A Story of Grandfathers

If one turned their back to the sea and ignored the ruined town, the scenery of Fire Island was still quite beautiful. Of course, if one set aside any moral compunctions and included the devastated town in the vista, it could also be considered "beautiful" purely from an aesthetic composition. Karen believed that if his prospective father-in-law, Mr. Bede, were here, he probably would have been unable to resist sitting down on this small hillside, setting up his easel, and starting to paint. Fortunately, Mavaglio had no such inclination. At this moment, he sat with his back to the town and his face toward the ocean, a wineskin resting beside him. The afternoon sea breeze swept over him, ruffling his hair in a way that looked youthful and gentle. "Have a seat." "Yes, Mentor." Karen sat down beside Mavaglio. Mavaglio handed the wineskin to Karen. "Care to give it a taste?" Karen took it, uncorked it, and took a sip. "How is it?" Wiping his lips with the back of his hand, Karen answered, "It tastes awful." Not only was the liquor murky, but it was also tooth-achingly sour and had a bizarre flavor. Karen did not usually drink, but he could roughly tell "good" liquor from "bad," or "expensive" from "cheap." "Mm, it really isn't good. I grabbed it from the wine cellar. It was probably brewed from bananas and similar ingredients using very crude methods." "Then it must have been prepared for destitute pirates down on their luck. Has it become a local customary drink now?" "In the memory fragments of Lord Marchettini, there are memories of this liquor. He was very fond of it. In the past, I would deliberately search it out and taste it from time to time. Regrettably, I've never been able to grow fond of its taste. No matter how much I drink, I can't get used to it." Karen said, "Perhaps what Lord Marchettini loved wasn't the drink itself, but rather the era he could reminisce about while drinking it." Mavaglio paused, staring blankly at Karen. With a smile on his face, Karen lifted the wineskin and took another sip. His smile vanished, turning into a wry grimace. It really did taste terrible. "Fascinating. I think you're right. You, an outsider, seem to understand him better than I, the inheritor of Lord Marchettini." "It's merely a small detail. Perhaps in your eyes, Mentor, drinking it frequently is an act of respect, whereas I carry no psychological baggage in that regard." "Yes, it was for the sake of respect. In truth, I often can't tell whether I am myself or Lord Marchettini. "If I feel that I am still myself, that is disrespectful to the inheritance; if I consider myself Lord Marchettini, haha, what right do I have to represent the true Lord Marchettini? That would be another form of disrespect toward him." Karen nodded. He had seen many such examples around him; it was a form of disorientation in one's self-identity. "However, I don't think you are overly troubled by this, Mentor." From Karen's observation, Mavaglio actually lived quite lightly. People lacking clear self-identity usually exhibited emotional impetuousness and imbalance, for if one was not even clear on their own identity, how could they face the surrounding world with patience? "Mm, I don't want to dwell on it. When others call me 'My Lord,' I just answer with a hum. They can call me whatever they like; I can't be bothered to agonize over who I really am anymore. "I simply feel that who I am doesn't seem all that important. Since Lord Marchettini chose me as his inheritor, I'll just do what I ought to do in the church. "Some questions have no answers. Or rather, when the odds of finding an answer are slim, I simply choose to shelve them, or call it giving up." "You are very open-minded," Karen praised. "Perhaps that is why Lord Marchettini chose you as his inheritor." This was not flattery. Among all the people Karen had met who faced similar dilemmas, Mavaglio was in the best state. It was not self-abandonment, but wisdom. On the path of life, everyone possessed the right to make their own choices. The purpose of choosing was to make oneself live more comfortably. Once a person fulfilled their due responsibilities, they could entirely refuse to be swept along by the crowd. Karen could never accept having another person existing inside his body, as that would make him uncomfortable. Even the "Diss" within him was merely a familial faith legacy his grandfather had passed down; that shadowy phantom was not the real Diss. Neo was the same. That was why, over the past decade, Neo had fought against "Philias" at any cost. A hunting hound was the truest portrayal of Neo: either you kill me, or I tear out your throat. Yet Mavaglio did not necessarily need to be like him and Neo. "Heh." Mavaglio drew a deep breath and slowly exhaled. "I'm sorry for calling you out. I wanted to find someone to talk to, but I realized that here, I have no one else to talk with." "What about Vick?" "Do you like Vick?" "Perhaps it's just that we haven't gotten to know each other yet." "People who are overly clever often find it hard to be liked." Hearing this, Karen nodded. "Sorry, I didn't mean that you aren't clever. Before