The Slumbering Place of Glory!

There was a common line of thinking that people tended to feel a natural affinity toward those who resembled them—a kind of herd instinct, drawing together by shared familiarity. In reality, however, it depended on the situation. Elders, for instance, often showered more care and attention on juniors who took after them, viewing those youngsters as their legacy. One generation was nearing its final curtain while the other was just beginning to rise, so there was no collision, rivalry, or crowding between them. Yet for those with domineering personalities, a strong need for control, and a tendency to think themselves clever, crossing paths with their own kind often led to extreme awkwardness. Such people were accustomed to spinning their own webs. Outwardly, the web served as armor, carving out a space of security; inwardly, it was the embodiment of their own will, where they could dictate the placement of every single strand. So if another spider suddenly appeared within your web, mimicking how you spun your silk and building a protective layer of its own, conflict was inevitable. Still, that conflict did not necessarily require an extreme outlet. Karen certainly did not believe Neo wanted to eliminate him, but more often than not, Neo would inexplicably feel a touch of irritation. After all, facing Karen meant sensing that his own habits and authority were being disrupted, leaving him awkward and off-balance. Neo could neither hit nor scold Karen, let alone lecture him, so he could only resort to those "reminders of status" to vent his emotions a little—not for outward show, but simply to make himself feel more comfortable. Just as earlier, when Ophelia had tried to be clever, it had instinctively made Karen feel somewhat uncomfortable in the exact same way. Within his own small group, whether actively or passively, Karen had become the sole will. Even Philomena, once a prickly thorn, had recently been subdued. "Has everyone been settled in?" Karen asked. "Replying to Young Master, everything has been arranged," Alfred replied. "Each of them has their own room and servants, and those who were wounded are currently undergoing restorative therapy. Old Mr. Anderson handled the preparations with great care." "Good." "Did Young Master tell Miss Ophelia about the Dark Moon Goddess?" "I did." "When I came in, she looked deeply shaken. I can understand that feeling." "Heh." Karen pinched the bridge of his nose. "This mission might bring trouble again. We'll take it one step at a time. At least in York City, our safety is assured." "Indeed. Ah, Young Master, there is one matter I must ask about. Regarding the guest list for those permitted into the performance hall after dinner tonight, there is one name I am unsure whether to include." "Whose?" "Young Master Richard." "Alfred, I've been pondering something. Does my maternal grandmother's Arte family bloodline possess any other effects?" Alfred blinked, quickly catching on. "Does Young Master wish to ask whether the awakening of the Arte bloodline carries the property of binding people to the same faction?" "Put like that, it sounds far too cold." "Yes, my phrasing was clumsy. In my view, once the Arte bloodline is awakened, it is equivalent to placing an extra set of shackles upon a person. Take Memphis, for instance. Because of what happened with Young Master's mother, he has endured continuous torment from a nightmare demon. For him, betraying a blood relative carries not only a moral and ethical burden, but also an added layer of punitive consequence. "As for Young Master Richard, he must have awakened this bloodline as well; otherwise, he would not have taken a liking to Young Master right from the start. "Therefore, strictly from the perspective of the Arte bloodline, both Mr. Memphis and Young Master Richard possess bonus points in terms of trustworthiness." Karen nodded. "I think so too." "Then should we add Young Master Richard's name to the list? And should we include Mr. Memphis as well?" Karen smiled. "No." *** "Hey, aren't you going to go back, get some proper rest, and lie down for a bit?" Richard turned his head from atop his horse, asking Philomena, who was riding beside him. Philomena paid him no mind. Holding the reins with her left hand while her right arm hung limp at her side, she adjusted to the gentle jolt of the bay steed beneath her and gazed out at the lush greenery. Allen Manor enjoyed springlike weather all year round. Even in the dead of winter, its lawns remained a vibrant green, let alone in a season already brimming with life. It was undeniable that the Allen family had seen better days. Though their status within church circles was not particularly high, their history as pirates had once afforded them immense glory and extravagance. The landscape alone must have cost a fortune to construct and arrange back then. "Back in front of the undersea tomb, I saw you fight. You were seriously amazing—so decisive, so clean! Tsk, tsk." As Richard spoke, he mimed slitting a throat with a dagger. Philomena opened her eyes, glanced at him, and said, "If I said I was stronger than Karen, what would you think?" "Oh, of course! You're definitely stronger than Karen. What is he even worth compared to you!" Philomena lowered her head, the corner of her lips twitching slightly. She had rarely left her grandmother's side or ventured away from home since childhood, so she had truly never encountered anyone as shameless as Richard. "Anyway, both of you are incredible. The kind of incredible I know I'll never catch up to," Richard continued. "It's just that the feeling is different. Facing you, I feel like I'd definitely die..." "And facing Karen?" "Hard to say. Karen gives off a kind of pressure—he steadily suppresses you by a fraction