fell silent. *** The following morning, Karen washed up and came downstairs. He had woken up a bit late today, as his work was set for the evening. Heading to the funeral parlor early in the day served no purpose anyway, and Alfred wasn't home, having taken Little John to enroll in school. As he walked down the stairs, Karen saw Xili kneeling on the floor wiping it with a rag, her hips wrapped snugly in denim jeans. Karen consciously averted his gaze, reflecting on what an energetic morning it was. "Young Master, you're up. Breakfast is on the table." "Isn't there a mop?" "A mop doesn't clean as thoroughly as this." Xili stood up. "I'll go warm up your milk." Karen sat down and began eating breakfast. Xili brought over the warm milk and said, "Young Master, on my way here today, I saw a group of people wearing white robes. They looked rather frightening." "You saw them too? Where?" "Right on the road outside my house." "Be careful on your way to and from work then." "I know, Young Master. I always give them a wide berth." Xili shrugged. "Actually, I know why they hate us so much—they think we stole their jobs. But who told Wien's army to invade our country in the first place?" Karen took a bite of fried egg without answering. "Young Master, how long do you think it will take before we can live as equals like them? Mr. Luther is organizing us to demand legislation granting us quasi-citizen status to end discrimination against us. My parents received flyers yesterday too. My younger brother was so thrilled; he views Mr. Luther as his idol." "Xili, do you believe that once legislation bans discrimination, discrimination will vanish overnight?" "Doesn't it? Well... it should, right? Uh... maybe." Softening his tone, Karen smiled. "At least it's a step in the right direction." "Yes, Young Master, you're right." After breakfast, Karen went to the study, picked out a copy of *The Drowsy Years*, and began reading. Purr and Kevin were still fast asleep. Their routine now consisted of imprinting a bit, catching up on sleep, eating after waking up, continuing to imprint, and then going back to sleep. His two spell scrolls would probably be finished the day after tomorrow—or tomorrow night at the earliest. Basking in the sunlight, Karen found himself growing drowsy as he read. The book was the author's autobiography detailing what he saw and heard while sitting in town each day during his old age; it truly lived up to its title, making the reader sleepy after a short while. Karen stood up and swapped it for another book from the shelf: *The Secret Diary of Rogin*. This book was fascinating. The author was a deceased Wien poet of immense renown whose poems had even been selected for student textbooks at one point. They were removed only because his descendants, following his will, published this diary fifty years after his death, causing his reputation to plummet under intense contemporary backlash. The book recorded his courtship and marriage to his wife. The early sections detailed how extraordinarily sexy she was, followed later by how his heart remained entirely unfazed whenever she stood naked before him. Then came his secret affairs with numerous socialites and ladies, recounting how they met, how things progressed, what each woman excelled at, and what obsessed him about them. Interspersed were his wife's extramarital affairs—how certain counts and wealthy merchants pursued her, and how he responded. Reading the book naturally gave one the impression that high society was a foul mess composed of debauchery, as though they did nothing productive all day and obsessed solely over bedroom antics. The book was slender. Once finished, Karen closed it and looked toward the floor lamp beside the desk. In a low voice, he recited: "Order—Guardian Wall." Three black walls materialized. Influenced by this surge of energy, an elderly man's figure appeared inside the study. "Oh, it feels like we haven't seen each other in quite some time," the old man said with a smile. "Mm. Been a bit busy lately." "Busy with what? I mean, if you feel bored and want someone to talk to, I'm willing to listen." "Nothing much." Karen had no intention of telling him that he had recently been busy sabotaging the Light remnants, practically driving them out of York City. "I've read that book too." The old man noticed *The Secret Diary of Rogin* lying on the desk. "One theory claims his descendants suffered failed investments and fell on hard times, so they partnered with a publisher to release it under his name." "And what do you think?" Karen asked. "I think it's likely genuine. Poets often entertain unexpected lines of thought—like publishing a book after death to ruin their own image. He might have found it amusing. "Besides, I heard that in the original draft, the author also wrote about an affair with the Queen. But the author himself never imagined that fifty years after his death, the Queen would still be alive, so that portion was cut." "The Queen is dead." "Oh? Really? Dead at last. How did she die?" "I don't know. Old age, probably." "Mm, about time." "I want to ask you something. There is some power of Light residing inside me." "I see it. You have... quite a lot of things inside your body." "Can the power of Light be converted into the power of other systems?" "No, it cannot. The power of Light is unique, yet its nature is inclusive, allowing it to serve as a medium of conversion to imitate." Just as Purr had said: a converter. "However, such conversion doesn't accomplish much, because Light itself possesses supreme spells and profundities. There is no need for it to covet what lies outside." "Then do you believe that if I run out into the street right now and preach using Light blessings, I'll end up dead in my bed by tomorrow morning?" "The decline of Light is a natural law, just as the sun rises and sets. Therefore, I firmly believe Light will eventually rise again." "Then why did you run off yourself? Why didn't you stay in York City to watch the sunrise?" "I merely went to the colonies to sow the seeds of Light. Lying in bed doing nothing while waiting for the sunrise is far too dull, isn't it?" "I'm quite good at fabricating that sort of rhetoric too." Just then, the sound of the front door opening came from downstairs; Alfred was back. "All right, I have things to attend to. We'll talk next time." "I hope all is well with you." "Hm?" "Because only when people feel lost and uneasy in their hearts do they subconsciously reach for the light. Still, it must only be a minor matter; if it were grave, people wouldn't have the heart to search for light." "You talk too much." "Very well. Looking forward to our next conversation." The old man's figure dissipated, receding back into the study. Karen stepped out of the study and headed downstairs. "Young Master, Little John has been enrolled. It's not far from here, so he can walk to and from school by himself. Also, as you instructed, I have relocated Mrs. Lake and the two young ladies of the Pavaro family to a nearby hotel." "Mrs. Lake didn't ask questions?" "None. I told her that a change of scenery now and then is beneficial to the young ladies' physical and mental well-being. She seemed to believe it, at least on the surface." "Good." "Young Master, shall we head to the funeral parlor now?" "Let's go." The second-hand black Ponce drove out of the apartment complex, soon arriving at Pavaro Funeral Parlor, also situated in Blue Bridge Community. "Young Master, with the funeral tonight, you're not transforming into Mr. Pavaro today either?" "No. Mainly, I have a premonition that something might go wrong tonight." "So that's what you've been concerned about, Young Master." "Yeah. The main issue is that if I transform into Mr. Pavaro and trouble strikes, I won't even be able to run—I'd have to brace myself and face it head-on." Karen shrugged, muttering a curse: "This damned persona."