Fishing, Are We?

"Turn the flame up a bit more. All right, dial it back down a little now. Mm, just like that—hold it right there. These two are for you, so pay close attention to the heat." "Understood, meow." Karen sat roasting fish with Pu'er perched in his lap. Her two paws were outstretched, conjuring a fireball and adjusting its heat under Karen's direction. Ventura had prepared plenty of provisions when they fled, so nobody currently had to worry about food. Given the strength of the people living inside the "house" atop the sea beast, there was no chance of starving out here on this bustling, vibrant ocean anyway. After all, even if sharks showed up, anyone could leap down, effortlessly dispatch one, haul it back aboard, and skin it for meat. Grilling fish was just Karen's way of unwinding when he felt a little bored. The thoughtful Ventura had even brought seasonings along, giving them plenty of options when preparing meals. Once the fish was ready, Karen handed it to Pu'er and rinsed his hands in the water. "Miss Pu'er, are you playing?" Ashley called out to her. "I'm in, I'm in!" Pu'er shouted cheerfully while munching on her fish. "I'm going to catch wolves with my bare paws, meow!" Afraid everyone would grow bored during their sea voyage, Karen had taught them the game of Werewolf. It had proved a tremendous hit. Everyone quickly grew fond of it—though that was also because there was virtually nothing else to do to pass the tedious hours. Aboard the sea beast, there were Ashley, Blanche, Mars, Bart, Muri, Ventura, Memphis, Alfred, and Philomena. Counting Karen, that made ten people. There were two more: Mota and Ansi. With twelve players, they ran a setup with four Villagers, four Werewolves, a Seer, a Witch, a Hunter, and a Fool. Everyone had picked it up quickly, but after just two days of playing, they realized something was off: one person's presence was severely ruining the game for the rest. That person was Karen. Whether Karen drew a good card or a Werewolf card, the other side was virtually guaranteed to suffer a crushing defeat. The most classic match happened when Karen drew the Witch. On the very first night, when prompted whether to use his potion, he refused to save Bart, who had self-killed, and blindly poisoned Blanche, who held a Werewolf card. During the Sheriff election, when two players both claimed to be the Seer, Karen revealed his Witch role, sided with the true Seer without hesitation, and voted out Ashley, the fake-claiming Werewolf. Before night fell, he even instructed the Seer on which player to check for the final wolf. It wasn't because Karen had superior logic—everyone present was plenty sharp, and none of them were fools. The issue was that in an in-person game, everything was in plain view. Karen could deduce someone's role with high accuracy just by scanning their micro-expressions, tone of voice, and subtle body language. It didn't help that they all knew each other quite well. Even Mota and Ansi, who had joined later, provided more than enough behavioral samples after a few rounds. While it wasn't technically cheating, Karen's powers of observation thoroughly ruined everyone's fun. Karen couldn't help it either; he couldn't very well play dumb on purpose once he had already discerned someone's role. Besides, it gave him a headache. If he noticed someone give a slight cough and pause while speaking, he couldn't cite that as the reason to attack them; he had to invent plausible-sounding logic out of thin air, which made playing exhausting. Eventually, both sides came to a mutual, happy agreement: Karen bowed out of the game, and Pu'er took his spot. Karen took his laziness a step further by dodging the Moderator duties as well, passing them off directly to Kevin. The Moderator didn't have many lines anyway. Kevin simply substituted them with barks of varying lengths, and flipping his paw up or down served to indicate affirmative or negative responses. Alfred had actually been very eager to serve as Moderator. He felt the role suited him perfectly—announcing the living and the dead and narrating the rules and phases in his rich, resonant voice without a trace of emotion had a genuinely ritualistic aesthetic. However, he was too embarrassed to tell his young master not to slack off, so he had to remain among the players to make up the numbers. It wasn't as if they could send Kevin into the game instead, after all. Taking advantage of their new round starting up, Karen quietly pulled out a book. It was titled *Moon's Guardian*—sharing its name with a defensive spell from the Church of the Moon God—though it was actually a travel novel. It recounted the male protagonist's arduous quest through countless trials in search of the Moon Goddess, Artemis. The story concluded with the protagonist looking down at the moon's reflection in a pool of water and realizing that the Moon Goddess had been by his side all along. A rather cliché ending, indeed. Karen could understand why it had been written that way, however; it was likely done to pass censorship. Otherwise, had the protagonist actually found the Moon Goddess Artemis, how would the author depict a god or portray interactions with her? The churches frequently fought wars over their mythological narratives; they would never permit anyone to fabricate details about their deity at whim. This book was no longer an ordinary secular publication; it was a semi-official work certified within the Church of the Moon God. Its themes were impeccably orthodox: the protagonist was a devout follower of the Moon Goddess whose every action served his devotion to seeing his faith realized. Still, the ending could be disregarded entirely. The main appeal of the book lay in its travel accounts, which offered glimpses into the customs and culture of that era and touched upon the ecclesiastical sphere. The author was a figure from two thousand years ago. The text even contained depictions of the Church of Light—after all, the Church of Light had not yet fallen back then—though one could tell it had been expurgated. Two thousand