By the time Karen returned home, it was already the early hours of the morning. Stepping into the front shop, he saw Pike bundled in a quilt in the corner; tonight was his turn to snore on watch.
In truth, keeping night watch was no longer necessary now that Karen and the others had moved in. But once Karen returned, the two shop assistants had naturally picked the tradition back up.
Karen noticed Xili stepping out of the shared washroom. With sleepy eyes, she looked at him and asked, "Young Master, would you like me to prepare a late-night snack?"
"No need. Go get some rest."
"Understood, Young Master."
Xili walked into a small bedroom.
*So the maid has become a live-in worker too?*
Karen returned to his own bedroom. Kevin climbed up from his dog bed and gave himself a brisk shake.
Purr was sprawled beside the nightstand with the lamp turned on, her paws tucked under her chest, wearing an expression of solemn concentration.
"What are you doing?"
"Brainstorming."
"Hm?"
"I cannot allow people to slander me like this," Purr said. "So, I'm going to publish an autobiography."
"Oh, all right. Who's writing it for you?"
"Little John. I've already arranged it with him."
"You can let me read the first draft once it's done."
"Of course. I grant you permission to be among the first readers of my magnum opus."
"I'm just worried you'll write things you shouldn't."
"How could that be? I've always been very prudent. By the way, your team dinner ran so late—did you add some new entertainment?"
Purr turned around and continued, "I've heard that after men finish a work dinner, they have a tradition of going to a pastry shop for snacks."
"There's a formidable fighter in the squad named Gray who specializes in close combat. I went to learn from him."
"Did you two fight?"
"Yeah."
"Oh, let me guess. The script must have gone like this: you couldn't beat him, but your progress was terrifyingly fast."
"How did you know?"
"Well, you have to understand, I watched Diss grow up. When I watch the same movie a second time, the plot is pretty obvious, isn't it?"
"Heh. I'm going to take a shower first. I'm tired and want to turn in early."
"Of course. I've already warmed the bed for you."
"I'd rather use a hot water bottle."
"It's not the same! Water temperature and body warmth are entirely different!"
"Why so attentive all of a sudden? What do you want?"
"I need some point coupons. You know Kevin and I like getting materials to do research, make rubbings, and that sort of thing."
"Go ask Alfred for them."
"Oh, that damned radio specter is stingy to a fault. When I asked him a few days ago, he actually told me household expenses were tight."
"I brought back quite a few point coupons this time. If you ask him again, he should give you some."
"Really? Wonderful. Our little Karen has grown up and can earn point coupons outside to bring home. Great-Grandmother is very gratified."
Karen didn't banter with Purr any further. He stepped into the bathroom, showered, changed clothes, and climbed into bed.
Purr crept closer again and asked, "Is the funeral parlor no longer taking orders?"
"Yeah. On my orders, we won't take jobs from ordinary people for now."
"Well, aren't your ambitions grand."
"It isn't ambition, just avoiding unnecessary trouble. All right, time to sleep. I have practice tomorrow."
"Good night, meow."
***
Karen slept until noon before waking up. After washing up, he stepped through the bedroom door into the study and found Purr dictating while Little John took notes with a fountain pen.
Seeing Karen enter, Little John promptly said, "It's the weekend today."
"Right," Karen acknowledged, then walked out of the study.
"Young Master, I've already prepared your lunch."
"Thank you."
Xili had prepared noodles for Karen, something resembling fried noodles with a generous variety of sides. She was truly putting effort into catering to his tastes.
As he ate, Karen asked, "Xili, are you living here full-time now?"
"Yes. I can go home once a week, and I can visit if something comes up. That's what Mr. Alfred instructed."
"That works well. Going back late at night isn't safe anyway."
"Another family of relatives arrived in York City, so someone took over the small room where I used to sleep. I begged Mr. Alfred, and only then was I allowed to live in. I'm very grateful to Mr. Alfred, and to you, Young Master, for taking me in."
"You earn so much money, yet you don't even have a bed of your own at home?"
"No, Young Master... they're relatives. Even though I haven't seen them much before, relatives should help one another. That's how I see it, anyway. Right, Young Master?"
"Yes," Karen replied.
Yet he noticed that Xili had sidestepped his remark about earning so much money, so he didn't press the matter.
She was a hardworking girl. When they first met, her skin had been on the darker side, but after working as a maid for a while, she had grown visibly fairer. Factoring in the pale, soft skin he had inadvertently glimpsed in the washroom yesterday...
