Just Who Are You?

Karen had assumed Fanny would take him to a cemetery, but to his surprise, she brought him to the seashore instead. "The captain helped me file a death report for him. In the report, his body was blown to pieces, so there were no remains to turn in. But I didn't find a grave to bury him in, either. I had his body cremated instead." "Did you scatter his ashes into the sea?" "Yeah." "That's nice." "He said he liked having plenty of water around, so I satisfied him." "Why ruin it? The mood was quite nice just now." "I just hate this kind of mood. It's so dull. What, did you expect us to sit by the shore reminiscing about my ex, then I lean on your shoulder for comfort, and after that we get a room at a nearby hotel—or just do it right here on the sand, with him watching to make it more thrilling?" "*Sigh.*" "Don't sigh. If you really wanted to help set the mood, you shouldn't be holding a soda bottle while I'm holding a beer. How am I supposed to work with that?" "I have to drive." "Heh." Fanny reached over and rested an arm on Karen's shoulder. "Let me introduce you. This is our new squad member. On his very first mission, he went and knocked up his protectee. Pretty impressive, huh?" "I didn't. Don't listen to her nonsense." Fanny began to drink against the sea breeze, bottle after bottle. Her tolerance was evidently formidable, showing not the slightest hint of drunkenness even now. Karen kept her company, slowly sipping his soda. After a long silence, Fanny spoke again: "Sometimes, I really hate having downtime between missions. Whenever things go quiet, I can't stop thinking about all sorts of pointless things. It makes me feel awful." "Everyone gets that way. Don't worry about it," Karen comforted her. "You can try to redefine and perceive ordinary life from a fresh angle. Ideally, learn to switch smoothly between the two lifestyles." Karen knew that many soldiers returning from the battlefield experienced similar symptoms. "Karen, I regret asking you out for a drink. It's really boring." "Run out of things to say?" "No, it's just that I suddenly realized talking to you is like throwing pebbles into the ocean. You get a response, sure, but it's nothing more than just a bare response." "I'm sorry for boring you." "It's not boredom. I can't quite describe the feeling." Fanny set down her bottle and pulled her knees to her chest, her gaze drifting blankly over the sand before them. "We're supposed to have faith, yet we're so lost." "Everyone has moments of weariness and disillusionment. It's completely normal." "Maybe." Fanny stood up and brushed off her pant legs. "I've been drinking. You haven't." "Yeah." "Drive me home." "All right." Karen drove Fanny to an apartment building near Sycamore Street and brought the car to a stop. "Back at the beach just now, I thought I heard his voice. He said my new boyfriend is quite handsome—better-looking than him." "Really? I wasn't listening." "He said I've finally found someone I can look in the eyes in the missionary position." Fanny chuckled. Then she patted Karen twice on the shoulder and smiled. "I told him in my head: *He's out of my league. In this whole world, aside from an ugly bastard like you who could stand me and was willing to die for me, no one else ever will.*" With that, Fanny pushed the car door open, stepped out, waved goodbye without looking back, and walked toward the apartment entrance. Karen sat in the car for a moment, then turned the vehicle around and drove toward the funeral parlor. By the time he arrived home, it was late once again. After taking a shower and climbing into bed, Karen found himself unexpectedly wide awake. Perhaps tonight's session with Mr. Gray hadn't completely drained his energy. That was no good—it had left him with insomnia. During their exchange tomorrow night, he would definitely have to exhaust every last drop of his strength so he could sleep soundly when he got back. By the light of the nightstand lamp, Purr was flipping through the autobiography transcribed by Little John. "Still proofreading?" Karen reached out and ruffled the fur on Purr's head. "Karen, I've realized writing an autobiography for yourself is so hard." "Of course it is. Finding endless ways to praise yourself is bound to feel embarrassing." "Pfft, that's not it at all! It's that I actually discovered how dashing and universally adored I used to be—yet I missed out on it all back then!" "You mean romance?" "No." Purr rolled onto her side toward Karen, her tail flicking gently behind her. "It's that my past self only knew how to play around without ever amounting to anything interesting. Looking back at my old self now, I was just like a little girl squatting in the dirt playing with mud." "A person's threshold for excitement and what drives their passion changes at every stage of life." "What about you, then? What's your passion right now?" "I don't feel like discussing myself." "Could it be you haven't figured it out yourself?" "I'm already doing my best to live my life anyway. Whether I figure it out or not isn't really that necessary." "Really?" "Yes. Figuring out a direction is just a way to convince yourself to keep striving forward. But when you're already moving forward and pursuing something, you don't have the luxury of thinking about all that." "Oh, are you mocking