Merit!

His visit to Grandpa Hoffen’s grave had actually been very brief. Karen hadn't said much, though it was still far more than what he had said to his family. After all, he hadn't even shown himself to speak with them, only cooking breakfast; even when standing before Diss lying in bed, Karen hadn't said anything. The reason, when it came down to it, was that he felt now was not the time to talk. At the very least, it wasn't the atmosphere Karen longed for. Just as Purr had said, it was like a dream born of an uncontrollable accident. Three hours, counting every second, worrying about some unseen pair of eyes watching from who knows where—how could this be called coming home? It was more like visiting someone in prison. In truth, right now he was merely a mouse; it was only because of Diss that this mouse possessed dignity. Yet put another way, before an orthodox church, which individual wasn't a mouse? Most probably couldn't even compare to ants. Therefore, this overly restrained expression was not for lack of love; rather, it was because his love ran too deep. It was because he cherished it from the bottom of his heart that he wanted to greet and face it in his best, most upright manner. What Karen wanted was a cool autumn dusk, preparing dinner in the kitchen while Uncle and Aunt complained about some stingy customer, and Mina, Lunt, and the others returned from school chatting about funny stories from their day. He would ring the bell, and expectant smiles would appear on everyone's faces as they gathered in the dining room, looking at the day's meal like unwrapping presents. Even the brief freeze in the room when Diss came downstairs, followed by Diss finishing early, saying, "I'm done, please take your time," and getting up to leave—the lifting of tension that followed—felt so wonderfully precious. Right then, Purr heard Karen say a phrase in a language only Alfred might understand: "The closer to home, the greater the trepidation." Karen felt that nothing described it better. Purr couldn't resist reaching out a paw to pat Karen's cheek, grumbling slightly, "I know you're getting sentimental, but couldn't you consider including me? "How long have you lived here? I've lived here for over a hundred years! I have feelings to vent too, you know?" "All right." "Then can you speak Maklai? Otherwise it makes me feel so uncultured, meow." "I'm done." Purr: "..." With one hand resting on Mr. Hoffen's tombstone, Karen watched the distant horizon turn the pale gray of a fish's belly. Time was up; he had to leave. He reached over and gently patted Purr's paw. Purr understood and settled firmly into place. The wings of Thousand Phantoms sprouted from his back, lifting Karen into the air. Facing the wind, Karen said, "At least we're making progress, right?" "Of course!" Purr declared resolutely. "Don't worry, kitty has great faith in you!" "Yes, I have great faith in myself too." "Two years—who does Rasma think he's threatening with that? No, who is he looking down on! "How long has it even been? When you left Ruilan, you weren't even a servant. Now, I bet you could pin a Jurist to the ground and beat them senseless! "Ah, "two whole years left! "Why is it so long? "There's so much time to spare that one doesn't even want to work hard anymore—I just want to take an afternoon nap, meow!" "Hehehe." Purr continued rallying his spirits, like a pirate captain giving a pep talk to her crew: "Growing stronger in power is one thing, but your standing within the church will be a second path. Heaven knows where you'll reach in the Church of Order in two years, and what kind of power network you can cultivate around yourself! "After all, the clerical circle is in chaos right now, and wars between orthodox churches have already broken out. There's no shortage of opportunities to claim merit! "Isn't this very incident a tremendous merit? Even if higher-ups find out Rasma is here and that Rasma was the one who finished off the assassin, they can't possibly credit Rasma with it. Rasma and this place are both taboo, so the merit will definitely go to you! "Keep pushing forward, keep finding opportunities, keep racking up merits, keep getting promoted! "When the time comes, even if Rasma comes out, what can he do? Can a former High Priest boss around an active official? "Those bastards just need a beating. They care more about their dog bowls than anything else, acting all high and mighty while holding out their bowls. But the moment you move to smash their bowls, their knees will go weaker than anyone's! "Worst comes to worst, we fight him! Tear the church apart, fight a civil war, and see who hurts more, meow!" Because she had witnessed Diss's rise