Tit for Tat!

The judge spoke up. "Please present the case now." Alfred rose to his feet. Yet just as he prepared to lay out the case, Chief Bishop Wolflen, seated in the VIP gallery, slowly raised his hand. His status was truly extraordinary. His personal presence here today embodied the collective will of the entire Yorktown Region, commanding immediate attention. Presiding Judge Gaspol turned toward the VIP gallery and asked, "Your Grace, do you have an objection?" Wolflen nodded, stood up, and said, "Reasonably speaking, seated as I am in the gallery, I ought not to speak up. However, I have noticed a rather strange thing. The trial has already begun, yet beside Adjudicator Vicolai—oh, haha, before a verdict and sentence are handed down, I trust the presiding judge will permit me to continue using his official title—I notice that beside Adjudicator Vicolai, there is not a single defense counsel." Gaspol replied, "According to the judicial traditions of the Whip of Order, a suspect standing trial has no right to defense counsel." Wolflen smiled and said, "Every tradition needs to keep pace with the times. Certain traditions may still be preserved in the Dinge Region, but in the Yorktown Region, they have long since fallen away. Everyone requires time to gradually reacquaint themselves with and accept them. Correspondingly, I believe some adjustments are warranted. "For example, assigning a defense counsel to Adjudicator Vicolai. I do not believe this is an unreasonable request." A church was an organization built by fanatical believers to worship and follow a god; within such an organization, disregarding human rights was the most ordinary thing imaginable. The Whip of Order today was far from what it had been at its peak. The gap was readily apparent just from the "traditions" passed down from that era. For instance, the ones who investigated, approved arrests, apprehended suspects, prosecuted, and even the presiding judge sitting on the bench were all from the Whip of Order's own branch—tantamount to combining police, prosecution, and judiciary under one roof. No wonder the local regions and other factions resisted the policy to revive the Whip of Order so fiercely. The moment it raised its head again, every other faction in the church would become food in its jaws. Thus, they had long maintained a tacit collective effort to suppress it. If the Whip of Order had not been personally established and planned by Lord Tyrannus, and if it did not hold an indispensable political standing within the doctrine of the Church of Order, the system would likely have been dismantled long ago, dissolving into the river of history. Of course, representing the Whip of Order himself now, Karen had little incentive to question this "tradition." In fact, what he was doing right now was helping to restore it. Furthermore, Karen was not so naive as to believe he was qualified to arbitrarily tamper with the systems and traditions established by the church's ancient sages. He knew his place. If nothing else, Karen had noticed early on that Vicolai had no defense counsel, but he didn't feel it was genuinely wrong. While many secular nations had developed corresponding systems to ensure so-called "fairness" and safeguard "individual liberty," Karen did not believe those models could be imported directly into a divine church. Secular nations governed ordinary people, whereas a church governed believers... and a significant proportion of those believers were priests. Could such priests be equated with ordinary mortals? Take Qihe: once he fell into corruption, he was capable of monstrous atrocities. And when Mrs. Sidra sought vengeance, her targets were Order priests; had she gone entirely mad and targeted ordinary people instead, what catastrophic consequences would have ensued? Moreover, in the time since coming to Wien from Luojia City, Karen had witnessed firsthand the immense harm caused by fallen priests. In his heart, he felt that such scumbags required precisely this kind of brute-force system to be purged. So what if the scales were tilted? Even if the imbalance was glaringly obvious to the naked eye, what of it? If this were the peak era of the Whip of Order, someone like Vicolai would likely have been sentenced on the spot once the procedures concluded, then executed that very night. What did it matter if he was the grandson of a bishop? The God of Order had already set the precedent by executing His own daughter with His own hands. At this thought, Karen could not help but lower his gaze to the copy of the *Code of Order* lying before him. *The God of Order delivered Ankara into the jaws of the vicious beast; her death ignited the Light of Order.