An armored soldier walked up to Karen. "The commander wishes to see you."
"Very well. Please lead the way."
Karen straightened his clerical robes and followed the soldier beneath the statue of Augurev, where Commander Punk sat drinking coffee.
His posture was bold and uninhibited, yet the cup in his hand was remarkably dainty. The scene felt far better suited for someone holding a bottle of liquor.
"Commander."
Karen placed both hands against his chest and bowed slightly to Punk.
"Have a seat."
"Yes, sir."
Karen sat down beside him, and Punk poured him a cup of coffee.
"You're quite impressive. Any interest in staying at Augurev Fortress to temper yourself?"
Karen had not expected the commander to be so direct. He immediately adjusted his communication style to suit the man, replying with equal candor, "My apologies, sir. I'm still young..."
"Oh? Can't stand the desolate solitude here?"
"It's that I still have a fiancée."
"Hahaha!"
Punk burst into laughter. "No matter. I was merely speaking off the cuff. In truth, this place is quite wonderful. Once you grow accustomed to it, you'll discover its charm. Much of the turmoil and clamor of reality simply does not exist here."
"I believe you have experienced it all, sir, and seen through it. Perhaps once I too have lived through enough and seen through it all, I'll be able to return here and share a cup of coffee with you."
"I will be leaving soon as well." Punk looked at Karen. "The beauty here will no longer belong to me."
For a moment, Karen was unsure whether to offer congratulations or condolences.
"That is life," Punk continued. "Because you know the troubles waiting outside and know there is ultimately no escaping them, you can truly appreciate the tranquility in this void space. You are exceptional—the kind of exceptional that is plain for all to see. And by exceptional, I mean the kind who understands what must be done long before reaching the age when one usually learns it. So protect yourself well."
"Sir, I have always been prudent."
"Mm. Protect yourself, grow up steadily, and in a few decades, there will be a chair in the church's upper echelon waiting for you."
"Thank you for your guidance and blessing, Commander."
"All right. Finish your coffee and be on your way. Augurev Fortress's open day is coming to an end."
Karen raised his cup and downed the coffee in one gulp. There was not a grain of sugar in it, leaving a harsh bitterness. Karen could tolerate bitterness just fine; what he found difficult to stomach was cloying sweetness.
After bidding Punk farewell, Karen returned to the square. Along the way, many people took the initiative to greet him, and Karen responded to each in turn.
He was not overly enthusiastic, merely courteous.
As the bald Kane had previously put it, it was just the right measure of perfunctory.
Yet no one was offended. They had approached him not out of admiration for his warmth, nor for the sake of his name, but out of respect for the sheer strength he had displayed.
The greater one's personal capability, the more easily one could escape the nuisances of pointless socializing.
Mars and Blanche had already finished saying their goodbyes to their respective teammates. When Karen returned, they stood before him together.
"Captain, we'll be heading back first. Thank you. Without you, I don't think I could have ever secured this spot."
With that, Mars bowed to Karen in the exact same manner Karen had bowed to Punk earlier—a sign that he viewed Karen not as a peer, but as a superior.
Blanche chimed in, "Captain, I can't wait to go home and brag to my friends about today. Thank you so much, Captain."
Karen smiled gently. "There's no need to be so polite. This was the result of our entire squad's collective efforts. Without the two of you, our journey wouldn't have gone nearly so smoothly."
Under the premise that he could not deploy the Dark Moon Blade or the Sea God's Armor, and with advancing the whole squad as his objective, the difficulty of securing those spots would have at least doubled without those two auxiliary members, setting aside the unexpected factor of Luoya's final appearance.
In truth, the gap between them and the bald Kane's Squad 7 had come down to support.
Karen added, "It won't be long before we meet again. If I recall, before heading to the Gate of Samsara, we have to gather in the Dinge Region for specialized training. When the time comes, we can find a place to drink tea and chat."
"Understood, Captain!"