with her own eyes, Purr truly believed that geniuses capable of making everyone else look like useless trash really existed in this world! And watching Karen advance step by step over this time, Purr firmly believed he was the next Diss—and what was more, the first Diss was lifting him onto his shoulders! Looking back now, Purr only just realized how massive a wager Diss had placed on Karen back then. No, Diss had gone all-in from the very beginning! Purr raised a paw into the wind: "Ancestral motto of the Allen family: A true pirate never fears wind and waves; they only feel lonely when the sea is calm!" Karen spoke up: "Do you know? For a time, I thought I would be like a tragedy performed on a theater stage. Many times, I thought I should take up a script full of bitter hatred and suffering, and I made countless mental preparations for it." "Meow?" "Yet in the end, I discovered I can't do it. I really can't." "Just like how you addressed young Father Rasma directly, telling him that since you were already here, you wanted to drop by home on the way?" "Yes. Because in all the time I've been out, I've primarily discovered two things. "First, that I, too, can gradually grow from an ordinary person into someone strong. "Second, that my grandfather is even more powerful than I had ever imagined." Karen looked back one last time at the street named Mink Street behind him. Then his wings flapped faster, and he shot away toward the southwest. When he arrived at the area where he had previously clashed with Valoti, he descended. Valoti's body had long since melted away, leaving only a patch of "beach," but Karen still managed to find some broken white bones belonging to Valoti within it. Even an incinerator leaving behind large bone fragments when cremating a corpse was normal, so it was only natural that melting oneself would leave behind a few scraps. Karen didn't take everything; he chose a rib and found another piece that looked like a cranial bone fragment. Purr grumbled in disgust, "He didn't even leave behind any sacred relic." "For the lineage of fallen gods, the corpse itself is the true sacred relic." After packing the items away, Karen checked the direction and took flight once more. Purr exclaimed excitedly, "This feels just like back in the day, taking an enemy's skull to the national parliament to claim a bounty, hehe!" "We can't rush to claim the bounty yet. You forgot something." "Forgot something? What thing?" "Lady Augie." "Oh, she's quite a catch, meow, but her appetite must be massive. Our family probably can't afford to feed her." "Mm. Feeding just you already stretches our budget." "Pfft!" Purr suddenly remembered something and asked, "Oh, right, Karen, should you drop me off first and then have someone come pick me up?" "No need." "No need?" "Just say you marked the assassin for me, so I took you along to guide the way as we gave chase. Lady Augie lost her memory anyway." "Will that make sense?" "It doesn't need to make sense from me. Let them piece it together and guess for themselves." "Guess?" "Dealing with inquiries is a hassle." On that front, Karen was practically an expert. He smiled. "I have my ways." ... In the church courtyard, Rasma stood in the vegetable garden holding a freshly picked tomato. He took a bite, wiping the juice from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand as he chewed. "Diss, this grandson of yours is truly damned. If I could, I wouldn't even want to hear his explanation before snuffing him out." Rasma took another heavy bite of the tomato. He badly wanted to do something, to transmit some message to the outside world—even the slightest hint. Because if nothing went awry, when that young man returned having slain the assassin who murdered the Head Bishop's entire family, it would be another great merit—a truly monumental one! Yet the outside world had no idea his surname was Inmeres; worse still, they did not know his threat and potential for calamity far surpassed the surname "Inmeres." Even judging solely by reports in the *Order Weekly*, Rasma knew full well that this young man was highly likely to become the public face of the Whip of Order, a role model, an exemplar of rising talent. There was no helping it; superb talent and swift cultivation breakthroughs were inherently the most dazzling advantages. *Crunch.