Alfred put away his notebook and sat up straight. Ever since he had accompanied his young master in leaving Allen Manor, his attire was no longer so ornate and splendid. He deliberately chose ordinary clothes to wear, yet his posture and bearing were so exceptional that even plain garments took on an air of elegance on him—especially when contrasted with Pike and Dinkum sitting across from him.
Averting his gaze from Old Saman lying in the coffin, Alfred looked toward the young master at the wheel of the hearse, sighing inwardly:
*All of destiny has already had its price secretly marked by the gods.*
However, he had not written this sentence in his notebook.
Even though he had always treated his young master as a god, he was well aware that the core philosophy of the young master’s black notebook was a critique of gods.
He treated the young master as a god only because he did not yet know what specific title ought to be used for an existence above the gods.
Naturally, it was also after following the young master that he had gradually completed the transition of "god" from a noun to an adjective.
Past the intersection ahead lay Ivy Cemetery, but at the crossing stood a group of figures in blue robes. What was bound to come would always come.
Karen stopped the hearse and turned on the headlights. The faithful of the Church of Pamires were bowing toward the hearse in a devout posture.
"Is your prestige in the Church of Pamires really that high?" Karen asked toward the back.
"What prestige could I possibly have? It’s nothing more than having slightly better craftsmanship, knowing how to craft a few things others couldn't.
"Beyond that, I never made any outstanding contributions to the church, nor did I leave behind any moving, heroic tales.
"Otherwise, how could I have spent thirty years as a cemetery keeper without a single 'relative' dropping by?"
Karen pointed ahead. "This scene hardly matches what you're saying."
"My guess is that the things I left behind in the Messenger Space years ago were brought to light because the Messenger Space was fully utilized during this recent war. Only then did they realize, *Oh, it turns out a true genius once existed in our church.*"
"I think the word 'genius' is usually reserved for young people, or people who look young."
"That’s your prejudice talking. In the long river of history, every one of us appears very young." Old Saman raised a hand. Alfred, sitting beside him, handed him a cigarette and lit it for him. The old man took a drag and exhaled smoke as he said, "Hit the gas. Drive right through. The older you get, the less you can bear to see or hear this kind of thing."
"Afraid you'll soften your heart?"
"Afraid I'll make myself sick. After all, I’ve had a full meal."
"You're truly hard to please." Karen shook his head. "You clearly keep the church in your heart, yet when they offer you warmth, you put on this kind of attitude."
"What I cherish is my past, because Pamires was part of my past.
"But asking me to accept it again, to assimilate into it—never mind that they cannot represent the Pamires in my heart anymore, even if it were identical, without the slightest change, what would that make of these past thirty years of mine?
"There’s no starting over. Better to hold on to a few more memories of the past. I don't even dare to live a few days longer, afraid that living a few more days would make me realize that even my fond memories were tainted with falsehood."
"I see. You're treating the church like an ex-wife."
"Heh, hahahaha!"
Old Saman laughed heartily.
Karen restarted the hearse and continued forward. The priests of the Church of Pamires ahead slowly moved aside; none of them attempted a desperate stand to block the road. Finally, at the main entrance of Ivy Cemetery, Derius's figure appeared.
The wound on his forehead remained distinct, but he wasn't leaning on crutches, standing firmly on his feet. Evidently, the church hospital's healing arts were indeed miraculous; an ordinary person suffering injuries as severe as his yesterday wouldn't have been able to get out of bed for half a month.
The hearse continued forward, but Derius remained standing there, motionless.
Karen thought this Holy Child truly had no idea how to plead with someone, nor was he adept at handling social relationships. In truth, an old man like Old Saman was very easy to coax. Instead of marching up to kowtow and profess faith, he would have been far better off bringing a bottle of wine and a bag of appetizers, changing into casual clothes, and joining him for a late-night bite.
After all, to Old Saman, Derius was like an ex-wife's child. There was bound to be affection—even if the child shared no blood with him.
