In the mythological narrative system of the Church of Principles, a quote from Lord Ralmerson—one of the earliest believers of the God of Principles and later one of the Eight Sages—was recorded:
“Give me enough samples, and I can uncover the essence of the world.”
The goal was to discover objective patterns through a sufficient number of samples.
Take Karen now, for example. He was frequently “mistaken” for that supreme figure.
Because it had happened so many times, he had managed to deduce a few rules.
First, for an entity to make such a mistake, their status had to be exceptionally high—essentially at the level of a deity.
Whether Ankara had attained godhood remained unknown, but she was at least like Blaizt—someone who, even if not a true god, was exceedingly close to becoming one.
Back in that era, only gods were even marginally qualified to have ever “seen” the God of Order.
Second, they could not be whole entities.
The Ankara who appeared on the top floor of the Ankara Hotel was merely a consciousness stimulated from a piece of flesh, not even a true avatar;
Rielsa within the Gate of Samsara had lost her godhead entirely, reduced to a walking giant corpse; the Dark Moon Goddess on the Altar Island was only a lingering remnant of the goddess's consciousness;
And Blaizt hovering above at this very moment was, in essence, just like the pustules on the hunched young man—a separated fragment of himself attached to the youth.
None of them were whole, leading to severe limitations in their perception and thought.
On this point, Kevin was the best proof. Kevin only trembled in terror whenever Karen displayed the peculiar “craving” once manifested by the God of Order. In ordinary daily life, Kevin was acutely aware that Karen was not the God of Order.
Such recurring misunderstandings were actually quite easy to comprehend. The axiom “Do not look directly upon God” applied not only to ordinary mortals; it held just as true for gods themselves.
When Rielsa attempted to paint “The End of Order,” angering the God of Order and resulting in her suppression, she had also violated the taboo of “Do not look directly upon God.”
Perhaps in the eyes of ordinary deities, the face of the God of Order they beheld had always remained indistinct in memory.
Or rather, gods had long ceased relying on physical eyes to view the world. They possessed far richer means to perceive and govern the realm around them; their apprehension of external existence operated on an entirely different plane.
When confronted with an existence like the God of Order, most chose awe and retreat. The rare few who dared defy him were swiftly met with merciless suppression.
Thus, in their perception, the God of Order was often not a “person,” but a “color,” a “sound,” a “symbol” bearing a specific directional significance.
For instance, in that ancient era, when a beam of the purest light descended, one would instinctively believe the God of Light had arrived, because only he was worthy of possessing such immaculate radiance.
The same held true when Karen unleashed the Chains of Order. When entities that had once tasted the aura of the God of Order perceived that specific presence again while their own main bodies were incomplete, they would instinctively assume it was the God of Order himself.
Blaizt's mind was now seized with sheer horror. His dread of the God of Order had long been branded into the deepest recesses of his soul. Furthermore, Kevin had paved the way just moments before—and in that era, Kevin's identity was, to a degree, inextricably bound to the God of Order.
Seeing Kevin first, followed by sensing that unique aura of Order, doubled the preconceived certainty.
His boundless confidence and grand ambition from moments earlier—to guide the God-Burial Grounds back to the mortal world and launch a new reign while the gods remained absent—were instantly shattered.
Back when the God-Burial Grounds were at their absolute zenith, the God of Order had entered alone to crush every discordant voice. While the present God-Burial Grounds remained enigmatic and retained many heritages, they could hardly compare to that ancient era when numerous aged, unfallen deities still walked among them.
“It's over... It's over... It's over...”
Yet even under such utter despair, events continued to unfold along their established momentum.
Karen had been able to lean into his “craving” back then to forcibly demand a plea from the Dark Moon Goddess's consciousness, but such a trick could not be repeated. Moreover, even though Blaizt was paralyzed with terror, the command he had previously issued to Giragon remained in effect.
The terrifying pillar of lava continued sweeping toward them. The crisis had not changed.
In his shattered state of mind, Blaizt would soon witness the “God of Order,” whom he believed to be invincible and supreme, melting into slag beneath the horrific torrent of magma.
“Hear my command! I stay here—all of you evacuate!”
Karen let out a furious roar. Although he relied on his terrifying reserve of spiritual energy to relentlessly scorch the mass of pustules, the pressure and agony he had endured earlier and continued to suffer had not vanished.
