The Shadow of Order

"All right, all done. Like I said, it didn't hurt a bit, did it?" The captain dusted off his hands, looking down at Karen, who was slumped against the stone sarcophagus. Several patches of dark crimson blood seeped through Karen's clothes, and multiple burn marks scarred his skin. Various minor scratches and abrasions had been carefully arranged, and the captain had even gone so far as to snap two of Karen's ribs. When it came to forging a scene, the captain truly possessed high standards. "Captain, you can't measure my pain tolerance by your own standard." "Don't worry. Wounds like these heal easily. Even those two broken ribs won't impair your movement for the time being. Once the people from Dark Moon Island rescue you, they'll surely treat you with their finest healing potions and arts. I guarantee you won't be left with a single scar." "Is that it, then? We're done?" "Yeah, done. I couldn't beat you up too badly. After all, according to our 'story,' your body was supposed to be commandeered by me. I couldn't leave your vessel too wrecked. "Everything else has been set in place. The statue, the placement of the sarcophagi, the incinerated remains, the dense lingering aura of Light, the signs of battle outside, including the trail of blood where you were dragged into the cave and deposited here—all perfect. "All right, just sit tight and wait for rescue. "Oh, right, there's one more thing I should remind you of. Miss Ophelia will probably help you conceal the real reason you were at that villa. My guess is she'll claim she had arranged to meet you there, only to run into me sneaking in. Then I activated the teleportation array, and both of you followed my array here. "In short, she'll do everything she can to keep your secrets safe for you. "You never know how far a woman will go when she truly falls for you. "So when you give your account after being rescued, you'd better keep your wits about you." "Understood." The captain nodded, looking at Karen with a scornful smirk. "Heh, what a scumbag, playing with people's feelings." "..." Karen was speechless. "Hehehe." The captain let out another drawn-out chuckle. "I'm leaving. Watch your back and don't get eaten by a python. You still have enough mobility and strength to put up a fight." The captain strode out of the cave. Karen remained slumped against the stone sarcophagus, feeling a wave of helplessness. If the captain hadn't taken it upon himself to stage this whole ordeal, he would probably be lying on a soft hotel bed by now. Instead, he had to sit here against a freezing stone sarcophagus, enduring the agonizing wait. At the same time, Karen made a firm mental note: the next time he went out with the captain, he had to take precautions in advance and never let the man indulge his impulses so freely again. The wait was bound to be long. Ophelia had to make her way back to Dark Moon Island first, then assemble a team to bring over. As for the teleportation array in the villa's master bedroom, it required a specific activation sequence—much like a secret key. The people of Dark Moon Island might not be able to crack it, meaning they couldn't simply teleport straight back through it. Karen wanted to lie down and catch some sleep, but while his injuries weren't life-threatening, the captain had made them sufficiently thorough to keep sleep completely out of reach. Turning his head, he looked at the stone sarcophagus beside him. He remembered the captain shouting the name "Jennifer" during his brief loss of control. This was her resting place. The captain had pushed the lid more than halfway open before leaving. For "him," gazing upon his wife's remains while preparing to commandeer a new vessel was the most natural reaction. Karen approached the sarcophagus again. Earlier he had been standing; this time he was crouching. The difference in vantage point caught his attention, revealing something peculiar on the underside of the heavy stone lid. He immediately lowered himself further, even thrusting his head inside the sarcophagus. With a gentle rub of his fingers, he channeled the fire attribute from the bloodline of Ancestor Allen, conjuring a small flame like that of an oil lamp that illuminated the interior. Beneath the sarcophagus lid were rows upon rows of bloody gouges—fingernail scratches. This meant the woman had been "buried" inside the sarcophagus while still alive. She had struggled desperately, but in the end, it had all been in vain. Karen reached out and lifted one of the woman's arms, wanting to inspect her hand closely. Because her corpse had become mummified, her hand was shriveled and withered, yet he could clearly see where the fingernails had been torn back. On several fingers, the nails were missing entirely, having apparently been ripped off long before her death. These were details Karen hadn't noticed when he had first pushed the sarcophagus open. He turned his head toward the stone statue of Bernard. The sculpted face wore a faint smile, almost as if watching Karen. Suddenly, Karen realized why Bernard had placed the statue here. It wasn't to preserve an illusion that they remained good friends. He had brought "Miss Purr" here intentionally to admire his handiwork. It was a display of petty triumph. That was why the smile on the statue and the gesture of its other hand had felt so unsettling upon first sight. The entire scene seemed to gloat: *"Look at them. Look at how utterly foolish they were. Hahaha."