The Funeral

"Mr. Karen, please forgive me for acting on my own initiative." Dressed in a black mourning gown with a dark veil, Madame Laike stood before Karen and bowed in apology. It was her decision to hold her husband's memorial service together with Dincom's funeral. "No, your arrangement is very fitting, Madame. Dincom was also part of this funeral parlor, and he died trying to protect this place." Before his death, Dincom had likely mistaken the assassin for Karen. Given his meager strength, he could not have posed any real threat to the intruder. Yet as an employee here, he had stood on the front line, and his death had bought precious time for Purr and the others in the backyard. In that sense, he truly had protected the funeral parlor. "Thank you for your understanding." Madame Laike straightened up, a gentle smile appearing on her face. "You've only just returned and must be exhausted. Would you like to rest for a while first?" "No need." "Um..." Madame Laike hesitated, as if holding something back. "Madame, feel free to speak your mind." "It's like this... Yesterday, Mr. Alfred made a suggestion to relocate Dora, Doreen, and me to a safe place to live." "Oh?" "Did Mr. Alfred not mention it to you?" Madame Laike caught herself, suddenly realizing what she had done. "I am so sorry; I didn't mean to go behind his back and report this to you." "No, it's fine. I wouldn't think that of you. I've been away these past few days and haven't been in touch with Alfred." "I see. Well, Mr. Karen, I actually agree with the proposal. My two daughters and I have already relied on your kindness and care for far too long. We cannot help you and would only end up becoming a burden, so I feel we ought to move out and live on our own." "All right," Karen nodded. "I will have Purr visit you regularly to check on Dora and Doreen's condition." "Thank you. Thank you so much, Mr. Karen." Karen did not try to persuade Madame Laike to stay. Although he had grown used to the adorable twin sisters occasionally popping up in front of him while he read the newspaper in the backyard—sometimes a home needed more people to cultivate a warm atmosphere—this incident had served as a stark wake-up call. Whatever dangers he encountered outside, whether in the open or in the shadows, he could accept. But having his home base raided like this was something he never wanted to experience a second time. Besides, the Norton family was gone now. Madame Laike and her two children leaving him would actually be safer for them; ever since Mr. Pavaro passed away, they no longer belonged to the circle of the church anyway. Madame Laike turned and walked out of the study. As soon as she opened the door, she saw Alfred standing outside. "Mr. Alfred, you're back. Mr. Karen is inside." "Yes, thank you." Alfred closed the study door behind him as he stepped in, then sank onto one knee before Karen. "Young Master, I am guilty." Karen let out a soft laugh. "What, do we really have to play that game of 'You did nothing wrong,' 'No, it was my fault'? Go pour me a glass of ice water. I'm thirsty." "Yes, Young Master." Alfred rose crisply and poured Karen a glass of ice water. As Alfred set down the glass, Karen reached out, caught him by the wrist, and pushed up his sleeve. After staring at Alfred's forearm for a moment, Karen ordered, "Activate your Succubus Eye." Alfred hesitated briefly, but still activated the Succubus Eye. An eerie, profound depth surfaced in his eyes, but at the same time, black veins sprouted from his wrist, crawling along his arm, climbing his neck, and reaching toward his eyes. Numerous other dark veins appeared as well, all converging upon his eyes. Originally, even when activating the Succubus Eye, Alfred had maintained an aura of elegance and gentlemanly composure. Now, however, it looked vicious and hideous. Moreover, once the Succubus Eye opened, all sensory perception within the study began to distort, squeezing the silhouette of an old man out of the bookshelf. "Huh?" The old man let out a sound of bewilderment. Alfred glanced at him instinctively, and the old man was instantly frightened back inside. "Alfred." Alfred looked toward Karen, the Succubus Eye still active. In an instant, Karen felt the brunt of an illusion attack from Alfred. But Karen possessed the Eyes of the Dark Moon; a dark crimson sheen rippled across his pupils as an invisible clash erupted. A harsh, grating friction instantly filled the air. The desk began to tremble, books began tumbling from the shelves, and the chandelier overhead shattered completely. Alfred drew a deep breath and closed his eyes. The crimson in Karen's