Issuing orders at such a moment could hardly be done calmly.
Furthermore, he needed to use this forceful tone to project unyielding resolve—not for himself, but to ease his squad members' guilt when they “abandoned” him, making it easier for them to persuade themselves.
Karen had never considered himself a “great” person, and he actively resisted becoming one. In fact, he never paraded his own morality, stubbornly insisting on maintaining a “flexible bottom line.”
Yet right now, he had no other choice.
Letting go now would mean throwing away the hard-won advantage they had fought so desperately to create. Once this stalemate broke, the hunched young man's side—inherently more powerful and holding command over Giragon—would reclaim absolute dominance. In that case, neither Karen nor his squad members would survive; they would inevitably be slaughtered.
If he refused to let go and maintained the deadlock, the giant mass of pustules would either be roasted to death by his flames or perish alongside him under Giragon's lava—but his subordinates would live.
This was not an act of noble self-sacrifice; it was simple business logic.
Since he was doomed either way, he might as well ensure some of his people survived. Otherwise, the defeat would be far too humiliating.
What seemed like two choices was really just one. There was no need to agonize over it.
Karen's order took effect immediately. An exceptional team would never dissolve into tearful pleading or melodramatic “if you won't leave, I won't leave” scenes in a situation like this, because reality simply permitted no such luxury.
Tears ran down their faces, but they evacuated even as they wept. After all, they could not allow their captain's sacrifice to be in vain.
Alfred hoisted the dying Tafman onto his shoulder. Backing away, he looked toward Karen. At any time, under any circumstances, Alfred would unconditionally obey the Young Master's will, entirely devoid of personal emotion.
Bart scooped up the injured Philomena, gritted his teeth, and immediately retreated.
Ventura's eyes were red, yet he still chose to withdraw. If he could have taken his captain's place, he would have done so without hesitation, but he knew full well he could never pin down that horrific mass of pustules the way his captain did.
Mars supported Memphis. Memphis was about to retreat alongside him, but he abruptly halted his steps and shoved Mars away.
“I'm not leaving.”
“You...”
Mars immediately shot a glance at Muri and the others, urging them to knock Memphis out and carry him off.
Muri was about to step forward, but Alfred spoke: “Let him stay.”
Hearing Alfred's words, Muri hesitated for a moment before ultimately hoisting Mars onto his shoulder and turning to evacuate.
“Thank you.”
Memphis offered Alfred a faint smile.
Alfred nodded back to Memphis. He knew Memphis and Karen had already recognized each other. For Mr. Aisen, it was simply impossible to leave Karen behind and flee.
This was not a question of profit and loss, nor of whether it would dishonor Karen's sacrifice. If Mr. Aisen were to survive and walk away from this scene, the rest of his life would be an agonizing torment.
He had experienced it once before and had no desire to experience it a second time. And with this second tragedy unfolding right before his eyes, his illness would only worsen exponentially.
Staying meant death; leaving meant a life worse than death. Therefore, he chose to die alongside Karen.
From the perspective of a husband and father, his choice might seem irresponsible. But the truth was, he was a sick man—a critically ill man. Having just crawled out of one quagmire only to see another open right in front of him, he had lost all will to struggle.
Kevin followed Alfred's retreat, but at that moment, Purr leapt down from Ashley's shoulder.
“Miss Purr!” Ashley cried out in panic.
“Go on without me, I'm staying!” Purr called back, running toward Karen without once looking over her shoulder.
“Miss Purr!” Ashley reached out to grab her.
Alfred shouted, “Let her go! She shares a symbiosis contract with the Young Master!”
If Karen died, the other party bound by the symbiosis contract would perish as well. Whether Purr evacuated or not made no difference.
Seeing Purr dash past him, Kevin instinctively reached out a paw to catch her, only to grasp empty air.
Watching Purr's retreating back, Kevin abruptly wheeled around.
“Woof!”
Then Kevin took off in pursuit as well.
He had not run far before Alfred caught him by the tail with one hand.
Kevin began struggling, flailing his paws, but Alfred ignored him completely, continuing to carry Tafman while dragging Kevin away by force.
After clawing fruitlessly at the ground for a good while and realizing he could not break free of Alfred's grip, Kevin finally gave up, the tight furrow between his brows relaxing slightly.
