"Lady Holy Child, are you all right?"
Curled up on the sofa, Sains looked with concern at Salayina lying in bed.
"I'm fine." Salayina reached out, pinched a flower petal, and popped it into her mouth to suck on. "I'm used to it by now."
"My Lady, my body will be recovered by tomorrow. Right now, I'm just glad I possess a recuperative ability unlike ordinary humans."
"Indeed. Too bad you don't have a human brain to go with it."
Sains: "..."
"There's no need to make a detailed report about this to the church. I don't want the Patriarch and the elders to worry."
"Yes, My Lady. Understood."
"Sains, I still can't figure out why the Ankara inside me suddenly awoke. I had clearly already dealt with the assassins. What did she wake up for? Just to have a look around her own memorial hall?"
"I don't know, My Lady. I am also baffled as to why that exalted existence chose to seal away that memory of mine as well."
"Yes, that's what I can't understand either. You already knew of her presence inside me, so why seal your memory too?"
"Perhaps I could try—"
"Even the Patriarch would find it difficult to unravel the memory seal she placed. Even with the aid of a divine artifact, while there's a chance of breaking it, whatever measures she left behind would wipe away every last memory in your soul the moment the seal breaks.
Even if she is only one fragment out of thousands... she is still Ankara."
"Then the truth can never be known."
Salayina picked up another petal, slipped it into her mouth, and said slowly, "I don't know, you don't know..."
"Does My Lady suspect those four? If so, could Ankara have reached an agreement with one of them? Does she want to leave?"
"Leave for where? Back to the Church of Order? Do you know who has collected the most fragments of Ankara? The Church of Order. Do you know what they collect her fragments for?
Not to venerate, worship, or visit...
The Church of Order is the only monotheistic faith among the orthodox churches. While other churches might lack subordinate deities simply because of their small scale, the Church of Order flatly refuses to acknowledge subordinate deities at all.
To those lunatics of Order, in their eyes, outside of the God of Order, nothing else has anything to do with divinity.
They collect Ankara's fragments solely to coalesce and activate a divine artifact of their own making. Heheheh.
I really wonder:
If the God of Order truly returned one day and saw his believers treating his daughter's remains like that, what on earth would he think?"
Sains spoke up, "But, My Lady..."
"Right, I almost forgot. The one who ordered Ankara to be dismembered was the God of Order himself.
Sigh. From top to bottom, a bunch of lunatics.
And yet, the church formed by this band of lunatics happens to be the most powerful today.
Still, I believe that once they grow powerful past a certain point, it is impossible for internal troubles not to arise."
"My Lady refers to...?"
"Yes, this assassination attempt against me.
In the future, the church histories of every denomination might well record it: the pivotal event marking the turn of the Church of Order from prosperity to decline was the assassination attempt on Holy Child Salayina in the Ankara Hotel, signaling that internal power struggles within the Church of Order had reached a boiling point.
Who knows, future church schools might even turn this into a key test topic—something to memorize, remember, and be tested on."
***
Bishop Bern walked into a small conference hall. The lights inside were bright, yet the atmosphere was stiflingly grim.
Every one of the twelve York City Region bishops present wore a solemn, heavy expression.
Especially Chief Bishop Wolflen, seated dead center, whose face was so grim and cold it looked ready to shed icicles.
Wolflen spoke up. "Bern, we need an explanation."
Bern nodded and replied, "I'm sorry, but I can only give you an answer you definitely won't want to hear: everything is still under investigation."
Bishop Wolflen picked up an official dispatch in his hand. "This is an official dispatch sent by our region's Whip-Holder. In it, he asks whether we require direct investigative assistance from the Whip of Order."
Bishop Bern replied, "He was a bit impatient."
"Indeed. But this incident has already crossed the line to the point where none of us sitting here can sit comfortably anymore. This is the Ankara Hotel!"
Bishop Bern lowered his head.
"Bern, what do you suggest we do?"
"Two proposals, catering to two different intentions: one taking the overall perspective, and one taking the perspective of the York City Region."
"Speak."
"If we look at it from the perspective of the York City Region, we can simply invite our region's Whip-Holder to investigate alongside us. His hollow shell of a department lacks the ability to conduct such an investigation; when it stalls, he will end up sharing the blame with us.
That way, the centralized recovery of regional Whip of Order administrations that Whip-Wielder Foden desires will be stalled, at least in our region.
I know that none of you present wish to see the grassroots apparatus of the Whip of Order revived. A look through the church history books makes it plain what blows and persecutions our administrative departments suffer whenever the Whip of Order rises."
At this point, one bishop asked in bewilderment, "Bern, whose side are you on, anyway?"
"So long as I have not received a direct assignment from the Holy See, I am a bishop of the York City Region. Naturally, I can think from the standpoint of my position as a bishop."
Chief Bishop Wolflen waved his hand. "That is no solution. Turning a funeral into a celebration is merely deceiving ourselves. And from the perspective of the big picture?"
