Karen took a drag from the Morf cigarette, then held the glowing tip over Mr. Morf's face and flicked it.
Ashes drifted down, settling onto Mr. Morf's skin.
Renee remained on her knees. The stump of her severed arm had already been seared shut by the intense heat and had ceased bleeding, but her eyes were filled with horror and disorientation.
A member of her modest standing within a religious order ranked barely a hair above an ordinary parish priest who listened to women's confessions. Strictly speaking, she did not even belong to the true ecclesiastical hierarchy.
Consequently, this was her first time experiencing the terror of the Church of Order—or rather, its utter, ruthless tyranny, a brute force that left her terrified to utter a single syllable.
Lying on the floor, Mr. Morf did not even dare blow the ash from his face. He could only look up at Karen with pleading eyes.
"I'm not quite used to this."
Karen crouched down beside Mr. Morf. Purr silently padded over, and Karen gently stroked the cat's head with the hand not holding the cigarette.
"And I imagine you aren't either. Even now, you're still putting on airs."
"I'm not..." Mr. Morf protested weakly.
"No, you are. Just as I wasn't entirely sure how I was going to handle you next, you assumed that this was as far as we would go, didn't you? After all, I'm just an ordinary person..."
"Meow~"
"I find it hard to imagine myself doing anything truly cruel. I've always felt life is best lived without touching bloody affairs—well, aside from gutting fish, that is."
"Meow~"
"You thought the same way. You still don't believe we'd do anything terrible to you. Otherwise, why would your mistress lose an arm while you were merely tossed to the floor, right? Mr. Morf, you're wealthy. Extremely wealthy. In Rojia City, very few families have more money than yours. You own countless businesses, command a legion of subordinates, and can even sway the workings of this entire city. That is what your wealth and status afford you. Both you up above and those looking up at you from below accept this as the way of the world.
"Myself included. Up until recently, that is.
"With a flick of your fingers, for your own profit, you could ruin and murder an entire family—a family who, despite their poverty, worked hard to live with an optimistic heart. To you, they were nothing at all."
"I... I apologize! I repent, I—"
"There's no need to apologize to me. I wasn't close to them either. The first time I saw them, they were already cold corpses. But I am very familiar with their neighbors. Those neighbors are genuinely good people, and their pickled cucumbers really suit my taste. You know, they pair wonderfully with meat or noodles."
"I..." Mr. Morf found himself completely unable to follow the young man's train of thought.
"You should consider yourself lucky that when you chose your sacrificial lambs, you didn't pick that family." Karen took another draw and exhaled the smoke into Mr. Morf's face. "Otherwise, the thought in my head tonight would be to hold a memorial service for your entire family, just like Siso's. You saw to it that their family stayed neat and tidy together in death, so I would have seen to it that yours was just as neat and tidy. Pray, then, that that slight difference in proximity kept my fury from reaching its absolute peak. Saying this feels rather unfair to Siso's family, but I believe an optimistic man like Siso would understand."
"Yes, yes, he would! He certainly would..."
Hearing Mr. Morf eagerly echo his words, Karen chuckled.
"Of course, because I never planned to let you off in the first place."
"I..." Mr. Morf choked.
Karen rose to his feet and glanced toward the glass display cabinet along the wall of the study. Inside sat countless cartons of cigarettes and boxes of cigars, all bearing the Morf brand.
"Just as you can hardly imagine why flicking a finger to destroy a pauper family would truly cost you your life, right? I used to think that way too. After all, you're so rich, so influential. At first, I thought that humiliating you and leaving you fuming with rage would be retribution enough. Isn't that how this society works? Under the rules your kind established, even when faced with the murder of a family of four, the penalty for men like you is nothing more than drinking a penalty glass of brandy."
At this point, Karen turned to Diss and smiled.
"Thank the heavens there are gods in this world. Do you know how much contempt and disdain the old me had for gods? But now I'm truly glad. In this world... there really are gods. Hahahaha!"
Once his laughter subsided, Karen straightened and spoke in a solemn voice:
"Praise Order."
Turning to Alfred, Karen asked, "Alfred."
"Young Master."
