To Hell with Love!

Alfred pulled up a chair and sat down in front of a prepared easel. He picked up his palette and began mixing colors. Ventura stood off to the side, watching as Alfred, having mixed the paint, began brushing broad strokes of black across the background. "Mr. Alfred, can you see clearly?" It was the dead of night, so all Ventura could make out in the distance was the faint, blurry silhouette of the Captain. "I possess the Succubus Eye." "Oh, right, I almost forgot. Your eyes are incredible." "That is secondary, however. The primary reason is that the Young Master's silhouette has always resided in my heart, vivid and crystal clear." "So that's how it is. Huh, wait, sir, the Captain hasn't even taken off yet. Why have you already painted him up in the sky?" "Artistic creation inherently requires a touch of imagination." "Oh." Ventura scratched his head, half-understanding. Just then, Muri walked over. At that precise moment, the wings on either side of Karen's back flapped, and he surged into the air. Muri murmured in admiration, "*Whoa*, what speed." Alfred continued moving his brush, remarking casually, "That is only natural. Thousand Phantoms already possessed the physical ability to carry the Young Master in flight. With the power of those steel plates attached, the speed can only be greater." Muri nodded in agreement. "It is far faster than the Black Mist Stealth technique. Furthermore, while submerged in the black mist state, spellcasting and physical movements are both restricted. Now, the Captain doesn't have to worry about any of that." In midair, Karen accelerated parallel to the ground before halting abruptly. With almost no inertia, he hovered steadily in the sky. "Can the Captain's body handle that?" Ventura asked out of curiosity. Alfred shook his head. "It shouldn't be an issue. Thousand Phantoms possesses an extraordinarily high degree of power control; that is its innate gift as a soul entity. When the Young Master channeled the chains of Order into it, it was equivalent to providing another tremendous boost. Those wings are no simple assembly of steel plates—they are practically flesh and blood now, and exceedingly robust. "And one more thing: the Young Master's physical constitution improved drastically after absorbing God's Bone. The harvest from Sacrifice Island truly proved vital." At that point, Alfred added with deep emotion: "The body, after all, is the capital to transform the fate of heaven and earth." Hearing this, Muri frowned slightly. Though he understood every individual word, why did the phrase sound so profoundly cryptic? Yet he was too embarrassed to ask. During their study sessions, Alfred frequently explained new "terms" to them, as though teaching another language entirely. Muri had certainly paid attention in class, but this particular language was just too difficult, making learning an agonizing ordeal. He held his tongue mainly out of fear that Alfred had already explained the term and he had simply forgotten it. Ventura, unburdened by concerns of dignity or image, asked directly, "Mr. Alfred, what does that sentence mean?" "Oh, that is something the Young Master once muttered at the dining table when he had dinner very late. "The general gist is that one's body is vital. Only by cherishing our health can we accomplish great things. "As for 'transforming the fate of heaven and earth'... in my understanding, 'heaven and earth' here could probably be combined, or perhaps this entire sentence could even be condensed into a single word, just like that saying about heaven and earth and dogs made of straw. "However, I haven't quite figured out how to coin and define this word yet. Once I've sorted it out, I will share it with you." "This language is so hard..." Ventura said, his face twisting with bitterness. "It isn't that difficult if you are merely learning a bit of spoken phrasing." Alfred didn't consider himself particularly gifted in languages, even though his talent in that regard had once shocked Karen himself. With a casual sweep of his brush off the edge of the easel, Alfred continued, "From the Young Master's early notebooks and the slips of paper and cards he used to pass me, I gradually discovered that within the written characters of this language lies an art—a deeply beautiful art. "The deliberate pause and release at the start and end of every horizontal stroke... I find it simply exquisite." Muri and Ventura exchanged a glance, both reading pure despair in each other's eyes. In truth, merely spreading doctrine and ideology would have been relatively straightforward. Yet Alfred insisted on adding "cultural studies," believing that only by understanding the culture could one truly grasp the unique philosophy the Young Master wished to convey. Before long, Karen's image was complete on Alfred's canvas. Beneath the dark night, the moon had been shifted from the side to rest directly behind the Young Master, serving as a radiant backdrop in the darkness. The Young Master himself spread three pairs of black wings, every tip curving in a flawless arc, striking a delicate balance between elegance and an imposing, oppressive aura. A six-winged fallen angel. "*Phew*..." Alfred meticulously touched up the edges and corners with immense satisfaction. "Whoa, it looks amazing!" Ventura praised. "Mr. Alfred, could you give this painting to me?" "I cannot. I record all of the Young Master's words and deeds in writing and imagery. These are archival materials meant to be compiled into grand works in the future." "Then could you find time to paint one for me later? I'd really love a painting this... this handsome too." Hearing the request, Alfred beamed. "Of course, no problem at all. Leave all future portraiture of you boys to me." After all, Alfred had long since appointed himself the Chief Mural Designer. Ahead, Karen climbed to a high altitude, flipped upside down, and began a rapid dive headfirst. As he neared the ground, the wings unfurled and wrapped completely around him. *Thud!