* In the past, Karen had believed he understood this passage from the mythological chronicles of Order. But sitting here now, facing the current scene, Karen discovered that his understanding of those words had deepened by another layer. Karen could not resist reaching out, resting his hand on the *Code of Order*, stroking its matte, textured cover. As the dialogue between Chief Bishop Wolflen and Presiding Judge Gaspol continued in his ears, Karen's state of mind underwent a subtle shift. He suddenly felt that his past perception of the God of Order had been far too shallow. He had used a nearly pure and naive imagination to sculpt the "God" in his heart. That "God" was just like the "sky, earth, and straw dogs" Alfred often pondered. Therefore, whenever the reality failed to match that ideal, he would begin criticizing the God of Order. Yet what if the God of Order were viewed as an existence that climbed step by step to the supreme pinnacle? What if one compared the God of Order to himself, to Vic beside him, to Alfred, or even to Purr and Kevin at home? He had been a "mortal" who possessed his own journey of growth. The flawless God of Order had not simply materialized out of thin air following a thunderous crack in the heavens. Looked at this way, many of the God of Order's actions were deliberately cutting away the dilemmas stemming from the fact that He had been a mortal who became a god. For instance, when He punished Ankara, was it not because He recognized that purging internal corruption would inevitably bring about scenes just like the one playing out today? When even the supreme God had conducted Himself in such a manner, what face—no, what right—did Vicolai's grandfather, the Chief Bishop, and the rest of them have to stand here? Even the God of Order's handling of the God-Burial Grounds seemed like a deliberate severing of ties with the God of Light. The God of Light had once struck an agreement with the God-Burial Grounds, and though opinions varied regarding how things ended between the two deities, it was universally acknowledged that the two chief gods had shared an extensive honeymoon period. Thus, the God of Order, too, was constantly identifying problems and solving them. Karen suddenly felt an urge to light a cigarette, but unfortunately, smoking in such a setting was completely inappropriate. The presiding judge would likely deem it contempt of court; at best he would receive a lashing, and at worst he would be thrown out entirely. One thing was certain, however: as Wolflen and Gaspol spoke, the minds of everyone present were turning, but Karen's thoughts had undoubtedly drifted the farthest. No one would have guessed that at this moment, the young man seated on one side of the tribunal was pondering an entirely new interpretation of the church's sacred scriptures. Vic certainly hadn't guessed it. As for Alfred, he hadn't realized it either until he instinctively glanced at the young master beside him. The moment his eyes landed on Karen, he immediately sensed something was amiss—an intuitive resonance of demeanor. After all, in this world, the person who resonated most easily with Karen's thoughts and philosophy was Alfred. Alfred quietly produced his small notebook, uncapped his fountain pen, and, pretending to prepare his notes, wrote: *At this moment, the young master's gaze suddenly grew deep. Is the young master contemplating something?* *I suspect the young master is pondering how to resolve the current situation, and in what manner Order may be returned to Order. For if even the interior of Order cannot be set right, letting the Light of Order illuminate the world forever will always remain nothing more than wishful thinking—a torch that burns until it reaches the end, only to burn out entirely.* *Perhaps my conjecture is mistaken, but I believe that once this series of events concludes and the young master returns home, I will be able to peruse the young master's diary. There, the young master will have left the answer for me.