The Storm Arrives!

"Aren't we taking the hearse?" Bart pointed at the hearse parked in the distance. He still remembered when everyone had ridden together in the hearse to the Church Affairs Building for the final selection. A reporter had interviewed Karen and taken photos that were published in the *Order Weekly*, causing quite a stir. Alfred shook his head. "In the past, when he was young, he needed audacity. Now, the young master needs gravitas." "Young?" How long had it even been? How was he suddenly no longer young? Alfred glanced at Bart. "Youth and gravitas often have very little to do with actual age." "Oh, is that so?" "Actually, bringing a dozen coffins along wouldn't be a bad idea—it would build anticipation for the major operation ahead. Oh no, that won't do either. It's a bit too radical. The subordinates might love it, but the superiors would consider it too erratic and undignified. Besides, the young master's current standing isn't suitable for that kind of political grandstanding. The Regional Head or the Ministers would be better suited for it." Bart asked, puzzled, "Mr. Alfred, that sounds a bit too pragmatic coming from you. Er, I don't mean anything bad by it—I agree with what you're saying, but it feels a bit different from how you usually seem to me." Alfred asked placidly, "Do you think of me as someone who usually talks about strange things, like an ungrounded, eccentric preacher with his head in the clouds?" "I..." Alfred shrugged. "Empty dreams are completely meaningless. One must understand a fundamental truth: dreams can only be realized through pragmatic means." "Understood. Thank you for the advice." "I'll ride with the young master. You take the car ahead and maintain the proper distance according to security protocol." "Understood." Alfred slid into the passenger seat of the secondhand black Ponce. Vic took the wheel, while Karen sat alone in the back. The modified secondhand black Ponce not only had built-in arrays added, but its interior furnishings had also been replaced. Karen felt exceptionally comfortable in the back. Even though he had gotten plenty of sleep, the morning sun streaming in made him feel lazy, tempting him to doze off again. "The weather in Wien is dreadful," Vic grumbled as he started the car. "Whenever we get a clear day, I'm almost moved to tears." Karen smiled faintly. "That shows you're becoming more and more like a true Wien native. Only people from Wien complain about the weather the moment they meet." Vic glanced in the rearview mirror at Karen and chuckled. "Director, good thing that came from you. If anyone else said it, I'd think they were mocking me." "Hmm, what gave you the illusion that I wasn't?" "Haha! By the way, Director, what are the specific plans moving forward?" "You mean your position?" Karen was about to explain Vic's job assignment personally, but Vic cut in first. "Alfred already explained the personnel shifts to me, Director. I don't mind that. I genuinely don't care much about titles or perks. What I want is a place where I can get things done." "Things will get better down the line, Vic. I promise you." "Director, you really don't need to say that. It makes me feel unreasonable. What I actually wanted to ask was: what kind of arrangement do we have for the upcoming operation against the York City Regional Administrative Office?" When it came to handling mundane matters—administrative governance—Vic possessed professional competence rivaling Alfred's. During the Vicolai case, it was precisely the teamwork between the two that had created an ideal environment where Karen only had to handle the courtroom arguments. "Do you think Alfred intentionally withheld it from you?" Karen asked. Vic glanced at Alfred in the front passenger seat. "Director, I didn't think that. In fact, I reckon Alfred would love nothing more than for me to take over this business so he can focus on what he's truly interested in." Alfred replied, "Quite right." Karen shifted his posture. "Actually, I don't know either." "You don't know either?" Vic asked, slightly surprised. "Yes, I don't know either. Perhaps the Vicolai case gave us the illusion that we're the ones playing chess, but in truth, we are still just pawns. The higher-ups have probably already arranged everything." "Then that's a bit dull," Vic said, sounding somewhat disappointed. "Only things with a challenge are interesting." Alfred countered, "The whole purpose of making thorough preparations beforehand is to turn volatile possibilities into a single, predictable outcome." The small convoy soon drove through the gates of the headquarters building and into the parking lot. To Karen's slight surprise, there were an unusually large number of vehicles today, and he even spotted several distinctive carriages. "Why is it so lively today?" Vic wondered aloud. "It feels like something big is about to happen." He wasn't foolish enough to ask whether it was all for Karen's commendation ceremony. That was clearly impossible. Ventura might ask something like that innocently, but if Vic asked, it would