in every single aspect. Just when you think you're only one step behind and push yourself to catch up, you realize he was only showing that fraction out of politeness." "In an arena duel, I don't think he could beat me," Philomena said after a pause. "But as an enemy, I wouldn't win." The image of Karen summoning Black Prison Castle on his own surfaced in her mind. At the time, he had even been providing summon amplification to Aisli. If they ever truly became mortal enemies, she would certainly be the one to die. She had no confidence in ending the fight quickly, and once drawn out, she would have no chance at all. "I used to never care about these things," Richard said. "It was only during the regional selection that I was forced to change my mind." "If I remember correctly, you were carried up the mountain by Karen, weren't you?" "Yeah. I felt so humiliated at the time. Oh, not toward Karen—he really treated me better than I could ever ask for. I was just ashamed of myself." "Are you related to Karen?" "The captain is an orphan." "The lady in the tomb said otherwise. She said his family background is the highest among all of us." "Then it's even less likely that our Guman family has any relation to him." "I'm really curious about his identity," Philomena said. "Then you should just ask him directly. Don't go investigating behind his back—if you're caught, the consequences will be grim. I'm sure that once we disband and return home, everyone will keep the captain's background a secret from their elders. "Because sometimes, elders don't see things from your perspective. They love doing whatever they want under the banner of 'it's for your own good,' touching their own hearts in the process. "For us, that's too big a loss. These connections ought to belong to us." Philomena said, "Only the weak spend all day dwelling on social connections." "Well, yeah! It's entirely thanks to my good relationship with Karen that I got into this squad. Otherwise, what do I have to offer? The fact that my dad is a lunatic?" "Does your father beat you often?" "He didn't use to. But lately, as soon as my injuries heal enough for me to walk downstairs for meals, I notice the way he looks at me changes—like he's brewing up an excuse to give me a beating." "And after he beats you?" "After that, I just nurse my injuries." "I mean... doesn't anything change in your family dynamic?" "Nope. I still call him Dad like usual. And ever since he started beating me, he talks to my grandmother more, and his affection for my mother seems to have rekindled, too." "I really envy you." "Envy me for what? Envy that my dad can beat me?" "Yes. I envy that your father can beat you. I truly wish my father could stand up and beat me, even if it put me in critical condition... even if he beat me to death." The image of her father cowering under the table rose in Philomena's mind. In her eyes, her father's cowardice was the one thing she could never accept. "Honestly, regrets in one's family of origin are pretty common." Richard began picturing how Karen spoke, trying his best to match Karen's tone and demeanor. "When I chat with the women at the pastry shop, many of them have tragic stories. Some were sold to snakeheads by their parents and forced to take clients there. Others are dropped off and picked up by their own husbands every morning and evening. If business slows down and earnings drop, the husband even brings gifts to the manager, begging for more clients to be sent her way. "Yet whenever I sit with them in those small booths chatting, listening to the noises next door, I can always feel an optimism from them—partly for themselves, and partly for me. "In this world, kind people will always outnumber the bad. There are so many who endure hardship themselves, yet still choose to offer warmth to those around them." "You really like going to pastry shops?" When asked that, Richard unexpectedly remembered how Karen had casually declared to Princess Ophelia on Dark Moon Island that he had visited the Mermaid Theater. He dearly wanted to imitate Karen's cool composure and calm confidence, but under Philomena's gaze, Richard ultimately crumbled before the weight of secular misunderstanding. Lowering his head and glancing away, he let out a mosquito-soft "Mm." "Are you feeling ashamed?" Richard shook his head, awkwardly rubbing his nose in self-defense. "No. I'm just lacking confidence." *** Memphis, who had just finished having his bandages changed, stood by the French window and watched the green lawns in the distance, where two figures rode side by side. Above Memphis's room, Purr sat on the windowsill enjoying an aristocratic afternoon tea. Young Anderson stood before her, attending to her needs. "Are those two a couple?" Mr. Anderson asked, trying to make conversation. Purr chuckled coldly. "Riding horses together makes them a couple? Can you people nowadays not be so vulgar? It's as if whenever a male and a female come together in this world, they have to mate, or else their lives are incomplete!" Young Anderson lowered his head at the scolding, bewildered as to why the venerable ancestor had suddenly lost her temper. "Can't two people just talk and chat? Can't they find each other pleasant and add a few physical gestures? Can't they simply enjoy each other's company and draw a little closer? Does everything have to end in a brawl and a final shudder with fluids squirting everywhere for the job to be considered done?" "Yes, yes, of course, you're entirely right," Anderson stammered. "Hmph." Purr took a lap of coffee, then pushed the cup away with her paw in disgust. "Terrible! It pales in comparison to what the maids I trained brew!" *** Dinner was held in the castle dining hall, attended only by Karen's squad; none of the hosts were present to