* A crater was gouged into the earth. Then, like a blossoming flower, the wings parted. Karen rose to his feet at a steady pace. Aside from a slight ringing in his ears, he suffered no discomfort. "Next time, remember to control the friction sound. It might distract me during combat." Thousand Phantoms immediately sent back an affirmative response. Perched on Kevin's back, Purr sighed in wonder. "*Mm*, the practical performance far exceeded the design expectations!" "*Woof! Woof!*" "The boost from Karen's chains of Order and the elevation of Thousand Phantoms' life traits? Yeah, probably those two reasons. That Thousand Phantoms seemed to have originally been the pet of the Church of Samsara's gatekeeper inside the gate, so it truly is extraordinary." Seeing Karen walk over, Purr cried out happily, "Oh, little Karen, how do you like the toy your loving elder personally forged for you?" "Very nice. I'm thoroughly satisfied. Still, this can only serve as a secondary weapon. It seems my primary weapon will have to come from Compasini's burial grounds after all." When using it for mobility and defense, its offensive capabilities were unavailable. That was its only current drawback. But treated as a secondary weapon, it was genuinely flawless. "Naturally! We still need to find something even more formidable for your main weapon. Oh, right, I'll instruct Young Anderson later to craft a dozen pairs of boots that can fit this weapon into them." "All right, sounds good. Thank you for your hard work—such a sweltering day, and such a blazing forge." Karen lifted Purr from Kevin's back into his arms. Kevin was just about to remind Karen that Purr was a fire-affinity cat, but Purr immediately glared down. "Shut up, stupid dog!" Kevin: "..." "I'll cook fish for you tomorrow." Karen stroked Purr's back before setting her down onto Kevin again. Once Karen walked over toward Alfred, Purr swatted Kevin squarely on the crown of his skull. "Stupid dog, do you see the difference now? Do you honestly think Karen forgot what affinity cat I am?" *** The following morning was bright and clear. Wearing an apron, Karen entered the kitchen to prepare lunch. He hadn't asked anyone for help, but as he was cleaning the fish before him, Eunice stepped inside, also wearing an apron. "Mother dropped hints... no, she practically gave me an outright order to come help. *Heh.*" "My thanks to Madam Jenny for granting us more time together." Instead of asking what was needed, Eunice skillfully began washing the side vegetables. "I never used to think being unable to cook was any big deal—until I discovered you were actually such an accomplished cook." "It's just a hobby of mine. Cooking delicious food and watching the people I care about savor every bite brings a tremendous sense of fulfillment." "I know that feeling. Just like back then, whenever I had you taste the pastries I baked with my own hands, my heart was filled with joy." "Actually, I rarely cook nowadays. Back in Rojia, I cooked quite a bit—practically every single day." "I still remember when we first met, the noodles you cooked for me." "Yes. I had prepared them in a rush back then, so my hospitality was rather lacking." "Yet you made pickled cabbage fish for the Ancestor." "Because respecting one's elders is a virtue." "Remember when you first arrived in Wien? I worried you wouldn't adjust." Eunice reminisced while washing tomatoes. "I was terrified you would be mistreated. Looking back now, I truly fretted over nothing." "If you had stayed behind with me in Rojia instead, I imagine I would have been the one worrying about you being mistreated. We are both kindhearted people." "Time has flown by so fast." Eunice turned sideways to look at Karen. "To me, it has felt remarkably brief." Karen picked up his knife to begin the next steps on the cleaned fish, intending to use the fish head for soup. "Eunice." "Yes?" Karen hesitated for a moment before setting down the knife. He washed his hands thoroughly, wiped them on his apron, and turned to face Eunice. "This time, come back to the funeral parlor with me." Hearing those words, Eunice smiled. "*Heh.*" "Don't misunderstand; this isn't a proposal. I believe a sense of ceremony is important, but unfortunately, I returned in a hurry this time. As you saw, I arrived lying in a coffin, and for most of my recovery, I've been confined to a wheelchair. "I haven't had the chance to prepare the ceremonial arrangements, but all of that will be made right later. "I simply feel that inviting you to come live with me, right here in the kitchen, aligns better with my perception and definition of life." "You don't need to explain all that, Karen. You are my fiancé, and I am your fiancée. If formalities and ceremonies don't fit the moment, or fail to make both of us feel comfortable and happy, then I see little need for them. "You know, long ago—well, I suppose I should use that phrase—I constantly daydreamed about what life with you at the funeral parlor would be like." "Then pack a few bags. You don't need to bring much; I'll take you shopping in Yorktown to buy whatever you need." "No, Karen. I don't want to go back with you right now." "Hm? Why?" Karen's brow furrowed slightly. "I'm not doing this under pressure or obligation. In truth, I've known for a very long time that you would be my wife, that you would walk through the threshold of marriage and down life's path with me." "Karen, if I accompany you back to the funeral parlor, what could I possibly do? I don't believe I can be of any help to you, whether in daily life or in your work. At least right now, I truly cannot." "You don't