He felt that if he watched Purr stay while he simply walked away, his conscience would never allow him peace.
Being dragged away by his tail by Alfred made it somewhat easier to accept. If the worst came to pass, he would at least blame himself a little less when looking back on today.
The Light believers had also begun evacuating, heading in the opposite direction of Alfred and his companions.
“Stop! We agree to your terms!”
“Stop, we will guarantee your safety!”
“We won't retaliate!”
“We can bestow legacies upon you, grant you secret treasuries!”
“We can choose you as the representative emissary of the God-Burial Grounds!”
The multiple consciousnesses within the pustule mass began pleading with Karen. They had assumed that once Giragon's lava swept toward them, the deadlock would inevitably break. But when they realized this young man before them was completely throwing his life away without regard for survival, terror set in.
Yet Karen ignored their offers entirely. Of course, it was also nearly impossible for them to offer anything truly tempting to him.
Besides, believing any of their bullshit promises on such short notice would be sheer idiocy.
Just then, Purr plunked herself down behind Karen. Because flames were roaring across his body, she did not jump up to her accustomed spot on his shoulder.
“Meow~”
Purr stretched lazily, lowered her head, and toyed with her tail as she spoke:
“I told everyone I was going to design my own funeral after getting back from this mission. Who knew there wouldn't even be time? Ending up done for here out of nowhere...”
Karen said, “See, you should watch more movies.”
“Like Muri?”
“Exactly.”
“Oh, fine, but I guess I won't get the chance. Well, that's life for you—always loving to spring a surprise on you when you least expect it.”
“Say what you want while you can. Once this is over, you won't have another chance. Don't waste such a good atmosphere.”
“Can't be bothered. When the radio demon writes our memoirs, he'll probably make up ‘what I said right now’ anyway. I trust the radio demon's literary talent.”
“Fair point.”
At that moment, as the scorching heat surged in from the periphery, the pustule mass struggling under Karen's flames launched its final counterattack—its desperate dying struggle.
Karen closed his eyes, continuing to channel his inner power outward, barely holding the equilibrium in place.
“We can negotiate!!!”
It was the most hysterical shriek from within the pustules.
Karen kept his eyes shut, ignoring it completely.
The temperature spiked rapidly, and the ground began to melt, signaling that the true end was nigh.
Not just Purr, but Karen himself had never imagined he would meet his end here in such a manner. Yet in his heart, there were no regrets.
*Hum!*
Just then, the wind rose—a ferocious gale.
The wind swept in darkness, which rapidly congealed into a foundation. Walls and battlements rose above it in an instant. At a speed so swift it defied imagination, a towering black castle manifested before them.
This castle was nearly ten times larger than the Black Prison Castle Karen habitually summoned!
Such speed, such sheer scale instantly brought one person to Karen's mind—someone he still had to address as “Mentor.”
The colossal castle stood like a mountain, becoming a protective bulwark over the area. When Giragon's pillar of lava swept toward them, it slammed directly into the castle's outer wall.
The castle began melting at a terrifying rate while simultaneously regenerating with equal speed, locked in a dynamic struggle.
Fortunately, the pillar of lava was bound to pass; it could not whip back and forth indefinitely. When it finally drifted away, though the castle was pitted, scarred, and mostly collapsed, it had indeed served its purpose, shielding the ground that should have been swallowed by the molten tide.
Mavaglio's figure drifted out from the castle's control chamber, landing without making a sound as his feet hovered just above the earth.
A black vine remained tethered to his hand—a control conduit—while the Black Prison Castle behind him continued its rapid self-repair.
*Pop! Pop! Pop!*
At that very moment, the patches of color within the pustules could hold on no longer, bursting one after another until they vanished completely.
Before dissipating, the ghostly face of Blaizt above, still frozen in shock, only had time to cast one last dazed look downward.
Alas, this fragment of his soul had no way of contacting his exiled true body. Otherwise, he would have warned his original self at all costs: the God of Order is still here; the God-Burial Grounds cannot return yet...
The hunched youth melted away completely. He and the “companions” affixed to him died upon the spit forged by the Chains of Order.
*Thud!*
Karen pitched forward, his knees striking the ground, though his hands quickly braced against the earth. He began panting in great, ragged gasps.