It meant her darker complexion was likely the result of working outside under the sun over the past few years; she was naturally fair-skinned.
"By the way, Xili, prepare some food for me this afternoon. I'm taking it to share with friends tonight."
"Of course, Young Master."
After finishing his lunch, Karen got up and walked out into the courtyard.
A bench sat beside the flower bed, with a swing set up nearby where Dora and Doreen were currently playing.
Karen walked over and sat down on the bench.
Dora and Doreen immediately walked over with impeccable manners to greet him.
Karen smiled gently. "Go on, keep playing."
"Go back inside and review your lessons. Don't disturb Mr. Karen," Mrs. Lake said as she stepped out.
The two sisters bowed to Karen and scampered back to their room.
"It's fine to let the children play," Karen said with a smile. "I rather enjoy watching them have fun."
In a way, it was like looking after their happy lives on Mr. Pavaro's behalf.
Mrs. Lake sat down on the bench as well and said, "I'd like to send them to school, but they're already quite old, so finding a school is tricky."
"That's easy enough. We can hire a private tutor. Let Alfred arrange it; don't worry about a thing."
"Thank you, Mr. Karen."
"Madam, there's no need to be so polite between us."
Mrs. Lake seemed to recall something suddenly. Her face blushed faintly, and she gave a silent nod.
Just then, Pike walked in carrying newspapers. "Boss, today's papers."
Karen reached out and took them.
There were two ordinary newspapers—the kind Karen used to read in bed at night—and an issue of the *Order Weekly* he subscribed to.
"Please carry on. If you need anything, just let me know," Mrs. Lake excused herself.
"Of course, Madam." Karen nodded to her.
Then, bathed in the slightly drowsy afternoon sunlight, Karen leaned against the bench and began reading the papers.
He had to return to yesterday's spot for further training with Gray tonight, so this stretch of the afternoon could be spent at leisure.
Karen started with *Order Weekly*. Skipping past the dense theoretical articles on faith and spells, he specifically sought out news concerning the ecclesiastical sphere.
Sure enough, across one of the layouts, Karen spotted an article launching sharp attacks against a particular denomination—the Church of Pamires.
According to Mr. Hoffen's notes, the Church of Pamires had existed across two entire eras, making it even older than the Church of Order.
The deity worshipped by this church was Pamires, a figure steeped in legend whose divine office was... delivering messages.
In the mythological narratives of many orthodox and major churches, whenever stories of gods involved conflicts—be it declaring war, brokering a truce, or forging an alliance—a recurring line would appear: *Such-and-such a god commanded Pamires to deliver the message.*
Consequently, one theory held that Pamires possessed an innate spatial talent. It was precisely this ability that allowed him to effortlessly traverse spaces constructed by various gods and deliver messages with utmost speed.
Naturally, there was also a conspiracy theory: during the frequent wars among gods in the previous era, Pamires, acting as the divine messenger, might very well have sown discord among them.
Yet Pamires always managed to stand on the winning side. For instance, after a major war among gods concluded, the representative deity of the victorious side would have Pamires proclaim the gospel of the war's end to the mortal world.
In reality, the modern Church of Pamires had always remained a mid-sized church. Its greatest specialty lay in crafting spatial artifacts.
Its influence was not particularly vast, yet no one dared look down on it, given its ancient heritage.
The grievance levied by *Order Weekly* against the Church of Pamires was that they were secretly harboring and protecting Light remnants. The article cited a litany of evidence, including how many Light remnants had used spatial sacred relics to escape during the recent manhunts in York City.
This served as a clear bellwether. In the downfall of Light, nearly every surviving orthodox church had kicked them while they were down. For the Church of Pamires to be deeply entangled with Light remnants was a blatant breach of the circle's taboo.
At the same time, considering the role Pamires played in mythological narratives, one could hardly help suspecting that the Church of Pamires believed Light would rise again and had placed its bets early.
When it came to destiny and prophecy, divine churches believed in them.
The trouble was, they only believed their own. Everyone had a god above them, and everyone could receive divine oracles—why should anyone believe yours?
Therefore, even if the Church of Pamires openly declared they had received an oracle foretelling Light's resurgence, the other churches would still join forces to suppress Light once more—unless Light's ascent became truly unstoppable.
Karen didn't know how much truth there was to the accusations, but beneath the article, statements from other churches were quoted. The mildest expressed grave concern, while harsher ones had already begun condemning the Church of Pamires outright.