After bidding farewell to Mars and Blanche, Karen led Bart, Aisli, and Ventura toward the teleportation array inside the Augurev Great Hall.
Within the array bound for the York City Region, Philomena was already waiting. She stood alone in a corner, her expression exhausted from severe injuries.
She did not step forward to greet Karen, and Karen naturally did not seek her out either. Although they hailed from the same region, they were clearly not walking the same path.
Moreover, her presence had actually bolstered the cohesion of Karen's group.
Bart and the other two knew Philomena's strength. Throughout the selection, they had watched her carry her leftover squad almost to the very end through sheer personal prowess.
Yet such a formidable peer had ultimately failed to secure a spot, while they themselves had seized the final qualification.
All of this had to be credited to their captain's leadership.
A broad circle required faith to forge cohesion, but a small circle was far simpler. It boiled down to a single principle: follow him, and there will be meat on the table.
Aside from Aisli offering Philomena a reserved, satisfied smile, Bart and Ventura followed Karen's example and acted as though Philomena were invisible.
Victors always liked to maintain an air of composure. It was not out of pity for the defeated, but to heighten their own sense of triumph.
All five stepped onto the array, and the formation activated.
They returned to the York City Region.
***
Inside the conference hall of the York City Church Affairs Building, cheers erupted the moment the final results were announced.
This kind of grand selection, where each region provided candidates, was virtually equivalent to an international sporting tournament. Having their local contenders claim the final victory—and in such a steady, composed fashion—brought immense satisfaction and pride to everyone in the region.
Of course, few people possessed the clearance to watch the projection of this selection.
Across the entire York City Region, only those inside this conference hall were qualified to view it. The priests below could only receive notifications of the results.
In the beginning, barely a handful of people had occupied the hall.
After the first round concluded, more arrived. After the second, the crowd swelled further. By the final round, when only four squads remained and the probability of victory reached fifty percent, the hall was packed to capacity.
Many of the bishops who had previously grumbled about Karen's high profile during his pre-departure interview—accusing the youth of boasting and predicting he would make a fool of himself—had entirely forgotten their earlier criticisms. Now, they clapped and cheered with fervor.
There was an even more thrilling point: Squad 3, like Squad 1, was primarily composed of contenders from their own region, giving the audience a powerful sense of personal investment.
Had the region's five candidates been scattered across five separate squads, the enthusiasm would have been considerably dampened.
Bishop Bern sat quietly in a corner puffing on a cigar. It was not a luxury cigar bought with point coupons, but an inexpensive commercial brand sold on the open market.
"You don't look very excited," Chief Bishop Wolflen said as he walked over to him.
"What is there for me to be excited about?" Bishop Bern chuckled. "Is the higher-up going to allow me to pick young people from this bunch to groom?"
Chief Bishop Wolflen had a rough idea of the shadowy work this subordinate bishop oversaw, so he merely gave a dry chuckle.
Recruiting these outstanding young talents to work as undercover operatives?
Keep dreaming!
Bern blew a smoke ring and mused, "There is one who might fit, though. Philomena, the sole failure. Using that as a theme, we could craft an image of an exceptional youth ostracized by our church. There's plenty of room to maneuver there."
"Put that thought out of your mind. It's completely impossible."
"Oh? Who are her parents? I pulled her file before, but it was rather sparse."
"She is the granddaughter of that Mad Madam."
"*Hiss...*"
Hardened intelligence chief though he was, even Bishop Bern could not help drawing a sharp breath upon hearing that identity.
Many years ago, that Mad Madam had been a bishop in the York City Region. Her husband had also been a regional bishop, and her husband's father—her father-in-law—had been the Chief Bishop of the York City Region, occupying Wolflen's current seat.
Back then, that family was undeniably the preeminent clan of the Church of Order in the York City Region.
