Fiery Negotiations

"Merely a suspicion?" "Yes." "I'll report this detail upward." "All right. Thank you, Captain." Karen turned and headed back to his suite. On the bed, Fanny and Peige were still sound asleep. Peige had kicked the blanket to the floor, sprawling on her stomach, while Fanny wore a silk nightgown—the cut that looked even more enticing worn than off. They had certainly heard the chime earlier. But since Karen was on the night watch, as long as he didn't wake them, they would fall right back to sleep. It was a sign of absolute trust in their teammate. Of course, their current sleeping postures were an even deeper display of that trust. Karen stood by the bedside, frowning slightly. Looking back at the scene when he had wheeled the food cart inside earlier, many details reeked of contrivance. Derius had been the one seized by the sudden impulse to share a drink, yet he had taken only a single sip, as if staging a performance for Karen so Karen could bear witness that he had indeed drunk. Right after drinking, he lost all interest in talking and claimed he was "tired." Even so, this suspicion was essentially useless. You could view it as a deliberate disguise meant to win the trust of the Church of Order's higher-ups. You could also view it as him realizing the upper echelon still harbored doubts about him, so he purposefully acted that way to prove his innocence. The only one who truly knew the truth was probably that Spatial Worm. Karen gave his neck a light twist. He suddenly felt rather fortunate—fortunate that he lacked any deep sense of belonging to the Church of Order. All he had to do was carry out his duties. Whatever headaches and political balancing acts remained could be left to the high brass. Quietly finishing his mission and pocketing his point coupons—that was the right path. Bending down, he picked up the blanket and covered Peige and Fanny once more. Karen sat back down on the sofa, pulled a cigarette from the pack Fanny had left on the coffee table, and rolled it between his fingers. Before he knew it, most of the shredded tobacco had been shaken out. By then, the dawn light was filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Karen picked up the nearby receiver. There was no dial tone, meaning outside calls were impossible, but the line clicked open almost immediately. "Hello, front desk. How may I assist you, My Lord?" "Breakfast." "For three, My Lord?" "Yes." "Do you have any special requests, My Lord?" "Bring up some more cigarettes." "Understood, My Lord. Please wait a moment, they will be sent up shortly." Asking for cigarettes was a trick Peige had taught him. They brought spare clothes, but they never brought extra cigarettes. Since mission expenses were reimbursed by the church, whenever they ran low, they could simply have the Ankara Hotel's front desk send more up. These costs were billed directly to the room, and the squad didn't have to settle the room charge themselves. The cigarettes provided by the Ankara Hotel contained special additives that couldn't be bought outside. They were available in the shop at the Church Affairs Building, but only for point coupons. Still, to maintain a shred of decency, they couldn't order them by the crate, only by the carton. Before long, Marlo's voice sounded through the blue seashell at Karen's ear: "Breakfast is here." Karen stepped out of the room and walked to the elevator. When the doors slid open, he saw his little cousin once more. An entire day had passed, and apart from brief trips to the restroom, Richard had essentially stayed inside the elevator the entire time. No one entered this elevator unless they were authorized to access this floor. That meant he had spent virtually the entire day alone in a confined space, left to his own thoughts. Yet he didn't complain in the slightest. Every time the elevator doors opened, he stood with brisk vigor. It wasn't an act, either, as Karen couldn't detect the faintest trace of resentment in Richard's micro-expressions. Putting himself in Richard's shoes, Karen felt that with a similar family background, if his squad had relegated him to such a post on his very first mission, he would have felt deeply aggrieved. In that sense, his little cousin possessed a far higher ideological awareness than he did. Richard wheeled out the food cart laden with breakfast, then turned and stepped back into the elevator. Karen took a plate and used the tongs to serve some bread and sausages. A breakfast for three was not divided into three neat portions; in truth, there was enough food to feed six or seven grown men. Setting down the heaped plate, Karen walked over and pressed the elevator button. The elevator hadn't descended and remained on the floor. When the doors opened again, Karen stepped inside carrying the plate and a large glass of orange juice. The doors slid shut. Richard looked at Karen in bewilderment. Karen asked, "Haven't had breakfast yet, have you?" "No." Karen handed him a fork and sat down. Seeing Richard still standing, Karen waved him over. "Sit. Eat first." "Oh, okay." Richard obediently sat down and began to eat. Karen took a sip from the large glass of orange juice and passed it to Richard, who took a hearty gulp. "Boring, isn't it?" Karen asked. Richard shook his head. "This is my post and my duty." "Mm. Keep up the good work. The captain and the others will definitely take note of your attitude. On the next mission, you'll be assigned to a better post." "Actually, I think guarding the elevator is a very important post. There are arrays surrounding the exterior of the hotel, and inside, there are arrays and restrictive wards separating each floor and every single room. Even inside this elevator, there's a formation. Anyone wishing to enter this floor must pass through me. This place is crucial." "Indeed," Karen agreed with a nod. Richard took a bite of sausage and continued, "When Bishop Bern went down, he looked like he was turning something over in his mind, feeling quite hesitant and conflicted." "Oh?" Karen was somewhat surprised. His little cousin was actively observing everyone, and more importantly, he