years ago, the Church of Light held a status equivalent to that of the Church of Order today, so it was naturally portrayed favorably. But now that the Light was extinct and its surviving adherents branded as remnants, it was improper for it to appear too frequently or in too positive a light. Karen read with keen interest, losing track of time until he was interrupted by bickering nearby. Sighing, Karen shook his head. Once a game of Werewolf ended, blaming, grumbling, and passing the buck were perfectly standard. Pu'er came stomping over in a huff, took a sip of coffee from the cup in front of Karen, and complained, "How infuriating, meow! Philomena was a wolf counter-claiming Seer—can you believe that?" "What's so hard to believe?" "She played with my feelings," Pu'er said, clutching her chest in grief. "I was the Witch, and I actually backed her and voted Alfred out!" Alfred walked over, spreading his hands helplessly. "I laid out the logic for you: there was no way I could be a Werewolf card. But none of you would listen." "Because she's Philomena! She barely ever talks when we play, and even as a Villager, she usually gets voted out as dead weight. Who would've thought she'd dare to counter-claim Seer? "Besides, Radio Goblin, your speech was awful, and your last words were way too brief." Alfred sighed with resignation. "I tried to keep my words to a minimum because what you good players wanted wasn't the truth, but emotional validation." Karen closed his book and asked, "How much longer until we make landfall?" "Still quite a while," Pu'er replied. "Though by tomorrow, we should be able to find a slightly larger second island to rest on. We just don't know whether it's inhabited or deserted." Alfred asked, "Out of curiosity, how do you determine the location of the islands?" "In the same way that you understand Karen's other language while I don't. Can you explain that to me?" "It is a feeling that is difficult to describe." "Mm. That's my answer as well." "I'd like to go ashore and take a bath," Karen remarked. Pu'er pointed toward the "house." "You can bathe here too." "Stepping out after a bath here still leaves you feeling coated in salt grains. It's uncomfortable." "Young Master, what about your injuries?" "They're almost entirely healed, thanks to Blanche." Karen stretched, picked up a fishing rod, and prepared to fish. "Next round's starting!" Ashley called out. "Coming, meow!" Pu'er immediately scampered over, turning her head as she ran. "Radio Goblin, hurry up!" Alfred sighed. He wasn't particularly keen on playing. Given the choice, he would much rather sit beside his young master with a book, perhaps pulling out a notebook to consult him on a few matters. "If only Kevin could talk." Hearing this, Karen continued untangling his fishing line and replied casually, "Perhaps." *** "If only this child could talk." Richard extended a finger, teasing little Elisa before him. The woman smiled. "Once children learn to talk, they aren't nearly as adorable." "My mother said the same thing about me. She said I was very cute when I was little, but not so cute once I grew up." "What mother doesn't love her own child?" "She's different. She lives very confidently, and quite for herself. Well, I understand her." Richard bypassed the topic. During his youth, his mother had spent most of her time in Sangpu City. Other households might have parents with strained relations, or divorced parents where the child lived with one of them. For him back then, his mother was gone and rarely came back, while his father was so taciturn he had virtually no presence at home. What Richard experienced felt entirely like growing up with deceased parents. "Commander, aren't you going to take a look at the baby?" Richard picked up little Elisa and walked over to his commander. Neo held a burning cigar between his fingers. As Richard brought the child close, he snapped irritably, "Keep her away from me," while stubbing out the cigar with his fingertips. "She's adorable, isn't she, Commander? I've never seen a portrait of Miss Elisa, but I bet Miss Elisa was just as pretty when she was little." "If your father ever beats you to death, I will take the stand in ecclesiastical court to testify that you deserved it." "Aw, come on, Commander, it's not like you mind. Karen isn't here anyway, so why do we need to act so proper?" "You and Karen are complete opposites." "Sigh, I've always felt Karen lacks the vigor of youth. He's roughly the same age as me, yet he gives off the air of someone from my father's generation. I don't think that's healthy. I worry his body might have issues—oh, his health really is rather mediocre, come to think of it." Neo looked down at little Elisa, his expression blank. He truly felt nothing toward the female infant. This was no display of feigned callousness; he simply disliked children, nor would he project his longing for his late wife onto other things. "Commander, tell me the story of you and Miss Elisa. I've heard bits and pieces from the others, but I want to know the details. If I retire someday, I'll publish a book and earn royalties." "Perhaps your father won't have to bother. I am currently considering reporting you as a combat casualty right here." "Don't do that, Commander! How many point coupons is a pension even worth? Besides, it would go to Karen anyway—you wouldn't get a single benefit out of it." Just then, Neo suddenly raised a hand. Richard fell silent instantly and signaled to the woman sitting further away to stay quiet as well. Neo looked up toward the ceiling. He sensed a powerful surge of energy—like a beacon, a summoning call. After a moment, Neo spoke. "The beasts are about to be herded back into their cages. I'm going up to take a look. You two stay here." "Understood, Captain. I'll make sure they're protected, without fail!" Neo instructed, "If danger arises, run on your own first. There's no need to die for them. Sheltering them is already enough." Richard blinked, offering no reply. Neo stepped out of the isolation array, pushed open the cellar door, and climbed onto the roof. Originally, the Mipos Archipelago enjoyed a mild, pleasantly comfortable climate, yet it now gave off a bone-chilling cold. Looking up, although it was broad daylight, the sky above was smothered entirely beneath a dense layer of dark clouds. Inhaling deeply, Neo—a bloodthirsty aberrant demon—caught the thick stench of blood in the air. Who knew how many lives had to be snuffed out to produce such a concentration? Furthermore, the resentment drifting everywhere across the island would easily turn it into a breeding ground for aberrant demons and corruption if left unchecked. *Dong... Dong... Dong...