Later, following an unforeseen upheaval, that madam personally killed her husband, her father-in-law, and her son. The top local ecclesiastical family, which had flourished in York City and stood on the verge of stepping into the Holy See's central court, collapsed overnight.
That tragedy had taken place several decades ago, shocking the entire York City Region—no, shaking the entire church.
Various rumors surrounded the incident. Some claimed the former Chief Bishop had researched a forbidden art that corrupted the entire family; others claimed he had planned to rebel against the Church of Order to establish a new faith; still others attributed it to domestic passions...
The truth remained an enigma.
When it occurred, Bishop Bern had been merely an Inquisitor, utterly lacking clearance to touch matters of that level. Even now, having attained his current position, he found it remained beyond his reach. All records regarding that incident had been sealed under the highest classification, accessible only to the High Priest—and, of course, the Temple Elders.
The only certainty was that the woman later known as the Mad Madam was still alive and residing within the York City Region, though no one knew precisely where.
Bishop Bern glanced at Wolflen and smiled faintly. "Thank you for the warning."
Indeed, if that Mad Madam learned he was plotting to turn her granddaughter into a spy, the consequences would be horrifying to imagine.
"Karen is quite an exceptional young man," Chief Bishop Wolflen remarked. "I now feel that the Princess of Dark Moon Island looking down on my grandson was entirely natural."
His own grandson had failed to pass even the regional selection, whereas Karen had led the region's contenders all the way to the end. The disparity was stark.
"Yes, a very fine lad. My son speaks highly of him as well." Bishop Bern tapped his forehead. "I've seen many talented youths, and I've seen many with worldly wisdom. But someone who possesses both talent and worldly wisdom is truly brilliant."
"A bit convoluted, but I understand what you mean. By the way, the Holy See just issued two policy directives. First, a similar selection will be held next year following this precedent. However, there will be age restrictions, and previous participants will not be allowed to enter again."
"Then your grandson has no chance," Bishop Bern teased.
"I wouldn't have the face to make Leon compete a second time anyway. Even if he reached the end, it wouldn't be honorable. And if he failed again, our family's reputation would be dragged through the mud."
"It seems you have a very clear assessment of your bloodline."
Wolflen rolled his eyes at Bern and continued, "The second directive indicates that the upper echelon plans to reform the assignment system for young members. That move is going to touch a great deal of people's interests."
"It depends on how resolute the leadership is."
"Indeed, my thought as well. The concrete implementation proposed is to place a batch of young people into a new environment for tempering, expanding their exposure and understanding."
"The document stated it that explicitly?"
"It did."
"Then I suspect headquarters for the Whip of Order will soon issue its own document. The Whip of Order is like a sauce crock—you can toss any ingredient into it and scoop it out whenever needed. In terms of compromise, nothing is more suitable than placing them in the Whip of Order. It advances the reform without overly provoking the entrenched veterans within the system."
"Yes, that's my guess as well. It's about time. We should prepare to welcome the children back. A banquet will be held tonight to celebrate."
"The children are exhausted. What they need most right now is rest."
"I've already arranged for staff from the church hospital to treat and examine them. They'll have half a day to rest in their suites at the Ankara Hotel."
"They're going to dislike you very much."
"Do you think the banquet is for them? It's for their parents."
"Fair point."
***
Stepping out of the teleportation array, Karen saw a welcoming delegation led by Chief Bishop Wolflen.
At the sight, the expressions of Karen and his companions darkened slightly, for they could already guess what awaited them.
Perhaps before the selection, they had fantasized about returning in triumph to cheers and praise after securing their spots. But now, they only wanted to find a bed and sleep for three days and three nights.
Philomena silently walked off on her own. This welcome and celebration had nothing to do with her.
Chief Bishop Wolflen presided over the victory ceremony, delivered an address, and led a group of regional bishops to shake hands, pat shoulders, and offer encouragement to Karen and the others.