need to think that way—" "Yes, I know you'll say you don't need my help, and I know you aren't trying to demean me. You've always been like this, thoughtfully tending to my feelings. "Life is sometimes a burden for many couples and many families—though of course, wrapped within that burden is an irreplaceable sweetness. "I'm certain that if I returned to the funeral parlor with you, I would live very happily. But I believe that might not be the best choice for us right now. "You will be extraordinarily busy, and you will be exhausted. Your work easily drains you, body and soul." "I will keep you company. I'll make time." "No, you misunderstand me. What I mean is that we don't have to obsess over physical distance. Whenever you feel tired and want to rest, come back to the estate, all right? I will be waiting for you here." Karen had not expected to be turned down, leaving him somewhat at a loss. This bewilderment was neither disappointment nor dejection, let alone embarrassment or anger; it was predominantly confusion. Karen's view of marriage had always leaned conservative—not in the simple sense of the man working outside while the woman tended the home, but rather in the belief that the husband should shoulder greater responsibility, while the wife should be protected, where one offered a shoulder and the other returned tenderness. He had long passed the psychological age of chasing dazzling, fleeting romance, focusing instead on the steady, quiet details of everyday life. Like the atmosphere of the Inmeles family on Mink Street, or the devotion between Uncle Mason and Aunt Mary. Karen had always assumed Eunice desired the same. So he could only ask, "Has our communication been lacking?" Eunice blinked, then chuckled softly. "No, not at all. I know exactly what kind of life you desire, and it aligns with mine. You once told me how much you admired the bond between your uncle and aunt." "Yes, that's true." "I want to become a woman like your aunt. I truly looked forward to and yearned for that kind of life; I had even prepared myself mentally to learn the craft of a mortuary makeup artist." "Then..." "But the most important thing, Karen, is that you aren't a man like your uncle." Eunice shook the droplets of water from her hands, leaned forward, and gently held Karen's arm, resting her chin on his shoulder. "What you want right now is a vase—an exquisite, elegant vase that allows you to set down your exhaustion and find repose." "I have never viewed you that way. Believe me, Eunice." "I know. But if being a vase makes you comfortable, I am willing to be one. After all, we are still so young. Being young means we can still lounge lazily on the grass, basking in the sun, searching for postures that make us both comfortable. "I will wait for you here, always waiting. Once you feel you have seen enough of the scenery out in the world, come back and take me with you, all right, Karen?" Karen remained silent. He had spoken those very same words to Diss. He had told his grandfather that he wanted to go out and see the world's scenery. Then, images of Diss's later years surfaced in his mind—a quiet settling after shedding all worldly pretenses, a pure love and enjoyment of family and life. Looking down at the girl leaning against him, the corners of Karen's mouth curved into a smile. As it turned out, he hadn't fully understood himself, yet she had seen through him completely. Even so, Karen held onto a touch of stubbornness. "I just feel that life doesn't need to chase perfection, because perfect things don't exist in the first place." "We are still young." Eunice looked up, meeting Karen's gaze as her hand gently caressed his cheek. "Since we are young, what's the rush? Even I'm not in a hurry, so why should you be? Don't forget, I'm older than you." "Except you no longer have to sleep your days away." "Yes, but I won't be lonely. Over the past half year, I had so many dreams. Next, I want to direct and shoot a few films to bring the images and stories from my dreams to life. "I also want to open a clothing boutique to sell clothes I design myself. "In short, who would be silly enough to stay cooped up in a room just waiting for you to visit? Though, of course, I will eagerly anticipate your next return." Eunice rose onto her tiptoes, gently caught Karen's earlobe between her lips, and laughed mischievously. "Who says people can't date after getting engaged? Who says a husband and wife can't be lovers? "And who says there's only one style of stockings?" Karen stared earnestly at her beautiful face. It seemed he had not only failed to see himself clearly, but he had never truly understood her either. "I respect your wishes. I'll speak to your family so they won't pressure you." "You don't really need to. Your rank has risen so fast that they wouldn't dare push, anyway." "That isn't the same. I will sit down with your grandfather and have a proper talk about our decision and plans." "Thank you." "I should be the one thanking you, Eunice. Because you're the one accommodating me." "Because you're worth it." "See? I'm not in a wheelchair anymore." "Mm..." "So, what color and style are we having tonight?" *** Inside the fireplace, sitting on Kevin's back after eavesdropping on the entire conversation, Purr held up both of her fleshy paws in sheer disbelief. "Oh, good grief! What on earth are those two even playing at, meow?!" One had to understand, Purr had been desperately anticipating the swift birth of a great-great-great-great-great-nephew or niece. She longed to see a little Diss or little Karen bearing the blood of the Allen family running around. "*Woof?*" *(Perhaps this is love?)* "To hell with love!" *Shhk!* Sharp feline claws snapped out from Purr's paws. "I'm going over right now to shred every single pair of their stockings! Love, my foot!"