me?" "No." "You totally are! But what do you expect a cat to pursue right now? Oh, by the way!" Purr leapt onto Karen's chest, tucking her paws underneath her as she stared down at him. "When on earth are you finally going to advance to Inquisitor?!" "I don't know yet. I haven't made up my mind." "Even women shopping for clothes aren't this picky!" "I feel that the Inquisitor rank is an extremely critical threshold for me." "Well, obviously! Nonsense!" Purr said, huffing with annoyance. "Once you advance to Inquisitor, all the groundwork you've accumulated will finally be unleashed! Your mastery and application of spells, your true strengths—it's like unlocking a whole new door! "Even for an ordinary priest, that's how it works, let alone for someone like you. "The Inquisitor rank is precisely the stage where you cash in on your foundation and accumulated power!" "Right, right, okay," Karen replied dismissively. "Hey!" Purr shouted. "More importantly, once you become an Inquisitor, I'll be able to form a pact with you and become your symbiosis sacred relic! The Light power in your body will receive a massive boost, and you'll become a unique being wielding both the systems of Order and Light!" "Yeah, I know." "You'll also gain access to my bloodline abilities, granting you a portion of Ancestor Allen's power! And if you master water-attribute energy, your Sea God's Armor will become even more terrifying!" "Mm, sounds great, sounds great." "And I'll also gain a certain degree of freedom!" Purr finally reached her real point. "I'll go from being an ordinary little kitty to an extraordinary little kitty!" "You can go ask Xili. She probably already thinks the cat in our house is the most extraordinary cat in the world." "Besides, you'll also have the ability to try loosening the silly dog's seal a bit, following the records in Mr. Hoffen's notes." "*Woof!*" Kevin trotted into the bedroom from the partitioned alcove, his tail wagging excitedly. "Get back to sleep, you dumb dog!" Purr snapped. Kevin slunk dejectedly back into the alcove dog bed. "So, Karen, stop hesitating! As long as you become an Inquisitor, our household's strength will undergo a colossal leap forward! I swear, in the entire Church of Order, no other Inquisitor will match your power—well, except for Diss. "What's more, if you properly integrate your power with mine and optimize the amplification effects, you can go straight ahead and kill that Viclay! Haven't you had his name written in your little grudge book for ages? Don't you want to kill him?" "I do want to kill him." Karen paused, gazing solemnly at Purr. "However, throwing away my own future just to kill him feels like a terrible trade. He isn't worth that price." "Is... is it really that serious?" "Yes. From God's Servant to God's Revelation, and then to God's Shepherd, I've walked every single step differently from everyone else, following my own inner path. In a sense, I am walking a road no one else has ever trodden. The consequence is that from here on out, if I take a single wrong step, I'm very likely to be yanked back onto the conventional path. Not only would all my previous effort and investment go to waste, but it would also lock down my future growth." "You'd end up like Diss?" Purr asked. "I don't know how to answer that, because I can't tell whether becoming as powerful as Diss is a compliment or a tragedy." "Fine, I get it. Just walk your path however you want. I shouldn't be pressuring and rushing you." Purr hopped off Karen's chest, curled up beside his pillow, and whispered softly: "Because I know Diss wasn't happy." Karen pulled up the quilt and tucked Purr in. Then he switched on his bedside lamp, took out a copy of *Light of Order* from the drawer, and began flipping through it once more. Hearing the rustling, Purr turned her head, puzzled. "Why are you still reading *Light of Order*?" "Because I discovered that this book contains very detailed descriptions of an Inquisitor's duties." "Hmm. I thought you would discard that book entirely." "Everything has two sides. Dialectical thinking is meant to prevent falling into extremes." "I still don't get it. You claim you want to choose your own path, yet you're still poring over books?" "Do you know what makes the most convincing lie in this world?" "You've said it before: a selective half-truth." "Exactly. The workflow of an Inquisitor recorded in *Light of Order* is to hear the grievances of victims and deliver judgment and punishment based on the *Code of Order*. But I've noticed that the workflow of modern Inquisitors is nothing like what's recorded here." Whether it was the Inquisitor work Diss had carried out or the records in Pavaro's work notebook, Karen felt they functioned more like a local police station: the subordinate God's Servants were the patrol officers, and the Inquisitor was the precinct chief. Yet from the descriptions in *Light of Order*, an Inquisitor was supposed to be more like an imperial magistrate. "Because times have changed," Purr remarked. "With royal authority declining, theocratic power stopped exercising direct control over nations and retreated behind the scenes instead." "Why did that happen?" Karen asked. "Because it wasn't worth it. Think of it this way: when a theocracy directly governs a nation, that nation's prosperity or