eyes faded as well. He spoke: "You are being too impatient in absorbing it. You must know the consequences—you'll end up sinking into illusions, unable to distinguish them from reality." After swallowing Compasini's legacy, absorbing it was a protracted process. Alfred's previous coma had been because his soul was still in the stage of fusing with the legacy; once accommodated, it needed continuous rumination—gradually tempered, sloughed away, dissolved, and absorbed. Yet Alfred was clearly trying to bite down and crush it with force to swallow it whole, which could easily cause him to lose himself. Alfred pressed his lips together and said, "Young Master, please do not stop me this time. You cannot imagine how I felt when I learned our home was attacked while I was lying there in a coma. I must do something to alleviate my own agony and distract myself from the fact that I am a laughingstock. Just as you said earlier, we don't need to play that game of 'It's my fault' and 'It wasn't your fault.'" Karen released Alfred's wrist and nodded. What had happened that night would change many people; after all, nothing could be more jarring to a person than an attack on their own home. "You do not need to worry about me losing myself, Young Master. If it ever comes to that point, I will call out to you in my heart. You will appear within my soul to guide me through the dark. Of this, I am certain." Karen sighed and said, "Just take good care of yourself. In the end, what we pursue is greater mastery of power, not becoming prisoners to it." "I understand, Young Master." "Have you made arrangements for Madame Laike and the girls?" "Yes. Since the headquarters is expanding, a new dormitory building will be added. I thought we could set up our home there in the future. Because I couldn't reach you, I took the liberty of arranging it first. If you are displeased, Young Master..." "It's fine. Let's do that." Having their home protected by the defensive array extended from the headquarters building would indeed bring far greater peace of mind. Even Madam Felscher back then hadn't dared to charge into the headquarters building looking for Philomena. "By the way, where is Kevin?" "The Section Chief picked him up this morning, saying he needed his help consulting on the blueprints for the array modifications." "Mm." Karen stood up. "Clean up in here. I'm going to the mourning hall." "Yes, Young Master." Karen walked out of the study and happened to see his maid standing in the hallway. Xili's eyes were red-rimmed, so much so that at first glance, one might have thought her eyes had received some sort of legacy and were launching an assault on him. Upon seeing Karen, the maid lost control of her emotions entirely, lunging forward and hugging Karen tightly. "Waaah, Young Master, I don't want to leave you! I still want to serve you! Young Master, I can't bear to leave you..." "Wait, what..." "Young Master, what if I only wear jeans from now on? The tightest kind!" What was going on? Did moving mean the maid had to be fired? Just then, Alfred appeared at the study doorway holding fragments of the chandelier and said, "Xili, I never said you were being dismissed. Did you hear that Madame Laike and the others are moving out and that we're relocating? That has nothing to do with you. You'll be moving with us." "Uh..." Hearing this, Xili's emotional outburst instantly stalled. Then, remembering that she had actually blurted out an offer to wear skin-tight jeans, her face flushed bright red in an instant. She wasn't embarrassed about offering to show off her figure just to keep her job, but rather felt guilty for likening her young master to the sort of lecherous master who lusted after her body. After all, if Karen were truly like those filthy old masters, she would have ended up in his bed long ago—and without needing to be forced, either; she would have hopped in willingly. "All right, all right, stop crying." Karen gently patted Xili on the back. He really would have hated to part with this maid. Her cooking suited his palate perfectly now, and the afternoon tea she prepared could even satisfy Purr. "I'm fine now, Young Master, heehee." Xili reluctantly let go of Karen. "By the way, have the light refreshments for the mourning hall been prepared?" "I made spring rolls, eggplant fritters, and white fungus lotus seed soup. Do you think we need anything else, Young Master?" "No need, that's enough." Karen walked toward the front hall just as Pick came walking over, carrying an iron pot in his left hand and a thick bundle of "point vouchers" in his right. "Boss, this was ordered by Mr. Alfred. He said