* Rasma took another deep bite of the tomato and turned his head toward the Inmeres family home: "He's your grandson, Diss. He has this talent—fine, I accept that, I consider it normal. "But what's bloody absurd is, "how aloof and haughty a man were you back then? Let me tell you, if everyone hadn't been incapable of beating you, if you hadn't been so outstanding, you would have died young long ago! "Just look at your attitude toward that Temple Elder back then! If the elder didn't swat you dead on the spot, it was only because he cherished talent and showed mercy! "With my background—my mother had to work as a prostitute to feed me when I was young—my personality is quite withdrawn, but compared to you, I'd say I'm practically radiant sunshine! "So why is it that this grandson of yours not only inherited your strengths, but managed to inverse your flaws? "He knows how to handle mundane affairs, carries himself with poise and propriety, and knew from the very start how to organize and build his own clique and faction to lay the foundation for future ascendance. "Every single one of those things is the exact opposite of you back then! "Damn it! If I were Foden, I'd pour resources into grooming and promoting him too! "Fuck, is he really your grandson, Diss?" Rasma finally finished the entire tomato. With juice still lingering on his hand, he subconsciously moved to rub a bit into his hollow eye sockets, but the moment he raised his hand, he lowered it again. He didn't dare make any petty moves. Earlier, although his eyes had hung high in the sky, he had completely lost sight of Karen and that cat. He knew full well who was responsible! That fellow truly guarded and watched over his precious grandson, terrified that Rasma might peek at something! At the same time, it was a silent warning: if Rasma dared pull any little tricks, Diss would dare make a massive move! "The more you cover things up, the more certain I am that this fellow Karen cannot be spared. You are forcing my hand, Diss. I'm not making excuses for myself—before tonight, no, before he unleashed that Fire of Light, I hadn't even considered cooperating with them against you once I condensed a godhead fragment. "But now, things are different. I sense a threat. As the former High Priest, I sense a threat directed against the church, and I cannot allow such a thing to happen. Absolutely not!" Rasma crouched down, digging into the dirt with both hands like a dog pawing the ground. After scooping out a hole, Rasma knelt face-down, burying his face into the hole with his rear sticking high into the air. A dignified former High Priest was actually assuming such a humiliating posture. "Phew..." A moment later, Rasma sat up straight, smelling of damp soil, and turned his head once more toward the Inmeres home: "Diss, two years. Just two years. I don't believe that in two years he can really make any waves!" Saying this, an eerie smile appeared on Rasma's face, and he said in a low voice: "You threaten the church, but isn't your current slumber also because the church has suppressed you? "You're a genius, a genius far stronger than me, but so what? "You can't even shake the church. When the great deity returns, what chance of winning do you have left? "Relying on this grandson of yours? "Heh." ... "Wenjia, what on earth is going on?" "Firos, can't you see for yourself?" Two directors from the Investigation Division of the Whip of Order stood before a highway boundary marker, which indicated that Rojia was ten kilometers ahead. And on this side of the boundary marker, twenty-six people knelt in a neat, orderly row, their eyes tightly closed. This scene brought an immediate halt not only to the reinforcements from Wien, but also to the elite forces mobilized from other nearby regions. To be frank, even if these twenty-six colleagues who had pursued first had been slain and their corpses strewn across the road, the other Order priests present would have pressed on without hesitation. Death they might fear, but they would never cower in the middle of a mission. Yet, perplexingly, these twenty-six were still alive, arranged in such a bizarre posture. To the onlookers, this tableau was far creepier than scattered body parts. More and more pursuit teams ground to a halt upon reaching this spot. By now, over four hundred Order priests had gathered, and not merely from the Whip of Order branch. Furthermore, even more forces were rapidly converging on the area. The reason everyone's path converged here was that they had all been tracking the trail left by the frost dragon. There were also individuals who hadn't arrived in squad formations—solitary figures or small groups of two and three. The auras radiating from them felt stifling even to their colleagues nearby. Under such circumstances—an urgent pursuit screeching to an abrupt halt—no one went around announcing their identities and ranks; they hailed from all over and were not a formal knight order. Just then, someone activated a communication scroll linked to the relevant department of their