was willing to share it with him. This proved that Richard's persistent fondness for him stemmed from genuinely viewing Karen as one of his own. "Bishop Bern... Grandfather mentioned him once. He said that although Bishop Bern is one of the lower-ranking Grade 1 Bishops in the York City Region, his true influence is far from simple. Being a Grade 1 Bishop in the York City Region is very likely just a convenient temporary identity he needs right now." Bishops were divided into grades, ascending from 1 to 9, though in ordinary terms, that was tied purely to benefits and compensation. In fact, the Church of Order—and indeed most churches—suffered from a pervasive structural flaw: position, cultivation realm, authority, and influence could never be neatly aligned. From God's Servant, God's Revelation, and God's Shepherd, to Inquisitor, Adjudicator, and Jurist, followed by Regional Bishop, and then higher-level Regional Bishops... For instance, the York City Region held a status equivalent to an entire national region like Ruilan, while the Kingdom of Vien Region ranked above Ruilan's. The difference was akin to municipal civil service versus state civil service. The reason it felt chaotic was that in the Church of Order, the cultivation realms largely overlapped with official titles; the exact same term could designate a position or a cultivation realm. In extreme cases, if one's contributions were great enough or their status high enough, even a God's Servant could hold the post of Inquisitor or an even higher office. After all, even within the iron-fisted Church of Order, those whose sole responsibility was fighting did not make up the majority. For example, Karen's grandfather, Diss, had always remained an Inquisitor, yet even Rasma felt dread upon visiting the city where he resided. To take another immediate example, Richard was in the realm of God's Shepherd, yet his credential read God's Servant. Karen had reached the realm of Inquisitor, yet he still carried a God's Servant credential. Only above the level of Jurist did cultivation realm and official title decouple into distinct designations. The root cause of this tangled system lay in the fact that religions did not expand in a uniform, orderly fashion. It wasn't like a drop of ink diffusing through clear water into an even gradient; it was forged through prolonged, relentless tugs-of-war among various religious factions until a relatively stable dynamic finally took shape. When Karen had first learned of this, he had mentally compared it to the era of chaotic warlord skirmishes, where every warlord called himself a commander-in-chief, and even a band of bandits could brand themselves colonels or brigadier generals, styling themselves brigade or division commanders. Rank, title, territory, faction, and fighting prowess were an utter mess. Nevertheless, a Grade 1 Bishop of the York City Region was already a very lofty position. If even that title was merely used as a temporary cover, just how high was Bishop Bern's true status? After all, he had managed to place his own son as an undercover operative inside the Church of Pamires and ultimately see him become their Holy Child. He must have provided immense backing behind the scenes. "I think Bishop Bern might harbor doubts in his heart," Richard said. "And those doubts seemed much heavier than when he took the elevator up." He had become even more troubled after seeing his son? Karen trusted Richard's observation. Even the most brilliant actor couldn't keep up the charade around the clock, and Richard's post was so mundane as to be easily overlooked. People riding the elevator likely couldn't be bothered to stay tense and guarded in front of him. "Also, there's the captain." "The captain?" "The captain took the elevator up early on." "Mm, I know that." It seemed the captain had been hiding on this floor all along, waiting for the medicine to take effect. "When the captain went down, I could tell he seemed to be laughing." "Laughing? Did you hear him?" Karen remembered that the captain had been wearing a mask tonight. "His shoulders were trembling slightly," Richard explained. "Ah, I see." When the captain went down, he had just finished talking to Karen, and Karen had just voiced his suspicions. So what was the captain laughing about? "Your observations are very important," Karen said. "Next time there's another mission, I'll have you assigned by my side." "Great!" Richard beamed, delighted. After finishing breakfast with Richard, Karen stepped out of the elevator and wheeled the food cart back to his suite. The blanket had been kicked to the floor by the two women once again. Because daylight was now streaming in, chasing away the dim warmth of the room's lamps, the scene on the bed was visible with absolute clarity—and yes, it looked far fairer. Fanny was naturally fair-skinned, carrying a voluptuous fullness unique to her. Peige, if one overlooked the scars running across her body, was also fair. Against this backdrop, the tableau on the bed resembled an oil painting: two women showcasing two distinct aesthetics and textures of beauty. Karen rested his hands on the food cart, admiring the sight openly for a moment. Since it looked good, there was no harm in looking naturally. Neither of them cared anyway. Peige opened her eyes, sat up, and stretched lazily toward Karen. "I smell food." "Mm. Go wash up and eat," Karen said. Completely unclad, Peige slid out of bed, walked over to the food cart, and asked, "Can I pretend I'm still half-asleep and groggy, and give you a kiss first? That way I can start today's work in a wonderful mood." "Then my good mood for the day would be thoroughly ruined." "Why?" "Don't you know how terrible morning breath is? Especially when you smoke and drink." "Hah... heh... hehehe!" Peige glared at Karen in furious indignance. "Karen, the thing I regret most in my life is not fucking you senseless right on the sofa in the captain's office the first time we met!" "What a pity. You've missed your chance." Peige turned around, bent over with her back to Karen, and gave her hips a couple of deliberate wiggles. "Though I wouldn't