it was your instruction." "Mm, light the fire." "Yes, Boss." Pick flicked a lighter to start the fire, then tossed the crudely printed "point vouchers" into the pot bit by bit, saying, "Dincom should be very happy. He's never seen so many point vouchers in his entire life. Oh, right, Mr. Pavaro will be happy too. He worked so hard back then just to earn point vouchers to buy medicine for Dora and Doreen." Karen pulled over a small stool and sat down beside the iron pot. Picking up a stack of "point vouchers," he began tossing them into the flames as well. Almost all memorial rituals were performed for the living; this paper money was, in truth, burned for the comfort of the "living." The two coffins resting on the mortuary slabs were both sealed shut. Pavaro had no body here; his remains had long since been buried and could hardly be dug up for a second burial. Dincom's body, on the other hand, had been crushed into paper-thin remnants; no matter how skilled Madame Laike was, she couldn't restore him enough for an open viewing. Thus, neither coffin was opened. Before each memorial portrait sat two burning white candles, lending a somber air to the hall. All the ideas Karen had casually mentioned in conversations with Alfred in the past had been put into practice by Alfred this time. Even Karen hadn't anticipated that the very first time they were implemented would be for his own people. "Does Dincom have any family?" Karen asked. "He has a younger brother attending a church school, and his parents... Um, Boss, you don't need to worry about that. Mr. Alfred has already arranged a subsidy." "Mm." This allowance wasn't issued by the church, but paid out of their own pockets. Neo had a similar tradition; when it came to pensions for subordinates who died or were severely crippled, his personal share was never lower than what the church provided. Just then, a car pulled up outside. A lean middle-aged man in a white suit stepped out. His gaze swept over the sign of the funeral parlor to confirm the location, and then he strode inside. Pick rose to greet him, but the man bypassed Pick entirely and came straight up to Karen. He remarked with bewilderment, "Huh, so extravagant? Oh, they're fake." Karen lifted his head to look at him. His left hand dropped the last few pieces of paper money into the iron pot, while his right hand opened flat. The Sword of Diamans leaning in the corner flew directly into Karen's grip, its blade leveling at the man. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Don't be like that, don't be like that! I'm here to pay my respects." "Yet you didn't follow the proper etiquette for a memorial service. Since you came here, you must be aware of what took place recently. Facing an unfamiliar visitor, even if my reaction is somewhat extreme, I believe the higher-ups will understand." Karen didn't bother masking his killing intent. The moment this man had used movement techniques to slip past Pick, Karen had ample justification to strike. Moving truly was necessary. He had passed the initial phase, and his current line of work easily made enemies; keeping his home situated here was no longer appropriate. "Right, right, my oversight." The man walked over to Pick, signed the condolence register, and produced a condolence gift envelope tied with black crepe, handing it to Pick. This proved he truly was here to pay his respects. "Hello, Mr. Gus." Pick gave him a slight bow. Gus returned the gesture. "My condolences." Having completed the formalities, Gus walked back over to Karen, squatted down, and voluntarily picked up a stack of "point vouchers," burning them just as Karen had been doing. "My name is Gus Rand Salin. The great Crypt is the sanctuary of my soul." A believer of the Crypt? The Church of the Crypt... generally wasn't referred to as a proper church because in the previous era, it possessed no chief god, nor even a single unified faith. It was a church formed by seven deities, essentially functioning like a guild. Furthermore, among those seven deities, only one had been human; the other six were either monster beasts or aberrant demons. They shared a single common purpose: revering the Crypt. Legend had it that all seven deities had obtained fortune and enlightenment from an enigmatic crypt in their early days. Moreover, this crypt was not a physical location, as the seven gods had shared no overlap in their mortal lives; their descriptions of the crypt were more like a "revelation received in dreams." Thus, despite being called the Church of the Crypt, there was no such thing as a God of the Crypt. Rather, it referred to a faith established by a