* "Does Your Grace have a candidate for defense counsel in mind?" Presiding Judge Gaspol asked. "Indeed, there is a very suitable candidate. Moreover, he is thoroughly familiar with the case, and his professional qualifications are beyond reproach." Gaspol said, "This requires a formal written application." "Heh." Wolflen drew an application letter from the sleeve of his clerical robe and handed it to the clerk in front of him. "The written application is already prepared. My apologies; I had intended to submit it to the presiding judge as soon as we were seated, but... you opened court a bit too quickly." Gaspol received the application from the clerk, opened it, and glanced through it. Alfred's eyes narrowed slightly. He caught the minute contraction in the presiding judge's pupils, which meant the defense counsel recommended by the region was someone she found extremely troublesome. Alfred promptly snapped his notebook shut, leaned slightly toward his young master, and whispered, "Young Master, it looks like trouble is brewing." Karen said nonchalantly, "Isn't that what we anticipated all along? It would be stranger if nothing went wrong." With three regional bishops seated in the VIP gallery, how could they possibly have come merely to observe? Just then, the doors to the tribunal swung open. Normally, people coming and going at this point would not be unusual—arriving late, stepping out on business, or visiting the restroom were all trivial matters. Though the tribunal was solemn, it did not restrict physical freedom. Yet the moment this person stepped inside, every eye in the room was instantly drawn to him, for he wore the clerical robes of a bishop. A fourth regional bishop had arrived! When Karen saw this bishop, his previously calm expression finally tightened. It was Bishop Bourne. His son, Derius, was the Divine Son of the Church of Pamires. Karen had interacted with this bishop during that security assignment, and had crossed paths with him once more during the security detail for the Divine Son of the Moon God Church. This bishop's background was profoundly mysterious. Though he ranked at the bottom of the Yorktown Region's bishop hierarchy, the resources and secrets he commanded were by no means as simple as they appeared on the surface. In truth, he was far better suited to be the director of the regional Whip of Order than Harry had been. In other words, the resurgence of the regional Whip of Order would directly peel away his authority, as the Whip of Order also possessed shadow attributes that overlapped heavily with the power under his command. Bishop Bourne walked down step by step and came to a halt by the low railing, waiting for the presiding judge's permission to enter. Karen immediately whispered, "Alfred, reorganize the case presentation. Vic, review the chain of evidence. Remember, this man has eyes as sharp and vicious as a hawk. Figure out what won't hold up under scrutiny, what has been overstated, and what can be omitted. Make quick decisions and modify them." "Yes, Young Master." "Yes, Captain." Alfred and Vic immediately began turning the documents in their hands, making swift revisions. Seeming to hear the rustle of turning pages, Bishop Bourne turned his gaze toward them. Karen gave Bishop Bourne a polite nod of greeting. The corner of Bishop Bourne's mouth curved into a faint smile. An opponent like this exerted immense pressure even before a single blow was struck. For a moment, as Karen looked back toward Bishop Dolph in the VIP gallery—and Bishop Dolph, sensing his gaze, responded once more with a sinister sneer... Karen suddenly felt Bishop Dolph was almost endearing. Gaspol spoke: "This court permits the addition of defense counsel for the suspect. However, verifying the counsel's credentials and modifying the subsequent procedures will require time. The court is hereby adjourned for one hour. *Crack!*" The whip cracked loudly once more, declaring the recess. Gaspol rose, and the judges beneath her rose as well, following her out. Standing inside the iron cage, Vicolai rested his forehead against the bars, an uncontrollable smirk curling the corners of his mouth. He was thrilled and wanted to laugh out loud, though he retained enough sense not to indulge himself openly here. Bishop Dolph finally withdrew the murderous glare that had already killed Karen a thousand times over, turning to converse with Wolflen and the other bishop beside him. Chief Bishop Wolflen ignored him. The other bishop answered, though his smile appeared somewhat strained. Adjourning right after opening court sent the reporters into a flurry. They rapidly penned press drafts before hurrying outside to hand them off to their assistants, who would transmit the news through the fastest channels available. The heads of the missionary institutes and regional liaison offices seated in the gallery moved at the same time, entering and exiting just like the reporters. There existed a near-universal tacit understanding that missionary institutes, liaison offices, and higher-tier divine embassies all doubled as intelligence and espionage operations; at times, the latter felt more like their primary duty. Yet right at that moment, another figure walked in. He did not wear bishop's robes, yet he instantly commanded the entire hall's attention. Following behind him was a contingent of priests clad in black clerical robes adorned