coming to Fire Island, I told Lord Theisen that you are the most talented person I have met since receiving the inheritance. "I still remember your performance when I taught you Black Prison Castle back then. It was truly impeccable—astonishing, even. War arts are actually the hardest to learn." "Yet..." Karen hesitated. "Say whatever you want to say." "Yet you still haven't stated the reason you asked me out for a chat." "Do you remember when I branded the Scythe of War mark onto the back of your hand?" "I remember. Thanks to you, Mentor, I witnessed the majesty of a divine artifact." And that night, while sleeping in his hotel bed, he had dreamed of the deep pool and that scythe, blood soaking the bedsheet red. For the next several days, Ventura had slept right outside his door, terrified that his captain might suddenly drop dead in his sleep. "In fact, I was observing you at that time." "Observing me?" "Yes. I noticed that compared to others, there was something missing in your eyes." "What was missing?" "A kind of bone-deep reverence, perhaps." "Mentor, you shouldn't say such things carelessly..." "It's no big deal. Just as Lord Theisen said before his passing, the Code of Order contains the Chapter of the Gods; we believers of Order ought to dare to straighten our spines before God." "Is that why you felt I wouldn't have a barrier of reverence when talking with you?" "You described it accurately." "Understood, Mentor." Karen nodded. It was because the people around Mavaglio all treated him as the incarnation of "Marchettini." Although Marchettini was merely one of the Twelve Knights of Order, in the mythological narratives of other orthodox churches, he was a branch god—and a top-ranking one at that. Many people of elevated standing possessed this mindset: if you didn't take their status too seriously, they found it novel, looked at you differently, and grew curious about you. However, one should never think that doing so perpetually was correct, because a person's sense of novelty had limits. It was like pursuing a girl. Showing a bit of unconventional individuality at the start was fine to grab attention, but one couldn't keep putting on airs forever. "Lord Theisen was my grandfather." "Please accept my condolences." "He was truly a rigid man, yet also a very gentle and kind one. He insisted on calling me 'My Lord,' even when we were alone together. "You know, it was only when I spoke with him in his room two days ago that he showed a bit more genuine emotion. And that was under the premise that we both knew—and he himself knew—that he was about to die." "He was merely adhering to the rules, I believe." "Yes. But I don't blame him, because I once tried to put myself in his shoes. If another person lives inside your grandson's body, is he still your grandson? Can you continue to lavish affection on him? Even if the bloodline is the same, we are priests who can touch souls. We know clearly that the soul is the true core that shapes and determines a person. "Sorry, asking this kind of question is somewhat inappropriate. After all, who would ponder such a thing? No one could put themselves in that position." Karen blinked. "Now that he's gone, I can't cry. I tried to muster some grief, but I found I couldn't. It makes me feel somewhat uncomfortable; I feel it shouldn't be like this." Karen offered comfort. "Grief takes many forms. Besides, I feel Lord Theisen departed very calmly. He completed his life's journey, and it was time for him to rest. Therefore, there is no need for us to feel sorrow. It is just like standing before a completed masterpiece: all we need to do is admire and appreciate it." "Is that why?" "Yes, exactly." "Thank you for your comfort." "It isn't comfort." Karen reached down and picked up a few pebbles. "You don't need my comfort. Everyone has their own path. As we travel along it, we stop and rest due to exhaustion or bewilderment, and we turn back or pause to take a few more lingering looks at the scenery. "Of course, the scenery can also be imprinted on one's heart. Not turning back or lingering doesn't mean it wasn't beautiful enough; it means its beauty has already been traveling with you all along." "Your words carry profound meaning. I'll chew on them slowly after I return. By the way, you'll be heading back soon too, right?" "Yes, it should be in the next couple of days. Back to Yorktown. If things go quickly, maybe tomorrow? It mainly depends on the teleportation array arrangements." "Then who knows when we'll meet next. You did very well this time. When it comes to handling affairs, you are far more capable than I am. Setting aside the matters of choosing paths and opportunism that my grandfather mentioned, you are truly impressive. "Unfortunately, my temperament isn't suited for taking the initiative. I prefer someone telling me what to do, and then I just go and carry it out. Ever since childhood, I've loved grid-filling games. It's a very dull game, yet I could play it endlessly without getting bored." "It's not really a matter of being capable or not. Sometimes you think of exerting your subjective initiative... Do you know what that term means?" "I