collective of multiple gods who revered the Crypt. The status of the Church of the Crypt was similar to that of the Church of Pamires. The difference was that the Church of Pamires had only recently been designated an affiliated church of the Church of Order, whereas the Church of the Crypt had held that status since the early stages of the previous era. In the early half of the previous era, during the war between the Light Camp and the Eternal Camp, the God of Order had fought within the Light Camp for the God of Light, and the seven deities of the Church of the Crypt frequently marched into battle alongside the God of Order. Some claimed this was arranged by the God of Light, but more people preferred to believe they were the earliest wave of follower gods to answer and accompany the God of Order. For during the middle of the last era, several chief gods had joined forces intending to dissect the secret of the so-called "Crypt," suspecting it held legacies from many eras past. It was the God of Order who had stepped forward to block those chief gods. Mythological records clearly documented that the God of Light had even personally intervened to mediate the conflict at that time. Later, in the latter half of the previous era, when the God of Light vanished and the God of Order established undisputed hegemony, nearly every church suffered suppression and slaughter by the God of Order—whether directed at their chief gods or branch deities. Yet the seven deities of the Church of the Crypt remained safe throughout. Entering the current era, the gods of both sides were gone. As an inherently loose organization, the Church of the Crypt could only attach itself even more closely to the Church of Order to survive. Many research institutes under the Church of Order had Crypt believers among their ranks. Consequently, at present, Order priests' perception of the Church of the Crypt was basically... our church's flunkies. Believers of the Church of the Crypt could even shout "Praise the God of Order!" just like Order believers, because in their minds, their identity in the Church of the Crypt was more akin to membership in a guild. The small aberrant demon group Alfred had begun forming early on was actually modeled after the Church of the Crypt. "What brings you here?" Karen asked. "I only just arrived in Yorktown. I've known of your name for a while, and having heard about the recent assassination attempt... well, I picked up some rumors, so I thought I'd drop by to check things out. I didn't expect you would already be back." "What is your business?" Karen repeated. "Nothing in particular, honestly. I just wanted to introduce myself and build a connection. Pure and simple." "Oh." Karen resumed burning paper money, and Gus helped him. After a long silence, Gus couldn't resist asking, "Do you have nothing to chat about?" "Apologies, I am not in much of a chatting mood right now." "Ah, understandable. No problem." "If we must talk, what does your true form look like?" "Aha, of course! I'd be glad to show you." Gus gave his body a shake. The hands extending from his clothes and his face all turned into white bone, translucent and crystalline. "This is my true form. Every night I scrub my bones thoroughly with a toothbrush. How about that—smooth, isn't it?" "Mm." "You can touch it if you'd like." "No need." "Oh, all right." Gus shifted back into his human form, a look of mild disappointment on his face. Just then, another person arrived outside: Bishop Bern. He wasn't in plain clothes, still wearing his red episcopal vestments. When he walked in, Gus rose with an exceedingly restrained, stiff posture. Pick braced himself and walked toward Bishop Bern. Bishop Bern picked up the pen, signed his name, and produced a condolence gift envelope. Immediately after, Bishop Bern walked toward the mortuary slabs and came to a halt before Pavaro's portrait. He stood there for a very long time. He had said he would attend Pavaro's memorial service and make his apology "in person." Then he turned, merely sweeping a glance at Dincom's portrait without lingering. Bishop Bern glanced at Gus, then asked Karen, "Acquaintances?" Karen answered, "Just met." "Heh. What, are you looking to choose Karen?" Gus waved his hands in flustered modesty. "Merely curious, so I came to see him and make an acquaintance." Bishop Bern said to Karen, "The Church of the Crypt is much like the Church of Principles; both share a tradition of partnering with people from our Church of Order. It's just that Crypt believers lean toward finding someone from the Whip of Order. The first Whip-Wielder of the Whip of Order had an attendant