mind if you left a few red welts on me with that greatsword Miss Ophelia gave you." Fanny sat up from the bed, laughing. "Oh, starting this early? Playing the game of desperately salvaging injured pride and shattered charm, are we?" Peige retorted, "I'm not the only one in need of saving! Haha, I didn't see you bring this kind of lingerie last time. Looks like you care quite a bit yourself!" "Eat your breakfast," Karen said. "There's a welcome banquet this morning. Considering we're under radio silence, it will definitely be brief, with very few attendees. We probably... won't even have the privilege of eating." Peige said, "You're completely right." Fanny nodded. "That's spot on." The two women headed into the bathroom to wash up. Karen sat down on the sofa, leaned back slightly, and gazed out the window. For some reason, Eunice's image surfaced unbidden in his mind. Having washed and dressed, Fanny walked out of the bathroom. Nibbling on breakfast, she smiled and teased, "Thinking about your girlfriend?" "No, thinking about what happened last night." Peige stepped out of the bathroom just then and cursed, "Oh, damn it! Do the two of us together not even have the power to make you think of your girlfriend anymore?!" Karen replied, "After all, you're not in the same age group." "Fuck!" "Fuck!" The two women swore in unison. Fanny gave Karen the middle finger, while Peige bit viciously into a grilled sausage, snapping it in two. Next came the waiting. At ten-thirty, Karen, flanked by Peige and Fanny, knocked on Derius's door. Derius answered, wearing the clerical robes from the day before. He looked in peak condition, exuding a solemn, divine aura that made it hard to imagine the state he had been in last night. The welcome banquet was held in a small hall. Karen, Peige, and Fanny entered the banquet hall, where only three long tables were set. At one table sat Derius and Red Bishops such as Bern. The other two tables were occupied by Derius's entourage and the Church of Order's negotiating clerks, respectively. Karen's trio had no choice but to stand near the perimeter. Forget eating—there weren't even chairs for them to sit on. They were reduced to living wallpaper. They were truly fortunate to have stuffed themselves at breakfast. For an event involving the merger of two churches, the scale on both sides appeared rather modest. But when taking into account that the outcome of these talks would be forwarded to the true leadership of both sides for final appraisal, the setup seemed perfectly natural. There were no lengthy speeches, nor any expressions of sentiment. The banquet concluded briskly; everyone seemed to be merely going through the motions. Once the banquet ended, the negotiations originally scheduled for two in the afternoon were moved forward to begin immediately. The conference hall was not large either, but this time no isolating wards were placed. Since everyone present was barred from leaving the hotel before the negotiations concluded, there was naturally no need for secrecy. The specific terms of the treaty required no secrecy either. If the negotiations succeeded, the Church of Pamires would merge into the Church of Order, making them one family. If the negotiations failed, the Church of Pamires would be wiped out by Order, still leaving only one family. During the previous meeting, Fanny and Peige had drifted off repeatedly, finding it pure mental torture, even asking Karen to pinch their thighs to keep them from snoring. But this time, they showed not a shred of fatigue. Sitting bolt upright, they listened intently, as if suddenly consumed with deep concern for the church's future. First, Derius presented the Church of Pamires's demands. In essence, the Church of Pamires would publicly declare its allegiance to the Church of Order, amend the mythological narratives in its scriptures, and align itself with the Church of Order in all dealings with secular authorities and other churches. On the Church of Order's side, Leon's grandfather—the Chief Bishop of the York City Region—presented their counter-demands. In short, the Church of Order would take over all of the Church of Pamires's mission halls; doctrinal texts had to center on the *Light of Order*, with Pamires's doctrine appended merely as an additional volume; the administrative bodies of the Church of Pamires would be dismantled and absorbed into various departments of the Church of Order, with special emphasis on creating dedicated sub-departments under Order to oversee Pamires's expertise in spatial magic and spatial sacred relic crafting; and the Messenger Space had to open its gates unconditionally to the Temple of Order, establishing a permanent teleportation array between the two realms under the exclusive operational control of the Church of Order. The respective demands of the two sides couldn't merely be called divergent; they were worlds apart. Yet just like doing business, one had to open with an exorbitant price before there was any room to haggle. Immediately after, both sides erupted into a furious shouting match, hurling pens and paper at one another without the slightest shred of clerical dignity. Even fishmongers brawling in an open market were more civilized than this. At the height of the argument: Three negotiating priests from the Church of Pamires stripped off their clerical robes, dropped to their knees, and screamed, "If it comes to this, I'd rather die than yield!" Two Jurists from the Church of Order rolled up their sleeves and roared, "Why even bother merging?! March straight into the Messenger Space and obliterate Pamires!" Nevertheless, both sides were dragged back by their fellow delegates, only to resume their screaming match. At first, Karen listened with keen interest. Yet watching Derius lead his delegation in fighting tooth and nail against the Church of Order for the best possible treatment and autonomy, Karen recalled him shouting in his face: *Are you doubting my loyalty to Order?* *Sigh.* Karen let out a silent breath. What was Old Saman doing right about now? Most likely... he was discussing the finer details of his own funeral with Alfred.