* A bell tolled in the distance. Neo dropped from the roof and crept toward the sound. Reaching the next vantage point, Neo saw a contingent of entities radiating violent, savage auras, marching in neat formation behind a massive bell ahead of them. Along both sides of the road, Samsara priests and Samsara martial artists who still looked relatively human were standing guard, maintaining order. After days of mass slaughter, Neo believed there were certainly still survivors hidden across the island, but the vast majority of people—including the vast majority of livestock—had already perished. The energy radiating from these Lost was astonishing; each resembled a ravenous beast stuffed to the brim, their eyes gleaming with a red sheen. Conducting church rituals at the expense of massive numbers of living souls, including vast numbers of ordinary mortals, was explicitly prohibited by the *Order Regulations*. For the past thousand years, the Church of Order had served as the blade of chastisement, restraining other religions from overtly interfering with human society on a grand scale. Yet all of that had changed once the Church of Order launched the religious war on its own initiative. Neo doubted that even if he gathered and compiled all the evidence and submitted it to the higher-ups, the Church of Order would hold the Church of Samsara accountable for what had occurred in the Mipos Archipelago. How else could the Church of Samsara, which had been at an absolute disadvantage, have launched a counteroffensive all the way here? As a loyal Order priest, Neo wouldn't believe for a second that the Church of Order wasn't pulling strings behind the scenes. Suddenly, Neo sensed a gentle aura emanating from a certain direction. It was coming from the temporary palace where he had once stayed—the highest point on the main island. The phantom image of a Gate of Samsara had appeared above the palace, purifying the baleful aura in the area. *You slaughter everyone, and then you help clean up the blood? Should I praise you for being so neat and tidy?* Neo hesitated. He had originally intended to return to the cellar for another two or three days, waiting until the Samsara forces rounded up all the Lost and regular personnel arrived on the island to establish new rule before stepping forward to reveal his identity and make contact. But when he sensed a white flower blossoming above the palace, dispersing the resentment at a much faster rate, he was forced to stop in his tracks. It was the aura of Light—an extraordinarily dense, tantalizing aura of Light. Neo drew a deep breath, an intoxicated look surfacing on his face as he murmured in admiration, "How fragrant..." *** "Lord Lango, I believe what you are doing is entirely pointless," Peide said, standing behind Lango. "It isn't that I wish to do this, but the other entity within me does. He is a believer of the Light." As he spoke, Lango's eyes shifted, and a scornful sneer crept across his lips. "Lango, there is no need to explain anything to a fool like this." Peide said, "I must remind you that while some inheritances of the Church of Light are preserved behind the Gate, the Church of Light has already perished in the world outside. Using spells of the Light out here is taboo." "I merely entered into a soul contract with Lango; I am nothing more than a tool. Furthermore, trust me regarding my relationship with Lango—I came out with him of my own free will. If you dare address me without honorifics again, beware Lango cutting you down with a single slash." "You..." "Do not think yourself someone of high standing. Think about it: aside from bearing the surname Simosen, what else do you have to be proud of?" Unwilling to argue, Peide said, "I will go check on the roundup of the Lost." With that, he headed down the mountain. "Why bother getting angry at a child?" Lango said. "Lango, I am angry at the entire Church of Samsara. In the world outside the Gate, bodies of flesh and blood and real, tangible living things are so wondrous. Yet your Church of Samsara fails to cherish them and tramples upon them like this." "It is for survival. For the sake of survival, even the most elegant person will turn crude." "Lango... do you think he has arrived?" "I do not know. He may still be hiding somewhere. You know that although this is an island, it is quite vast; we cannot turn every inch of it upside down. "If he has been hiding inside a place equipped with an isolation array, it would be even more impossible for him to sense the aura of Light you are currently emitting." "I believe he is still alive. Judging from the lingering aura of Light in the ashes of those two corpses, the caster was of an extraordinarily high tier. It transcends mere strength—it is somewhat akin to a bloodline within the power of Light. Heh, his body happens to be the perfect vessel to host me." "He is also a life of flesh and blood. How can you bear to take his body?" "Just as you said, Lango: for survival, I do not mind turning crude." "Will he take the bait?" "He will. I covet his body, and he will crave my pure spirit of Light." "Yet how many times have we tried now, and he still hasn't bitten?" "There is still time. We can try a few more times." "Then let us call it a day," Lango said. "Very well." Lango drew in his arms, retracting all the power of Light back into his body. But just as he turned around, a skinless, blood-red face appeared behind him: "Well now, fishing, are we?"