"From the perspective of the big picture, this assassination was inevitably planned and set in motion by people within our region—or even forces, organizations, factions, and cliques beyond our region.
Though the investigation is not yet concluded, intelligence I just received shows that several hotel personnel who might have been implicated or had knowledge of the plot 'committed suicide' prior to the attack."
A bishop interjected, "We're asking for a solution, Bern. You should talk about the method."
Bishop Bern smiled.
His eyes swept over everyone present, and he said, "There is a very high probability that whoever drove this affair is sitting right here in this conference hall."
The expressions of all the bishops darkened.
Bishop Wolflen took a deep breath and asked, "And the method?"
"This is most likely no longer something our region can resolve on its own. If we want a proper resolution from the perspective of the big picture, we must bring in a powerful external force to conduct a thorough investigation and purge.
I hear that a few days ago, Whip-Wielder Foden drew core personnel from the Holy See's Whip of Order headquarters and formed an elite team, ready at any moment to respond to requests for aid from lower regions.
This team is capable of establishing the framework of a regional Whip of Order administrative department in short order, bringing a regional branch up to rapid, normal operation."
"So, Bern, according to what you say, taking the big picture into consideration means we must invite the forces of the Whip of Order in?"
Bishop Bern responded, "What else? Investigating, apprehending, and cracking cases are what the Whip of Order does best. The knights of the garrison can only serve as window dressing in such matters.
Or we could mobilize the garrison to arrest everyone in the Ankara Hotel—no, everyone in the regional administration, including those of us right here. The vast majority would certainly be falsely accused, but there would inevitably be some who aren't. Heheh."
Bishop Bern even chuckled as he said this.
"I would like to know how our region's Whip-Holder could receive the news so quickly after the incident occurred," Bishop Wolflen asked. "He was able to send out an official dispatch even before we arrived."
"Lord Chief Bishop, the squad responsible for protecting the Moon God Church's Holy Child was a Whip of Order squad."
"Heh." Wolflen chuckled dryly. "I don't believe a Whip of Order squad in the York City Region would report to a department responsible for sending, receiving, and stamping documents before anyone else when an incident occurs."
Hearing this, Bishop Bern countered, "So, you find that normal?"
The original purpose behind creating the Whip of Order was never external, but internal.
"Wield the whip... for Order!" This slogan meant wiping away the dust that had settled upon Order.
Yet along with the evolution of the church's system, administrative branches from top to bottom had consciously suppressed the Whip of Order. No one wanted a transcendent organization standing above all departments to rise from the ashes; it made everyone feel insecure.
In the regions especially, it had become the unspoken norm to treat Whip of Order squads as SWAT teams, while a background in the "Whip of Order" served merely as a stepping stone to easily transfer into clerical posts.
Thus, the sword that once hung suspended above their heads had been forcefully turned into a kitchen knife for chopping vegetables.
Chief Bishop Wolflen said, "I do not believe this could have been orchestrated by the higher-ups of the Whip of Order for their own expansion. If the Moon God Church's Holy Child were to die in the Ankara Hotel on the eve of negotiations, it would very likely trigger a war between the Church of Order and the Moon God Church..."
"It wouldn't trigger a war," Bishop Bern cut the Chief Bishop off directly. "At most, we would pay some reparations, because the Moon God Church wouldn't dare go to war."
A bishop beside them asked, "And what if the Moon God Church truly did declare war?!"
Bishop Bern replied, "Then another faction within our church would be thrilled. They just reaped enormous benefits from the war against Samsara; having tasted blood, how could those beasts be content to remain locked in cages? That would give us another whole group of suspects."
"Bern, go back and continue your investigation."
"Yes, Lord Chief Bishop."
Bishop Bern walked out of the conference hall.
Once the conference hall doors closed, the bishops inside began venting their anger:
"What is he implying? Blaming everything on internal factions?"
"He won't rest until he blows this completely out of proportion!"
"So, has he received instructions from the Holy See like last time?"
"It's possible. Our new High Priest may have just taken office, but he is completely different from the former High Priest, Rasma."
"I even suspect Bern did it himself!"
***
Karen returned to his room. Ashley and Blanche were in their inner chambers and did not come out, while Ophelia stayed in her own room and did not come over.
Mhm, Karen rather enjoyed this kind of peace and quiet when quiet was called for. His subordinates knew that right now, he preferred to be left alone rather than have people chattering around him.
Sitting down in the armchair by the French windows, facing a coffee table with a glass of water and a thermos flask of ice cubes, Karen took a sip of water. Then he took out an ice cube and held it in his hand, letting the chill pass back and forth between his fingers.
"We didn't expect it either."
What exactly had Bishop Bern meant by that? It almost sounded as if the assassination had been arranged by him.
And yet, it didn't seem like it either.
Having served on the security detail for the Holy Child of the Church of Pamires, Karen clearly understood what caliber of figure Bishop Bern was. An assassination plot orchestrated by him would surely take every possible variable into account. A man like that either wouldn't act, or would go all out if he did.