inevitably sound sarcastic. As Karen prepared to walk into the building, three cargo trucks drove in. A group of Order priests walked out of the building and began unloading the cargo—coffin after coffin. Alfred stepped forward to inquire, and once he got the answer, he returned immediately to report: "Young master, Minister Bernie ordered these coffins. They're likely for his use." Karen was neither surprised nor shocked by this. After all, he wasn't the only one seeking opportunities for promotion; others were striving just as hard. It had long ceased to be a secret in the department that Minister Bernie had his eyes set on the position of Regional Head, and the current Regional Head, Harry, seemed long prepared to hand over the reins. From Karen's perspective, he was more than happy to see Bernie climb higher. Both he and Neo were considered part of Bernie's faction—regardless of how they felt privately, that was how outsiders viewed it. Furthermore, if Bernie was promoted, the vacancy he left behind would naturally be filled by Karen and Neo moving up, avoiding awkward situations where Karen ended up sidelining Neo. As they entered the building, the priests of the Security Section, led by Old Coya, bowed in unison toward Karen: "Lord Director!" "Lord Director!" Although the commendation ceremony had not yet begun, the placard on Karen's office door had already been changed from "Captain" to "Director." Anyone paying even the slightest attention knew what was happening. Karen smiled at Old Coya and headed upstairs. Watching Karen's receding figure, Old Coya let out a long sigh, recalling the scene on the day Karen first reported for duty. *Tsk, tsk. How long has it even been since he joined? He's already a Director, and he even edged his former superior aside. Such scheming, such shrewdness—truly admirable.* *Why didn't I have such luck?* Old Coya wasn't envious of Karen so much as lamenting that he hadn't caught the era of the Whip of Order's resurgence in his prime. "Good day, Director." "Good day, Director." As he walked down the hallway, priests from other departments bowed in greeting. Karen nodded back to each of them before stepping into his office. As for his subordinates, they had their own workspaces. Until the ceremony began, everyone had to attend to their duties; even if they had nothing to do, they had to pretend to look busy. This was where the perks of leadership showed. Once the office door closed, Karen entered the inner lounge, washed his hands, and lay down on the bed. When he first got this office, Karen had sat behind his desk pretending to be busy drinking tea and reading the paper. Later on, he lost interest in deceiving himself and simply treated the inner lounge as his actual office, while the outer office felt more like an accessory. It wasn't that he was slacking off on purpose; it was just that Alfred and Vic were so competent that finding work to do was harder than doing the work itself. Besides, on this floor—or rather, in this building—anyone of higher status who wanted to see him would have their secretary summon him over, while anyone of lower status couldn't enter without an appointment. Thus, this office had always enjoyed high privacy. Previously, only Neo would barge in unannounced without knocking just to breathe in the scent of the newly renovated interior to satisfy his cravings. Now, however, Neo was no longer his boss, but his peer. Fortunately, Philomena wasn't sitting alone outside the door; Richard was keeping her company, the two of them serving as perpetual "door gods" stationed on the bench outside. Otherwise, given Philomena's personality, if Neo tried to enter now, she really would reach out to bar him and say: "Please wait. I will report to our Director first." ... "Please wait. I will report to our Director first." Neo: "..." "Ah, hahaha! Director, Director, she's joking, just joking!" Richard quickly reached out to push Philomena's raised arm down. However, Philomena's strength far surpassed Richard's—after all, she had just polished off twelve bowls of wontons for breakfast to line her stomach. The moment Richard pressed her arm down, Philomena instinctively raised it back up. Her arm snapped right back into place, and Richard was hoisted up by her arm like he was hanging from a chin-up bar, his feet dangling off the floor. "Hahaha! Director, look, isn't she adorable when she jokes around?" Neo's face darkened until it looked ready to drip water. He could tolerate Karen teasing him, but that didn't mean he would accept anyone else "mocking" him. Richard reached over and pushed the office door open. "Director, our Captain is inside." Neo didn't rush in. Instead, he stared at Philomena. "How well have you absorbed what your grandmother left you? When there's time, let's spar. I'd like to see the Felscher family heritage for myself." "Okay." Neo nodded. Yet, even though he had secured a chance to thrash this girl, he felt little satisfaction. He knew the girl before him was afraid of Karen, but not because Karen had ever beaten her. *Damn it. I used to think my methods of commanding subordinates were exceptional and sophisticated, but who knew this brat Karen's methods were so underhanded?