Unsurprisingly, the Holy Child was knocked down by the bumper, and the hearse rolled right over him. However, the hearse's chassis was high enough. After driving past, Karen made a point of checking the rearview mirror: the Holy Child was already pushing himself up from the ground.
The cemetery gates weren't locked, so Karen didn't stop either, using the front of the hearse to ram them open.
"Now that's too much," Old Saman grumbled.
Karen tapped the steering wheel and said, "I'm planning to get a new hearse anyway."
The captain had mentioned using point coupons to trade for a "VIP vehicle." Karen didn't harbor aspirations as high as his captain's, but upgrading to a higher-end hearse wouldn't be an issue.
"What I care about is my gate," Old Saman said.
"You're about to be buried, yet you still care about that." Karen paid it no mind. As he drove down the narrow lane inside the cemetery, he asked, "Where is the plot?"
"Turn right. In the northwest corner."
"You like peace and quiet that much?"
"Mainly, I'm too familiar with the residents here. I'm afraid that once I move in, everyone will be too enthusiastic. Quiet is better. When I want peace, I can lie in my own spot; when I'm bored, I can come out for a stroll and drop by to chat."
Karen glanced at the rearview mirror and saw that the members of the Church of Pamires were all standing at the cemetery entrance. Not a single one followed inside. Likely, they understood that stepping further into the cemetery would earn them the same treatment their Holy Child had received yesterday.
They reached the plot. Karen stepped out of the vehicle, and Old Saman stood before him.
It was very spacious here, surrounded by empty graves. Old Saman stood beside Karen, stretching repeatedly, probably aware of how cramped the space would be once he lay in the coffin.
Karen suggested, "Want to use the bathroom first?"
"A fine suggestion, but it's too far. You should have stopped at the entrance and let me take care of it in my room."
Karen pointed ahead. "Just find a spot in the grass. We'll turn our backs."
"This is the place where I'll rest forever. Who relieves themselves in their own bedroom? Even your dog understands that much, doesn't it?"
"My dog? You've seen it?"
"Yes. A very clever golden retriever, just a bit bald on the forehead."
"Aside from being very clever, you don't have any other words to describe it?"
"How else do you want me to describe it? Say it's as smart as a human? At the end of the day, it's just a dog."
"Mm, yes. At the end of the day, it's just a dog."
Alfred helped Pike and Dinkum carry Old Saman's coffin down and set it into the pre-dug grave pit.
Old Saman began pacing around the coffin, occasionally gesturing for Alfred and the others to adjust its angle. Likely, very few people could ever make demands about such details at their own burial.
Still, Old Saman wasn't deliberately stalling for time, for deep inside, he possessed ample courage to face death.
"We can begin..."
Speaking up to here, Old Saman suddenly turned his head to look back.
"Fancy that. An uninvited guest has arrived."
"Outside the cemetery?" Karen asked.
"Yes, outside the cemetery. He doesn't dare come in."
"Bishop Bern?"
"Mm, that's him."
"Are you going to see him?"
"I might as well go see him. I can't show fear on the verge of death. Besides, I have plenty of curses I'd like to throw in his face."
"Then we'll wait here for you to return."
"Don't worry, you won't wait long."
Old Saman took a step forward. His form warped and vanished in an instant.
At the cemetery gates, the members of the Church of Pamires had already been ordered to stand at a distance. Derius had been left standing there stubbornly alone until a black halo materialized beside him, and his father stepped out from within.
Today, Bishop Bern wasn't wearing his priestly robes, but rather a gray sweater, supported by a brown walking cane.
Looking at his son, who knew only how to stand there foolishly, Bishop Bern sighed.
"What you're doing isn't enough."
"Yet I believe only this can represent my faith and respect."
"Faith in whom, and respect for whom?"
"The god Pamires," Derius replied forcefully.
"Heh." Bishop Bern chuckled. "Yet the person you are facing may have long since seen his faith and respect turn sour. To a certain extent, he could even be called an apostate; he simply chose to flee rather than violently tear things apart."
"I can sense that his piety remains."