accompany them. The dishes served were standard Wien aristocratic fare—exquisite in presentation, but fairly ordinary on the palate. It seemed everyone preferred the atmosphere of the funeral parlor's back courtyard, gathering around a rotating round table to eat. That was probably why Neo had always favored food stalls for group meals: there were no formalities, and everyone felt relaxed. It wasn't purely to save money. "Does anyone have urgent matters at home and want to head back early?" Karen asked, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. Aisli spoke up. "I've already spoken with my parents on the phone. Heh, the environment here is wonderful. If possible, I'd like to stay a few more days." Bart said, "I want to practice archery in the mountains tomorrow." Karen looked at Ventura, who hurriedly swallowed the venison in his mouth before answering, "My grandparents told me to stay by the captain's side as much as possible." Karen did not bother asking Philomena. The locals were in no rush to leave, so those from out of town naturally wouldn't think of returning the moment they arrived. It wasn't a matter of teleportation array fees, but rather pride; having traveled so far, running straight back home would be embarrassing. "Then we'll rest here for a few more days. Allen Manor is very hospitable. If you need anything, ask directly—don't be polite." Karen turned to Bart. "Many were injured this time, and I want to make sure there are no lingering complications. Have the medical checkups been arranged?" Bart stood up. "Captain, I've already talked to my parents about it. My father said a round of recruit physicals is scheduled in three days. He can secure checkup slips for everyone in our squad." "Good. The whole squad will go for a checkup then." Karen settled the matter without asking for further opinions, as he had his own need for this physical examination. Just then, Blanche asked, "Captain, do we need to make any special preparations for the security mission?" "No. The security mission is very simple—it might even feel boring to you. I'll announce the specific preparations and mission brief the day before." "Understood, Captain." "There's a small concert tonight," Karen added. "I hear one of York City's most famous bands was invited. Anyone interested in music—or anyone who wants to pretend to be—is welcome to listen. Well, I'm done eating. Enjoy the rest of your meal." *** The band "The Sleepers" was performing. Richard and several others were enjoying the show, with Old Anderson and his family accompanying them nearby. Memphis sat next to Richard, leaning forward rather than resting against the back of his chair due to the wound on his back. "Muri actually isn't here," Richard whispered to Memphis. "Ventura isn't here either." "Can't people simply dislike music?" Memphis retorted. "Heh, Muri is quite keen on these leisure activities now. Karen is always lecturing him to get exposed to the world instead of holing up in the basement practicing his sabers all day. And as for Ventura, there's no way that kid would pass up a free treat." "Maybe they have business to attend to." "Yeah, maybe." Richard shrugged, picked up a cigar beside him, took a deep puff, and blew out the smoke. "Want to try one?" Memphis shook his head. "Did you have a pleasant ride this afternoon?" "It was alright." Richard glanced at Philomena, who was sitting opposite them with her eyes closed, listening to the music. "She's pitiful." "You feel sorry for her?" "Yeah, I do." "My advice is, she isn't a flower meant for you to pluck." "Where is your head at? When I look for a wife in the future, she'll definitely have a gentle personality." "Like your mother?" "A woman who abandons her husband and child to run away from home the moment life hits a rough patch? Only my blind father would fancy someone like that." Memphis was speechless. Richard sighed. "I really do feel sorry for her. She actually envies that my dad can beat me. Can you imagine how pitiful someone has to be to think like that?" "That only proves you're still fortunate." "Give me a break. Do I look like an idiot trying to dig up happiness in a pigsty? If I could, I'd knock my dad out, box him up, and ship him to her by express mail—marked 'cash on delivery,' no less." "Splendid," Memphis muttered. *** "What do you guess the captain wants to show us?" Ventura asked, poking his head around as he walked beside Muri. "I don't know." Muri looked back toward the brightly lit castle in the distance, then turned to the pitch-black performance hall ahead. "But it must be something very important." Because the others were not qualified to see it. Muri produced a scroll and unfurled it. A breach opened before them as the defensive formation parted, and he and Ventura stepped through. Upon reaching the large iron gate, Muri took out the key that had been given to him alongside the scroll and unlocked it. Passing down a long, dark corridor and turning a corner, Muri and Ventura arrived inside the performance hall. "Meow—" A cat's cry echoed. *Hum!* In an instant, candles around the room caught fire one by one, lighting up the space in a flash. Silhouetted by the candlelight, the black cat's shadow was cast onto the towering wall—tall, massive, and suffocatingly imposing. Below lay a massive spell formation, flanked by twelve neatly arranged coffins. Eleven of them were crafted with uniform elegance, while one appeared noticeably crude and haphazard. Muri asked instinctively, "What is this place?" *Snap!* Alfred's figure appeared high above the performance hall. His left arm hung loosely, his right hand gripping his left wrist. He slowly lifted his head, his eyes tinged with red, and replied in a rich, magnetic voice trembling with fervor: "This... is the slumbering place of glory."