He felt like a depleted gas canister that had run dry once, been shaken, left out under the scorching sun, and burnt down to the absolute dregs.
Aside from when he had first begun learning magical arts, such an overdrawn state had become exceedingly rare for him in recent times.
Memphis burst into laughter—laughing loudly until tears and snot streamed down his face, which quickly gave way to a violent fit of coughing.
Purr padded over to Karen and patted the back of his braced hand with a soft paw.
“Prepared to die for no reason, and then for no reason we don't have to die. Like I said, that's life, meow.”
Mavaglio drifted before Karen, a faint smile on his face. “Karen.”
Karen swallowed hard, pursed his cracked lips, and with great effort lifted his head. “Mentor.”
Just then, an aged voice rang out:
“Why save him? He ought to die!”
Immediately after, Karen felt a powerful hand grip his neck, hoisting him entirely into the air.
Karen looked up to see an old man standing before him.
“You... are...”
Theisen sneered. “An opportunist should be left to melt in the lava. Mavaglio, you shouldn't have saved him.”
Mavaglio remained silent, thinking: *Then why didn't you stop me earlier?*
“Think it's amusing? Feeling proud? You didn't die this time—are you just waiting to return to your district and receive a promotion?”
“Yes...”
Hearing such a blunt response, the corner of Theisen's mouth twitched, and he snapped:
“A person like you cannot be allowed to go back! You cannot be allowed to gain promotions! You cannot be allowed to sit among the high echelons of the Church in the future! You will lead the Church into utter corruption and ruin!
“You ought to... die!”
*Smack!*
Karen was dropped, tumbling onto the ground. Theisen raised his palm, aiming it directly at Karen's face.
Purr, Memphis, and the others tried to rush forward, but a black barrier materialized around Theisen, shutting everything out—including Alfred and the squad members who had rushed back.
Karen closed his eyes. The howling wind whipped across his face, stinging with a faint ache.
Opening his eyes again, Karen saw that the old man had not struck him. Instead, he was rolling up the sleeves of his divine robes.
“Fine, you are already dead.”
“...Huh?”
By this point, Karen had no energy left to realize just how suicidal that single gasp of confusion sounded.
At that moment, a young man appeared and helped Karen to his feet.
Vic smiled at Theisen. “I knew you couldn't bear to do it.”
Vic then turned to Karen and said, “You're lucky, too. The moment we landed on the island, we sensed the dense aura of Order here. If we had delayed for a second or arrived just a bit later, you'd be gone.
“When Lord Theisen saw how young you were earlier, he even marveled at your talent! Hahaha, how could he bear to kill you when you're this young!”
“I have already killed him.” Theisen shoved his sleeves all the way up, exposing two aged, rather gaunt arms.
Vic teased, “Where? Where is he dead?”
“There are many ways to kill a man,” Theisen remarked unhurriedly, his gaze settling once more upon Karen. “Next, I will teach him that being an opportunist is an utterly tasteless endeavor that disgraces one's faith. I will let him see with his own eyes what a true believer in Order should look like!”
Mavaglio bowed his head and said earnestly, “Please, do not act rashly.”
Vic's expression changed instantly as well. “I can go negotiate! I can serve as our representative to settle things! My Lord, please don't charge in recklessly—your body won't hold up!”
“Negotiate? There is still a need for negotiation now?! What sickens me most is that the current Church has turned into a conference hall, signing treaties and pacts all over the place! Look—how many people have already died on this island?! And think about how many more will perish while you go off to negotiate!
“I know many within the Church currently support the new High Priest, believing the Church should break free from the futile drain of maintaining order and pursue its own interests.
“You think that's a gain?
“No!
“I say it's a loss—a catastrophic loss!
“Do you know why people place their faith in Order?
“Order is not meant for damage control and rebuilding.
“People believe in Order because they trust that a sound order can prevent suffering from happening in the first place!”
Theisen turned around, facing the distant three-headed hound Giragon, facing the sea of flames across the island, facing the distant hillside, facing that pure white angel. A phantom layer emerged across his body, bearing his own likeness.
He began stepping forward. With every step he took, the phantom grew taller and vaster, until it resolved into a towering, magnificent colossus.
In the next instant,
his voice boomed across the surroundings:
“Tell me—did you really think all of us from the Church of Order were dead?!”
Chapter 483