"Naturally, but it is certainly no longer his sole focus. That is where you need to improve.
"Perhaps your living environment made you suspicious and distrustful from the start. In that state, you matured extremely fast, but at the same time, it made you exhausted and naive. You yearn to embrace a pure spiritual realm and social bonds, but that isn't realistic.
"In fact, the methods you believe to be correct only invite the other party's disgust. That is why you were beaten yesterday."
"Then what should I... do?"
"Sweep the floor, cook a meal, have a chat."
Derius turned to look at his father, his expression as if asking: *Are you being serious?*
Bishop Bern smiled. "When dealing with the elderly, these things are actually the most effective."
"Who are you calling elderly?"
Old Saman's figure materialized at the main gate, glaring at Bishop Bern.
Bishop Bern reached out to pat Derius's head. "Merely teaching the child how to show filial respect to an elder."
"If the heart isn't in it, faking it is useless."
Bishop Bern shook his head. "Many old people in this world know very well their children treat them well only for their estate, yet they are quite content to feign ignorance."
"I am nothing like them."
"Yet I feel there is no difference. You and I will both grow old."
"I have grown old, but you seem not to have changed at all. Still just as sinister, cunning, and shameless as before."
"Hearing you say that brings me joy." Bishop Bern nudged Derius forward. "In any case, he is the current Holy Child of your Church of Pamires, and barring accidents, he will be the future Hierophant. I believe you ought to leave him something."
"You've already taken the nest, yet you still covet what little a lone bird that left the flock long ago possesses. You father and son truly share the same thick skin."
Derius said earnestly, "Mr. Saman, the church elders discovered certain things you left behind in the Messenger Space years ago. As you well know, many of our church's legacies have been severed over the years. Since you have mastered them, I hope you can pass them down once more."
"I have no such obligation."
"This is for the Church of Pamires."
"The Church of Pamires already belongs to you all."
"You shouldn't question my devotion to the god Pamires."
Hearing his son say those words, Bishop Bern could not help but close his eyes.
"If the god truly witnessed this scene, both you and your father, body and soul, would be rolled into letter paper and eternally sealed!"
"Mr. Saman, I have come on behalf of the Church of Pamires to make this request of you. I hope you can consider the church, consider the church's future—"
*Buzz!*
Old Saman appeared directly in front of Derius and kicked toward him.
Bishop Bern's figure also appeared before his son, using his walking cane to intercept Old Saman's kick. Blue and black silhouettes of light collided fiercely in that instant before dispersing completely.
Old Saman stared into Bishop Bern's face, speaking word by word: "Your son is very clever, yet he is also very foolish."
"He is still young, after all."
"Being young is no sin, but since he is young, he ought to stay back where he belongs, instead of stepping forward and relying on his youth to spout so much repulsive nonsense!"
Derius pulled a blue gem-inlaid scroll from the sleeve of his robe. "I have here the Hierophant's edict."
"Ha."
Old Saman laughed, looking at Derius.
"Are you sure you want to open the Hierophant's edict? Are you sure you want me to start questioning the Hierophant's identity right now?"
Derius froze.
Seeing the change in his expression, Old Saman's eyes began to redden.
Bishop Bern reached out, gripped Derius's shoulder, and rapidly retreated with him.
"Heh... heheh..."
Watching Bishop Bern back away into the distance, Old Saman asked:
"What, not coming in for a visit?"
"I had no intention of going inside. After all, when facing a dying man, there are simply too many uncertainties."
"You think I would drag you down to the grave with me? You flatter yourself. I wouldn't want a thing filthier than a toilet bowl lying in my resting place."
"Who can say?" Bishop Bern smiled faintly. "Still, you ought to leave something behind."
"Whatever should be left behind, I already left in the Messenger Space. Spend a few decades slowly puzzling it out and deciphering it. I owe the Church of Pamires nothing, and I owe the Church of Order even less. Right now, I only want to die. If you won't even grant me the peace to die, then I look forward to what happens next.