from the Church of the Crypt by his side, personally arranged by Lord Tyrannus." "Oh, so that's how it is," Karen realized. "Still, no need to rush. You have the luxury of being picky right now. Him? Decent merchandise, but hardly top quality." Describing a person like that right to their face was rather disrespectful, but Bishop Bern couldn't care less. Gus didn't dare let even a hint of anger show on his face. "That dragon by the Whip-Wielder's side is from the Church of the Crypt. In mythological accounts, one of the seven gods of the Church of the Crypt is a rebellious dragon of dual water and fire attributes. Of course, Lady Augie has pretty much converted to our Order; after all, doing so poses no psychological burden for their kind." Karen knew Bern was dropping a hint: there were better choices down the line, so don't rush. However, Karen understood one thing clearly: while Order priests and Principle priests could form true partnerships, the dynamic between the Whip of Order and Crypt believers was not a conventional partnership—it was more akin to master and servant. Lady Augie had previously contemplated using Rasma's hand to break free from the Whip-Wielder's seal. Perhaps because Gus was present, it wasn't convenient for Bern to elaborate. Or perhaps because Karen didn't press the matter urgently, Bern didn't bother to say more. "Didn't you notify your subordinates that you were back? It's awfully quiet here." "No," Karen shook his head. "I report for duty tomorrow. Today counts as an off-duty rest day from my mission." "Heh. Today is also the funeral at the Head Bishop's residence. It begins at two in the afternoon, which is almost upon us. I have to head over." "I saw the Head Bishop when I returned. He didn't mention it." "You had a funeral to hold here as well." Bern sighed. "The Head Bishop has changed a lot lately, but it's understandable. He wants to accomplish more in the time he has left. Be prepared." "Be prepared?" "To cooperate." Karen frowned slightly, but nodded. "All right." A car pulled up outside. Leon stepped out and turned, intending to help his grandfather, only to be pushed away by Wolflen. Leon had no choice but to run ahead into the mourning hall. "Captain, you're back!" he greeted Karen. "Mm," Karen acknowledged. Leon looked around, grabbed a broom, and began sweeping the already spotless floor. Wolflen walked over. Karen stood up. Everyone present, with the exception of Leon, saluted Wolflen. Wolflen picked up the pen and patted Pick on the head. Pick looked up, utterly terrified, and only lifted the register after Wolflen gestured for it. After signing, Wolflen produced two condolence gift envelopes. Then he walked over to the mortuary slabs in person, observing a silent tribute before Pavaro and Dincom respectively. Having finished, he turned back around. Casting a sidelong glance at Gus standing nearby, he said, "I'll submit an application for you. There are better ones in the Church of the Crypt; I'll have them make arrangements, though whether it succeeds depends on luck. Usually, those who are willing, you won't like; those you like, generally won't be willing." Gus hung his head. Despised in succession by two big shots, he didn't dare utter a single sound. Karen said, "You should have told me that your family was holding a funeral today as well." "That doesn't matter. In any case, I'll be leaving in a few months myself. You can just attend my funeral when the time comes, heh heh." Wolflen pointed to his grandson Leon and said, "He knew you were holding a funeral here today, yet he was busy entertaining guests at home. I gave him a tongue-lashing and dragged him here. He forgot whose man he is now." "Head Bishop, there is no need for this. Leon did nothing wrong." If this was his way of entrusting his ward, it was laid on a bit too thick, and hardly matched the Head Bishop's usual style. "No, this wasn't my idea. I also think Leon did nothing wrong. After all, who neglects their own family's funeral to bustle about at their superior's funeral? That would be overly ingratiating, maybe even offensive to others. But standing in the mourning hall back home, looking at them, I felt as though I could hear them speaking to me. They told me I had to bring Leon here—his father, his mother, his uncle... especially his grandmother. She just wouldn't stop nagging me. I truly couldn't win the argument against them, so I had to do as they demanded." A faint smile appeared on Wolflen's face as he continued, "We the living always feel the need to give the departed a flawless funeral. But the departed only ever wish for the living to live better."