Alfred's Rescue

So Mr. Philias had been here over a hundred years ago. In other words, this place was not unfamiliar to Section Chief Neo. Looking back now, from the discovery of clues regarding Compasini's burial ground, to the follow-up investigation, and even setting the departure time for this expedition, Section Chief Neo had pushed everything forward single-handedly. Especially the departure date: Young Master had taken advantage of the tail end of his leave, setting off under Section Chief Neo's urging just as his injuries had healed. While there was certainly the consideration of scraping together a window of time so as not to disrupt work in the Whip of Order, in truth, it had still been a bit rushed. Combined with what the white-robed tusked elder said about their arrival being just in time, it was easy to deduce that Section Chief Neo had held a timetable in his hands all along. Yet he had concealed this the entire time, keeping it to himself. What Alfred couldn't understand was: why would Section Chief Neo hide it? There was clearly a special relationship of shared secrets between him and Young Master. Reasonably speaking, even if such a thing were made known, it wouldn't be a big deal; rather, it would boost everyone's confidence in this expedition. Although Section Chief Neo had indeed arranged everything exceptionally well, ensuring that from leaving York City to entering this place, everything appeared exceedingly smooth. Still, there was one thing Alfred would not doubt: he believed Section Chief Neo bore no malice toward his young master. Therefore, the concealment was likely due to other reasons. "Back then, that Mr. Philias—why did he refuse the inheritance?" "He said he didn't want to get dragged into conflicts between the churches. Actually, I was very curious too, because in my memory, the one most vigilant and relentless in suppressing the Light remnants was the Church of Order. Yet here was a Light remnant who harbored no hatred toward the Church of Order. Don't you find that strange?" Not strange at all. There was a Light remnant right beside him who insisted on his unwavering loyalty to Order. "Perhaps that was his personal choice," Alfred replied. What someone like Mr. Philias pursued was true Light. He could forego vengeance even against the descendants of his enemies on Dark Moon Island, so it wasn't hard to understand why he chose not to get involved in the vortex of church politics here either. You couldn't call him pedantic, much less foolishly benevolent; it was likely because the height from which he viewed the world was completely different from everyone else's. For example, though he took no revenge on Dark Moon Island, Tafman, the island's former naval commander, had become a devout believer in the Light after that incident. "Someone came down just now. He dove beneath the sand." Alfred was curious to know whether the white-robed tusked elder remembered "Neo." "Oh, he didn't meet the requirements." The Section Chief didn't meet the requirements? "There was a young man who came down with him." "He didn't meet the requirements either." Young Master didn't meet the requirements either? It was one thing for the Section Chief not to qualify—Alfred could accept that, or maybe Neo hadn't bothered to put his mind to it—but for his young master not to qualify was something Alfred couldn't accept. Even though Alfred himself was the one reaping the reward, he still felt indignantly resentful on Young Master's behalf for being passed over. "So why do I meet the requirements?" "Meeting them is meeting them, and failing is failing. If I had to name a criterion, there is indeed one: the sand. There is a saying in the Church of the Desert: 'When sand slips from your skin, it already knows your thoughts.' "Counting you, only three people have entered the sand pool. When the wind and sand brushed across your faces, the first clearly showed resistance. His eyes disliked letting sand in; he harbored an instinctive revulsion toward all things false and blurred. "A person like that might use illusions as a tool, but he will never truly take them to heart. He sees too clearly, and instinctively keeps himself in that state of clarity. "The other dove to the bottom of the sand, seemingly pandering to it willingly. He was eager, desperate to enter that realm of mingled truth and falsehood; he pursued it deliberately. "A person like that will treat illusions as a means to immerse himself. It seems as though he takes them to heart, yet the distance is actually greater. In pursuing sensory and mental stimulation, he will never be satisfied. "Thus, the two above were both suitable, yet neither was truly suitable. "As for you... "When the sand blew past you, you remained sober while willingly embracing it. You found it amusing, enjoyable, fascinating. "Illusions, after all, are meant to be fascinating. "My true self once said: illusion is an art." "Why does that reason sound so freshly made up?" "Indeed. So stop asking, I really can't spin any more." The white-robed tusked elder didn't dispute it; instead, he continued with a chuckle: "Making up these grand, lofty reasons really drains a mental imprint. After all, you wouldn't want me to dissipate before completing the transmission to you, just like my neighbor did earlier, would you? "If you aren't satisfied with that, I'll give you a more practical one: I simply find you more pleasing to the eye, more agreeable. "Your style of dress, your body language, your facial expressions—they remind me a great deal of my true self. "As for how exactly to describe it, I can't quite think of the word at the moment..." Alfred's eyes instantly lit up. With utter conviction and