Retaliation!

Vicolai, who had been strutting with insolence until now, finally wilted the moment Karen uttered those words. When his family's "glory" could no longer provide him with enough shelter and security, it forced his underdeveloped cerebellum to contemplate realities far beyond its grasp. "Whether you cooperate or not, we will follow the procedure to the very end. You can keep hoping your family will fish you out, but I must tell you—their chances of success are slim to none." This time, the senior leadership of the Whip of Order was certain to withstand the pressure. After all, the suspect had been brought in strictly by the book; letting him walk away unscathed now would be slapping the entire Whip of Order across the face. "Even if there is a one-in-ten-thousand chance, and tomorrow I receive orders from above demanding your release..." Karen paused. Looking at Vicolai, he smiled faintly. "Before setting you free, I will deliver my own punishment. After all, I have no family to worry about." In truth, I do have a family, but I genuinely harbor no fear of them facing retaliation. Karen rose to his feet, adjusting his cuffs as he continued, "In short, you will not leave this place alive. Enjoy whatever time you have left. When you finally depart, even if I grant you the courtesy of an intact corpse, not a shred of spiritual power will remain within it. I will not give you so much as the chance to be awakened for one final glimpse of your kin." "You... you... how can you do this..." Karen's earlier display of casually discarding three breakthroughs, coupled with that judicial verdict—no, that curse—had utterly shattered Vicolai's psychological defenses. In this suffocating atmosphere, Vicolai finally understood: Karen wasn't threatening him; he was simply stating a fact. Vicolai's body began to tremble. Every ounce of his courage and arrogance had rested upon the premise that he would eventually walk free. Stripped of that foundation, nothing remained of him but pathetic disgrace. "You can't do this... you can't... You have to follow the regulations! You have to respect the process! Have you forgotten who you are? You represent the Whip of Order! You cannot desecrate it!" When you reasoned with him, he played the thug; when you played the thug with him, he started screaming for reason. Ultimately, people of his sort were nothing more than cowardly bullies who delighted in coating themselves in a layer of breadcrumbs. When dealing with them, mercilessly deep-frying them was always the finest choice—it made them so wonderfully crisp. "Allowing someone like you to swagger out of this building would be the greatest desecration of the Order in my heart." With that, Karen turned and walked out of the interrogation room. Compared to Vicolai's earlier domineering mockery, sarcasm, and taunts, Karen had remained serene from start to finish, offering nothing more than a warm blessing that "his entire family drop dead." To Karen, bickering and debating with someone like that was utterly pointless. Seeing this, Alfred pointed to his own seat, gesturing for Vic to take over the interrogation procedure, while he stood up and followed his young master out. "Young Master." In the hallway, Alfred gathered his courage and called out. Karen paused, turned around, and looked at him. "What is it?" "Young Master, this subordinate... has a few words he wishes to say to you." Karen smiled. "All right. Come into my office." Inside the office, Fannie and Peige were working. "Fannie, Peige, please step out for a moment. Alfred and I have something to discuss." "Yes, Captain." "Yes, Captain." The two women promptly gathered their documents to find another place to work. As they brushed past Karen, both sighed inwardly in unison. Fannie recalled the days when they had shared a room for a security mission. Back then, she had deliberately lounged on the sofa in a sheer, provocative nightgown painting her nails, taking delight in teasing this handsome young newcomer. Now, she could address him only by his rank. Peige, meanwhile, lamented that such a golden opportunity had once been handed to her on a silver platter. Back then, she really should have just pinned him down and taken him. Who gave a damn about taking responsibility? Getting some action was all that mattered. Besides, if she had ridden him back then, her mood would brighten every single time she saw him now. No matter how imposing he became or how high he climbed, at the end of the day, he would still be a man she had once ridden. Ah... why hadn't she steeled her resolve back then? What was the point of holding back out of pity! Alfred shut the office door, turned around, and poured a glass of ice water for his young master. Karen took a sip. "A matter of work?" "No." "A personal matter?" "Neither, Young Master." Karen set down his glass, adjusted his posture, and said with a touch of gravity, "Speak, then." Alfred did not sit. Standing across from Karen, he said, "This subordinate has always held the Young Master's will as his highest guiding principle." "Yes, I know that." "However, on Fire Island, this subordinate saw the Young Master sitting by the bedside, looking so... dejected." "I made a fool of myself in front of you." "No, not at all. In this subordinate's eyes, the Young Master will always be the most exceptional, most unique person. This subordinate firmly believes that the Young Master cannot make a mistake." "Anyone can make mistakes, Alfred. Even gods make mistakes—whether it is the 'god' spoken of by ordinary mortals, or the 'Sky