understand it." "Right. Sometimes you want to take the initiative to do things, to make yourself appear busy, or to give yourself the illusion of being busy, only to suddenly realize in the end that all the running around you did was wrong. "Ah..." Karen leaned back, propping his hands on the ground, and let out a sigh. "So tiring..." "Being able to calmly negate oneself is something most people in this world cannot do. "If Grandfather could hear you say this, he would certainly be pleased. He always appreciated you. He read your dossier; he liked outstanding young people in the church. "I know his character. If he didn't truly like you, he wouldn't have bothered to 'lecture' you." "Therefore, I am very grateful to Lord Theisen, grateful for his instruction. You know, many times people can't turn back not because they don't know they're wrong, but because they have erred too much, leaving them with no way back at all." "What about you? Which type do you belong to?" "The road must be walked. If you take the wrong path, you simply forge a new, correct one. For me... no, for the vast majority of people, life offers no retreat. One can only make oneself believe that choosing a path will bring rough patches, but the direction of development must spiral upward..." Karen raised a hand, gesturing an "upward spiral" toward Mavaglio. "Heh." Mavaglio pointed to his own head. "'The road is tortuous, but the resolve is steadfast. Confront the self, examine the self, criticize the self, and errors will become stepping stones on your path to success.'" "Your words are truly profound. I'll chew on them carefully after I return as well." "Those aren't my words." "Oh? Which book records that? I'll read it once I return. Hopefully, my clearance will allow me to access it." "It comes from a special voice in my memories, spoken by a great existence. It was left in the mind of Lord Marchettini, and then read by me, his inheritor. "However, that passage is recorded in the mythological narrative of Light of Order. It took place after a divergence of opinion arose between the great existence and Samsara." It was... spoken by the God of Order. After a divergence of opinion? That meant when the God of Order went to the God of Light, telling him that the Gate of Samsara constructed by the God of Samsara disrupted the order between life and death, but the God of Light chose to give the matter the cold shoulder, since the God of Samsara also belonged to the Light faction. Deducing from this scenario, when the God of Order spoke those words, did it also signify that he had engaged in self-reflection regarding his earlier choice to stand in the God of Light's camp? After a moment's hesitation, Karen stood up, crossed his arms over his chest, and said earnestly: "Praise the teachings of the great God of Order." Mavaglio was caught between tears and laughter, but with Karen doing this, he could only stand up and return the salute. Immediately after, Mavaglio patted Karen on the shoulder and said, "Although saying this is somewhat sacrilegious, if it's just the two of us talking like this, there's no need for that. Who are you putting on a show for?" *A show, huh... It's fine for you to say that, but improper for me, because no one would ever suspect the loyalty of Lord Marchettini's inheritor.* Mavaglio stretched lazily and smiled. "I don't know why, but chatting with you makes me feel very comfortable. Standing beside you, I can sense an ease." *That's because we have nearly identical plights.* Karen pulled out a cigarette and asked, "Do you smoke?" "I can learn." Mavaglio was delighted, having noticed that Karen had stopped using honorifics. "Don't bother. It's nothing good anyway." Karen put the cigarette back. "I'll just sit with you a while longer. No need to look for topics." "Thank you." ... "He isn't even the High Priest yet, and he's already stretching his hands so far! When he actually sits in the High Priest's seat, will there still be room for us to speak?" "Indeed. Although we all acknowledge that he will be the next High Priest because of his identity, he is still too young, after all. I propose that we make some arrangements regarding certain matters." "I say, why are you worrying about this now? High Priest Rasma is still here. We have ample time to make arrangements so that even if he assumes the High Priest's position, he won't be able to act recklessly." "Yes, arrangements must be made. Some of his proposals and policies make chills run down my spine with how radical they are. It has only been a thousand years since the collapse of Light." "Word has also come from the Temple expressing a desire to suppress him a bit. It seems the Temple is also worried that once he takes that seat, they won't be able to keep him in check." Theisen patted the table with his hand. "The Temple should not meddle in church administration. Since they have entered the Temple, they should devote themselves to serving the God of Order and step forward only when the Holy See requires their strength. "I have always opposed the Temple extending its tentacles into the operations of the Holy See. I will not alter this stance. Therefore, I