* Neo walked into the office. Richard breathed a long sigh of relief and turned to Philomena. "Um, next time someone comes, let me handle receiving them, alright?" Philomena nodded and sat back down on the bench. "I wanted to find someone to fight." Richard paused. "So you did that on purpose?" "Mm." "Sigh, but I don't think you're a match for Director Neo." "Mm. I can't beat him." Karen had once told Philomena that Neo's combat style had many similarities to hers, and she could consult Neo for guidance. "Actually, if you want to spar, you could ask in a more polite way. I think the Director would agree to your request." Philomena shook her head. "No. He would only agree to fight our Director." "Uh..." "He has no patience for anyone else." ... This lavishly decorated office had once carried Neo's hopes and longings. Yet, it had hurt him deeply once. And then it had hurt him a second time. And he dared claim his family's faith system was about learning rather than plundering? This office was living proof! Neo walked into the inner room and saw Karen lying on the bed. He shouted directly, "Hey! I've never seen anyone derelict in their duties like you!" Karen pressed the back of his hand to his lips and yawned as he sat up. "I wanted to take an early afternoon nap." "Don't you feel you're degenerating? I didn't sleep a wink last night!" "Hearing you say that suddenly makes me even sleepier." "Heh." Neo sneered and sat down on the edge of Karen's bed. Karen stood up and stepped away from the bed. Neo lay down, spreading his arms wide and gazing up at the ceiling, where green grass and flowers grew—all part of his original interior design plan. "My subordinates are already asking me for an operational plan." "An operational plan? I don't have one either." "Huh?" "When I came back here last night, I didn't see any 'whistleblower materials' on your desk." "Then what were you doing staying up all night?" "I spent the whole night in my office playing with a jigsaw puzzle." Karen caught on immediately. "There should be twelve sets in total." "Seems the appraisal value is massive." "Yes. If conditions permit, it's best to gather the complete set." "I have ten sets on my end. Counting the one you have, we're only short one. Once the last one is found, I'll bring dog food and coffee to visit your home." "The commendation ceremony starts at twelve o'clock. You can sleep here for a bit." "Will that cause you any inconvenience?" "No. I'll just have someone wash and change the sheets afterward." "Heh." Neo pulled the blanket over his stomach. "I was just worried that if you planned to call in some female subordinate or a female clerk from the headquarters to do some gymnastics, I'd be ruining your mood. See how convenient it is? The mirror above the sink is so large, and it faces right toward the bed." "You'd have to ask the person who decorated this place. Perhaps his mind was just as filthy as yours." Leaving the inner room for Neo to rest, Karen stepped outside and sat in his office chair. On the desk lay the latest issue of *Order Weekly* along with other church newspapers. Karen picked them up and skimmed through. There were three notable news items. The first was the peace treaty between the Moon God Church and the Church of Samsara, which was scheduled to be officially signed in York City in half a month. In truth, under the mediation of the Church of Order, the Moon God Church and the Church of Samsara had already ended their large-scale war, primarily because both sides were exhausted. However, sporadic local skirmishes still broke out frequently. Even though the two sides had held several rounds of talks—organized multiple times in the Dinge Region and York City Region—they had failed to reach a final agreement. This time, the phrasing in the *Order Weekly* was stern. Reflecting the stance of the Church of Order, it signaled that the church had no intention of dragging this out any longer and demanded an immediate final resolution. When Karen saw this news, his first thought was security duties. While he probably wouldn't have to take on close-protection missions anymore, it didn't rule out the revived Whip of Order asserting its presence during such major diplomatic occasions. Still, the conference was half a month away, which was still early. Furthermore, if this final meeting had to produce a definitive peace agreement, the negotiations would likely be a protracted tug-of-war. The second news item concerned the Church of the Wasteland. Internal unrest had erupted within the church, showing signs of a substantive split. The primary cause was a massive conflict between the fundamentalist faction and the main body. This was a latent hazard that had always plagued the Church of the Wasteland, given that it had superseded the former Church of the Desert. The current situation was that the Church of the Wasteland might very well fracture, giving rise once more to the Church of the