decline naturally reflects onto the church itself. Do you understand what I mean?" "Somewhat." "That's why orthodox churches no longer directly administer states. Doing so is like breaching your own reservoir to irrigate someone else's fields without any way to channel the water back—purely thankless effort. "Not only do orthodox churches avoid it, but even major churches steer clear of it, because they want to build up their own strength and yearn to rise into the orthodox ranks. "Only certain mid-sized churches still cling to secular power. But in this current era, not a single mid-sized church has managed to grow through such methods. Then again, they don't care about growth anyway, because their only goal is mere survival." "Purr, I think the answer might lie right there. I suspect the path I should take as an Inquisitor is precisely what's described in this book." "Well, good luck with that. I'm sleepy. Time for bed, meow." Karen read for a while longer, occasionally picking up a pen to jot down notes and annotations directly in the margins. Only when the early morning hours arrived did he finally feel exhaustion washing over him. Setting the book aside, he tucked the quilt around Purr, who had kicked it off in her sleep. He turned off the lamp and went to sleep. Over the next three days, Karen went to the factory district every evening to practice with Mr. Gray. Finally, on the third day of sparring, Karen was able to contest Gray to a rough forty-sixty win rate without needing to wait for Gray to exhaust himself—with Karen taking forty percent. Of course, that was under non-lethal conditions. In a true fight to the death, Karen knew full well he would be the one who died. Even so, it was a remarkable improvement. Karen had not yet advanced to Inquisitor, whereas he could clearly sense that Mr. Gray was one. In terms of cultivation realm, Gray held a decisive edge over him. Mr. Gray recognized this as well. He remarked that once Karen reached the Inquisitor rank, Gray wasn't confident he would be the one left standing even in a fight to the death. He encouraged Karen to invest more time and energy into his cultivation realm and strive to attain the Inquisitor rank as soon as possible. What he didn't realize was that Karen was agonizing over which set of clothes to put on, deliberately keeping himself suspended between God's Shepherd and Inquisitor. Even when he had revealed his realm in front of Ophelia last time, he had leaked only a sliver of an Inquisitor's aura before hastily feigning impatience to disperse it, terrified that a careless slip might trigger his breakthrough right then and there. Nor did Gray realize just how vast the gap between them would become once Karen's deep foundation broke through to Inquisitor, not to mention his impending symbiosis with Purr and mastery of an entirely new Light sequence. By then, during their sparring sessions, Karen would be the one needing to wrap his blade in cloth. On the other hand, this also proved how formidable this Whip of Order squad truly was. They actually had Inquisitor-level members among their rank-and-file—and apparently more than one. At the very least, Wend, who had shown incredible speed last time, was likely an Inquisitor as well. However, their lessons had reached their limit. If Karen wanted further improvement, he would have to forge it through the bloodshed of real combat, which wasn't something Gray could teach. After all, they couldn't truly engage in a fight to the death; he would have to look for other targets who "deserved to die." The afternoon after completing his training, Karen took on the appearance of Mr. Pavaro and arrived at a row of townhouses. This was Viclay's personal office, though he also maintained one in the Church Affairs Building. A total of seven Inquisitors attended the meeting, along with seven God's Shepherds holding official duties within Viclay's jurisdiction, plus two squad captains from the Whip of Order. As he walked in, Karen overheard the two Whip of Order captains conversing, the key exchange being: "Neo didn't come?" "Heh, he wouldn't bother showing up here." Karen recalled that the jurisdiction of Neo's squad was around this area as well. However, the grassroots administrative divisions in the Church of Order were tangled: a sector might bear your name in theory, but in practice, you held no actual authority over it, with severe overlaps and conflicting mandates between departments. Evidently, Neo had zero intention of humoring Viclay. The meeting began. Viclay opened by addressing the issues of his predecessor—specifically, the misconduct of Qihe's faction—pinning every past and present problem entirely on Qihe's clique. Next, he highlighted the accomplishments achieved since taking office. After that came the assignment of specific future operational targets, reiterating the importance of faith in Order. This segment took up the most time and flowed the smoothest. Viclay had clearly earned his credentials in clerical roles; his speech was stirring and well-delivered. One would never guess from looking at him that he was someone who embezzled the merits of his subordinate Inquisitors. Just as this part of the presentation reached its impassioned peak, filled with sweeping parallel phrases, a red-robed Bishop arrived, flanked by two Jurists and