Regional Administrative Office. But the liaison priest from their home region spoke with an austere expression from within the scroll: "Now reading an order from the Whip-Wielder!" Instantly, whether from the Whip of Order or other departments, everyone crossed their arms over their chests and chanted with deep reverence and sincerity: "Greetings, Lord Whip-Wielder!" "Greetings, Lord Whip-Wielder!" "All pursuit squads are to halt in place! Do not advance any further! At the same time, contact all following squads that have not received this notice to ensure they comply with this order!" "Yes, we obey!" Being told not to pursue brought no relief, only a mind full of doubts. So much strength had already amassed here, with even more reinforcements on the way. The nearest garrison should be arriving soon as well, as falcon knights had already appeared in the distant sky. Why stop the pursuit? "Wenjia, why do you think we're being told not to pursue?" "Sorry. When I become the Whip-Wielder's secretary, I'll try interpreting it for you, all right?" "Hah." And so, everyone began waiting in place. Their numbers continued to swell, and a garrison unit marched in as well. As for the twenty-six colleagues who should have been the first to arrive with a shot at claiming the top merit, they remained kneeling there, untouched by anyone. Everyone was experienced and sensible. Since they still displayed vital signs, it was best to wait for doctors and priests from the church hospital before moving them; rashly disturbing them might cause further harm. At this moment, a formidable aura surged from behind. When everyone looked over, they saw an enormous dharma body moving swiftly toward them. Manifesting a dharma body to blast through all obstacles was a sign of traveling at all costs. "The Whip-Wielder? It's the Whip-Wielder!" "The Whip-Wielder has come in person?" "Does the assassin have such a massive background?" Immediately: "Greetings, Lord Whip-Wielder!" "Wield the whip, for Order!" The gathering was already immense, but when the Whip-Wielder himself arrived, everyone without exception knelt in unison. Yet before drawing close, the Whip-Wielder's dharma body began shrinking rapidly. Soon, it dissipated entirely, transforming into a black hurricane sweeping over the land. When the hurricane died down, Foden's figure appeared. Completely ignoring the salutes of everyone present, his back turned to them, he raised a hand. His voice was not loud, yet like authoritative thunder, it fell directly into every ear: "Everyone, fall back immediately!" It was an incomprehensible order, yet no one dared ask why. "We obey!" Everyone rose to their feet and prepared to withdraw. Foden's face remained grim. The region ahead was strictly off-limits; that place was now a forbidden zone of the church. More than half a year ago, numerous elite units within the church had been assembled and deployed here. Casualties were practically nonexistent, yet afterward, every single priest—regardless of rank or background—was reassigned to the periphery of the church, to places like the Lost Lands, the Land of Chaos, or the Domain of Primordial Chaos. Thus, even though the hundreds gathered here belonged to various departments, if they didn't want to be "exiled" by the church as well, they had to put adequate distance between themselves and that territory right now. In truth, even when pursuing an assassin, there was no need for Foden to appear in person. The problem was that the situation in there was countless times more severe than any assassin! Yet just as the crowd began to retreat, a black dot appeared in the sky beyond the boundary marker. Everyone froze, watching the black dot. As the distance closed, the speck became clearer until, with a hum, it touched down. It was a young man in Order clerical robes with three pairs of black wings behind him. Slung over his left shoulder was an extraordinarily tall woman, while a black cat sat upon his right. Among the crowd, someone recognized Karen's identity—after all, he was the young man featured on the front page of *Order Weekly*. Foden stood motionless, waiting for Karen to step past the boundary marker. Approaching Foden, Karen first lowered the blood-drenched Lady Augie, then laid the two bones he had collected from Valoti onto the ground. Finally, he stepped back half a pace, crossed his arms over his chest, and bowed to Foden: "Greetings, Lord Whip-Wielder!" Foden glanced at the two bones and asked, "These belong to the assassin?" "Yes." "The assassin is dead?" "Yes." "You were the one who killed him?" Hearing this question, a hint of confusion and hesitation flickered across Karen's face. He answered: "He said... yes."