and Earth' in the understanding shared by you and me. Because in this world, absolute, eternal correctness does not exist." "The Young Master has just reflected upon this and must have arrived at a new realization." "Yes, indeed." "Then the day the Nadon family falls shall be the day the Young Master advances to Adjudicator." "Barring any unforeseen accidents, that should be the case." "What this subordinate means is... if, in this subordinate's judgment, the Young Master were to... were to..." "Alfred, are you asking what you should do if, in your eyes, I am in the wrong?" "This subordinate wouldn't dare... No... yet..." "Then you should remind me." "Pardon?" "I will certainly make mistakes, and I will certainly become radical. That is inevitable. "On the path ahead, never mind that I am not yet an Adjudicator—even when I become one, there is still a very long road to travel before reaching that exalted divine hall, before reaching a point where, even if Diss awakens, neither the hall nor the church dare lift a finger, before reaching a point where Diss does not need to rely on the crudest, most brutal means to threaten them, before reaching a point where we can be assured of returning to Mink Street and living as carefree and free as before. "You know, I recently realized something. In my heart, I always wanted to walk a path entirely different from the God of Order's. But assuming that I must avoid anything he walked, that there cannot be the slightest overlap—that, too, is a choice devoid of dialectical thought. It is merely trading one extreme for another. "Furthermore, what I always had in mind was fixing a correct objective, seeking an absolutely correct path, and keeping myself walking upon it forever. "The trouble is, every time I advance a certain distance, the road ahead and the surrounding terrain shift. What was once correct may no longer be so. On that premise, the absolutely correct path I initially envisioned turns out to be nothing more than my own naive daydream. "What I know now is that I lacked the courage to confront things directly. So in this phase, my main task is to resolve that issue. When I deem something right, and when I have uncovered the truth, what posture should I adopt to face and handle it so that I do not betray the Order in my heart? "As for the next phase, when circumstances and events shift and I once again find myself following yesterday's right path into today's wrong one, I will need you, Alfred, to tell me. Tell me that I have strayed—just as Lord Theisen did on Fire Island." "Young Master..." "Alfred, we truly began as master and servant. During the period when Diss chose you to accompany me to Wien, that was indeed what we were. After all, you were an opponent acknowledged by Diss as a worthy match for himself." "Hehehe." Alfred chuckled, unable to hold it in, nor wishing to. Then he suddenly remembered Richard, whom he had passed in the corridor earlier, solemnly recounting the tale of his 'worthy match' for the third time. So it turned out that he, too, was a Richard. "Yet that lasted only a brief while. Later on, we embarked upon a path forged by a shared ambition. I still remember clearly that inside the Gate of Samsara, within the mental villa bounded by Rielsa, it was thanks to you that I managed to regain my senses. So discard your reservations. I shall summon the courage to march forward, without fear of losing my way, because I know that behind me, there will always be you, Alfred." "I understand, Young Master." Alfred placed a hand over his chest. "To stand behind you is the greatest honor of my life." Karen spread his hands and added, "And an even greater responsibility." "Yes, a responsibility. Protecting you is my duty." "Actually, Mavaglio once told me something—a fragment from the memories of Lord Marchettini. It was never recorded in the church scriptures. When you return, find time to talk with Kevin and corroborate it. Tyrannus, one of the Four Retainers, once told Marchettini, one of the Twelve Knights of Order, of a conversation he had with the God of Order. He suggested that the God of Order establish the Church of Order, believing that possessing a church and believers would make the great God of Order even more powerful. The God of Order replied: 'A church is also a restraint upon a god.'" *** It was time to distribute the boxed meals. Old Coya, deputy head of the Security Section, wheeled a cart over and hollered, "Come on, come on! Pick your own, mix and match, take whatever you feel like eating!" Ashley and the others immediately walked over to choose their preferred meals. Philomena sat where she was, waiting for the cart to arrive. But she noticed that Old Coya seemed to be pushing it slowly so people could help themselves, rather than handing them out individually. That meant when he reached her, she would still have to stand up, make a selection, and listen to him ask what dishes she liked... Why couldn't everyone just sit or stand still while you pushed the cart around, placing a box into everyone's hands one by one? You wouldn't even have to speak—you could keep your mouth shut the entire time and hand them out coldly. How nice that would be. Richard stood up and jogged over. "Hey, is our department's food really this bad?" "Our department has a cafeteria, but the stoves went out years ago. These were ordered from outside restaurants on short notice. Just make do for now." "Tsk, tsk. What's this, curry rice? The curry smell is overwhelming. And this fried fish steak is clearly overdone." "You brat! I worked