So was Bishop Bern's remark merely an unprompted sigh of genuine feeling?
Or did leaders like him simply enjoy making ambiguous remarks to keep their subordinates guessing and agonizing over their meaning, taking pleasure in the game?
"Heh."
Karen pulled out a cigarette, hesitated, and ultimately tossed it onto the coffee table unlit.
His status was still too low, his level insufficient. In events like this, he was nothing more than a fish tossed about in an agitated bowl; even after experiencing it firsthand, he still couldn't see the full picture.
"One step at a time."
He had spotted Lore and Leon at the banquet earlier, still doing clerical work for the conference. When their eyes met, Karen had merely raised his wine glass in a distant toast.
His own progress was already exceptionally fast.
Karen entered the washroom, took a bath, and lay down on the bed.
There was no need to arrange a night watch tonight. An assassination attempt had already taken place; if another occurred tonight, Karen would simply pretend not to know. The water ran far too deep. He would rather shoulder the blame of dereliction of duty than drag his subordinates along to fill such a bottomless pit.
Closing his eyes, he began to rest.
The moment his eyelids shut, a premonition rose in his heart.
Sigh.
Looks like I'm having another dream tonight.
"Drip... drip... drip..."
The familiar sound of dripping water, the familiar dark surroundings, the familiar oppressive, humid atmosphere.
Karen opened his eyes, not even bothering to show the slightest surprise, quietly observing the Scythe of War standing before him. Truly, one really shouldn't carry too many things inside oneself.
Salayina had packed too much into herself and acted too impatiently, overdrawing her body and soul, leaving her with only a few years left to live.
His own case was similar: carrying too much inside, whenever he encountered a certain stimulus, it seemed to trigger some resonance in his dreams.
And unlike Captain, he was hardly someone who couldn't stand being alone and loved excitement.
Before him was a deep pool. Karen deliberately avoided looking at it, worried that ripples might spread across its surface again, and that presence would start knocking once more, asking when he could finally come out.
Asking was one thing, but it always ended up making Karen bleed. Ventura wasn't in the room; having Ashley and Blanche deal with bloody bedsheets for him would be rather embarrassing.
Since he couldn't look down, he could only look straight ahead. Perhaps the Scythe of War was merely a fixed backdrop.
It had left a mark on the back of his hand; perhaps its functioning didn't just empower the Black Prison Castle, but also lent blessings to other things.
A complete high-grade divine artifact always exuded an unfathomable mystery.
"Hmph!"
The angry huff of a little girl drifted over. Karen turned his gaze and saw the silhouette of a young girl.
Ankara?
Was what had happened in the Ankara Memorial Hall today affecting him, manifesting in his dream?
"Are you angry?"
Karen heard a man's voice.
The moment that voice rang out, Karen felt a tightness in his chest, as that familiar feeling of his soul twisting threatened to surge forth once more.
"Are you angry?"
The same words, yet the voice had changed.
And along with it, his surroundings shifted as well.
A study—his grandfather's study.
Karen looked up. He didn't see Diss behind the desk ahead. Instead, a purple bookmark fluttered down before Karen.
"Who made you angry?"
Diss's voice.
Karen looked around, but saw no sign of Diss.
"Write down the name of the person you dislike most on here."
Back on the bed in reality, beside Karen, Diss appeared clad in Order robes. His eyes were closed, devoid of thought, existing merely as the totem of the family's faith system, bearing the pressure on behalf of his heir.
His form gradually faded in the process.
In the dream, Karen looked at the bookmark before him, unsure whether he should pick it up.
He pondered his current surroundings, suspecting that Diss was helping him by lessening the agony of such "peering."
Do not look directly upon a god.
Here, "looking directly" did not merely refer to beholding a god's countenance; any deliberate investigation into a god was strictly forbidden. In truth, no one had established such a rule, nor would anyone stop another from trying—so long as one could bear the price.
Karen felt that his grandfather's family faith system had probably completed a "translation" for him, or perhaps a paraphrase.
"Have you decided on whose name to write?"
Diss continued to ask, his voice echoing in the study.
Yet Karen knew that in the true scene, it was the God of Order questioning Ankara.
"Haven't decided yet? Take your time, then. Perhaps pondering whose name to put down is an enjoyable process in itself. At least it has stopped my daughter from crying, hasn't it?"
Karen stood there, waiting.
After a while, the voice sounded once more: "Finished writing? Oh, not yet. No matter, keep thinking, my precious pearl."
"Artemis had Pamires deliver a gift to me. Darling, take a guess: what could it be?"
Karen continued to wait and wait. After repeated inquiries yielded no answer, finally:
"You've finally finished writing, have you? It seems we ought to observe a moment of silence in advance for a certain deity and his believers.
Come, let me see whose name my darling wrote down."
The next sentence caused Karen's eyes to widen in shock—for it completely overturned everything recorded in myth!
"Oh."
"You wrote me."
Chapter 442