* It was hard to imagine the sheer fury that "he" inside the captain must have felt upon returning to this place and witnessing such a sight. Yet even so, the captain had managed to rein in his delirium. Fortunately, Purr had been no ordinary figure back in her day. Hailed as the genius of her clan, she possessed absolute confidence and the ability to protect herself, which had allowed her to clearly voice her irritation in the face of Bernard's relentless courtship. Had it been any other woman dealing with such a man, her fate... Perhaps Bernard had never truly loved Purr. What he truly loved was the feeling of unrequited desire after being rejected—a sense of frustration that fed into a thrilling, self-indulgent melodrama. It was that gratification he had been addicted to. Had he actually succeeded in winning Purr's heart back then, this "touching" romance might never have been passed down. A woman's intuition was indeed formidable. Karen was certain the Purr back home had no idea Bernard possessed this dark side. Otherwise, she would have told him long ago rather than simply grumbling time and again about how annoying the man had been. Now, he actually found himself supporting Purr's plan—to come to Dark Moon Island in person and scatter Bernard's ashes once her strength was restored. The most pitiful one was still the captain, who had lived through the agony of losing his beloved twice over. Yet the captain's mental resilience was staggering. A man capable of tearing off his own facial skin to wage a cognitive battle—and successfully prevailing to preserve his true self—possessed a determination that bordered on awe-inspiring. So that was why the captain had insisted on getting something out of this for himself. He had suppressed the grief and fury, waking from his brief fugue, but it was impossible to remain completely unaffected. His way of coping with having twice experienced the grief of losing a beloved was an unconscious urge to make up for it through Karen. Ignoring Karen's wishes, he had forced extra drama onto him, staging a life-or-death rescue to engrave an indelible mark into Ophelia's heart. All because his own heart was filled with bitterness, and he desperately craved a taste of sweetness. Time ticked by, minute by minute. Karen's thoughts drifted ever outward until, at last, fatigue caught up to him. He climbed into the empty sarcophagus beside him and lay down. This wasn't the first time he had lain inside a coffin, nor was it the first time he found doing so comfortable. Ordinary people harbored a taboo aversion toward coffins, but in truth, that was misplaced. The enclosed space of a coffin offered a dual sense of psychological and physiological security. Inside these narrow confines, you were the sole master. No one would disturb you. You were finally isolated from the world and could at last savor absolute tranquility. Karen closed his eyes. He slept, yet remained awake, keeping a sliver of consciousness vigilant of the outside. Every hunting dog possessed such a skill—what was commonly called "sleeping with one eye open." He had no idea how much time had passed, only that the sky outside was beginning to pale with dawn. Rustling noises drifted from the cave entrance; a group of people was approaching. Karen kept his eyes shut, but within his mind, he was already summoning his symbiont. Atop the coffin lid, the formation left behind by the captain sprang to life, conjuring a beam of white light. Once the light solidified, the formation dissolved away. The captain's work was always meticulously thorough, never leaving behind a single flaw. Guided by Karen, the white light condensed into a figure—the figure of Purr in her human form. She lay upon the coffin lid as though keeping Karen company in his slumber. Everything appeared entirely natural, for this was indeed Purr's routine these days. The group entering the cave let out gasps of startled wonder, their voices brimming with excitement. Karen heard Ophelia's voice: "Karen..." *All right.* *Now I can sleep for real.* *** Far away in Wien, upon the large bed in the master bedroom behind the funeral parlor, Purr suddenly opened her eyes. She sat up, rubbed her eyes with a cat paw, and peered out the window at the barely brightening dawn, murmuring in confusion: "Karen just left, and I'm already getting insomnia, meow?" *** Karen had no idea how long he slept. He lost all sense of time, waking briefly on several occasions only to see different faces beside him before shutting his eyes again. Among them, one brief awakening stood out vividly. Ophelia had personally been changing the poultice over his wounds, but the woman—accustomed only to wielding a sword—had no idea how to tend to an invalid. Clumsy and heavy-handed, she had accidentally torn open one of Karen's cuts, causing him to twitch from a sudden jolt of pain. Afterward, he could sense being fed various potions, and he felt his body warmly wrapped in healing arts. At last, having thoroughly rested, Karen slowly opened his eyes. Ophelia was not sitting by his bedside, asleep from exhaustion. Instead, on a chair across from the bed sat a man with a stern, pale face, his hands resting on the armrests. To some extent, he bore a slight resemblance to the statue of Bernard in the cave—not in his physical features, but in his temperament. Though Karen had stayed hidden behind the curtain during their previous encounter and had never seen his face, he had a premonition that this was Ophelia's uncle—the man who had willingly yielded the position of clan head to his elder brother: General Tafman. As an island power, Dark Moon Island's geography dictated that its greatest strength lay in its navy, and this man was the supreme commander of that force. Seeing Karen awake, Tafman showed little surprise. He quietly picked up a clipped cigar from the coffee table before him, lit it with an oil burner, brought it to his lips, and took a drag, blowing out a plume of smoke without the slightest concern that this was a sickroom. Karen pressed his palms against the mattress and slowly sat up. He had always heard that Church hospitals had astonishing healing capabilities, but the care he had received this time was certainly far superior. The wounds across his body had already scabbed over, and he could feel them actively knitting together from the persistent itching sensations prickling all over him. Karen made no