with three-dimensional geometric emblems on their chests, carrying various apparatuses. To those familiar with the internal divisions of the Church of Order, they were clearly priests from a formation division; to those who didn't know, it looked almost as if they were staging a courtroom raid. "Tsk..." Karen clicked his tongue. He leaned back against his chair while turning his gaze toward the entrance. Richard, seated in the gallery, bolted to his feet and cried out in disbelief, "Grandpa!" Indeed, the man leading the group inside was none other than Delong Guman. The old man heard his grandson's voice and turned his head to look over. Richard waved his hand excitedly. "Grandpa!" Richard had never blamed his grandfather for taking him to apologize that day, because he understood why his grandfather had done it. In truth, Madame Tangli, Kaixi, and Memphis all understood Delong's actions. Even Karen understood, and harbored no excessive resentment over Delong's behavior in the Chief Bishop's office that day. It was merely that Karen had a "grandfather" who had shone far too brilliantly before him, though he also knew that very few people in this world could ever have a grandfather like Diss. Old Master Delong naturally spotted his grandson, but he quickly noticed a girl sitting on the far edge beside him. He turned slightly, and Richard continued waving at him—looking remarkably like an excited child in kindergarten catching sight of a parent arriving to pick him up after school. Old Master Delong had no choice but to take a deliberate step forward and to the side, finally clearing his line of sight past his foolish grandson. *Mm, quite a pretty young lady.* Philomena had visited the Guman residence before, but Delong hadn't been home that day, so this was his first time seeing her. Sensing Delong's gaze, Philomena showed a trace of distaste and closed her eyes. Old Master Delong chuckled. That proud, delicate little chin, that dismissive expression—it was the spitting image of his wife back in her youth. *Wait, that's not right?* Old Master Delong shifted his gaze back toward his silly grandson. If she resembled Tangli back then, didn't that make Richard... *Heavens, was I really that stupid back in the day?* Giving Richard a perfunctory nod, Delong waved his hand. The dozens of formation masters he had brought split into multiple groups, assembling and tuning their apparatuses to lay out a formation. The three massive, rotating mirrors in particular indicated a communication formation—no, a live broadcast projection array. Bishop Dolph rose from the VIP gallery, pointed a finger at Delong, and demanded, "Delong, what do you think you're doing?!" Delong looked at Dolph, offered a bow first, and replied, "Reporting to Your Grace, we are setting up a broadcast array here. Shortly, any location across every region of our church equipped with a receiving array will be able to receive and view the proceedings of this trial, should they wish." This was the exact method High Priest Norton had used when declaring war against Samsara. "Are you out of your mind?! What kind of nonsense are you pulling?!" Dolph cursed. Delong did not flinch, producing an application document instead. "Two days ago, Whip of Order headquarters submitted an assistance request to my department. Full cooperation between the various branches and departments of our church is an established tradition, and the paperwork is entirely in order." Dolph snapped furiously, "Take your people and get out of here right now, do you hear me?!" Although Dolph had great confidence in Bishop Bourne's abilities, he knew full well that the prosecution had assembled rock-solid evidence. Moreover, he knew his grandson was genuinely guilty, making external pressure an essential tool for this trial—why else would he be sitting here today? Once a live broadcast was initiated, everything would be thrust into the spotlight. The pressure he and the two bishops beside him could exert on behalf of the region would be drastically diminished. Furthermore, his grandson was currently a "suspect." Even if everything went smoothly and they avoided the harshest penalties, concluding with a relatively dignified disciplinary measure, such widespread exposure would completely eliminate any possibility of his grandson staging a comeback in the future! Delong responded with utter composure, "Bishop Dolph, you do not oversee my department. My apologies, but I cannot take orders directly from you." "Chief Bishop, look at this!" Dolph turned toward Wolflen, hoping he would intervene. Wolflen said, "My intervention would be useless. Do you think the subordinates he brought don't know what's happening here today? Of