hard leading people to buy and deliver this food, and here you are nitpicking. Next time, go get it yourself!" "Fine, I'll go if I have to. If I have free time, I'll drive the hearse to fetch meals for everyone. Oh, wait, I can just drive the hearse to haul the chefs and ingredients over to cook on the spot." Richard took three boxes. "You brat, can you even finish that much?" "What's it to you? Are there not enough portions?" "There are plenty. You could eat ten for all I care, as long as you don't burst your gut." "Heh, that's fine then." Carrying the three meal boxes, Richard walked over and sat down beside Philomena, opening all three. "I don't like this chicken drumstick, too greasy. The bacon in this egg burger is pathetic—Old Coya must have skimmed off the top. And the side dishes for this curry rice are terrible, hardly any beef brisket. Whatever, I don't feel like picking my teeth." Richard sorted through them, consolidating the three boxes into two. He picked up the portion that held the equivalent of two meals and handed it to Philomena. "I've picked out what I like. You can make do with the rest. You're not picky about food anyway." "Mm." Philomena took the box, picked up her spoon, and began to eat. Richard took his own portion and sat opposite her. In truth, even Karen hadn't noticed that every time they shared a meal, Philomena never ate her fill, simply because her appetite was enormous. Formidable physical strength required more food to replenish. For melee practitioners, build didn't matter—the stronger they were, the more they ate. And the better their figure, the more they consumed, because their bodies absorbed nutrients faster and more efficiently! While eating, Richard didn't need to tell his story a fourth time. With his gaze focused on his meal, he could ignore the people walking past and concentrate on scooping up food with his spoon. *** "Director, we've arrived." "Mm." Delong stepped out of the car, looking at the gate of his courtyard. For a moment, he hesitated. He felt apprehensive about going inside, for his intuition told him that his wife had likely gone to the Church Affairs Building in person today. After he had refused her demand to rally his department and colleagues to stage a demonstration and force the Archbishop to intervene, his wife's reaction had been unusually calm. She was not a woman of calm temperament. Even though she had been gentle and virtuous for most of the past few decades, he knew she was anything but. Otherwise, neither he, nor the children, nor their daughters-in-law would fear her so deeply. So she must have gone—for the sake of their grandson. Ordinarily, with Karen arresting Vicolai and turning the entire affair into a contest between the Whip of Order and the Regional Administration Office, the problem was being handled in the best possible way for Richard. Yet Delong still could not bring himself to be happy. Because as a grandfather, he had played no role in the matter whatsoever. Feeling troubled, he began pacing in circles near the flowerbed, where he spotted a familiar figure sitting below, back turned to him, smoking one cigarette after another. It was Dake, the husband of his youngest daughter. Dake sat there looking anxious and helpless, whiling away the time. Whenever he was about to enter his wife's family home, he invariably lingered outside first—a habit unchanged since the day he got married. Delong had never thought highly of this son-in-law, always finding him lacking in wit and foresight, forever timid and shrinking in his presence. Yet for some reason... perhaps because both father-in-law and son-in-law were too intimidated to enter the house today, Delong suddenly found him far more agreeable. Ah, what a man dreads most is facing someone who looks down on him; what torments him most is having to pretend she doesn't. Unfortunately, Dake occupied the space by the flowerbed. Delong had hoped to sit there to reflect on life and compose his thoughts, but with the spot taken, he could hardly go down and sit shoulder-to-shoulder with him. What would they talk about? Any topic would be awkward; silence would be even more so. Taking a deep breath, Delong walked into the courtyard, produced his key, and unlocked the front door. Passing through the foyer, he entered the living room. It was empty. Has she not returned yet...? No, she had. There was noise coming from the dining room. Delong instinctively wanted to retreat directly to his bedroom, only to realize that his bedroom was also his wife's bedroom. In that moment, he found himself envying his son. Ever since succumbing to that illness, his son could slam his bedroom door shut without any pressure the moment he walked into the house, completely disregarding everyone else. There was no dodging it. Delong walked toward the dining room. As soon as he stepped inside, he saw his wife... Madame Tangli sitting by the dining table. The air in the room thickened into a standstill under the weight of their presence. After a moment's hesitation, Delong did not approach his wife. Instead, he pulled out a chair and sat down on the opposite side of the table. The moment he sat, regret struck him—he should have remained standing. So he stood up again. His wife sat quietly the entire time, her head slightly bowed. Delong swallowed, his mouth parched. His eyes darted about, never daring to focus on the woman who had shared his bed for decades. With every passing second, the silence grew heavier, threatening to drive him mad. Finally, gathering his courage, Delong spoke: "I was