an entourage of attendants, taking a seat to observe the proceedings. Karen distinctly felt everyone's spirits perk up. At the same time, he noticed the Bishop's gaze flick specifically toward him twice. The next segment featured speeches by Inquisitor representatives. Three Inquisitors spoke on past difficulties, praised the refreshing new atmosphere since Viclay took charge, discussed the solutions they had found, and concluded with bright outlooks for the future. Karen—or rather, Inquisitor "Pavaro"—was not permitted to speak. Not only did it clash with Pavaro's established persona, but Karen hadn't been given a script in advance. Those who hadn't rehearsed weren't qualified to perform on stage. Karen was more than happy to sit quietly in his seat and daydream. At last, the meeting concluded. Viclay's grandfather, the red-robed Bishop, walked up to the conference table, delivered a brief word of encouragement for everyone's hard work, and brought the meeting to a close amid a round of applause. Karen found the grandfather-grandson duo's conduct rather tacky. What kind of grandfather personally went out of his way to endorse his own grandson? How would that look to the public? Or perhaps this Bishop was so unpopular among the episcopal circles of the York City Region that no other bishop was willing to help him endorse his grandson? Karen suspected the latter was far more likely. A working dinner followed the meeting. "Mr. Pavaro" took his leave early, and Viclay made no attempt to stop him, letting Karen go after exchanging a few polite formalities. Karen drove back to the funeral parlor. Since it was a rare occasion for him to appear as Mr. Pavaro, he greeted his two "old subordinates," Dinkum and Pike, asking how they had been doing lately. Neither Pike nor Dinkum dared speak ill of Karen. Next, Karen went to see Dora and Doreen. The two young girls' reaction to their "father's" return was quite formal, almost like going through an established routine, as they had long known their real father was gone. Finally, Karen stood before Mrs. Lake. Yet upon seeing "her husband" return, Mrs. Lake didn't show grief; instead, she couldn't help letting out a chuckle. "All right, all right. I have photographs I can look at." Karen shrugged. "Madam, are you sure you don't need this?" "No need. Your friends are visiting later, and it would be quite embarrassing." "Understood." Still wearing Mr. Pavaro's face, Karen bade farewell to Pike and Dinkum, telling them he had to leave for some missions and wouldn't be back for quite a while. Karen then wandered outside for a bit, reverted to his own appearance, and returned to the funeral parlor—only to find Pike holding a letter. Seeing Karen return, Pike immediately ran over and handed the letter to him. "Boss, someone came by earlier to deliver a letter, saying it's for Mr. Pavaro. But Mr. Pavaro just left, and we don't know when he'll be back." Evidently, after the baptism of carrots and sticks, even Pike, the dullest of the two assistants, knew who his true superior was. Otherwise, by all rights, the letter should have been handed to Mrs. Lake to pass along to Pavaro. Karen nodded. "I'll get in touch with Mr. Pavaro. Go back to work." "Understood, Boss." Karen carried the letter into his study. It was not an official church dispatch, just an ordinary envelope, though sealed with exquisite wax. Sitting behind his desk, Karen tore the letter open to reveal the paper inside. On it was nothing more than a string of telephone digits. He had only just attended a meeting in Pavaro's identity, and this letter had been delivered right on his heels. It was impossible not to draw certain connections. Karen rang the desk bell. A moment later, Alfred pushed open the study door and stepped inside. "Young Master?" Karen pointed to the telephone on the desk. Understanding immediately, Alfred gripped the telephone cord, his eyes taking on a faint reddish glow. Karen assumed Mr. Pavaro's appearance and picked up the receiver. Just as he was about to dial, he hesitated, signaled Alfred to wait, and walked over to open the interior door of the study. "Come in here for a moment." Purr and Kevin promptly trotted into the room. Karen nodded to Alfred, placed the receiver on the desk, and dialed the number. Immediately, the voice that should have come through the earpiece emerged directly from Alfred's mouth with the exact same timbre, effectively functioning as a loudspeaker: "Hello there." The voice was unfamiliar to Karen; he had never heard it before. Yet the moment Purr and Kevin heard it, they reacted instantly. Kevin silently mouthed a "woof" with his dog snout. Purr smacked the silly dog across the face, then leapt onto Karen's desk, dipped her paw in tea, and traced a name onto the surface: *Ruke.* Adjudicator Ruke? He hadn't been captured yet? It was him—the man who had personally murdered Mr. Pavaro and Ms. Annie on the bridge. Alfred spoke: "Why aren't you saying anything?" This was synchronized with Ruke's voice on the other end of the line. Karen was currently wearing Mr. Pavaro's appearance, so his voice naturally took on Pavaro's tone as well: "What is there to say?" "Heh, hehehehe..." Alfred laughed. After a long pause, Alfred looked at his young master and continued: "How about you tell me... just who on earth are you?"