course they do, yet they still followed him. "They are openly here for payback. Who told you to relentlessly hound his grandson the other day? "My words won't work either. He won't listen, and his men answer only to him. It's fine if you lose face; I won't stand up and embarrass myself alongside you. After all, there are plenty of reporters down there pointing cameras at us." "Chief Bishop, you..." Delong looked up, checked the time, and urged his subordinates, "Hurry it up, everyone. Don't delay the resumption of court." The formation masters called out in acknowledgment and hastened their pace. There had been good reason for Madame Tangli to urge her husband to mobilize his subordinates, students, and peers to pressure the Chief Bishop to quell the matter back then. Throughout his life of diligent service, Old Master Delong had earned the loyalty of many subordinates and mentored numerous outstanding students. When Richard had asked Karen whether he wanted their family's generalized Rubik's Cube technique, it had been a version pruned by Old Master Delong so that those without Guman blood could learn and use it. To share even an ancestral heritage technique in such a manner spoke volumes about the old man's character. An honest, mild-tempered man was often slow to change. But what had happened to his grandson right before his eyes that day had cut deeply into the old man. At his age, seeing his own flesh and blood subjected to such treatment was enough to breach even the sturdiest dam. Coupled with his wife's comforting counsel upon returning home, the old man had finally thought it through, seen things clearly, and let go of his hesitations. Sometimes you play by the rules, but the other side refuses to honor them. Sometimes you show consideration, but they sneer at your goodwill. Sometimes you try to take a step back, only to be met with relentless encroachment. Even an honest man had a temper! *** Dinge Region; The Holy See; The Grand Hall. High Priest Norton sat behind a massive desk. From every direction, attendants carrying documents approached along paths of light, while he processed them at rapid speed. Nearby, in an unnoticed corner of the hall, High Priest Norton sat on a sofa, a book resting on his lap. Foden, Whip-Wielder of the Whip of Order, was using a cutter to clip a cigar for the High Priest. Turning to the final page of the book, the High Priest sighed. "This author's monthly output is getting smaller and smaller." Foden picked up a fire spirit stone, lighting the cigar as he remarked, "It's likely because Lord Kred has been busy lately with the ceasefire between Samsara and the Moon God Church, leaving him no spare energy to attend to this matter." Earlier, the High Priest had issued a decree dispatching a Cardinal of the Church of Order who oversaw matters of war to keep tabs on a web novel author. The High Priest shook his head. "That isn't the reason. It seems we've been giving him too much money. Follow up on it—cut his monthly pay in half and let him feel some hunger." "Yes, High Priest. I'll make a note of it." Handing the lit cigar to the High Priest, Foden produced a bead and suspended it above the coffee table. The bead projected an image depicting the scene inside the tribunal. Seeing this, the High Priest chuckled. "I was wondering why you came running to my office today despite being so busy lately. So you had an ulterior motive, haha." Foden replied candidly, "Sigh, there's no helping it. The young wolves down below have put their hearts into their work and kicked up quite a stir. As the one holding the whip, I have to lend a hand." "The business in Yorktown?" High Priest Norton gently pressed the space between his brows. "A report just came in. A head of the Law Enforcement Department died; the circumstances are quite bizarre." "That deceased law enforcement head had ties to the Yorktown Regional Administrative Office—he was their man. Over the years, the middle and lower tiers of the Whip of Order have been neglected for far too long. Rebuilding them is proving more difficult and complex than anticipated." "You've worked hard." "Not at all, truly. Please don't say that, Your Holiness." "If you ever feel tired and can't shoulder the burden anymore, tell me. I can always find another Whip-Wielder to suffer in your place." "Tasks that are too simple lack challenge, don't they? Those were words you once said to me, and I've kept them close to heart." "Very well. Then let me share a few more thoughts regarding the current situation." Foden picked up a water glass from the coffee table and poured water into his palm. "What are you doing?" "To hear Your Holiness's guidance more clearly, I'm washing my ears first."