Further down was another piece of news: bizarre natural disasters had struck the waters of the Changqin Sea with alarming frequency of late, causing five freighters and three cruise liners to capsize. The Church of Principles had issued an investigative notice stating it was highly likely that a certain faction was testing an extraordinary spatial sacred relic in that sea zone.
Though the report named no names, read alongside the earlier condemnation, it readily pointed the finger at the Church of Pamires.
Perhaps further evidence and findings would appear in the next issue. The water in the pot was being brought to a slow, deliberate boil.
*A spatial sacred relic?*
If the Church of Order's chosen target was indeed the Church of Pamires, could his squad reap a spatial sacred relic from the campaign of destruction?
Next, Karen casually leafed through the standard newspapers to read some international news.
Two more colonies of the Wien Empire had erupted in independence uprisings. The initial military suppression had failed, forcing the empire to deploy more troops from elsewhere to quell the unrest.
Several governments had passed bills countering the dumping of Wien goods. The Wien government had already lodged stern protests, reserving the right to take reciprocal retaliatory measures.
The reigning King of Ulans, who had grown up in Wien, had requested Wien naval forces to enter his ports, fearing that an uprising to overthrow the royal family was brewing within his borders.
Karen felt that ever since arriving in Wien, he had seen almost no good news concerning the empire in the international columns. This colossal empire seemed to be sliding down the slope toward collapse and disintegration.
Of course, Karen didn't believe he had brought bad luck with him; certain objective historical laws could never be altered by a single person.
On the domestic front, Mr. Luther had held another rally, reiterating the demand to pursue civil rights through peaceful means and urging the government to grant equal voting rights to purple-haired individuals who held legal jobs or were multi-generational immigrants.
Mr. Luther was immensely popular this year. The purple civil rights movement he spearheaded was steadily reaching a crescendo, drawing the attention of more and more people.
Karen noticed that in the photograph, the purple-haired followers standing behind and below Mr. Luther were orderly, wearing hats and various styles of suits, bearing none of the stereotypical appearance of undocumented immigrants engaged in menial labor.
Closing the newspaper, Karen stretched his back.
Just then, Dinkum approached holding an official document. Opening it, Karen found it was an Inquisitor working conference convened by Adjudicator Viclay for the district under his jurisdiction.
The time was set for the afternoon three days from now.
"Mr. Pavaro isn't here. Can we decline?"
Dinkum answered, "Boss, the courier said past meetings could be skipped, but this one is mandatory. A Bishop will be inspecting grassroots operations, and our district is one of his designated inspection sites."
"Oh, so that's how it is."
That Bishop was very likely Viclay's grandfather.
In truth, Karen hadn't been in touch with Viclay since their last meeting. Viclay seemed to have taken the initiative to draw a line with "Pavaro," wanting no further entanglements.
That made sense. No matter how pretty the promises had sounded back then—claiming that as long as Pavaro followed him, a brighter future was guaranteed—the reality was that Mr. Pavaro's persona was enough to make most superiors reluctant to deal with him.
To a degree, this had provided Karen immense convenience, allowing Mr. Pavaro to remain on missions outside without needing to return.
Yet this time...
"Understood. I will notify Mr. Pavaro."
"Very well, Boss."
Checking the time and judging it was about right, Karen walked into the study and found that Xili had already packaged the food as instructed. Carrying the parcels, Karen boarded a carriage and made his way to the factory district from the previous night.
The gatekeeper had changed to a bald man with a scarred, fleshy face.
"Haven't seen you before."
"Miss Fanny and Miss Peige are my friends. I was here yesterday."
"Understood. Please, go on in."
Karen didn't linger on the first floor and headed straight downstairs. Fanny was the only one there, practicing her marksmanship.
"How wonderful, you even brought food." Fanny set down her gun, walked over to Karen, and helped herself to a bite. "Gray hasn't arrived yet, but he should be here shortly. Peige won't make it tonight; she has other business."
"Got it."
While the two were eating, Gray walked in.
"Gray, have you eaten? These savory pies taste quite good."
"I've eaten. Take your time, no rush."
Gray picked up a new spear in silence and stepped into the ring. This time, he didn't wrap the spearhead; in fact, the wrapping had split open very quickly yesterday anyway.
Karen promptly wiped his hands with a cloth Xili had prepared, ran over to the weapon rack to grab a longsword, and stepped into the ring.