Desert. Such upheavals were not uncommon in ecclesiastical circles. Unlike secular nations that could bridge factional ideological rifts through pragmatic interests, churches viewed concepts of legitimacy and orthodoxy as supreme contradictions. This was also one of the common traits of a declining church, much like the former Sea God Church—once an orthodox church, now fractured into dozens of petty sects, with hardly any mid-sized ones left. Because of the assassin, Karen paid close attention to this news. The assassin's attempt to frame someone using sand techniques was far too blatant, but it at least confirmed one thing: the forces behind the assassin had some connection to the Church of the Wasteland, most likely in opposition to it. The third piece was a minor report, yet in Karen's eyes, it was momentous: it profiled John Rodini and Coma Luther, two ordinary mortals. This was not the first time the *Order Weekly* had featured them. Karen knew that the Church of Order and the Church of Principles were quietly collaborating on an experiment in "god-making," and these two men were pivotal. Among Mr. Luther's bodyguards were Order priests, and Mayor John was almost certainly flanked by them as well. Mavaglio had hinted to him that in certain respects, the church's higher-ups were far bolder and more radical than he could ever imagine. In truth, Karen had always known this. The Church of Order had preserved Raniedal's consciousness, and time—a taboo that even gods dared not touch—was something the Church of Order dared to research! In the past, he had always joked that the Mural God Cult was a bunch of lunatics, but the true lunatics were often those who made you think they were perfectly sane. After reading the news, Karen turned his attention to other periodicals. He skipped the overly official church publications and focused on entertainment-oriented ones. It had to be said that even believers and priests in ecclesiastical circles could not extinguish human nature's love for gossip. Gossip in the church circles was infinitely more scandalous and thrilling than in the secular entertainment world, and Karen found himself engrossed. Time slipped by unnoticed until Richard knocked and brought in lunch. Because the commendation ceremony was scheduled for noon, lunch had been moved up. The cafeteria in the headquarters building had resumed operations, though many still preferred to bring their food upstairs to eat. As Richard set down the lunch and prepared to leave, Karen called out, "Call Philomena in. We'll eat together here." "Alright, Director! Heheh." Philomena walked in holding six boxed lunches of her own. Richard brought over a chair for her to sit down. In truth, Philomena preferred eating outside. She could easily ignore everyone else, but in front of Karen, she felt pressure, and that pressure affected her appetite. After finishing half of his meal, Karen could eat no more; he had eaten breakfast rather late. Sitting opposite him, Philomena, feeling restrained, had only just finished her fourth box. Karen pointed at Philomena and said to Richard, "If it's convenient in the future, take Philomena to your home for a meal to taste your grandmother's cooking." "Sure, no problem! Will you come too, Karen?" "Mm, alright," Karen nodded. He had no intention of playing matchmaker for Richard and Philomena; he wasn't so bored as to meddle in his subordinates' love lives. It was purely that Karen had picked up on something in Madame Tangli's tone that morning. Though his maternal grandmother had joked about how the girl from the Felscher family had an astonishing appetite that could bankrupt a husband's household, if she genuinely still harbored hatred toward the Felscher family, she wouldn't even have bothered to mention her. Karen sensed that his grandmother was considering Philomena as a potential successor, perhaps seeing a reflection of her past self in the girl. He seemed to recall Old Delon letting slip once that Madame Tangli had possessed a massive appetite in her youth as well. As for Philomena herself, since Karen said he would go too, she didn't object to the idea of freeloading a meal at Richard's house. After lunch, seeing that the time was near, Karen prepared to wake Neo. Pushing open the inner door, he found Neo already washing his face at the sink. "Ah, sleeping here is so comfortable," Neo said, looking at his reflection in the mirror as he raised his head. "Of course. After all, my office doesn't have a draft." "Heh, you beast." "If the opportunity arises in the future, I'll swap offices with you." "Swap with me?" Neo turned to Karen. "Do you know how difficult it is to change offices here? Heaven knows when the defensive arrays will be modified again—unless we disguise ourselves as Light remnants and launch an assault on a flaw in the defenses." "No need for so much trouble." "No need for trouble?" "Just wait until my next promotion." "Huh?" "Once I'm promoted, you can transfer back to Director of the First Office, and this office will be yours." "Damn you!" Neo slung an arm over Karen's