Next, reporters from *Order Weekly* arrived for photographs and interviews. Mellier was thrilled; Karen's pre-departure interview combined with his current triumph was more than enough to claim the front page.
Once the formalities concluded, two VIP limousines pulled up. Karen and the others climbed in, where a department director from the church hospital personally examined them, initiating treatment right inside the vehicle.
Karen's physical and mental condition were remarkably sound, prompting the examining director to remark in astonishment, "You look as if you've returned from a vacation."
Though Karen required no healing, the director still provided a spell-based conditioning treatment. The sensation was immensely soothing, akin to a massage for the soul.
Upon arriving at the Ankara Hotel, they were guided to their rooms. Karen was thoroughly familiar with the hotel and its suites. Entering his quarters, he picked up the phone to order room service, requesting extra wine, tobacco, coffee, and packaged tea.
He was not hungry now, but he intended to pack the food to take home so his family could sample delicacies crafted from coupon ingredients—especially that roast lizard-dragon meat his captain loved so much.
As the guest of honor at tonight's banquet, he would have no opportunity to stash food.
The tobacco, wine, and coffee were genuine luxuries purchasable only with point coupons, and Karen intended to take them home as well.
This habit had formed during his days on security duty, and he had no doubt the hotel would not charge him directly; the expenses were guaranteed to be reimbursed.
Karen was not actually short on coupons. Even if he could not indulge at every meal, enjoying such luxuries once or twice a month was well within his means. Still, taking reasonable advantage of official perks brought a special satisfaction.
After bathing and changing into a hotel bathrobe, Karen lay down on the bed.
The bed was vast. Looking beside him, he saw he was lying there alone. Without Peige and Fanny, the room felt noticeably emptier.
He closed his eyes and drifted to sleep.
Woken in the evening, Karen donned clean clerical robes and made his way to the banquet hall.
Aisli, Bart, and Ventura were waiting by the entrance specifically for him.
Karen walked in, and they followed closely behind him.
Instantly, the hall erupted in applause and cheers.
Karen waved and bowed to the surrounding crowd. Behind him, Bart and the others mirrored his gestures, though their movements were stiff and awkward.
Watching this, Karen could not help reflecting inwardly: *This really feels like an Olympic champion's homecoming.*
Bart's parents, Aisli's parents, and Ventura's grandparents were all present. As their captain, Karen had to greet each of them individually.
Throughout the banquet, numerous prominent figures from the York City Region came over to speak with Karen, and he engaged with them all smoothly.
Finally, Karen was called to the stage to deliver a speech.
Standing before the microphone, Karen raised a glass of red wine in his left hand, patted his chest with his right, and shouted:
"Glory belongs to York City!"
*Even though I am Ruilanese.*
Cheers thundered across the hall once more.
***
Having finally endured the banquet to its end, Karen returned to his room, collected his packed items, and exited the hotel. He had no intention of spending the night here; he was going home.
Parked beside the road not far from the hotel entrance was a hearse.
At this hour of the night, the hearse looked strikingly prominent, yet entirely fitting for the atmosphere.
Uncle Mason had once said that hearses possessed a unique beauty.
Karen could appreciate it now, because he was thoroughly exhausted.
Alfred stepped out, took the items from Karen's hands, and stowed them in the vehicle. Returning to the driver's seat, he started the engine, turned to Karen in the passenger seat, and said:
"Young Master, congratulations!"
Karen nodded and replied in all earnestness, "Alfred, thank you."
Such solemn gratitude caught Alfred off guard. A profound sense of conviction and resonance surged within him, so potent that static crackled across the hearse's radio.
"Young Master, would you like a glass of ice water? I brought a thermos flask with ice cubes."
"Yes, please."
Alfred opened the car door and stepped out. Walking toward the rear compartment, he naturally withdrew a small notebook from his breast pocket, pulled a fountain pen, bit off the cap with his teeth, and wrote:
*Tonight, God is very weary, yet radiant as well.*
Chapter 325