"Tell me, just how many cigarettes and cigars can a person swallow?"
"Forgive me, Young Master, but I... do not know."
Alfred paused, then added, "However, we can find out."
Having grasped the will of the great entity, Alfred stepped forward toward Mr. Morf, his eyes once more blazing with crimson light.
"Consider it an honor to test the truths of this world for our great Young Master."
A crimson hue began to swirl within Mr. Morf's pupils as well. He clambered to his feet and walked toward the massive glass cabinet. Then, like a ravenous ghost, he frantically ripped open carton after carton, shoving cigarettes and cigars into his mouth, chewing furiously and gulping them down.
Before long, the study filled with the thick, pungent stench of raw tobacco.
Karen stood quietly, watching Mr. Morf consume the tobacco.
Purr leaped back onto Karen's shoulder, glancing between Mr. Morf and Karen's profile.
With his eyes still glowing, Alfred edged over to Karen's side and whispered, "Young Master, next time, you can leave this sort of dirty work to me. Your body is far too precious."
He was referring to the staged collision.
Karen shook his head. "A pity you aren't an ordinary person."
"..." Alfred fell silent.
*Right, of course. You are an 'ordinary person.'*
Finally, Mr. Morf collapsed onto his knees. His hands still clutched cigars and cigarettes, his mouth was stuffed full, and his belly bulged grotesquely.
He opened his mouth to scream, but not a sound could escape.
At last, his body gave a violent convulsion and went still.
He had choked and bloated to death on tobacco.
Karen looked at Renee, who was still sitting dazed on the floor, and asked Diss, "Grandfather, do we need to silence her?"
Renee snapped back to her senses and instantly began prostrating herself before Diss, knocking her forehead against the floor.
Diss turned toward the door and began walking out, asking as he went, "Where is the next house?"
*So, no need to silence her?*
Having witnessed the terrifying might and arrogance of the Church of Order tonight, Renee, a mere follower of the Mills Faith, would never dare mention a word of this. As for revenge?
What a joke.
Could an insignificant sect that wasn't even recognized as an orthodox faith—one that couldn't even graze the margins—ever demand accountability from the mighty Church of Order over the severed arm of a peripheral believer?
There truly was no need to pull up the weeds by their roots.
*Sigh, seems I said the wrong thing again,* Karen thought. *Grandfather simply walked away because he thought I was acting petty and small-minded.*
"Clean this place up. Can you do that?" Karen said to Renee.
"Yes, absolutely! I'll clean it until it's spotless, including Mr. Morf's body, I'll never—"
"You won't need to worry about the body." Karen glanced at Alfred. "Bring Young Master Morf in to carry his father's remains."
They left the manor just as they had entered.
After placing Mr. Morf's bloated corpse into the hearse, Alfred started the engine and drove toward their next destination. Once they rounded the corner onto the main street, the crimson glow faded completely from his eyes.
Back at the manor, Young Master Morf, still sitting behind the steering wheel of his car, blinked out the window in confusion.
He slammed his palms against the wheel. "Did I fall asleep? Damn, that stuff was strong tonight. Ugh, look at the time. The old man is definitely going to lecture me when I go back inside. Why can't he just drop dead so I can take my share of the estate!"
***
"Yes, that's final for tomorrow's layout. Use the photos I picked. Make sure the angles are sharp when they're enlarged to highlight the citizens' outrage. I want everyone who reads the paper tomorrow morning to feel anger down to their bones—angry enough to lose their appetite for breakfast!
"Also, place a story directly beneath former Mayor Sixen's address to the citizens. Use that photo from last year when Mayor Sixen hosted foreign investors at the hotel—the one where he's shaking hands and flashing the broadest smile.
"Of course I know it's from last year! Isn't last year's news still news? Why shouldn't we run it? Just do as I say. Don't worry, hardly anyone will notice. Under our direction, their heads will be completely filled with rage. Even if a few do catch on, they won't be able to turn the tide. Fools will always outnumber the wise in this world. All right, hanging up!"
*Click!*
The chief editor hung up the telephone, picked up the teacup beside him, and took a sip.
Mr. Ford had promised that once he was elected mayor, he would appoint him head of the city government's propaganda department.