attempt to ingratiate himself or break the silence. He merely sat there with his shoulders slightly relaxed. Tafman continued puffing slowly on his cigar, making no effort to conceal the scrutiny in his gaze. Karen maintained an unreadable expression. After lying down for so long, sitting up felt rather refreshing. The captain had only warned him that Ophelia might cover up his presence behind the curtain at the villa; about everything else, the captain had said nothing. That was because Karen's task was simply to play the part of a gifted clansman blessed and chosen by the "Ancestors." As for how to play the part of a genius, the captain felt it would pose no challenge to Karen whatsoever. Playing himself was more than enough. Finally, Tafman set the cigar on the edge of the ashtray, adjusted his posture, and spoke: "I am Tafman, Ophelia's uncle and commander of Dark Moon Island's offshore fleet." From those words, Karen knew Ophelia had indeed covered for him. Otherwise, there would have been no need for Tafman to introduce himself so formally. "Greetings, General." Tafman rose to his feet, walked over to the bed, and looked down at Karen. "The Dark Moon has guided a genius into our midst. Though he once drifted isolated across the seas, he has ultimately returned to the embrace of the Dark Moon." Karen said nothing, merely watching him in silence. Tafman smiled faintly. "Karen, do you believe in fairy tales?" Karen remained silent. "Most fairy tales that survive through the ages are fabrications, yet they are so enchanting that people are captivated. In other words, as long as people are captivated, no one cares whether they are true or false. "Take you, for instance." Karen maintained his silence. "I revere the Dark Moon and venerate Ancestor Bernard. But forgive me—I have drifted across the oceans for far too long. I have seen too much filth and baseness, witnessed too much despair and numbness. "To me, faith is that fragile sliver of comfort one obtains through bitter striving. "Yet I truly never imagined that faith could deliver a gift to our doorstep in such a direct manner, even thoughtfully ringing the bell. "What do you think?" Karen remained quiet. "Do you have nothing to say to me, Karen?" Karen shook his head and finally replied, "I don't know what there is to say to you." "You could explain your reasons. For example, why you refuse to address me with an honorific." "Why should I address you with an honorific?" "Because if you consider yourself of the same generation as Ophelia, then I am your elder." "Have you treated me as a junior, General?" "For the moment, no." "Then why should I treat you as an elder?" "Mm, fair point." "If we speak of status and allegiance, you worship the Dark Moon, while I revere the God of Order. Though the Church of Order and Dark Moon Island are currently in a period of cooperation, I hold no reverence for your faith, and therefore none for your status. "So why should I address you with an honorific?" "Are those your true thoughts?" "Yes, completely. From the very beginning, I felt no joy in having Dark Moon blood flowing through my veins. The only thing that pleased me, perhaps, was the prospect of receiving point coupon support from Dark Moon Island. But that is built on mutual exploitation. I am not taking your coupons for free; you expect a return on your investment in me later on. "You approached me offering support; I never came begging to you. "Forgive me, but when you compared me to a gift delivered by the Dark Moon and found it unreal and unbelievable, I felt like laughing. "Because in my heart, there is only Order—no Dark Moon." "I can understand why you don't view yourself as part of the Dark Moon clan. But even from the perspective of a partner, you shouldn't speak so bluntly. Are you certain I won't take offense?" "You might. But what could you do about it?" A heavy silence settled between them. "I like your character. It reminds me of how I was when I was young." Karen knew General Tafman was giving them both a way out. "I can see you're different from the others on Dark Moon Island. That's why I felt comfortable speaking my mind before you." "Hehehe." Tafman chuckled for quite some time before speaking again: "Ophelia's arranged match was originally the grandson of the York City Region's Chief Bishop." "I know. He's staying in the same hotel courtyard as me." "A rather intriguing arrangement," Tafman said meaningfully. Karen smiled faintly, offering no explanation. "Very well. Now, I would like to speak to you in my capacity as Ophelia's elder." "Please, go ahead." "I have always supported Ophelia's own choices, including her marriage. She is the pearl of my heart. Having no children of my own, she is my daughter. "I believe that if you two were to marry, it would be the continuation of the romance between Ancestor Bernard and Miss Purr. You might not realize the revered status Ancestor Bernard and his tale hold on Dark Moon Island. In short, with this, Ophelia will unquestionably become the next head of the Dark Moon clan." "I already have a fiancée." "I will permit your fiancée to become your mistress in the future. I believe Ophelia would accept such a compromise as well. "Before long, she will become the clan head. But looking at your temperament and your bloodline, whether the head will be her or you is anyone's guess, isn't it? "You will have the opportunity to become the foremost authority beneath the Dark Moon." "Heh..." "What are you laughing at, Karen?" "Did you know, General? I often dream of a woman. Sometimes she appears as a human, other times as a black cat. In my dreams, she constantly repeats a phrase to me. Would you like to hear it?" "What did Lady Purr say to you?" "She said she deeply regretted choosing the family faith system. She never expected the Ancestor to be so weak, holding her back." "So what are you trying to say?" "The Dark Moon is only fit to reflect the shadow of Order."