shoulder, hooking his neck and pressing him down a bit, hissing viciously, "Listen, you're practically a top-tier young master in our church, second only to the God's Son! Can't you show a shred of the refinement and class expected of someone of your caliber?" "Where was I not being proper?" "Heh, bullying a self-made man with no background like me—don't you feel despicable and vulgar?" "Why don't you manifest that phantom of the Mad Pope inside you first? I'd like to see if you have the gall to repeat those words." "I didn't choose that voluntarily." "You talk as if I chose mine voluntarily. Besides, if you didn't choose it, why did you open your mouth to eat his flesh? Did his corpse pry your jaws open, shred itself into strips, and feed itself into your mouth?" "It seems very necessary for us to have another good spar to help you progress and get used to your new realm, don't you think?" "Oh, that won't be necessary." "What, scared?" Karen shook his head. "Didn't I tell you? The former High Priest just arranged the most suitable spar for me." "Damn spoiled brat!" When the two walked out of the office, their demeanor had returned completely to normal. The commendation ceremony was held in the grand auditorium. Nearly every priest in the building, except for those on security duty, was present. There were also many distinguished guests and reporters, and a broadcast array had even been set up in advance. The scale and pomp were almost identical to the trial of the Vicolai case. Neo set up a simple isolation barrier, coughed behind his hand, and murmured, "Look at that. That's the treatment you get." "I have a feeling it's not for me. When I arrived, I saw the dozen coffins Minister Bernie ordered being delivered." "Hah! So that's how it is." Karen and Neo walked to the third row and took their seats. Seated in the first row were Regional Head Harry and Bishop Wolflen, along with their aides and secretaries. The second row was occupied by the headquarters ministers and the bishops of the Regional Administrative Office. The third row was where office directors like Karen and Neo sat. Neo sighed wistfully. "When will we be able to sit in the first row?" Karen said, "Go sit in the first row right now. I doubt anyone would dare drive you away." "You know what I mean." Neo gently cracked his stiff neck. "Isn't everyone supposed to be equal under Order?" "That's right. The division of each row is Order itself. Aren't you and I equal?" "Can it really be explained that way?" "Everything is relative. Besides, I think your faith in Order has suffered a severe decline." "Nonsense! No one is more loyal to Order than me! My dream is—" "To make Light great again in your hands?" "Right, that is—shut the hell up!" It had to be admitted that speaking such sacrilegious words in such a solemn and grand setting was thrilling. Naturally, no one would have imagined that two directors of the Whip of Order headquarters were daring to discuss such treasonous topics behind a thin isolation barrier. To outsiders, they merely seemed to be covering their mouths in casual conversation. In the auditorium, Karen spotted Lore chatting with Leon in the back. Since the ceremony had not officially begun, people were still free to mingle. In the past, whenever Karen saw Lore, Leon was with him. Lore's grandfather was also a bishop, and he and Leon were childhood friends who grew up in the same compound. After Lore finished speaking with Leon, he walked down the aisle and arrived beside Karen. "Director Karen." "Hello. Long time no see." In past interactions, though Lore and Leon carried a bit of aristocratic pretension, Karen had gotten along with them quite well. "Um, there's something I'd like to ask you." "What is it?" "My grandfather would like to invite you to dinner after the commendation ceremony ends. Would that be alright?" Lore pointed toward the front. "That's my grandfather over there." "Please convey to Lord Bishop Yeder that it would be my honor." "Great! Thank you, Karen." Lore smiled happily. The regional high-ranking figures all knew very well that the resurgence of the Whip of Order was an unstoppable reality; entering its front-line team was tantamount to stamping a seal of approval on one's future. Clearly, Bishop Yeder wanted to emulate Head Bishop Wolflen by having his own grandson join. Lore walked back to his seat. Neo asked, "Why did you agree to that dinner?" Karen shook his head indifferently. "Because now, I have the courage and status to say no at the dining table." "Heh, not bad. I like that answer." "It's mostly thanks to the prestige of being Director of the First Office." "Damn you!" The commendation ceremony officially began. First, Regional Head Harry took the stage to deliver a speech, which basically amounted to platitudes about the sacred duty and mission of the Whip of Order—setting the tone of pleasantries for the subsequent speakers. When Regional Head Harry finished speaking, enthusiastic applause echoed through the hall. Next, Head Bishop Wolflen stepped onto the stage to give his address. His appearance