certainty, he answered: "*Sao*!" The white-robed tusked elder froze, blinking hard, seemingly trying to fathom what this syllable meant. "This word is the best interpretation of how to describe your true self." "Is that so? What language is this? It seems... remarkably concise." "Trust me." Alfred puffed out his chest slightly. "It is part of my name. I have always been deeply honored to include this word in my name; it is a supreme glory and affirmation." In Alfred's eyes, this word was no different from "Holy"—no, it was higher than "Holy," because it was a unique word bestowed upon him by Young Master. "Since you put it that way, so be it. My true self, Compasini, was *sao*." "You can add intensifiers before it, such as 'very,' 'extremely,' 'exceptionally,' 'incomparably'... or after it: 'unimaginably,' 'tremendously,' 'terrifyingly'..." "Alright. My true self, Compasini, was unimaginably *sao*." "Mm, that's it." "Heh heh." The white-robed tusked elder chuckled. "I suddenly feel that this syllable is truly rich in meaning, like an incantation, laden with profound significance." "Yes, exactly." "Then let us begin the transmission." "No, not right now." Alfred lowered his head and continued putting the finishing touches on the formation. "I've said it many times: your young master is in no danger. The moment you saw me and my neighbor who just dissipated, you should have clearly realized that." "I cannot neglect a potential danger to Young Master just because of your words. The inheritance is precious and important, but I must still see my own duty through." "Fine, suit yourself." Everything around them collapsed away. The space Alfred had occupied was like a grand circular dome built of sand; now that the dome had been dismantled, Alfred returned to the sight of reality. "Mr. Alfred is out!" Ventura shouted in excitement. "Then everything should be fine," Muri said as he looked toward Neo. After a moment's hesitation, he stood up and walked over. "Section Chief, have you been here before?" Ventura was still young, Philomena was unaccustomed to sharing her thoughts, but Muri was far more mature; he had already picked up on a few anomalies from Neo's earlier behavior and decisions. Smoking his cigarette, Neo answered, "I've never been here." "But..." "In this world, the places you know of often outnumber the places you've personally visited." "Your words are a bit profound." "Since you don't understand, don't ask. I'm not in a very good mood right now—it's like heading to the bank to withdraw coupons, only to find someone else has cashed out the coupons I pre-deposited in my account. "I even feel a bit like hitting someone. "How about this: "Let's spar. I've always been curious about the Benda family's close-combat tactics." "Section Chief, now is not the time. Once we've all left here safely, I will ask for your guidance." "Heh." Neo stretched languidly and waved a hand at Muri, signaling him to get out of his sight. Muri walked back to his spot and sat down. Intuition told him that the Section Chief's foul mood wasn't merely because his coupons had been taken. Neo stubbed out the cigarette. He couldn't keep smoking; any more and he would be completely intoxicated. He raised a hand and gently tapped his forehead, the force gradually increasing. Once, he had been tortured by the other voices in his head until he bashed his skull against walls, battered and bleeding. That was an agonizing period of his life, yet now, he missed those days intensely. Because though he had suffered, fractured, and agonized, he was never alone or lonely. After exhausting himself, the calmed Neo could still lie with his head in Elisa's lap. She would deliberately let her fingernails grow out a bit, gently combing his hair and scratching his scalp. She was gone, and he was gone too. Neo remembered Karen telling him: emotions exist in human beings; though intangible and invisible, they are an objective reality that will not vanish just because you act tough. You can choose not to wail aloud or lose control in grief, but then you must endure the sudden, unexpected spasms that strike after holding strong. *Philias, I've arrived at the place you once visited, yet you still won't speak.* *If I'd known, when you took that giant sea turtle on Dark Moon Island to journey far away, I should have dragged you down. You tortured me for ten years, then left just like that, playing your accordion and singing songs as you set off traveling again.* *You truly are a beast!* *Phew...* *Elisa,* *my Elisa,* *I miss you more and more.* *Forgive me for not visiting your grave as often as I used to, because I find myself wanting more and more to dig you up so you can stay by my side again—or to bury myself so I can accompany you forever.* Neo hung his head, jaw slack, burying his face in his hands. Philomena shifted her gaze toward the Section Chief. Just then, he dropped his hands, his eyes chillingly sharp and burning with feverish intensity as he cursed: "Useless mongrel, blind to real value! You deserved getting caught as a traitor and slaughtered back then!" Seeing this, Philomena turned her gaze away once more. Neo, who a moment ago had sunk to emotional rock bottom and was practically on the verge of breaking down, leaned his back against the stone wall again, intertwining his fingers over his stomach as he muttered: "Calculating the timeline, Order will most likely make a move against the Church of the Desert soon." As he spoke, a smile crept onto Neo's face once more: "This time, should I short or go long?" Then his smile deepened further: "How much leverage should I add?" ... "My Lord, I am willing to become your slave and dedicate all my loyalty to you!" Torisa