disagree with allying with the Temple. "A bunch of beings who care for nothing but cultivation realms—how could they have the heart or the know-how to run the church? "That will be all for today's meeting. You may all return. When High Priest Rasma returns, I will report to him." "Yes, My Lord." "Yes, My Lord." The figures around the round table dissolved completely. Theisen stood up, pushed open the balcony doors, and walked out, resting his hands on the railing to get some fresh air. Soon, however, his body stiffened. Turning around, he saw the figure of a middle-aged man standing behind him. "It's you..." Theisen pressed his lips together. A man whose words and deeds were always strict and proper, he opened his mouth now and let out a laugh, actually hopping on the spot. He immediately rushed forward to embrace the man, but stopped just before him, hands raised and lowered in awkward bewilderment. The middle-aged man stepped forward, gently embraced him, and patted his back. With tears and snot running down his face, Theisen said, "What, did you grow too old to look at, so you deliberately changed your appearance to visit me?" "No." "Then you're delighted to see me look this old?" "Yes." "Hahaha!" Theisen burst into hearty laughter. "Only you could come and go from here so easily. The security level here isn't low—though naturally, to you, it's meaningless." "Your position has grown very high." "Wasn't that forced by you? After seeing you, I could only take this path." "You are tired too. Your soul and body are already decaying." "I've reached the age for it, perfectly normal. Of course, perhaps I did age a bit fast, but the burden of church administration is truly unimaginable. It's something we couldn't have fathomed in our youth, you know? "Oh, you don't know, and you can't be bothered to know. Say, can't you turn back into your current appearance? Compared like this, I truly feel decrepit and untidy, as though I'm ready to lie in a coffin at any moment." "Are you going to the First Knight Order?" "Of course." "To think a piece of trash like you is worthy to enter." Theisen flailed his arms in mock outrage. "I'm at least a piece of trash sitting in a very high position; I have that much special treatment! Besides, my realm isn't low either. It's decent. Even if there's no hope of condensing a godhead, I barely made it into the reserves." "What does a high realm count for? You don't know how to fight. Even if someone gave a guy like you a divine artifact, you'd probably just swing it like a fire poker to bash people." "Did you come specifically to see me? Have you been waiting here long? My apologies, I was just holding a meeting. If I'd known you were here, I definitely would have..." "I just arrived." The middle-aged man drew a letter from his robe, and flames erupted from his palm, burning it to ashes. "I didn't plan on waiting for your meeting to finish. I was going to leave a letter and head out directly. I'm a bit busy right now and have to rush to the next place." "Oh, damn it, isn't the friendship from our youth worth waiting a bit longer for?" "Is there a possibility that your friendship doesn't carry that much weight with me?" "Diss!" "Mm." "You're still the same as before, always looking down on everyone." "Mm." "Yet I'm still the same as before, feeling that having you deign to speak words of contempt to me is an honor." Diss let out a sigh. "What a pity Rasma isn't at the Holy See. He went out. If he were here, I would've loved to see the look on his face upon seeing you. Hahaha! In his youth, he shouted many times that he, Rasma, was your lifelong rival, Diss." "I saw him." "You saw him?" "Mm. He's standing right in front of me now." "Right in front of you?" Theisen realized something instantly. "Did he go looking for you?" "Mm." "Did he go pick a fight with you? No wonder he didn't bring his guard unit! How outrageous! A dignified High Priest of the Church of Order sneaking off recklessly to get into a brawl?" "It was fine." "Did you really just come to see me?" "Mm." "And then? We should talk a bit, shouldn't we? Starting from when we first met, when we were in the same squad..." "Save those stories for your own funeral." "Fine, let's talk about the present then. Are you doing well?" "Very well." "Do you have children? At your age, you should have grandchildren, right? Maybe even great-grandchildren?" Theisen added, "I have only one grandson. My grandson is very obedient and very outstanding." Hearing this, Diss spoke up: "I also have a grandson. He is the greatest pride of my life." Sensing the shift in Diss's tone—and most importantly, that he had taken the initiative to expand on the topic rather than just replying with a simple "Mm"—Theisen immediately puffed out his neck and declared: "I may not be able to beat you, but my grandson is definitely more outstanding than yours! Haha, my grandson was chosen by Lord Marchettini to be his inheritor! "How about that? Outstanding, isn't he? Impressive, right?" The middle-aged Diss glanced at Theisen, whose fist was raised and whose face was flushed red, then turned his gaze back toward the night vista ahead: "Heh."