A petty paper like the *Rojia Daily* was too small a stage for him. He belonged in politics; that was where his talents would truly shine.
At the thought, the chief editor couldn't help but stretch and roll his shoulders with satisfaction.
"Hm? Why isn't Michelle here yet?"
Three years ago, the chief editor had separated from his wife. Though they hadn't formally divorced, the marriage existed in name only, and he now lived alone in a luxury apartment on Orchid Street.
Michelle was a female reporter hired just last month. After he threatened to reassign her to field duty in the East District, she had ultimately yielded to him.
The mere thought of Michelle's voluptuous figure sent a surge of heat into his throat.
Frustratingly, down below, there wasn't the slightest spark of warmth.
Sighing, he ran a hand over his mostly bald scalp, pulled open a desk drawer, and took out a medicine box containing two red capsules.
This was a men's tonic manufactured by Morf Pharmaceuticals, gifted to him by Mr. Morf. It was remarkably effective, though taking it left him thoroughly exhausted with an aching back the following day.
Still, the present moment took priority.
Swallowing the pills, he waited for them to take effect and turned on the radio. At this hour, it was time for the financial news.
*Sigh.* Black Friday a few years ago had wiped out nearly all his savings. Fortunately, God had granted him a chance to start anew. The handsome "retainer fees" provided by Mr. Oca and Mr. Morf were more than enough to rekindle his hopes.
"Welcome to today's financial news..."
"Heh, just in time," the chief editor murmured happily.
"I am your host, Alfred."
"Huh? A new host? What happened to the woman?"
"The pen is one of humanity's greatest inventions. It records knowledge, transmits messages, and carries the spark of civilization down through generations. It can be an expression of love, an outpouring of longing. Yet, when placed in the hands of the vile, it can just as easily be wielded to kill."
"Dammit, what kind of garbage program is this? Where's my financial news?"
"Especially for a journalist: when the pen in his hand loses its impartiality, then..."
*Click!*
The chief editor reached over and shut off the radio.
At the same moment, the sound of the front door opening drifted in from outside.
An elderly man robed in black appeared before him.
"You stand accused of violating Order by employing an aberrant demon to do your bidding. In accordance with the *Code of Order* of the Church of Order, you are now subject to interrogation."
"Who are... No! How did you get in here? What kind of lunatic nonsense are you spouting? Get out! Get out right now, or I'm calling the police!"
The chief editor marched over to the telephone and lifted the receiver to dial.
Diss stood motionless.
Alfred held up one hand with his thumb and pinky extended, pressing it to the side of his face as if holding a receiver of his own.
The chief editor's call connected.
"Hello, police? This is Hummel, chief editor of the *Rojia Daily*. I live on the third floor of the Garden Apartments on Orchid Street. A group of trespassers has broken into my home, and my life is under grave threat! Send officers immediately! Quickly, right now, or I'll run an exposé on your dereliction of duty and waste of taxpayer dollars!"
Alfred spoke into his hand:
"Very well, sir. Please do not be alarmed. Our hearse has already arrived."
"What hearse...?"
Holding the receiver, the chief editor froze, staring in terror at the man in the blue suit across the room who was mimicking a phone call. The voice that had just spoken had undeniably come through the earpiece in his hand.
What was more, the speaker's tone was identical to the voice that had just been on the radio!
"Who... who are you people...?"
The chief editor panicked entirely, unable to comprehend what was happening.
Diss remained motionless.
Alfred looked slightly helpless. "Young Master, it seems this chief editor truly knows nothing about ecclesiastical matters."
"Indeed," Karen agreed with a nod.
"And it's impossible for an aberrant demon to exist in his home," Alfred added.
"Indeed."
They wanted to stage an offense, but there was no porcelain to break.
However, that wasn't a problem.
Karen reached out and stroked the head of the black cat on his shoulder.
"Go on."
Purr leaped from Karen's shoulder, landing onto the desk before the chief editor.
At this point, the editor was jumpy as a startled bird; even a black cat suddenly landing before him made him shudder in fright.