agreed. He had pondered for a long while and simply couldn't find a reason to refuse. In truth, it wasn't that Karen's deceptive skills were extraordinarily masterful; the fundamental reason was that someone with his status and credentials would never bother swindling anyone in the first place. For instance, in his manservant's eyes, how could Young Master possibly be swindling? He was merely stooping below his station to spread the faith. Karen remained silent, waiting for Torisa to take the initiative and release the sand wall's confinement. He was willing to sign a master-servant contract with Torisa, because once signed, he would hold Torisa's life in his hands, eliminating every threat here. He could even strike Torisa down immediately after signing; after all, breaking faith with a person like this carried no moral burden for him. The Rubik's cube in his left palm continued to spin rapidly, signifying that Karen's deductions were not yet finished. Torisa slowly rose to his feet, but rather than rushing to open the sand wall, he sat back down. "My Lord, I never imagined I would become someone else's slave. I truly never anticipated such a day would come." Karen still didn't say a word. He understood Torisa's state of mind well: rationally, Torisa had accepted reality, but to soothe his emotional side, he still needed to vent. It was just like Richard walking into a dessert shop, only for the familiar hostess to tell him: *It wasn't for the money that I slept with you.* "My Lord, tell me, since this is how it ends, why did I choose to do all those things in the first place?" Torisa turned his head to look at his companions standing around with their eyes closed. These people had all been his former subordinates. He had led them through mission after mission, earning great renown within the Whip of Order system. "They once trusted me so completely, obeying my commands without reservation. Even when I ambushed them, and the last two realized what was happening, they still didn't strike back at me—they assumed I had been affected by a curse, possessed." Listening to this, the rotational direction of the Rubik's cube in Karen's palm shifted slightly. The more Torisa spoke, the more information Karen gathered, making it easier to calculate the desired answer. "Well, what's done is done, and failure is failure. One still has to look forward in life. I'll just treat it as a dream—a rather long dream. "Besides, two or three hundred years have passed. They should have died long ago anyway. Allowing them to exist for all these extra years can be considered treating them well enough." Inside the sand wall, a mocking smirk touched the corners of Karen's lips. Selfish people truly possessed an innate talent: it wasn't that they lacked moral baselines—if anything, they needed morality as an anchor more than others—but they could rationalize their morals far more easily and always managed to forgive themselves in short order. "My Lord, do you think I was foolish?" "In this world, those who have always walked the correct path are so few as to be nonexistent." "Yes, you are right. That is indeed true." Torisa took a deep breath and stood up. "Taking the wrong path isn't terrifying; what is terrifying is not knowing how to turn back. Therefore, I have decided to turn back, My Lord. I hope to follow in your footsteps and return to the correct path." *Mm, you can even console yourself.* Torisa walked up to the sand wall, paused, and said in a low voice, "My Lord, I have an intuition. It tells me that once I release this confinement, I will certainly regret it." Karen didn't answer. "In the past, I always relied on this intuition to save my life, guiding my squad away from disaster time and again. Tell me, My Lord, is my intuition wrong this time?" Karen replied in a calm tone: "You are troublesome." "Forgive me, My Lord. Perhaps it is because I haven't fully adapted to my impending status as a slave. I will release the confinement for you right now." With that, a yellow gleam surfaced in Torisa's eyes. The sand wall surrounding Karen dissolved rapidly; he was on the verge of regaining his freedom. Yet right at that moment, the dissolving sand wall suddenly re-coalesced. The confinement, which had been on the brink of shattering, was reinforced rather than released. "You... very good." It seemed his intuition had won out. There was nothing to be done about it; some people simply possessed such an ability, capable of sensing danger even in the face of "ironclad" facts. "No, My Lord, please don't misunderstand!" Torisa's voice outside carried disbelief and panic. "It's your people, My Lord! They're using a formation to accelerate the sand pool's rotation!" Torisa began slapping furiously at the sand wall, his voice turning shrill and uneasy. This was unlikely an act; waking from centuries of slumber, Torisa wouldn't suddenly have the whim to put on a stage play: "My Lord, I've lost control over the sand pool! It's accelerating under its own momentum! I didn't do this! Damn it, I can't make it stop! Damn it!" Karen noticed that as the sand wall around him thickened, it was also steadily compressing his interior space. This meant that if this continued, he might very well be crushed into mincemeat right here. *Crack!* Along with the snapping of the greatsword he had obtained from the Sword Bearer, the inward crush of the sand walls around him became nearly irresistible. Karen felt an overwhelming sense of absurdity: *Am I really going to end like this?* At the exact same time. Alfred finished activating the formation. Watching the yellow sand swirling faster and faster around him, a smile spread across his face: "Young Master, I'm here to save you."