"I'm in no hurry," Gray said, looking at him.
"A student shouldn't keep his teacher waiting."
Though the cat and dog teachers at home possessed vast experience, they couldn't wield swords and blades with paws to spar with him. Gray was the most suitable instructor Karen had encountered so far, and he treasured this learning opportunity deeply.
"Well then, let's begin."
"Very well, Mr. Gray."
Tonight's instruction lasted a full three hours.
While Gray still couldn't cut loose entirely, he was far more at ease than yesterday, no longer needing to tread so cautiously.
Karen's Sea God's Armor was shattered again and again, but the duration he held out each time and the growth he displayed in their exchanges left him immensely satisfied.
Then, just like yesterday, Gray began to flag during the final hour, while Karen, having soaked up two hours of instruction, fought with mounting vigor.
In that last hour, they exchanged blows four times. Karen won two of those bouts, and in both, he managed to lower his blade with measured poise.
"All right, that's enough."
Gray was the first to call a halt; he didn't want to exhaust himself to the point of collapse like yesterday.
Karen walked up to Gray once more and bowed, thanking him for the guidance.
"You really don't need to be so earnest—I mean in your attitude," Gray said with a wry smile. "Treating me like this makes me feel like I have to die protecting you on our next mission. It's a rather uncomfortable feeling."
"My apologies. I didn't realize."
"We'll continue tomorrow."
"Understood, Mr. Gray."
"Fanny, I'm taking off. Have fun with Karen."
"Yeah, fine. Get lost."
Fanny looked at Karen and asked, "Tired?"
"Not too bad."
"Heh, that fellow Gray is definitely more exhausted. So, what's next? Care to find a place for a drink with me, or do you want to head home early on your own?"
"I'd like to head home early."
"Fine, go on back then."
Karen walked to the door, paused, and turned back to look at Fanny.
"I think you knew I would refuse."
"Mm-hmm."
"Then why ask?"
"Because today is the anniversary of an ugly fellow dying to protect me."
Hearing that, Karen asked, "Is there a place to take a shower here?"
"Regretting asking that extra question?" Fanny chuckled.
"Not at all. You should have told me earlier."
***
"Oh dear, I ought to call Karen at Pavaro Funeral Parlor. The food they sent over last time is almost finished," Old Saman said, gesturing toward the pot.
Yet this didn't slow the speed of Neo's fork in the slightest.
"You've been coming to see her every day lately. Don't you think that's a bit too frequent?"
"I have nothing to do these days, so I just want to keep her company more," Neo said.
"Do you know what kind of people visit graves often?"
Neo shook his head.
Old Saman answered, "The elderly. Because they're close to dying, they want to visit often. You think they're looking at the person lying below? No, they're getting familiar with the environment they'll soon be lying in themselves ahead of time."
"Are you talking about me?" Neo asked.
"Of course. I think being so lifeless is terrible. That lad Karen strikes me as quite good. Steady as he is, he can take a joke, and you can tell he loves life. He just doesn't show much respect for the elderly—doesn't like listening to me play the flute.
"You should learn a thing or two from him. No matter the circumstances, you have to love life."
"Can't learn it."
"How do you know without trying? Hey, hey, hey, that big fish ball is mine! Mine!"
After finishing the late-night meal, Old Saman looked at the mess on the small table before him and said, "You won't come tomorrow, will you?"
"I told you, I want to keep her company more."
"Coming tomorrow too? What about the day after?"
"I'll come. Barring any surprises, I'll visit her every day until I get busy again."
"Bring Karen along next time. You never bring food, but he knows proper manners."
"All right. Farewell."
"Don't want to see you again."
Watching Neo's figure fade into the distance, Old Saman didn't rush to clear the table. Instead, he sat there and gave a self-deprecating laugh.
"Coming every day... I'm not going to run away. Besides, even if I wanted to, where could I possibly run?"
Old Saman picked up the flute resting beside him and began to play. His playing wasn't particularly melodic, but he was thoroughly enraptured.
As the tune ended, Old Saman began to wheeze. A piece for him was not measured by sheet music, but by his lung capacity; when his lungs could no longer sustain the continuous playing, that marked the end of the song.
"Sigh, getting shorter and shorter..."
Old Saman swept his gaze across the pitch-black cemetery.
Then, cradling the flute in his arms like a child, he murmured, "Praise Pamires."
Chapter 184