"So take your nauseating son and get out of my sight. Do not disturb the quiet atmosphere of my death."
Bishop Bern nodded. "Safe journey."
"Get lost!"
Old Saman's figure dissolved.
Derius spoke up, "What he left in the Messenger Space truly is as he said—it will take decades to decipher and master. He was a spatial genius who remained obscured all along."
"Holy Child, I am curious about one thing."
"Bishop, please ask."
"The contents of the Hierophant's edict in your hand—did you read them yourself?"
"His Holiness instructed that it must be opened by Mr. Saman personally. I have not read it."
Hearing this, Bishop Bern's brows knit slightly. "Open it now."
"But..."
"It is impossible for you to see him ever again."
Derius pursed his lips and unrolled the edict. As the scroll spread open, it projected the Hierophant's phantom.
Yet the Hierophant's projection did not offer persuasion or comfort.
It uttered only a single, brief sentence before vanishing:
"Safe journey."
***
Karen saw Old Saman return, noticing that his back was hunched even more than before.
"I'm guessing that cursing them didn't make you feel any better."
Old Saman nodded. "Still, if I hadn't cursed them, my back would have felt poked and prodded the moment I lay in the coffin."
Karen checked the time. "Can we begin?"
"You even have the nerve to rush my death?"
"I want to head back early and get some sleep."
"Fine, let's begin."
Old Saman walked up to his coffin and commenced the ceremony. The ritual was simple, likely something akin to a "spatial banishment" rite, a traditional procedure of the Church of Pamires.
Once the ritual concluded, Old Saman began reciting his own eulogy:
"I originally thought the first half of my life was brilliant enough to endure the dullness of the second half, but in the end, I realized that everything was completely upside down.
"I don't know what words to use to summarize my life. It was like a dream: I thought I had let it go, yet I carried it on my shoulders the entire time; I thought I saw clearly, yet my eyes were shrouded all along—and by my own hands, no less.
"If I could do it over again,
"I wouldn't want to ponder, wouldn't want to linger, wouldn't want to hesitate;
"I would want to be carefree, I would want to be free, I would want to be willful;
"Pity,
"There is no second chance."
His eulogy finished, Old Saman slit open his palm with his fingernail. Fresh blood dripped into the coffin. In the next instant, blue light surfaced across the grave plot—deep beneath it lay a buried teleportation array.
"After I die, my corpse and this coffin will be teleported into an unknown spatial countercurrent, never to be traced again. I want to grant myself the final step of my funeral, a true... spatial banishment."
Hearing these words, Alfred's expression changed. The corpse was going to be teleported away?
Karen asked calmly, "I've heard that space has coordinates as well. If someone searches within a range based on the initial coordinates, they should be able to find it."
"Heh, but I don't know the coordinates, nor do I want to know, and no one else could possibly know either!" Old Saman shouted, opening his arms wide. "Because I only want to end this dog of a life of mine in the sloppiest way possible!"
The moment his words fell,
Old Saman hooked his fingers, and the coffin lid floated up.
Immediately after, a burst of blue flame suddenly ignited across his body, then vanished. In an instant, he severed every vital function in his physical form.
His remains tumbled backward into the coffin, and the lid came crashing down, sealing tight.
Blue radiance instantly enveloped the coffin entirely. A massive star-shaped glyph appeared, only to vanish in a split second—and vanishing along with it was the coffin holding Old Saman's remains.
At this moment,
Inside a cave within the Messenger Space, a group of Church of Pamires elders and scholars desperately trying to decipher the notes on the wall were astonished to discover that the clues that originally required immense time and effort to unravel slowly were actually rearranging themselves, laying out the answers in full. Among them were numerous spatial arts and forging arts that had long been thought lost.
Meanwhile,
In the bedroom annex of the backyard at Pavaro Funeral Parlor, a golden retriever lay curled in its dog bed. Its paw was tinkering with an exquisite compass, and row upon row of needles spun rapidly beneath its touch.
"Woof!"
*(He really did take me for a damn dog!)*
Chapter 227