After landing, Purr let out an affectionate cry toward the editor:
"Meow, meow~"
Then, spinning around toward Diss and Karen, the cat bared its teeth, hissed, raised its tail, and leaned forward into an aggressive posture, preparing to attack!
Karen took a step forward.
"MEOW—!"
Purr sprang into the air and swiped a claw straight across Karen's face!
A few strands of Karen's hair were sliced through.
Landing back on the desk, Purr continued to bare its fangs and hiss menacingly at Karen.
Diss spoke:
"Commanding an aberrant demon to harm an ordinary civilian. A violation of Chapter Three, Article One of the Church of Order's *Code of Order*."
"..." The chief editor was struck dumb.
Internally, Alfred cried out in indignation. *He had been beaten to the punch by a cat!*
He was a genuinely powerful aberrant demon! That cat was nothing short of an embarrassment to aberrant demons, yet he had actually been outmaneuvered by this disgrace!
Karen stepped toward the chief editor.
"Wh-what are you doing? What aberrant demon? That cat? Isn't that your cat?! That's your cat, not mine! You brought it in with you!"
"It is clearly your cat. Didn't you see it? It greeted you so warmly just now, and then immediately turned around to attack us. Doesn't that prove it's yours? It was protecting you."
"No, no, no! You're lying! You're twisting the truth! You're framing me! You're setting me up! That's not my cat! You're trying to frame me!"
Karen smiled.
"I learned it all from you, Mr. Chief Editor. Every morning over breakfast, I study your work and learn a great deal. It just so happens I get to put it into practice today. When it comes to framing, fabricating, and turning black into white, you're the real master, aren't you?"
"Get out! Get out! Get out of my house! Leave my home!"
The chief editor grabbed the pen holder from his desk and hurled it directly at Karen.
Karen closed his eyes.
Diss raised an open palm. The flying fountain pens froze midair, and in the next instant, shot backward at even greater speed. They impaled the chief editor's body, with a black pen driven straight between his brows.
"I..."
The chief editor collapsed backward onto the floor.
He died by his own pens.
Standing beside the body, Karen looked down at the scene and licked his lips. There was a strange aesthetic to it, an eerie beauty that compelled one to linger and admire it a moment longer.
To the side, Diss looked at Purr on the desk and intoned:
"An aberrant demon harming an ordinary civilian. A violation of Chapter Three, Article Seven of the Church of Order's *Code of Order*. Depending on the severity of harm inflicted, the aberrant demon shall face execution or... confinement.
"It is hereby decreed that you are sentenced to confinement. During this period, you may not leave the Inmerlais residence without permission. Do you accept this punishment?"
Purr brought its front paws together and prostrated itself against the desk.
"Meow~"
Just then, the telephone rang.
Alfred clicked the radio's switch to the on position, then stepped over and picked up the receiver.
"Hello, Hummel speaking."
Alfred's voice was an exact replica of the deceased chief editor's.
The voice on the other end of the line was broadcast through the radio, audible to everyone in the room.
"Hey, my dear chief editor! Is everything set for tomorrow's paper?"
Karen recognized the voice. It was Mr. Oca.
"Of course it's ready. When have you ever had to worry about my work?" Alfred replied.
"Haha, you're right, how could I worry? I'm calling because I just got word that old Sixen couldn't handle the pressure and plans to submit his resignation to city hall tomorrow afternoon. Mayor Ford and Councilman Haggett are both here with me right now, and our environmental goddess, Delice, is playing a lovely piano piece to celebrate our victory. So I wanted to ask our brilliant, hard-working chief editor: care to come over for a drink to celebrate early?"
Alfred asked, "What about Mr. Morf?"
"We won't bother him. Mr. Morf always goes to bed early; he cares a lot about his health. Besides, you know his temper. I'd rather not wake him with a call and get an earful."
"That hardly seems right. If you don't dare call him, I'll give him a ring myself. If someone gets chewed out, it might as well be me."
"Hahaha, even better! But you'd better hurry, or the vintage wine I brought out of my private collection will be completely drained by our dear councilman."
A faint smile curled Alfred's lips.
"Don't worry," he said. "Mr. Morf and I will be there shortly."
Chapter 42