wrong." Madame Tangli did not ask what he was wrong about, nor did she seize upon the topic in the usual manner of bickering couples, where one party admits fault and the other launches a relentless pursuit to reclaim lost ground and mop up the battlefield. She merely asked softly, "Do you believe that all these years, I have looked down on you?" "N-no, I've never thought that, truly." Delong's lips quivered before he repeated, "The moment I walked through the door, I knew I was wrong. If something had happened to Richard today, I wouldn't have known how to face you. I would have regretted it forever." Madame Tangli lifted her head, looking at her husband. "From the first time you confessed your feelings to me, I told you clearly that I looked down on you." "Y-yes... I remember." "Later, you gave me a promise. You said that as long as Delong lived, you would never let me suffer a single grievance." "Yes, I promised that." Madame Tangli spoke again. "He was stronger than you." Delong knew full well who "he" was. "Yes, he was much, much stronger than me." In those years, anyone who had spent time around him knew it beyond doubt. He was a blazing sun standing amid the crowd. "I admired him greatly." "Yes, I know. You told me that back then." "Yet admiration is not love. "Because I knew he would never wade into a muddy riverbank in his divine robes just to catch loaches for me simply because I mentioned craving a rustic barbecue; "nor would he track the days before my monthly cycle and set up a warming array outside my tent to ward off the cold; "he would not remember my birthday, nor would he remember my favorite colors. "I admired him only because I couldn't help it—who told him to stand right there, in plain sight? "Choosing you was never a consolation prize after failing to have him. You were never his substitute, not ever. Because from the very start, I knew that from him, I could never receive the love I desired. "In my heart, he was a cold, exquisite statue. But you—you had flesh, blood, and warmth that I could touch." "I... I know." Delong licked his lips. "I knew you didn't fancy him, nor did you love him. Otherwise, I would never have had the courage to pursue you." "Delong." "Yes?" "I, Tangli, would never bear three children for a man I looked down upon." With that, Madame Tangli rose to her feet and left the dining room. Delong remained seated, feeling as though bucket after bucket of icy water were being poured over him. He admitted his fault, for he had already thought the worst of Dolph, only to discover he had still thought too well of him. He had assumed the Archbishop would help smooth things over, but the Archbishop's true attitude was utter indifference. Over and over, he questioned himself deep down whether his forbearance and deference to the bigger picture were truly right... after all, his grandson Richard had done nothing wrong. In retrospect, this affair had been orchestrated by Karen and Richard from the start. But in the process, had his own reaction as a grandfather been calculated into their plans as well? His son, his grandson, his wife... it seemed they all knew precisely how he would act as a father, a grandfather, and a husband. Delong suddenly realized that in the eyes of his family, he had long been reduced to a fixed image—a mechanical cog turning strictly within established rules. His family had never held high expectations of him. Taking a deep breath, Delong felt his eyes grow moist. He couldn't understand himself. Why hadn't his grandson done anything wrong? Richard had clearly done the right thing, and Karen and the others had confirmed that both witnesses and physical evidence were secured. Yet he still hadn't stepped forward to protect his grandson. He lowered his head, staring blankly at his trembling hands. In truth, he would have preferred coming home to his wife's scolding, ridicule, and scorn. Instead, she had comforted him. Because she knew him all too well. She knew that after facing such an ordeal, he would involuntarily compare himself to *him*. He remembered that scene from long ago: a friend of his wife's group had been betrayed and killed by a companion during a mission. They investigated and sought vengeance, capturing the mastermind behind it all. The man screamed that his ancestors rested in the divine hall. In response, *he* merely recited a passage from the *Code of Order*, and the moment the recitation ended, ran the man through with a single thrust of his sword. Just then, a bowl of soup was placed before Delong, radiating an enticing aroma. "Drink it while it's hot. It was bought with your allowance card—it's quite expensive tonic." "All right." Old Delong picked up the bowl and drank mouthful after mouthful. The soup had been resting for a while; it was no longer scalding, just right for drinking. She had been sitting there earlier simply waiting for it to cool. Madame Tangli reached the doorway of the dining room, paused, and asked, "If Karen hadn't stepped in to save the day, and something had happened to Richard, and I told you I wanted revenge on the Nadon family... would you help me?" *Gulp, gulp, gulp...* Delong did not answer. Only the sound of hearty gulps echoed from behind her. Madame Tangli waited a moment. Receiving no reply, she began to walk out of the dining room when the clatter of the soup bowl returning to the table sounded behind her, followed by her husband's voice: "No." Madame Tangli nodded. "All right, I understand." Old Delong gazed at his wife's retreating back and said, "It would be you helping me."