caused a slight stir among the foreign church dignitaries and journalists below, as everyone clearly knew about the recent tragedy in his household. However, to many people's disappointment, Bishop Wolflen also delivered standard platitudes, offering nothing novel, let alone sensational. The reporters below looked visibly disappointed, with puzzled expressions on many of their faces. Next to take the stage was Minister Bernie. He oversaw the Law Enforcement Department, which held the greatest power and influence among the headquarters' divisions. Bernie's speech was full of passion and dramatic tension, standing in stark contrast to the previous two leaders' speeches. Sitting below, Karen couldn't help remarking, "Our minister truly has skill." Neo nodded. "Indeed. Being able to deliver platitudes with flair is true skill." Bernie's address lasted nearly half an hour. Finally, it peaked when he had a dozen coffins carried onto the stage, swearing that he had prepared these coffins and would never back down from upholding the majesty of the Whip of Order. Thunderous applause lasted for a long time. The reporters spared no magical film in photographing him, and the broadcast array focused on him, transmitting the scene outward. "Next, please welcome Bishop Yeder, representing the York City Regional Administrative Office, to read the commendation decree for our hero Karen, who has recently rendered distinguished service!" Amidst the applause, Bishop Yeder stood up, looked back toward Karen, and made a welcoming gesture with a warm smile. Karen stood up as well. As he stepped out from his seat, the broadcast array and cameras swiveled to focus on him, shuttering at an even higher frequency than during Bernie's speech. Perhaps for the journalists specially invited here, failing to catch a sensational headline was a major disappointment, so snapping more photos of the handsome hero was their best way to produce a decent story back at the office. Sitting below, Neo found it amusing: *Damn it, this feels just like a movie awards gala.* Karen felt the same way. Yesterday, he had thought today's ceremony would be a brief formality in a small meeting room; who could have guessed it would be staged on such a grand scale, complete with an award presenter? As Minister Bernie stepped aside to walk down the stage, he gave Karen a warm embrace, intentionally displaying their close superior-subordinate relationship to the public. He was probably a bit aggrieved himself—just like Neo, his subordinate had achieved merit that had little to do with him, so he needed to project intimacy so that future successes could be credited to his "guidance." After the embrace, Bernie slipped a cue card into Karen's hand. Karen's first thought was: *Do I really need this?* He was confident he could handle the occasion with poise, making sure to thank everyone from the Regional Head to the Ministers. Bishop Yeder was already standing at the front of the stage waiting for Karen, holding the commendation decree. When Karen took his place beside him, Bishop Yeder smiled warmly. "So young! Young people like you are the future of our Church of Order!" The audience below, whether young or old, applauded enthusiastically in support. Karen gave a slight bow in return. Bishop Yeder unfolded the decree and began announcing the rewards awarded to Karen line by line. Karen stood beside him, maintaining an air that was poised yet appropriately reserved. In the meantime, he took the opportunity to glance down at the card Bernie had slipped him. After reading it, he casually slid it into his cuff. "...Karen Silva is hereby promoted to Director of the First Office of the Whip of Order Disciplinary Investigation Committee in the York City Region!" Applause erupted throughout the hall once more. Excitement finally appeared on the reporters' faces in the back. A Director this young! His future was boundlessly bright—no, to be precise, he was already walking upon that future. "Truth be told, even I feel a bit envious of Director Karen. He is so young, yet so exceptional. I sincerely hope that our Church of Order will continue to produce young talents like Director Karen. For only then will the faith guided by the great God of Order, yearned for by our revered forebears, and strived for throughout our lives, be truly fulfilled! Only then will the Light of Order shine across the entire world in days to come!" Applause broke out yet again. Once the applause gradually died down, the protagonist of the commendation ceremony finally had his chance to speak. Bishop Yeder stepped half a pace aside and announced, "Come, let us hear what our newly promoted Director Karen has to say! Haha, I'm sure everyone is eager to listen." The entire auditorium fell silent. Everyone waited for Karen to speak—and, in truth, for the ceremony to conclude. Karen first smiled toward the audience. Then he turned to face Bishop Yeder. He spoke: "Lord Bishop Yeder, according to evidence in our possession, you are suspected of violating the *Order Regulations*. I am now placing you under arrest!"